As an undergrad at UCSD, I always wanted to learn how to surf but I was too chicken, so I boogie-boarded instead. For those of you who don't know what boogie-boarding is, it's like surfing, but instead of standing up to ride a wave, you ride it on your belly on a smaller-sized board. I relished boogie-boarding in college, and soon spent as many warm afternoons out in the water as I could, making sure I always had my boogie board, beach chair, and beach towel in the trunk of my car ready to go.
Earlier this year, I finally overcame my fear and decided to learn how to surf in Honolulu. The waves were calm, my instructor was encouraging and kind, and I was able to stand up every single time I set out on a wave. My instructor even commented on how well I was doing in comparison to the Japanese dudes whose six packs could not keep them on their surf boards for very long (!). I would show off even more by sharing pics of me standing on the board and riding waves all the way into shore, but I have yet to find a computer/laptop that has CD capability! Surfing then made me realize how similar surfing was to life:
Fast forward to my second surf lesson in San Diego just last week. I was super excited to get back in the water and surf again. This time, I fell off my board almost every single time, and my instructor was not as supportive or enthusiastic at all. "I am afraid," I lamented to my instructor who was half listening, half spacing out. "Well, what are you afraid of?" He asked, somewhat interested in the answer but not really. "I dunno...I guess falling into the water." "Well, nothing bad will happen if you fall...it's just water." I replayed his words in my mind. "It's just water. It's just water. It's just water." On my surf board, I waited for the wave behind me, the great unknown. As the wave got closer, my heart beat got louder and I could hear it out of my chest. I knew I would fall off the surf board again. I tried to cling to the side of the surf board, thus tipping myself up and falling into the depths of the ocean. I heard another surf instructor close by cheering for her students and wished my instructor would do the same for me. I thought about more and different life lessons this time:
After my surf lesson, my instructor said, "It's not how you begin, it's how you finish. And you finished strong." He was referring to how I was able to catch some smaller waves towards the end of my session (before I hurt my ankle). Sigh. After the lesson, I lay down on the grass staring out at the ocean beyond (totally disheveled). From afar, it seemed so peaceful and calm. Other surfers out on the water made surfing look so effortless as they glided on each wave. Perhaps there are things you can learn in every lesson no matter how much you get your ass kicked and no matter who your instructor is? Perhaps learning isn't always about staying on the board? And even though it may seem completely counterintuitive, letting go, will actually get you closer to where you need to be.
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How to Get Away WITH
I know I am a bit late to the game, but I only recently started watching and then getting addicted to Shonda Rhimes' TV drama How to Get Away with Murder on Netflix that came out in 2014. I always was a late bloomer. Beyond the high drama and antics, what I absolutely love about the show is the gender role reversal: a guy going down on a lady, a male assistant to a female boss, a guy wanting to be more than a piece of meat, and the list goes on. I am hooked. Thanks, Shonda. You've done it again. On my recent podcast with my Finnish collaborator Ilkka, we invited Sani Leino to join us. Ilkka is the Business Area Director of The University of Helsinki's Center for Continuing Education HY+. In the past, Ilkka and I have cross-culturally collaborated on some crazy things: Skyping each other into workshops, inspiring each other's students when he was a lecturer, and our latest and greatest collaboration is a HAPPY Hour podcast. Ilkka is always good for a "YEAH! Let's do it!" Sani is a good friend of Ilkka's and the Sales Director for Europe at Thinglink. He just so happens to be one of the most positive people in Finland besides Ilkka. In his own words, Sani claims he believes in AGGRESSIVE POSITIVITY. Sounds like a total oxymoron, but is it? Before our podcast session, the three of us had a conference call to catch up and brainstorm for the session. "You know, it's not like I wake up positive all the time. It's a choice. People have a