Having spent hours this past week preparing for the Series 63 exam, I am still skating that fine line between barely passing / barely not passing on practice tests. I have always sucked at multiple choice exams, whether they be of the SAT or DMV variety. Apparently, NASD is no exception. And the week of fun is just beginning, with the 7.5 hour Series 7 on Friday. Joy to the world!

I was panicked all day yesterday. I called the Pearson Center to schedule my Series 63 and 7 exams, not knowing that apparently you need quite a bit of lead time to get these exams on the calendar. My window closes December 5.

I got the 63 scheduled, but it looked like I was going to have to travel - perhaps to Fresno or San Diego or Anaheim - to take the 7.

I came in to work today primarily to get this all sorted out. I don't think anyone has ever been so happy about the prospects of sitting for a 7.5 hour exam as I was when I heard the words, "We can schedule you for 8AM on Friday, December 3."

Now I have a couple of work related things for which to be thankful this season. I'm thankful that I could get the test scheduled and not have to travel or pay a penalty for letting my window close. And I'm thankful that I will get to spend my work-free Thursday with my two big binders of Series 7 materials. Let the holiday festivities begin!

I am sick. Still have this nasty cough, as I do whenever I get sick these days. Back in the days of visiting Cowell Hall at Cal (as opposed to the more modern Tang Center), I had a horrible cough, and the nurse with whom I spoke seemed to refuse to take my concern seriously. He thought I was there to inquire about birth control but I was too shy to ask. Never mind that I could barely breathe and my labored speech spoke volumes about my real reason for being in his presence. Since that illness, nearly every time I've gotten sick, the chest congestion lingers.

I've been sick for two weeks now. I have over 3 days of sick leave to take before the end of the calendar year. I want to take some time today to rest and study for Series 63. I'm already in the office, as I had the early shift. So I'm just requesting half a day off. Sounds reasonable to me.

My boss's response was, "We need to get your laptop set up so you can work from home while you're sick. I get restless and want to work rather than watch Oprah while I'm sick."

What can I say? We're different.

This just in - I'm talking within the last 30 seconds. The company is blocking access to personal email. I guess I really have sold my soul.

I had never eaten Chicken in a Biskit crackers. I have seen them and always thought they would taste nasty. On Friday, curiosity got the better of me, and I bought a box. My office mate, who has requested to remain nameless because he doesn't want to be searchable from the internet, just tried them and said, "Well now, that's a little bite of heaven."

Speaking of heavenly experiences - dude, Saturday rocked. Tightwad Hill is the place to have a good time. I wasn't entirely sure where it was, but I followed the kids with the hardsided coolers and bottles of liquor. I climbed up mountaineer style, kicking in my steps and using a branch as a make shift ice ax type of tool. I started to fall down the hill, scraping up my leg, when a very kind man, Jerry, helped me to arrest my fall. The branch in dirt didn't work as well as an ice ax in snow.

Jerry graduated from Cal in 1975. To fully enjoy the game, he brought donuts, potato chips, vodka spiked water, and cigarettes. I knew that he would make a lovely companion with whom to watch the game. He eyed my hot link as I enjoyed it during the first quarter. Being a Top Dog virgin, he promised to lose his innocence after the game. Vanessa showed up, with her husband wearing a red shirt. He quickly departed, perhaps sensing the menacing glances from the rest of the fans. An Asian guy with a goofy / cute hat and binoculars joined our little group of fans.

We were surrounded my much younger kids, including one extermely extroverted student who was getting a kick out of speaking in Spanish. I could understand him! He entertained the crowd early on by climbing up a tree, bouncing a bit, and taking a whiz. That became the urination tree. I felt sorry for the people who fell down the hill into that general area.

Getting down the hill was an interesting feat. Some did it as if they were skiing. Others slid down on their butts. A dorky class of 1998 guy wanted to help me down, as I was wearing shorts. He wouldn't leave me alone, despite Vanessa's sending him the evil eye to back off. His ridiculous attempts at come ons were entertaining, so I didn't mind.

I saw Krishna - how can you not, really, given his height? We sat with him on the Bowles front lawn and watched the Cal Band leave the stadium. Being back at Unit IV was nostalgic. It's so hard to believe how long it's been.

Watching Cal cream the Furd turds while enjoying the companionship of entertaining, die hard fans was a heavenly way to spend my Saturday, and I didn't even bring along Chicken in a Biskit crackers.

