Other people's gardens

A specimen of Genus Echeveria. Very fitting considering how much time I spent in Etcheverry Hall during college.

During the last two weeks, I found myself with an absurd amount of time on my hands. All my projects had been submitted, I was sufficiently secure in both my classes with final exams, and I had no urgent tasks. I used this newfound time to go to the gym, read for leisure, and take long walks in the hills north of campus, making sure to stop and admire the flowers.

Berkeley is a town of contrasts. In the north, houses are large and with personality. Architecture is clever, hills are steep, and gardens are lavish and just a bit wild. The North Berkeley hills, edging into Tilden Park and the Lawrence Berkeley National Lab, are easy to get lost and get tired in. Fortunately, this is my neighborhood, and I am acquainted with it.

I am a frequent recommender and visitor of the UC Botanical Gardens, which is uphill from the southeast end of campus, but sometimes, that's a hassle to get to, with very uniform views on the hike up. The northside hills are an easy getaway from the College of Engineering, and beautiful gardens and interesting houses, tucked-away side streets and terraces are quick to encounter. 

It may be easy to tell that these photos come from different hikes: different weather, different times of day. I'm collecting "specimens" for if I ever want to paint botanical still life in the future.

Though I don't think I'll have the space for a garden in my near future, all this wandering and stopping to admire other people's gardens has inspired me. What I don't think I can communicate through these photos, but seems very clear to me just walking through the neighborhood, is that North Berkeley's gardens give it an air of mystery and magic. Given the terrain, plain lawns are uncommon. Flowers are more elegant and ornate, with strange colors. Irises, daffodils, roses, and succulents are heavily featured.

These lovely ones are downhill on the northwest end of Berkeley.  I messed around on VSCO because I am challenged by lighting, but I tried to represent the color as accurately as I saw them.

Carpets of succulents from two ends of northside. The one on the right comes from the same garden as the Echeveria featured above.

This stretch of sidewalk is actually a deliberate garden. Many of the plants are labeled, and there are notices about his landlord forbidding him from keeping this exotic garden. He is the owner of the succulent garden on the left in the preceding picture.

There is a public rose garden on northside as well, where rarer, more elegant cultivars are grown and shown. Among them are the yellow and white bicolor roses on the right, and a pink and yellow variety not shown here.

Houses near the rose garden often have their own roses as well. Rose Street nearby has a terraced, staircase path lined with roses. Lots of roses, roses everywhere, etc.

Yet more roses, the ones on the left close to my apartment, the ones on the right from the Berkeley Rose Garden.

And lastly, one of my favorite gardens in Berkeley, located a stone's throw away from the original Peet's Coffee & Tea. I make it a point to encounter this extraterrestrial and its spacecraft (with a "BERKELEY OR BUST" bumper sticker) when I walk to the supermarket. This is one of the many oddities about this strange town that I will miss.

Nest Citrine and Verde | Fragrance Review

I will take a moment of awestruck silence to appreciate the impeccable, the exquisite perfection of the Nest fragrance packaging. This is the marriage of the dark, pensive, and utterly enchanting floral/botanical paper mosaics of 18th century British artist Mary Delany and the sophisticated, sleek design  and aesthetic inclinations of Nest. Look at this beauty. Revel in it. Dream of it.

As that raving may suggest, I was very taken with the packaging, and so convinced that the potions within would convey the dark beauty of the imagery without. I was very afraid that I would love the fragrance and the bottle so much as to buy a full size. Instead, I got free samples, and I will review them below.

Citrine - eau de parfum

"The dewy softness of lotus flower and freesia are set against sparkling citrus notes and hints of precious woods.

Notes: Lemon Blossom, Lotus Flower, Freesia, Dew Drop Accord, Precious Woods. 