choice to be positive," Sani said in an upbeat tone reflecting his own mantra. "Yeah, I would say my whole thing is brutal optimism," Ilkka chimed in excitedly. I looked at these two through my laptop screen feeling so fortunate to just bask in the positive rays they were emanating halfway across the globe in Korea. "One of my friends passed away recently and on my way to the store the other day I thought: why do people receive so many more flowers when they are gone than when they are alive?" Sani continued. It made me think back to my days at boarding school when we would take the yellow school bus down to town and buy sunflowers for friends' birthdays or just because (they were bummed out about someone/something). I thought about the time I would visit John (a florist) in Harvard Square when I was at grad school, and buy myself a $10 bouquet of roses every week. I thought about how whenever my mom and I would argue, I would buy her a bouquet of roses, get them wrapped and tied with a ribbon that matched the roses. I thought about how my husband makes sure to buy me flowers on a regular basis (even though they are super expensive here in Korea) just because he can actually afford to now. Why do we wait? To treat ourselves to things we love, hangout with people we love, do things we love? The answer lies within our brains. Enter the Reticular Activating System (RAS). It lives in our medulla and basically lets trivial things go and alerts us of "life-threatening" dangers. Well, back in the day, when we were cave dwellers, this was a great system: Lion coming! RUNNNNNNN! Nowadays, Boss coming! RUNNNNNN?! Not really the same threat level. Ok, for most of us anyways. Our tendency towards negativity and doom and gloom is ingrained. Perhaps that's why How to Get Away with Murder is so addictive? In a recent conversation with a former student last night he said, "I really have to think hard to choose positivity over negativity now that I am out of college and working." I told him about Sani and his idea of AGGRESSIVE POSITIVITY. He seemed to really like the concept. "You know, I don't want to bring my dreams and hopes to my grave," he continued. I shared Sani's story about the flowers and told him to not wait on those either.
So how do we get away WITH
Aggressive positivity. For every negative thought the RAS puts into your brain, you fight it just as hard as Viola Davis fought to get her role in How to Get Away with Murder as badass lawyer Annalise Keating; and just as hard as she then fought to be the first African-American actress to win the Primetime Emmy Award for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama Series in 2015. Shero status!
So I have a confession: I haven't actually met Sani in person. Last year when I went to Finland, Ilkka put together an incredible dinner for me on my last night there. He called it The Global Leadership Dinner and invited 20 or so people whom he believed were the thought leaders of Finland: it was a veritable mix of the most amazing + inspiring people I have ever met in my life in one room. I didn't know how to thank each and every one of them, so I decided to write them each a hand-crafted crayon card =). I left Sani's at the front desk of my hotel as he was unable to attend the dinner. A week later, I received a Facebook video message from him: "Some people feel the rain; others just get wet. A quote from an American singer song writer named Roger Miller. I believe you are the type of person who feels the rain, Kyla." He was sitting in his car after he had picked up his crayon card. It was raining outside. Now that's some aggressive positivity. Thanks Sani. May you continue to feel the rain too. My dad and I used to have father-daughter dates every weekend at this Italian restaurant called Grappa's in Hong Kong. As a kid I relished spending time with my dad because he was the most knowledgable person I knew and know (he still is). I would ask him questions, and almost every question I had, he would have an answer. He is the most well-read person I know. His bookshelves are brimming with books, and not just regular-sized books, but thick books that you don't ever wish fell on your head, because if they did, it would hurt like hell. My dad is one of the most humble people I know. He never brags nor is he ostentatious. In fact, on our recent trip back home in May, Edgar and I rented a fancy rental car. My dad took one look at the car and remarked while closing the garage door, "I'm embarrassed to have that car in my garage."