I've wanted this for years now. I should have bought it years ago, or at least a few weeks ago, of course. Because then I could have been basking in its glory, maximizing the enjoyment I will get from owning it. Looking at it. Fawning over it. Distracting myself throughout the day knowing that it's mine. Checking in on it to see how it's doing. Feeling part of a bigger community of loyal admirers. Paying tribute to its greatness. It's not quite mine yet, however. But my order has been placed, and I am tracking it moment by moment to see whether it will clear. Come on Berkshire Hathaway, Christina wants to go to Omaha at the end of April!

Later on in the day...

It seems as though my lofty plans wil be thwarted, at least for today. Damn it.

Yesterday, I was asked what I spend my money on. Normally, that would probably be an easy question for someone to answer. For some reason, I struggle with it. Stocks, rent, travel, food, transportation, arts and crafts supplies and classes, and reading material is probably the order of my spending. Mysteriously missing from the list, of course, are clothing and accessories. I have so much, that I've been making a very pointed effort to not buy more. Hey, the list isn't backed by any data. Consider it somewhat forward looking.

I don't have any particularly strong vices and will usually find a way to enjoy something in a fruggle manner. For example, I will be spending my Saturday on Tightwad Hill, provided I can figure out how to get up there. One of my latest goals is to treat myself more. In that spirit, I am perhaps going overboard in what I'm lusting for at the moment, but they include: BRK (not picky - either A or B will do, though A is obviously preferable to B), an amazing million dollar loft that I spotted on craigslist this morning and can't stop thinking about - the window featuring the property has been open on my screen all day, and I have just that idiotic penny wise, pound foolish mentality to attempt to make such a "lofty" purchase with little forethought, and Rose Bowl tickets. This whole earning a paycheck thing may not be so bad afterall.

I sadly parted ways from my newfound friends as they insisted on hitting the beach for the weekend.

On Friday, I went on the Canopy Tour in San Lorenzo. After spending an hour shuttling about to various hotels, we had the obligatory stop at the tourist trap roadside stand that sold junkie items emblazoned with Costa Rica on them, charging twice what you could pay in San Jose. We of course had to stay until everyone was done with their purchases. I am taking a guess at the pay-off. The tour guide took an ice cream from the freezer, and the store owner gave him change, but I don't think the guide ever gave the store owner money. Slick, for the non-observant eye. Unsure whether I would have the opportunity to stop at a store, I bought a couple of bags of fried banana chips to bring back for Emily. They were hanging right in front of me, tempting me and reminding me of Thailand.

Not twenty minutes later, we stopped on our second obligatory tourist trap - the coffee plantation. The tour guide's lectures about coffee and sugar would have been far more interesting had I not spent over half a year living in Hawaii consulting for coffee and sugar companies. Even though that work was circa 1996 and 1997, the knowledge was still surprisingly top of mind.

We finally made it to the canopies. At first, when you climb the platform, it seems a little daughting to swing through the trees. But I quickly became accustomed to the idea and wanted to go faster. I tried all sorts of things to make my body more aerodynamic. And I encouraged the Ticos to push me hard upon my take off.

Ticos are incredibly flirtatious, and going along for the ride got me a few extra swings and their willingness to go out of their way to take my picture at various stages throughout the 2 hours or so we spent in the rainforest. I now have a 20 year old novio who keeps two other girlfriends in the country.

I was in a group with 6 other people from North America. My time spent with them was interesting. I experienced yet another interaction with a lawyer who made me glad I decided to pursue business. He was a fat, obnoxious, arrogant guy who seemed to get great joy out of telling people about his incredibly high stress job as a public defender of murderers in Florida. Another older gentleman was a retired police officer from Long Beach, CA who has run over 50 marathons. He was cool and spoke fluent Spanish. A charming Canadian couple celebrating their 20th wedding anniversary were along with us. They mentioned they had lived in Boston, and I asked how they liked it, mentioning I had lived there as well. They knew I was in equity research and was a teacher. And, after just the mention of spending a couple of years in Boston, the husband asked if I went to Harvard Business School. It was so out of the blue, I thought I didn't hear him right and asked him to repeat himself. He was at Harvard college when he met his wife, who as the Harvard School of Public Health. Small, odd little world.

On the 2 hour journey back into the city, I checked out the landscape while everyone else slept. The animal in Costa Rica are incredibly skinny. The cattle there look almost sick, with their bones protruding sharply.

