A Piece of Pakistan

I've finally decided to crawl out of my hole and return to the bloggernet. To be completely honest, I've hardly touched my camera (or done much else) since my return to America. The post-vacation comedown has consisted of work, tv, falling asleep every night at 10, and not much else. I really miss Pakistan and could have stayed for at least another 2 weeks. Here's a glimpse into just one aspect of my trip: my Grandma's house.

No one currently lives in this house, but whenever we go back, we take my Grandma with us and stay there for a few days. That ceiling fan is more than 50 years old and was transplanted from the house my grandparents lived in before this one. I don't think it works but it still hangs in my grandparents' old room (now used for storage). Older houses were built starting with one room, into the next, into the next, and so on, as you can see in the very last photo. I'm standing in one room but the camera looks through 3 different ones. Those doorways must only be 6' tall because I distinctly remember most men in my family having to duck down every time they walk through them. The cat is a stray, but she visits everyday for lunch (and by her increased size from last year, I'm assuming she stops by a few more houses as well...or maybe she's pregnant, not really sure). The spot where the towels are hanging to dry is where my Grandpa used to spend all day soaking in the sun during warmer months and where my Grandma spends most of her time now. My uncles often talk about demolishing this house to rebuild a better, more sustainable structure and I worry that memories like that will dissolve with the framework. True, I don't live in Pakistan, and of all my cousins, I've spent the least amount of time in this house. But even in those 100 or so days, I've established a very sweet catalog of memories. Sitting in the sun with my Grandpa while he told silly stories, playing with water guns with my cousins in the 110 degree summer heat, climbing onto the roof, playing cards by candlelight during power outages, repeatedly tripping over the elevated sewer grate (I think that's what they're called), playing Carrom Board with my Grandpa, this list could go on for awhile...

I specifically took these pictures to preserve the memory of this house, but this is a still a modified version of the one I more vividly remember because it has undergone a lot of changes since my grandfather's passing in 2001.

"All photographs are there to remind us of what we forget. In this- as in other ways- they are the opposite of paintings. Paintings record what the painter remembers. Because each one of us forgets different things, a photo more than a painting may change its meaning according to who is looking at it." - John Berger

100

I wanted to make a stopmotion for my 100th post, but as you can see, my brain was completely devoid of ideas. The music got cut off sort of abruptly at the end, but oh well. I think you get the gist of it :)

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And here are some outtakes from the past 100 posts:

Here's hoping for 100 more! xoxo

Orange County

Have you ever walked through your home town as if you were a tourist?

I spent this past Sunday reacquainting myself with Orange County. I grew up in Chino Hills, which is a small suburb 40 miles inland from South Orange County, but I lived in Irvine for almost 4 years of college. It's been a year and a half since I graduated from UCI and moved back to Chino Hills, but still find myself spending most of my free time in the Irvine area (where Sister and Best Friend both happen to live). Like many others, I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with Orange County. I can't deny that I love the spacious and clean roads (+), but the lack of culture and diversity (-) and the immense amount of superficiality and plastic OC housewives (-) theoretically tip the scales in the other direction.

Brunch at a diner a few miles from Newport Beach fueled a mini re-exploration of Costa Mesa and various parts of coastal Orange County. We started our road trip through the neighborhoods of Costa Mesa that eventually emptied out on to the Pacific Coast Highway. We drove from Newport to Corona del Mar (my favorite little beach town) and spontaneously stopped at the Sherman Library and Gardens. The last time I visited these gardens was in 7th grade to write a report for my cultural literacy project. For $3, we were granted access to the entire botanical gardens and greenhouse. Unfortunately, the library (which focuses on the history of the Pacific Southwest) is closed on Sundays. With its koi ponds, fresh flowers, kind, eclectic staff and the sound of waves crashing in the distance, I can safely say the Sherman Library and Gardens is one of the most relaxing places I've visited in Southern California.

Next up, we continued on PCH to Crystal Cove, where we stopped for a shake at the Ruby's Shake Shack (it's literally a shack on a cliff that overlooks the state beach). We passed through Laguna Beach and into Dana Point, which is especially near and dear to my heart. True, my family lived in Dana Point (walking distance from the harbor) before I was born, but the amount of pictures I've seen and stories I've heard narrated by my parents have created a sense of nostalgia whenever I'm in Dana Point. I started taking pictures of this Jack in the Box on PCH, thinking it was one of the ones my dad managed as an area coach in the late 70s, but now I think I may have confused it with the a different location on El Toro Rd. Or maybe it was both? Who knows.

I don't remember how but from Jack in the Box, we eventually wound up on Oso Parkway and in Aliso Viejo. I had been to Soka University once before for a wedding, so we decided to stop there and explore. I don't know much about the school, but the campus is beautiful (although a bit weirdly isolated) and has an amazing view.

By now, it was well after sunset so we decided to cut our road trip short and head back into quiet, safe Irvine for a nice dinner.

I'll be honest, I'm not a big OC hater. But I understand the drawbacks that mold people's opinions of it. For our generation, it's a region famous for launching a slew of reality shows about the rich, white elite, setting a terrible example with a fraction of the human race. But I think if you look hard enough, you'll stumble across places with historical value and charm that add a layer--albeit a thin one-- of depth. I think at the very least, Orange County (like a lot of things) must have been cool in the '70s.

Hello, Moto

Feelin' somewhat nostalgic as I look through photos. Taken in Pakistan, December 2005 (I know, not that long ago)