In college, during one of my Japanese classes, we went around the room and talked about how much we got to see our fathers growing up. Most of my Asian classmates had nothing to contribute other than the fact that their fathers worked a lot. When it came to my turn, I beamed proudly and said in Japanese, "My dad came home every night and helped me with my homework. On the weekends we would have father-daughter dates." My classmates glared at me. After grad school, I moved back home at first, and then I eventually moved into my own apartment about 15 minutes away from my dad's house. We continued our father-daughter dates on a weekly basis. For one of my dad's birthdays, I remember I wanted to try to do something nice for my dad to repay his kindness, so I bought him a nice watch. He made me return it saying it was too expensive. My dad was 3 when he was placed in an internment camp for Japanese-Americans during WWII. I didn't find this out until I was in high school. He told me that growing up, they had one fridge that lasted for forever. His parents, my paternal grandparents would buy one appliance, take really good care of it, and it would last for forever. I can see this carry over in my dad. His Honda Accord doesn't look a day over 5 years old, even though he bought it in 1992. My dad rarely asked us to do anything for him. He is very self-reliant. Ok, there was this one time where he got locked out of the house clad in not much else but his underwear (since it was summer), and he called me to let him back in. I was having dinner with my college roommate about an hour away. I remember being irritated, but now I feel more sheepish admitting that than my dad probably did getting locked out in his underwear (!). Earlier this year, when my mom wasn't able to live by herself in Singapore anymore, my sister and I basically told my dad that my mom was coming back to live with him. He didn't have a choice nor a say in the matter. I remember looking at my dad, wanting to say something, anything, but instead I just meekly thanked him and walked away to pack for my trip to go get my mom. In a recent chat with my friend MK, she said, "You know, your dad must really love your mom." I had never really thought about any of this in those terms before. As I thought more and more about what she had said, I finally understood. My dad truly unconditionally loves not just my mom, but me and our entire family, and for that, I am eternally grateful. I remember when I was at boarding school, I loved receiving letters from my dad. He had the neatest hand-writing, he would write at length about his life but also about how proud he was of me (and he still does-- just over email), and he would always fold the letter in thirds. My first year away, he wrote me almost every week, knowing the transition was tough for me. For me though, reading his letters was yet another way for me to "spend time" with my dad, another father-daughter date if you will. This Father's Day, I thought I would return the favor. How do you give a gift to the most incredible dad alive who won't accept the most incredible gift? Well, you write a blog post about him. Happy Father's Day, Dad. I love you, unconditionally, too. Oh, and I will always be there whenever you get locked out of the house (in your underwear!). *This blog post is dedicated to Janet, Katherine, and Kim. Although your fathers are no longer with us, their love and spirit remain in your hearts.* I grew up reading comic books. The visual learner in me shied away from real books and clung to the pictures and onomatopoeias found in my comic books like "BAM!" "POW!" "KABOOM!" You can imagine my delight when many of my childhood favs were turned into onscreen movies: Batman, Spiderman, Ironman, and finally Wonder Woman.
Last week, I had the wonderful opportunity to bring The Happiness Workshop to Chadwick International School here in Korea. I got to work with 10th graders. I know what you're thinking: Teenagers! Run! And I was actually thinking the same, but then I thought that I should channel my own inner super hero and do what makes me a little bit afraid. The weather was perfect for one of my communication activities where we have to run around in teams. As I jumped up and down in my own excitement, I saw students running around, cheering each other on, and attempting to communicate with each other. "See, this is how it should be. This is what learning is all about," my collaborator at Chadwick told me later over lunch. As I chomped on my boiled pork ("Bossam" in Korean), I couldn't help but agree with her. We went on to talk about how in Korea there is so much pressure on students to perform that they are basically raised to only get grades. It doesn't matter if they get a C+ in character development, as long as they get As in the classroom, they'll get into a prestigious university, and eventually work for a prestigious company. The end. "I could stand here and tell you about all of my successes. How I went to Harvard, how I was a professor at Yonsei, how I am a former TED speaker, but today I will talk about my depression instead." And that is how I began this Happiness Workshop for these 10th graders. The looks on their faces--priceless. Perhaps I had shocked them? Perhaps it was what they needed to hear? BAM! POW! KABOOM! Then I showed them a card I had written and put in my time capsule when I was a senior in high school (just two years older than they are now). "Being True to Myself." It was a value card I had been asked to write in my Freshman Seminar class. And now, this is how I define my own Happiness. Ok, so I was a little shocked to find out that these kids weren't even born yet when I was a senior in high school. Whoa. So here's the thing: when I was younger I thought super heroes were so awesome because they could leap over tall buildings, they could climb up tall buildings in seconds, they could capture bad guys and evil villains. However, as an adult, what I have learned (the hard way mostly), and what I will continue to teach in my workshops, is that perhaps the bravest thing of all is to be true to yourself. Imagine a world full of these new kinds of super heroes who were not trying to be something they weren't. Instead of conquering bad guys, they were conquering their own inner demons. Honestly, I think the world would be a kinder, more compassionate place. Don't you? Oh, check out this #HappyChadwick video created by our own super heroes in training: https://vimeo.com/220265466 *This blog post is dedicated to all of the parents out there who are raising this new breed of super heroes on a day-to-day basis!* My first foray into not accepting compliments was rather formal. I was taking an intensive Japanese language course in Yokohama for ten months in my early 20s. It was my dream "job": studying a language for 8 hours a day; nights were spent "practicing" what we had learned in class at local karaoke joints. It was fantastic. I connected with a group of awesome women in my program and we soon called ourselves bijinkai ("the beautiful women's group" in Japanese).
