DIY Office Christmas Ornaments

Decorating the office on a budget presented the perfect opportunity to be creative and resourceful with spare supplies left over from various projects throughout the years. Money sponsored by our boss went towards getting Christmas ball ornaments, gold and silver ribbons, string and plastic flowers. Other supplies used include colored paper, scissors, paper straws and tape.

One afternoon, one of my officemates taught us how to make 3D stars. It took a few tries (and a few stillborns), but we got it in the end. These are quick and simple ornaments to make and are a lot of fun once you get the hang of it.

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Outtake from a short crash course on paper star making

The most time-consuming part was figuring out the sequence of the ornaments to string up or add to the ribbons.

 

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Decorations at the front of the office

Purple and gold was the chosen color theme for the front as purple is a favorite color of more than one office mate. The ballerinas were cut out with a template we found on pinterest (see link below).

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The front of the office used a variation of purple and gold colors

Snowflakes and ballerinas go so well together.

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Snowflake loveliness

Another idea we picked up from pinterest was a post-it Christmas tree. We hung up some extra Christmas ball ornaments to decorate it a little more.

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A recreation of a post-it Christmas tree we found on interest

I bought some extra string so the ornaments could be hung up at varying lengths.

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The different string sizes made it more interesting

I had some left-over paper straws from my sister’s bridal shower. I cut these up and taped them into (crooked) shapes.

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Paper straws made for a simple material to make shapes with

Recycle and keep it simple.

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Quick and easy. Left-over stars and straws

The holidays really are the most wonderful time of the year.

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An example of the second kind of ballerina cut-out

 

Blog posts used:

For the 3D paper stars: http://www.chine-culture.com/origami/fete-etoile-cinq-branches.php

For the paper ballerinas: http://krokotak.com/2012/11/snowflake-ballerinas-for-little-hands/

http://krokotak.com/2012/11/snowflake-ballerinas-for-little-hands/

For the post-it Christmas tree: http://scissorsandthread.tumblr.com/post/13713879765/post-it-note-christmas-tree-a-pair-a-spare-i

 

Verbal Polaroids

We were flipping through the photographs of my sister’s wedding taken a little over a year ago. The double reams of prints comprised a good mix of posed and candid shots snapped throughout the day — the bride ensconced in the tight embrace of her entourage, bridesmaids grinning from ear to ear, clasping bouquets of blue and yellow; the newly married couple emerging from the Church, greeted by bubbles and a giddy crowd; miniature paeans to the small details that set every wedding apart: the bride’s printed sneakers, the white orchids that graced her march down the aisle, the gilded tiny portraits decorating the tables at the reception, painstakingly rendered by the mother-of-the-bride with clear nail polish to give the effect of real paintings. Love came in full force that day. She was apparent in the presents that topped the table, etched into every line of well-wishers and speech-givers, carried like a broach by the assemblage of the couple’s closest friends and relatives. Pure joy and elation pulsed through the crowd and was lovingly passed back and forth between the couple, in tender glances, quick kisses and captured smiles. Smiles, smiles everywhere.

 

Through the years, I have come to marvel at the magic of photographs. I wonder at the sorcery of a single picture – its simultaneous power of time travel and flight. There is a majesty contained in each shot. It is the antithesis of Pandora’s box. It is emotion reified. It is a slice of life made to last. An evanescent instance freed from its expiration date. My fascination is perhaps most evident in the digital pictures I carry with me like an appendage, numbering in the tens of thousands and in the many thousands more which have long occupied my hard drive. This captivation with documenting life carries with it a sense of urgency, a stubborn insistence on extending my memory to encompass both daily minutiae and grand occasions.

 

It is hard to pin down where my preoccupation with documentation stems from. My family likes to remind me that as a child, I avoided group photos like the plague. When compelled to take a picture, I would respond with a scowl. Grumps, they called me for my disdain of forced smiles. Perhaps this discomfort with having my photograph taken lingers in my awkwardness in candid and posed photos. “Learn how to smile” was the number four item of my November 2007 to-do list and made occasional appearances in subsequent lists, couched in between study for Biology test and finish social studies readings. ID picture and class picture days were always viewed with combined dread and anxiety. In a family vacation to the US one summer, my siblings coined the phrase “Monica smile” to mean an attempted smile with eyes closed firmly. We took a few group shots this way. Slowly, this odd personal struggle has abated.