I took it easy on Friday night, after having slept for less than 4 hours the night before. I started to pack, and I felt rejuvenated with a full 8 hours of rest.

On Saturday, I took a morning tour to Poas Volcano. In standard tour bus fashion, we spent an hour picking everyone up and made our stops to the "friendship stores," as they call them in China. I was told that I would be back to San Jose by noon. No such luck, as we were barely leaving Poas at that time, and we still had more shopping stops to make. Thankfully, I made it back in time to buy some guaro so my team can do shots on Friday, and I made it to my flight without any problem.

Poas was fine. I'm glad I went because if I hadn't, I would have questioned whether I should have gone. That said, I wouldn't go back again. It's a crater. I've seen craters. And, there are some excellent photographs that capture it just fine without my having to be there. We couldn't explore much, as we had to stay on the pavement at all times. It was no Big Island of Hawaii chasing after the lava such that I could feel and smell the rubber soles of my tennis shoes degrading experience.

I treated myself to one frivolous purchase while in Costa Rica. On my first day walking around town, I saw a Snoopy agenda for 2005 that captured my heart. I love Snoopy. Who doesn't? The notebook is written completely in Spanish, with each page being super bright and cheery. It comes with 6 pages of Peanuts stickers, most of them written in Spanish. The notebook was outrageously priced, even by USA standards, but I kept thinking about it the whole week, so I bought it. It will be my Pura Vida reminder.

I arrived to LAX and was greeted by a fabulous looking Emily. It was so great to see her and meet her adorable son, Ryan. We visited Ji Paperie in Torrance, a very nicely merchandised paper, customer wedding invitation, and gift shop where I am selling some of my import items and will hopefully be teaching an arts and crafts class or two, probably spending all proceeds and more at the store. It is a wonderful shop.

My trip was fantastic. I had enough alone time to reflect on some recent events and to put certain things behind me, and I feel energized having made new friends and learned new skills. Now if I can just get my ears to clear and my sickness to go away, I'll really be happy.

Got hit by a car, felt up by a man with an erection, learned some new dance moves, and got someone interested in writing to me. I'm very sick and am now off to fly through the trees. Details later from the US.

And now for the details.

Got hit by a car: I was standing on the corner, watching the traffic to cross the street, when I suddenly felt myself moving against my will. It was so odd, given it was completely out of the blue. A car had been stuck behind a bus. Deciding not to wait any longer, the driver backed up without looking (a common occurence - I was warned about the accident rate in CR and witnessed many incidents that seemed completely avoidable with just a little caution and alertness) and hit me. I let out a little of the stereotypical angry, brash American, telling the woman to watch where she was going and pointing to my eyes to indicate she should use hers. She saw I was ok and laughed and waved, which actually made me feel worse. Come on lady, a little empathy. And, learn a lesson. Look before you back up.

Erection man: I went out dancing with mis amigas. In Costa Rican culture, you have to wait to be asked to dance. When the 5' tall guy asked me, I considered declining, but I thought it would be rude. What did I have to lose? Apparently, if he had his way, my innocence. The song was not a slow song, but he decides that he wants to dance as if it's slow and sexy. He gyrated his hips while straddling my leg and positioning my arms to wrap around his short little neck tightly. I figured this is maybe just the way they do things in Costa Rica. As I looked around, I noticed that others were dancing in a more normal fashion, with a bit of space between them. He tried to coax me into a corner, while I resisted. I didn't feel at all threatened. I was a giant by comparison, and I felt empowered knowing how to put him into a temporary coma, thanks to Brent's teachings. On my thigh, I started to feel more and more pressure coming from his groin area. At one point, he turned 180 degrees, danced a bit. When he turned back to face me, he was at full attention, rubbing up and down my leg. I began wondering how long the damn song could possibly be. Given that I felt confident I could take him out, with either the fancy coma inducing move or a jerk of my knee, I bid my time and laughed to myself how this was going to make for an excellent story that would insight laughter in my friends. He begged for another dance, but I explained that I really had to return to my friends, who latter commended me for doing my community service.