Style: Bright. Refreshing. Sparkling." - Nest

What is that plant (suspiciously similar to French broom, and certainly not a note) doing on this packaging, other than to look pretty? This scent is lovely, sunny, and effervescent. It's fresh and it's lively, but certainly not a complex fragrance. Perhaps my skin gobbles up light florals with citrus notes, but Citrine is, unfortunately, a simple little scent, something that would be wonderful as a candle or a diffuser in a sun-drenched room. Sillage and longevity are minimal.

Verde - eau de parfum

"Exceptionally fresh and green, this woody scent is a true departure from a floral fragrance. Capture the crisp essences of wild fern and Himalayan cedar combined with verbena leaves and vetiver.

Notes: Wild fern, Himalayan Cedar, Verbena Leaves and Vetiver

Style: Fresh" - Nest

The solemn ferns suggest a fougere, and I was hoping for deep, dreamy woods. I like green scents, but found unfortunately that Verde was not to my taste. A traditional fougere ("fern-like") has top notes of lavender and fern, and is grounded by oakmoss and tonka bean, and is supposedly a unisex or masculine fragrance. Without these notes, Verde was all simple greenery, and reminded me much more of men's deodorant than a mysterious forest. However, unlike screaming green ultra sweat control deodorant, Verde was gone in a snap, with neither sillage nor longevity. The verbena yielded to the ferns on the dry-down, and fortunately, I could detect no vetiver. I wanted to love Citrine and Verde, but it was not meant to be!

Outfit sampler for the early spring

I always feel strange taking pictures of myself, and feel even stranger putting them on here. However, this here blog is a bit of an archive of my thoughts about personal aesthetic and taste (of which I have little, I think). I think I am easily influenced by trends in aesthetic and style, and though I think I'm a fairly moderate consumer, fitting into (or not) a category that I admire does make me feel a certain way about myself. Why isn't personal style as simple as wearing what we please? Maybe for a more steadfast, self-aware individual, it is. I'm not quite there yet.

T-shirt: Forever 21 | Belt: Uniqlo | Watch: Casio | Trousers: H&M | Shoes: Sperry

And now here is the debut of the shoes I listed in my S/S 2016 wardrobe planning post. I bought them, enjoy them, but am not 100% satisfied with the color. I wish I'd chosen the darker brown, or the Sahara/honey colorway. Anyhow, I'm still getting the hang of wearing the boat shoes with/without socks. I wish I'd gotten them years ago.

I used to love/hate/never wear these trousers back when my everyday shoe was the Dr. Martens Chelsea boots. At that point, it was just a bit too utilitarian for my liking, and I still think that they look a bit like part of a uniform. However, they're the ideal weight/texture for a cool, early spring day, and I've worn them most days that average 65-70 F.

Top: Forever 21 | Watch: Casio | Shorts: Old Navy | Shoes: Sperry

Here is the debut of the black linen shorts I purchased from my S/S 2016 wardrobe planning. I went shopping with my sibling during spring break and thought I'd gotten a pretty good deal on these (40% or something), but the khakis my sib got came out to be <$1. A few days later, I bit the bullet on the full price Sperry's so I guess I lost the frugality rivalry pretty soundly.

I feel like a recurring theme of my wardrobe is blatant violation of some archaic rule where navy + black + brown should never be worn together. I also feel like I vaguely try to emulate a breezy nautical/Yankee prep aesthetic. That, or I'm still trying to dress like the French (or French-adoring) girls. Je ne sais quois, ok?

Complications, The Checklist Manifesto, When Breath Becomes Air

As a continuation of my pre-meducation, here is a "tasting flight" of three books on medicine by two esteemed Indian-American surgeons.

Complications | Atul Gawande

Last spring, I read Being Mortal and was completely floored. Atul Gawande is a Renaissance man: a surgeon, a scholar, a writer, and an entrepreneur and has reached some kind of star status in popular science writing. Complications is a compilation and revision of some of his pieces from The New Yorker, written during his general surgery residency. Though the book retains this piecewise/anecdotal character, the persistent theme is of uncertainty and complications in medicine, focused on surgery. Atul Gawande is an excellent writer, and really immersed me into the patients' stories and identities, which is sometimes lost in other medical writing. Since he was a resident writing this, there is a powerful sense of wonder, newness, and awe, which I hope I can feel at that stage too.