Our classes were small. There was one instructor for six students. There was nowhere to run nor hide if you hadn't done the homework. I remember one particular class where we had to basically deflect compliments. It went something like this: "Oh, Kyla your Japanese is so good!" "Oh no, not at all. It needs more work for sure." "Great job deflecting, Kyla." Was it weird that I was getting complimented on deflecting compliments? At a lunch with a bunch of girlfriends today, one of my friends asked the rest of us, "Does anyone here actually think that they are amazing?" We looked at each other with nervous curiosity. One by one, we shook our heads. Later over dessert, we talked about how we all deflect compliments. One friend said, "I don't take compliments very well." Another said, "I don't want to be that person who is seen as bragging or boasting." I nodded. It made sense. We then talked about a close related "cousin" of deflecting compliments, saying sorry. Why were women more prone to the S word than men? I knew the research: men are more likely to be seen as competent, women are more likely to be seen as arrogant if they speak their opinions. Women are more likely to silence their opinions if they are outnumbered by men. Men are more likely to ask for a raise and a higher number at that than women. Women will only apply for a job when they meet 100% of the criteria whereas men go ahead and apply when they only meet 60%. And women apologise more than their male counterparts. This last one was a kicker for me, as I started noticing it increasingly when hanging out with women. So is it the way we were raised? Is it what is expected of us in society? Are we just harder on ourselves? Are we programmed to say "sorry" for every little thing that is not even our fault? And if so, why? I even noticed the S word plague amongst my female students. They were sorry for being bad at English, they were sorry that I didn't hear them knocking on my door, and they were sorry for crying in my office. The latter, I have definitely apologised for too so I get it. What worried me about my female students and women I found myself interacting with is that they were all really amazing and talented, but in their "sorries" they were negating and even stamping out their inner awesomeness. So how do we change this? I saw a FB meme once that said something along the lines of "Replace SORRY with THANK YOU FOR..." It could be "Thank you for your patience while I think of this word in English," or "Thank you for not judging me while I ugly cry." Oh and that next compliment you get? Say "Thank you" too and only "Thank you." On the walk home from lunch, my girlfriend was telling me that I did a good job with something or other earlier and I immediately deflected and probably would have made my former Japanese instructor proud, but then my girlfriend said this, "You have to take credit. If you don't, then you are implicitly saying for the next time something like this happens that you don't deserve the credit even though you did the work." Whoa. Thank you, girlfriend. But really, when you see a woman you know who is apologising/deflecting, touch her on the arm, and call her out. You may just remind her of what she is really sorry for: her inner awesomeness. And perhaps by doing so, we can all start a mini revolution turning HUMILITY into GRATITUDE! *This blog post is dedicated to the bijinkai and countless other amazing women who have reminded me of my inner awesomeness.* I decided it was time to go see my grandma's homeopathic doctor, Aviva when I was in LA. To my grandma, she was more than a doctor. She was a companion, a confidante, a friend until the very end. She was always there with an encouraging word, homeopathic treatment, massage, and anything else my grandma needed and in my opinion the reason my grandma lived until she was 99 (!). My first phone call with Aviva erupted in tears. Aviva calmly listened to find out how she could help me. Her voice gently assuaged my worries about my mom and then she said something wonderful, "You are a ray of sunshine, I can just tell." The first of many wonderful things she would say to me. It was a sunny afternoon. I could feel the warm sun and the ocean breeze on my back as I walked towards her house. I was wearing my new outfit from Nordstrom's. I decided against a long summery dress and bought a 3/4 length pant romper instead. I was feeling confident I wouldn't break down in tears during my time with her. She greeted me and hugged me like an old friend whom she hadn't seen in forever. I immediately felt at ease in her arms and flopped onto the couch as if I were in my own home. We talked and talked and talked. I did cry a little bit here and there, but it wasn't an ugly cry. Then she said the 3 words that stopped me from continuing on my downward spiral of guilt and sadness around my mom: "You are enough." Thank you, Aviva. You saved my life. This morning I excitedly got ready for Bootcamp class. A class taught by a former marine. And before you assume it's a guy, it's a woman. In one of our first classes, I went early, and before anyone else came, she told me how she was one of just 8% in