Dance moves: I took salsa lessons at the school. Just as I can understand what the teacher is saying in Spanish but have a bit of difficulty out in the world, I could rock the house in salsa class, but in the real world, all was lost. It was especially challenging having taken a year of swing, for those moves were more natural to me. A very patient man taught me the non-classroom way to merengue. At least I think that's what it was. I was laughing my ass off, one of my outbursts having been captured in digital format by Nkem. After about 6 songs, I wanted to take a break. The patient man returned. Of course, somewhat tipsy and tired by this point, when he returned, I had to turn to Carla and confirm it was a salsa song, wanting assurance that I would know how to do some of the moves while dancing with him. It can't be much fun dancing with a chica whose natural inclination is for swing. Hell, in school while growing up all we're taught in the US is hokey square dancing. After another round of 30 or 40 minutes, I felt like I should probably depart, with it being 2AM and my need to be at the school in a few hours to swing through the trees. I thanked Luis, who wanted to sit down and talk. I did my best to tell him I am from the US and leaving in two days, and I thanked him for the impromptu hour and a half of dance lessons. He seemed like a nice man, though my sole criterion by that point may have been that he didn't rub his privates all over me. I couldn't understand much of what Luis was saying, so he pulled out a post-it note and wrote on it, checking with me that I undestood each word he wrote, "Yo te escribe por Internet." He then gave me what I think he thought was his email address, even though it was missing an "at" symbol. !Que lindo!

Being sick: Surprisingly, I was not sick from overdoing the boozing. That only happens when Stephanie is in town. I caught some sort of harmless bug, but I would not allow it to dampen my spirits or the remaining time I had in the country.

Sadly, I said good bye to my new friends who were headed for the beach for the weekend. I'm planning our reunion trip to Madrid for next year, where we will surly take that town by storm.

Yesterday, we attended the cooking class. The main takeaways were that Costa Ricans really like to chop up their food, don't use recipes with quantities, don't buy into food coloring being a possible source of cancer, and don't believe in using many spices.

Two language incidents yesterday made me wonder whether I can still speak English. I was talking to Carla, and she didn't know what I was saying (common when we attempt to speak in Spanish, but this was in English). She asked whether I was speaking in Ebonics, which had Nkem, a doctor from the UK, innocently inquire, "Oh, you speak Ebonics?" as if it is a great skill. Oh damn that cracked me up. Later in the evening, we were listening to a cover of a somewhat familiar song, and I had to ask whether they were singing in Spanish or English. People who know me well know that I seem to have an auditory deficiency when it somes to making out song lyrics. Unfortunately, it really doesn't stop me from singing along.

We hit the bar scene in the evening. Purvi and I tried the local guaro, an alcoholic beverage made from distilled sugar cane. You chew the rind of a lime, lick the salt rim of the shot glass, shoot the Guaro, then suck on the lime. It was worth trying, though I'm not sure I will have another. It took a while to kick in, and I only turned mildly red from it.

We were going to go to the jazz bar to hear live music, but it was local musician singing Aretha Franklin covers, so we bailed. We went to the loudest bar on the block, which was much like any college bar. Older men accompanied younger women. At the surf bar, the DJ managed to remix songs in a most unappealing fashion. We tried to signal what types of music we enjoyed by dancing enthusiastically for some and sitting idly for others. The DJ didn't get the message.

I started to feel like crap. As is consistent with most of my travel experiences, I'm definitely coming down with some sort of illness. I think it's a standard cold. I've got a slightly runny nose and slightly sore throat. My voice sounds a little different. And sticking with my normal work schedule of getting up at 4:00AM PST (not so much by choice but because I'm a light sleeper), I again feel a little drained.

Perhaps it's the after effects of the guaro or the cloudy head I have from my cold, but I did something today I swore I would never do. I am wearing a short skirt with tennis shoes. Not cute Pumas or sporty, comfortable flats, but trail runners. People who know about "black socks Teva guy," please cut me a little slack. My toes are ugly from backetball, and I have to run for my life while crossing the streets, so I set aside my vanity. For the first time during my stay, the weather outside is beautiful.

Today is my last day of classes. My friends are heading to the beach tomorrow. I've been attempting to recruit people to participate in this combo package of white water rafting (yeah, I realize I'm not the strongest swimmer, but that's what life jackets are for, right?) and canopying. I need to convince 3 people, or the tour company won't do the tour. So far, I haven't been very persuasive. Everyone wants to lie on the beach.

In all likelihood, I will swing through the rainforest tomorrow and visit Poas on Saturday before leaving for Southern California.

The trip has been awesome. My Spanish has improved. I have an even greater appreciation for spices. I can sort of salsa. I've made new friends in far off places who will potentially be a source of fun and trouble in the future. I did cheat just a little and check in on work, but out of a genuine interest and not obligation. A good sign that Monday won't be so bad.