The Checklist Manifesto | Atul Gawande

Errors in the operating room can be minimized by use of checklists, and here's how to do it -- that's the book. Exceedingly complex systems with great room for error (and dire consequences when they occur) can be managed by clear checklists outlining safety-critical steps, and have been used by pilots for decades. Atul Gawande's push for implementing checklists in operating rooms, for many procedures and in many different hospitals here and abroad, is basically the premise of the book. I listened to the Ted Talk shortly before I read this and got pretty much the same information, albeit with less narrative decoration. It's a fast, easy read, but out of other Gawande books, it doesn’t stand out.

When Breath Becomes Air | Paul Kalanithi

The first quarter this year, it seemed that everyone was reading this book, or planning on reading this book. I first read -- and shed tears -- reading four pieces from the New York Times directly related to this book: Dr. Paul Kalanithi's reflections on lifespan, a version of the epilogue by his widow Dr. Lucy Kalanithi, an interview with Dr. Lucy Kalanithi, and the review. Dr. Kalanithi was an accomplished neurosurgeon on the cusp of finishing his residency training, with expansive wisdom, education, and philosophical capacity. The driving theme of this memoir/collection of meditations/elegy was: what makes us human?/what makes life worth living? Not to be insensitive, but it rather reminded me of one of Walter White's more sinister lines from season 5 of Breaking Bad: "I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it. And I was really, I was alive." When Breath Becomes Air was undoubtedly well-written; emotional and moving at its best, but lofty and esoteric at its worst. Suffice to say his English degree is very apparent, and that I'm not well-read enough to follow his references. The epilogue by Dr. Lucy Kalanithi was particularly impactful, the foreword by Dr. Abraham Verghese far less so.

Dreaming and wishing

About a month ago, I went to my first conference with members of my lab and other biomechanics labs. This was not the first time I've been a co-author on a conference poster or a podium talk, but this was the first time I had seen the spectacle with my own eyes.

The first day of our trip, we attended the American Association of Orthopaedic Surgeons meeting. The venue was expansive, the exhibition hall a literal circus of flashing lights, glossy card flyers, displays of implants and devices and tools, beautiful sales reps, free coffee, free fruit, free tea, free doughnuts, a Jaguar parked in the middle of the conference floor. My grad student mentor recommended a few of the smaller booths to look at, but we scattered to the colossals: Zimmer Biomet, DePuy, Tornier. As an undergrad on the cusp on my medical education, I felt like the smallest fish in the exhibition hall, an utterly out-of-place child. When we met with one of our collaborating surgeons, I shook his hand, and noticed with horror that there was powdered sugar on the cuff of my blazer. Slovenly undergrad indeed.

That afternoon, we quit the glamour of AAOS and went to Magic Kingdom. I watched the fireworks show and heard all those cheerful Disney voices sing about dreams coming true and all that. By God, I made a wish when Jiminy Cricket told me to.

The next few days were spent at the less dazzling, less formal, but still staggeringly intimidating Orthopaedic Research Society annual meeting. After about three years immersed in the same projects, all related to the polyethylene component of the total shoulder prosthesis, the world of orthopedics seemed endless, expansive, and more than I could have possibly imagined.

Over the past few months, I've been trying to disenchant myself from orthopedics, notorious for being a competitive, exclusive boys' club from multiple sources. Less than 10% of practicing orthopods are women. Ortho residency seems incompatible with pregnancy and childrearing. There are incredible obstacles, and yet, it has always been a dream of mine. Attending the conference thoroughly enchanted me back into this dream, and I have yet to let it go.