 

Perhaps my lack of happy posed photos as a toddler resulted in an overcompensation of sentimentality. I slowly evolved into “trash lady”, armed with a small pouch filled with gum wrappers among other odds and ends of childhood. I would march from store to store in the mall, collecting flyers and then stuff these into my purse. In grade school, during recess or dismissal, I would carefully copy down the motivational sayings on the classroom bulletin board, documenting as many snippets of school life as I could. Even now, keepsakes from daily life – coffee cup warmers, napkins from restaurants, stickers from beer bottles and ice cream cups — fill up drawers and drawers.

 

This preoccupation of mine with souvenir collection occasionally devolves into an obsession, what my family likes to call “tunnel vision” as if my whole being becomes blind to other things, bent on a mission to document. One of the rare times I can remember my brother being visibly irritated with me was when I would not stop badgering him to let me return on my own to a museum we had visited the day earlier while on a family trip – I could not get over the fact that the museum gift shop had closed before I had a chance to buy a postcard to document the visit; I have since learned to allot ten minutes to return to any gift shop before closing time. On an earlier trip, my mom and I frantically rushed back to a Chinese restaurant where I accidentally left behind a crumpled paper bag of souvenir coins and dug through the trash with a pair of chopsticks to find it. In a similar incident, I remember running panicked to a Winnie the Pooh ride to find my forgotten plastic of penny press. On a trip to New York last year, I navigated down to a neighborhood solo – three subway lines, heart-beating non-stop – to buy an Andy Warhol book from the MoMa. A week earlier, my sister scolded me for fishing out her discarded boarding pass from the otherwise empty trashcan. These mementos take up considerable emotional weight and importance. Their physical weight looms as well – on our trip to Singapore in May, nearly ten kilos of my luggage was accounted for by bags of brochures, tickets, magazines from the airplane and hotel among other ephemera. One such bag was unfortunately lost when we returned home in spite of sleepless nights trying in vain to recover it. In an odd way, these attempts to document moments become events in themselves.

 

And so I cling on to my unshakeable desire to chronicle life as it passes. To my mental to-do list I have added “learn how to look decent in a candid photo”, although the how of this particular item escapes me. Near the top of the same list sits the actual organizing of mementos — collecting all my held-onto odds and ends and arranging these into a proper scrapbook or album. I picture my family gathering one day, looking through the albums of our shared life, slowly turning pages and laughing, marveling at the photographs’ uncanny ability to turn back time.

Ad (in)finitum

“Let me not die while I am still alive.” – Sheryl Sandberg

There’s a post going around on the interwebs, a heart-wrenching snippet of love and loss, a glimpse into profound sorrow and tremendous resolve written by Sheryl Sandberg on the occasion of her husband’s 30th death day (see here https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10155617891025177&set=a.404308695176.365039.717545176&type=1&fref=nf&pnref=story).

Thoughts on the  finite nature of life (of immense celestial bodies, of solar systems) creep into my consciousness on occasion, but rarely enough to inspire a dramatic change in lifestyle or a radical reconsideration of the life I lead. The fear of not living to the margins of possibility is pervasive though, humming constantly in the background like an antiquated air conditioner.

I recently picked up the trendy manifesto on tidiness by Marie Kondo and was inspired to unearth possessions scattered and buried in different corners of my house. The process of piling together books hoarded through the slightly over two decades of my existence put into sharp relief just how little I have succeeded in becoming the future version of myself I picture in my head — the more knowledgeable, capable version of myself; the self who can speak Spanish fluently; the self who has acquired considerable and credible expertise in geopolitical topics and political economic thought. So many of the books signified aspirations — topics I had hoped to be better versed in but haven’t quite gotten around to throwing myself into. These were buried deep into the clutter, chaos and utter confusion that is my bedroom (and I suppose, by extension, my head).