I just made it to school, after a real life game of frogger. A little tip - when crossing any street in San Jose, look both ways, assess the terrain for potholes and ditches and patches that look covered in wet mud that may cause you to slip, then run like hell.

Yesterday was another incredibly fun day. I discovered a soul sister in Purvi when I pulled out my camera to take a candid shot, and she said, "Dude, I look like ass." I had to stop for a second and wonder if I had become a ventriloquist. Then after salsa class, she and I were moonwalking together. For some reason, people get a kick out of that and think the skill is a rarity. Try it. It's not so tough. We share similarly thick, long hair (I taught her how to use hairsticks), though she cares about how hers looks on a daily basis. She shared with me that she sometimes gets this thought in her head that she can do anything. Sound familiar? Apparently, such a surge of inspiration came upon her after a heinous ER shift that followed a heart break, when she decided that she needed a change and cut her own hair. The girl cracks me up, and I feel as though I am laughing with her and at myself at the same time.

We took a little break yesterday to go to the supermarket, and as if they have known me for ages, Carla and Purvi took me down the meat aisle to watch me drool. The Costa Rican diet is not particularly high in protein.

If someone were to look at our pictures from the trip, you'd think we were attending a women of color event somewhere, so we decided to use our Estados Unidos compadre Miles in some of our photos. He hails from Colorodo, where about a week ago, he was sitting in class, hating life, and just decided to buy a ticket and come to Costa Rica for two months. His youth, height, and skill came in handy last night.

Tisk, tisk, tisk... dirty little minds. OK, maybe that was just mine.

We played basketball last night. Los Estados Unidos vs. el mundo. Costa Ricans have much better ball skills than management consultants who were raised in Hong Kong - my other international basketball data point. I played the role of a very short Yao Ming who occasionally hit some good shots and set some decent picks. I kept hearing the voice of my seventh grade coach, Mr. Bramell, "Hustle, hustle, hustle." It's harder to hustle in my old age than it was twenty years and 25 lbs. ago, but I did ok, emerging with a decent sweat, a couple of mosquito bites, and a sore toe from playing in running shoes. I found myself with knees on the court a few times, though it wasn't nearly as bad as those damn HBS games with that wench who sent Kim into surgery, but that's whole other story.

After the game, we returned to the market with all of the delicious meat to buy drinks. As we walked through, we realized that we were a source of entertainment for the Ticos. Adding Nkem to our little group, we were 4 English speakers laughing our asses off without a care in the world. Hey, but isn't Costa Rican life all about pura vida?

The first day of school (I feel like such a kid) was great fun. It's so interesting to observe how immediately cliques form, based on little more than an initial impression and, in this case, perhaps a shared language. Most of the students are from Germany. The school has a partnership with a German organization that resells packages to German students. Not a bad idea, really. All they do is advertise and take a cut. And this program is great, making it pretty easy to sell. Lord knows I need yet another job. Brian, any interest? :)

I made two friends almost immediately. They are both two of the more outgoing, funny, hip chicas of the group. Carla is a model and actress who recently did some voiceover work for a Monistat commercial. She has great rhythm and a wicked sense of humor, telling it exactly as it is. Purvi is an ER resident originally from Maryland and now working in Philadelphia. She says she knows nothing about business, yet when I mentioned I lived in Boston a few years ago, she asked whether I went to HBS, clarifying that she knows one thing about business. She is quite outgoing and was pleased to hear that Carla and I are game for hitting the local bar scene and practicing our salsa steps. Tonight, however, we are going to attempt to hoop it up with the other students. Based on the general level of coordination we witnessed on the dance floor, we may emerge victors, though in all likellihood with a few bruises from clumsiness, not aggression. We are hoping for a well-ventilated court, as it seems no matter where you travel, those from Europe don't seem to appreciate the value of deodorant.

I hung out at the school until my friends were picked up by their host moms. Then, I made my way home, walking through the rain in the dark. Thankfully, I chose to bring my relatively new trail runners that still have lots of tread (too much, in fact - must get out on the trails more), and I used what skiing and ice skating balance I have to avoid mishaps. Attempting to see the ditches, cracks, and holes that liter the sidewalk and streets while keeping an eye out for the tons of metal that can lurch towards you at any moment can grate on the nerves. I made it home, in one piece.