And so, I think the only solution is the original solution: enter medical school with an open mind, explore all specialties and ask many questions. That's the plan. But, because I started thinking about this theme when I was watching the fireworks show in Magic Kingdom, best remember that to be a Disney heroine, I've got to keep on dreaming and wishing, working hard, and doing my damnedest to accomplish what I want.

S/S 2016 | Wardrobe Planning

Do people still do these? Does this image clearly identify me as a dull, sartorially-conservative, future New Englander? Maybe just a bit.

My goal this summer is to not default to athleisure garb when I go about society. The items here are non-descript and consistent with my warm weather wardrobe staples (grey denim shorts, navy blue twill shorts, 4000 grey t-shirts) and look comfortable enough for me. If I need a boost in formality, I have warm weather-appropriate dresses to rely on.

Without further ado, here are my prospective purchases:

1. Sperry boat shoes - I have always been a secret admirer, even if my roommate finds them horrendously frat-daddy and preppy. Expensive? Yes, but I can't possibly wear my leather Chelsea boots every day once the weather warms up. My point is that I have grown fond of the rugged brown leather shoe, and that knowing myself, cost-per-wear will be low this time next year.

2. Black shorts - of these three options from Uniqlo, I plan to pick one. Nothing complicated here.

3. Breton shirt - I'm not too sure about this one, and it may be a long time before I actually buy one of these, considering how many variations there are.

4. Red polo - nothing more needs to be said.

5. Seersucker shirt - this is partly to counteract the darkness of my wardrobe, but also because I need warm weather shirting that looks somewhat put-together. But, really, this is a stand-in for any lightweight warm-weather top.

I crossed a few things off this list, the bulk of them being dresses: a casual summer sundress, a graduation ceremony dress, and a white coat ceremony dress. The first I am fairly sure I have enough of, especially since I plan on wearing some neglected skirts of mine more often. The second and third I'll find as well in my closet, which should be fine considering both will be covered by much more important garments. However, I reserve a sixth purchase for a dress that suddenly appears (and I feel very strongly about).

This list was generated with mild Bay Area weather, potential summer travels, and August in Boston in mind...and is subject to change. Even so, I've been keeping up the pattern of moderate/minimal shopping throughout college, and don't expect to deviate.

The deathless Red Polo

Here are a few pictures of myself wearing a dark red polo, a beloved, worn-down garment that has been stretched thin from too many wash-wear cycles, a tenacious representative of fast-fashion throwaway clothing that has stayed with me for too many years. I bought the Red Polo in summer of 2006 as part of my back to school outfit and wore it to picture day in seventh grade that same month. The first picture comes from 2010, the second from spring 2015 in lab to mimic the 2010 picture, the third from spring 2013 where the Red Polo (and I) made an appearance on a campus banner, and the fourth from summer 2015 at SF Pride.

The Red Polo was from the now-deceased department store Mervyn's, and cost around $5. The quality is not very good and the fabric has not survived well. The shirt itself is very long, the fabric clingy, which makes for easy tucking into jeans or layering under cardigans or jackets. It's in my favorite color of high school and early college. It was due to be recycled as a cleaning rag years ago, and it's still holding on by literal threads.

The point of this post is sort of to promise myself that I will not allow myself to continue wearing this very dated, very adored shirt from middle school past summer 2016. I have not tossed this shirt because it was the first item of clothing that I felt good about myself in, which is a very important thing for the insecure middle school whelp. I've worn it so many times and have no strong memories tying me to it. I have tried and failed to find a Red Polo to replace it, and thus, I have kept it in my closet. The Red Polo is my prime example of forming strong emotional attachments to material possessions, even after they've served their purpose. In the spirit of creating a more useful, concise wardrobe, I think it is reasonable for me to face that this deathless shirt that I love will need to die soon (and be replaced, of course, by a higher quality version).

Consider this the prologue of a forthcoming S/S 2016 wardrobe planning post. It's becoming clearer to me that if I, at age 21 and at the starting line of my professional career, I will need to buy higher quality if I want to wear clothes with the frequency and longevity that I wish for.