her class who were women, how she had pushed through plantar fasciitis and would wake up 30 minutes before everyone else to stretch her feet out, because they were in so much pain. But she had made it through her own bootcamp. What a badass. This class had been recommended to me by countless expat women. It wasn't "Are you interested in taking a bootcamp class?" It was more like "Which bootcamp class are you going to?" I was hesitant at first. I mean, I could barely do a push-up, had no upper body strength, and sometimes couldn't even get through a door if the wind was pushing against it. I was also recovering from my own version of plantar fasciitis, but soon realized after hearing our instructor's story that anything can be overcome with mental grit and fortitude. I ended up going and it saved my life too. Not only was the instructor welcoming and kind, she would modify things for those of us who were not as physically in shape, and she would never make us feel bad. The other women in the class were chatty, not judgy, and also made me feel welcome. It was my first real foray into being social since I had found out about my mom's D word. In class, this particular morning I noticed our instructor was a little bit tired. She went on to explain that she was out of it, because her husband had been working long hours at work, so she had to pick up the slack at home with her two kids. Totally understandable. She kept apologizing, even though her low-energy day was like the average person's high-energy day, believe me. I wanted to yell at her like perhaps her old drill sergeants of past did, "YOU ARE ENOUGH!" But instead I meekly said, "Don't worry, we will have to work extra hard to balance out your energy today." And I did work extra hard to try to make her proud. After class, I caught up with my friend Nancy. She told me how she was moved by my first blog post that was dedicated to her and her mom. Then I asked her for advice about how to move forward with my own happiness coaching business. She had started her own business and in the moments when she doubted herself she thought about how she stacked up with others around her. "Ok, take Tony Robbins for example," Nancy began. "Yeah..." I had brought him up in bootcamp class because I had found out that his net worth was somewhere around $480 million (!). "So, do you think that he is any smarter than you?" "Hmmm...maybe." "Well, did he go to Harvard?" "No...I don't think he went to college." I could see where she was going with this. She was giving me my own "YOU ARE ENOUGH" pep talk. Thank you, Nancy. Watching Tony Robbins' TED Talk, I realized that all of us have the resources within ourselves to move forward, even though we assume we need external resources like money, technology, and so on. That is what I had been doing all along. I had assumed I wasn't good enough, I wasn't X, Y, Z enough. So next time you go down that road of no return or you see someone going down that road, where there's a sign that says "NO OUTLET" think of these 3 words that could just save your life or someone else's: "YOU ARE ENOUGH." *This blog post is dedicated to my awesome + awe-inspiring bootcamp instructor* I was recently in Nordstrom's vainly attempting to find some flowy summery dresses. Every other sign read simply "mom" in lowercase letters. As Mother's Day fast approaches, I thought I would celebrate my own mom and my own vulnerability in my very first blog post. For the past few years my mom's short-term memory has been in decline. At first, we made excuses: it's old age, she's not sleeping enough, she's maybe depressed/stressed. Then it got worse, before it got better. I'd get text messages from old friends in Singapore saying she had not shown up for appointments. The worst came this past February in the form of a text message saying, "Call me immediately. I am with your mom." It was from a person named Tracy I had never heard of nor met before. It turned out my mom had been hiding her keys, handbag, passport (something she had always done), but this time, she couldn't remember where she had hidden all of her valuables. This resulted in her locking herself in her apartment in Singapore where she lived alone, not able to go out for food, calling a locksmith every day to come change the locks. She called Tracy (who was her real estate agent) at 5am to come help her. This couldn't be happening, I thought. My mom ran a successful real estate business in Hong Kong. Back in the day, she was one of the first people I knew to have a cell phone (one of those walkie talkie kinds!). She would rattle off phone numbers of locksmiths, plumbers, repair guys all from heart. My mom's doctor in Singapore had told my husband that she had early onset dementia. I remember my heart pounding loudly above my chest when he later told me. My mom's only friend Vivian, as of late, would join her at the food court, dine with her and keep her company. She too echoed the same sentiments. Vivian's own mother also had dementia. I cried then and have since cried a lot. I cried because I didn't want to lose my mom to dementia. I cried because I didn't want to get dementia. I cried because of the