Last night, I chatted it up with Irina, my hostess's daughter who seemed to unwillingly accept that visitors from around the world would enter and exit her home around the year. She never joins us for meals, depending on her will to be thin to sustain her, occasionally augmented by a piece of gum and some dried fruit. She lounges in pajama pants all day long, not that there is anything wrong with that. It's simply an observation. She is working on her thesis, a study of how to teach deaf Costa Rican children to communicate in English. I asked her about fashion, and that was the key to getting her to open up. She wanted to hear detailed descriptions of what Kmart and Target are like. She clung to the magazines I gave her, quickly flipping through to take in what she could, including that Heather Locklear eats steak and french fries, saving the detailed read of every word for a later time.

Last night, we ended up living out a scene from Big Brother. Four women gathered around the coffee table to shoot the shit and share stories into the evening, with occasional pauses to find the words that would communicate the correct sentiments. Irina proclaimed that I would not be voted out of the house because my stories are interesting and entertaining. Hey, at least someone is benefitting from the trials and tribulations I have experienced.

Hopefully day two of school will be just as good as day one, and I will again luck out and safely maneuver my way home.

If it's commuter hours, take 280S. It will be much faster, though longer, and much more scenic. Otherwise, 101S is more direct. No, no. Not that way. In this case, you take BART to the airport, get on a midnight plane to (not train to Georgia, in this case, but) Dallas Fort Worth. Exhausted from severe, mind-impairing lack of sleep for the past two weeks, and winding down from writing the final earnings release of the season, DFW seems an appealing place to rest while waiting the four and a half hours for the plane to leave for SJO. Yet, the air-conditining, noise, and lights make it possible to catch just a few moments of rest, waking from the comforts of the hard backpack used as a pillow with dirt smudges all over. It's probably Cambodian dirt. A four hour flight later, you see your name at the airport and get in the car for your ride to San Jose, Costa Rica. At least that's the way I know to get to San Jose.

Thus far, the experience has reminded me most of traveling in Malaysia. The roads are in relatively decent condition for cars. There is no right of way for pedestrians. It's been important to always keep an eye on the ground, as there are huge holes everywhere to allow for drainage, since each day includes a deluge or two or three. People here don't seem as accustomed to walking as in other parts of the world. The buses are cheap and frequent, so people will catch them to travel just a few blocks. Perhaps they are playing it safe to minimize the chances of being caught in a rainstorm.

My hostess, Marta, is quite nice. It's a true Spanish language program in that she doesn't speak a word of English. When I return to the states, not only will my Spanish be improved, but so will my game of charades. I've been surprised at how decently I can understand and speak the language. While the literacy rate in Costa Rica is quite high and education is valued, I've also been surprised that most Ticos don't really understand much English. Were it not for my Spanish skills, travel here would be more challenging than travel through many parts of Asia, which is my main point of reference.

Thus far, I've been able to satiate my odd facination with understanding how people conduct their daily lives. I've spent time in grocery stores and malls and went to the market to shop for the groceries for the week. Now that I've completed my study of Costa Rican customer behavior, I am left wanting to explore much more of the country than my schedule will allow. In sharp contrast to my usual travel preferences, I may break down and partake in a one-day organized tour of some of the natural wonders of the region. If I had a month, I could travel in my normal backpacker-esque style. Next time, perhaps.

I learned this weekend that one of my friends passed away, a result of her depression, an illness she shielded from me during our casual interactions. The news is still sinking in. I find myself unable to focus on my work at hand, periodically breaking down into tears as I reflect on what could have caused her to give up.

She was accomplished, trying her hand at a number of activities, from rock climbing to fly fishing to singing to cooking. She got married recently, and the newly weds bought their first home a few months ago. I last heard from her in early October, as we updated each other on the latest happenings in our lives. Her recap suggested that her life had been far more upbeat than my own at the time. She always had a chipper exterior, masking her inner hurt. I had no idea.

Years back, we had engaged in a few conversations about the pressures of growing up Asian - to be perfect and to achieve so that we don't bring shame to the family. The knowledge and reminders that our families had sacrificed so that we could have opportunities can place an unwieldy burden. We discussed the mistaken yet widely acclaimed belief that by being over-achievers, we will eventually find happiness and satisfaction.

By any objective measure, she had so much going for her. Unfortunately, depression conceals rationality. I wish that I could have had one final conversation with her to listen, empathize, attempt to understand, and attempt to make her see how worthy she was of her precious life.