The moving piece by Sheryl Sandberg demands reconsideration of the very act of living and gives pause.  On an admittedly more shallow side note, for all the wisdom that loss provides, I hope to never know grief like that. There are some things in this world I would rather not understand. I hope to never know true regret. To never feel like I lived less than I could have. I realized a backward approach to figuring out some of the things I want to fill my life with could be useful: I will regret never having finished Anna Karenina; I will regret not having lived in a different part of the world at least for a little while; I will regret never learning how to speak comfortably in Spanish; I will regret not finishing documentation of my family’s travels; I will regret never having made a bigger contribution to society — not living for something greater than myself.

reflections from an office cubicle

Recent events have made me question my happiness at work and overall satisfaction with what I do on a daily basis to a point of near-obsession. I hope that this predilection towards dissecting emotional events exhaustively and intensely fades away with age but for now I can only try to rein in the bad habit.

Certain themes reappear again and again though that I think deserve more reflection — namely, the importance of autonomy, the elusive nature of engagement and the connection between work and self-identity.

Stripping away the outward trappings of the job, I take comfort in the fact that at a fundamental level, we are all working toward a common goal: carving out a better society, chipping away at the corrupt and inefficient, even if at a microcosmic scale. We just differ (sometimes markedly) on the how of it.

At its core, the frustration finds its roots in the struggle to create something of meaning, to forge something of value to some individual or some higher goal. I hope one day that desire is satisfied somewhat and that what I do day in, day out matters. For now, I just need to remind myself to keep my head low, hope to advance my center’s agenda and push on.

lowercase

// the daily grind //

some days require more conscious effort to be positive and optimistic than others. i really should track the number of times these fall on a monday for me so i can begin to work out a more targeted solution. on this particular monday though the friction was caused by a series of little things, a set of minor details and non-events to be honest that i would have shrugged off on any other day. of course, less than ideal sleeping habits over the weekend never set the stage for anything good.

// space and civility //

the train at 5:15 in the afternoon is a radically different space than it is just thirty minutes before. a slow start begot a slow end to my day so i caught the train at a low point (on its own version of a monday). while pressed against backs and other body parts, with elbows lodged into places i really would have rather not had them lodged into, with sweat and snippets of phone conversations shared and mixed i thought about how manners demanded space and how that seeped into language. cold and civilized are tied to a notion of distance. these are nowhere to be found in cramped spaces, in hot and humid  vestibules with intimacy imposed.

// triviality and the (f)utility of emotions //

sometimes i wonder why it’s so easy to get worked up about things that have absolutely no bearing on the grand scheme of anything. are misplaced emotions but intangible appendixes floating around in the universe? what are they for? and can they be removed surgically once they begin to foment infection and disease?

//unhappy marriage of reason and feeling //

while i rage against stifling trivialities on days like these, there is always a distant voice of reason that calls for an end to such self-indulgence. my worries and anxieties are almost always ill-founded and are a privilege in their own way (slightly higher up maslow’s hierarchy that they need to be dislodged every now and then). it’s tempting to quash that voice on some days.

// rainbows //

even on bad days, perspective must be called for and the silver linings found. as i typed that, the metal at the sole of my shoe began to show (silver lining?) but oh well. it’s day 19 of my listing reasons to be grateful and i’m not quite ready to see that die off prematurely. today’s set:

  • to hard-earned progress on faraway goals
  • to happy mail and paper love
  • to comfort and empathy from loved ones tossed around like a well-worn ball
  • to being able to leave early enough that i get to experience the beginning of the  rush hour /nightmare and not the middle
  • to the green plant that sits on my desk that grew a few centimeters since it was last measured
  • to the baby nephew that greeted me home with a smile

it’s the small things 🙂

holiday hangover (ho, ho, ho)

My attempt take three to get enough sleep, wake up on time and get to work fully alert and functioning has been a bit of a miss, unfortunately. Cause of failure: holiday hangover/a seasonal jet lag of sorts. Bright side, every day is a new chance to succeed or else inch closer to succeeding ☼

On a random side note, caffeine is really useful for giving quick jolts of energy. My challenge now is to contain that energy, focus it, and transform it into a usable source.

My list of things to try to improve this year include:

  • embracing the concept of less is more (translation: goodbye, hoarder tendencies)
  • noticing the good (a nod to the power of positive thinking)
  • waking up earlier (less traffic, more living)

I hope to elaborate on these points more and add more of them in future posts.

For now, a quick exercise in gratitude: sunny days, desk plants, windows with a view.

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