strain it was putting on my family--we have since moved my mom back to California where she is living with my dad. I cried because I felt sorry for myself, because I felt so powerless, and just because. I realize the irony in all of this: I am the Happy Champion. I give Happiness Workshops all over the world. I have always tried to have a positive outlook on life and in every nook and cranny possible. But this D word creeped up on me unannounced, like a car does in your blind spot. I stayed away from Facebook not being able to curate the perfect image of my happy self. I stayed away from friends not being able to face them or myself. I stayed away from social gatherings not knowing if I would burst into tears and embarrass myself. I felt guilty when I did have an ounce of fun knowing that my mom wasn't having any. I took solace in the arms of my husband and just cried. I was deep in my own D word: Depression. Earlier this month, I went home to see my mom for my 39th birthday. I was nervous about what would happen, would she remember me, would my dad be really stressed out from being the main caregiver, would my sister and mom fight, would my niece take attention away from my mom? And then I realized something. We only ever have moments with our loved ones. Each moment is a precious morsel of time. We may not remember each and every moment, even if we don't have dementia, but when we realize just how precious those moments are, we linger longer, noticing that smile, that hug, that warm hand, that laugh. I found myself wanting to preserve and create as many of those moments for my mom as I could. For my dad's 75th birthday in March, I wanted to do something unique and special for not just my dad, but my entire family, so I decided to get him a personal chef. Enter Chef Niko: a wonderfully warm Greek-American Girlboss from Oakland. I wasn't able to meet her in person, as I was in Korea, but during our phone call to plan the menu, I immediately connected with her. I opened up about my mom's dementia, shared other idiosyncrasies about other members of my family, and entrusted her to "take care" of them through her nurturing cooking. And boy did she do that. "Would you like us to get that lady for your birthday?" my mom asked. I was stunned. The dinner had happened in March, my mom barely remembered when my own birthday was in May, yet she had remembered that dinner. It was a brilliant idea. Thanks mom. My dad and sister ended up getting Chef Niko to come for my own birthday dinner, I got to meet my soul sister in person, and she was a true gem, embracing all of the idiosyncrasies of my family members that I had been initially embarrassed to share with her. Not only is she an incredibly gifted chef, but she is also incredibly thoughtful. She gives back to her community and goes above and beyond what is expected of her in the kitchen. She showed up with a glass vase full of beautiful fresh flowers from her garden for me. Wow. Chef Niko gave me another unexpected birthday present, just when I needed it. She heard that I was going to travel down to LA to visit my in-laws. "You have to meet my friend Eugene. He is upcycling jeans and T-shirts, and is all about kindness like you." With that, I reached out to Eugene, and met up with him over Thai lunch at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant near Torrance (not far from my uncle's house). Eugene was that rare human-being you meet who had transformed grief into gratitude and then some. He had trekked from Mexico to Canada to raise $80,000 for a complete stranger, so this complete stranger could walk again. Talk about the ultimate random act of kindness. A month ago, he launched a clothing company called KIN LOV GRA that upcycles jeans and T-shirts, but in a unique way: all of the fabric is turned inside out to expose the inside, the most vulnerable part of ourselves. As if that isn't cool enough. Each item you buy, will support a family on Skid Row. He truly lives by his creed posting the most gut-wrenchingly vulnerable posts about his struggles with his new business and his own personal life on Facebook. TOTAL INSPIRATION. So here I am in all my vulnerability and tears. (Yes, I am crying as I write this too.) I am not perfectly curated for social media, and maybe I never have been. My mom's memory may never improve, but what has improved is my ability to take care of my mom in the emotional moments I do have with her--the way she has taken care of me for the last 3 decades of my own life. And if this Mother's Day, you are completely in the moment WITH your own mom (no cell phones, no texting, no social media), you will see that same smile, laugh, happiness, and joy in your own mom. And maybe, just maybe, it will look something like this: Happy Mother's Day, mom. I love you.
*This first blog post is dedicated to moms around the globe, but especially to my friend Nancy's mom who is no longer with us. Nancy: Thank you for encouraging me + believing in me like I'm sure your mom encouraged and believed in you. <3 |
Kyla MitsunagaHappiness coach, Theta Healer®, author, WITH Warrior in Chief <3 Categories
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