An Analogue Thing

Shit That Has Happened

2011-10-17T08:26:00.000-07:00

So a whole bunch of shit has happened. Let me list it chronologically.

1. I came back to California and ~left my heart in Laguna~.

This was the view from the window when the plane was flying over San Francisco.

And this is the boy I wish I didn't have to leave.

2. I was still adjusting to being in a different time zone and away from my man when my niece was born.

Taken on 09.06.11.
Faith was only a few hours old.

Three days old.

Isn't she beautiful? She's much more temperamental than her older brother and is not easily satisfied and is extremely vocal about it. I think she takes after her mom (my sister).

3. I installed book shelves, finally, so that my books don't have to be strewn all over the floor anymore.

Drill, anchors and screws, brackets, and shelves.

Before and after the shelves. I think the after looks much better.

4. I had a birthday. There was lots of food and presents and everyone was really nice to me for a day, which is how all birthdays should be.

The annual birthday self-portrait.

5. The day after my birthday, my father was hospitalized.

And this, of course, is what has made me even less sociable and even more quiet than usual. My father is not exactly in spectacular health, but none of us were expecting him to undergo an emergency triple bypass.

During one of the many nights my family and I spent in the hospital waiting room.

My dad went to the emergency room for some persistent pain in his arm and ended up having open-heart surgery. He stayed in the hospital for two weeks. He's still in the process of recovering, and our lives now are different from how they used to be just a month ago. There are no words to describe how emotionally crippling it is. Well, actually, there are, but some things don't belong in so public a forum. At any rate, my father is actually doing really well in his recovery. I am grateful, but that hasn't stopped me from going through existential crises and intermittent emotional breakdowns as I ponder my father's mortality and my own. It's brutal. But I'm trying to be optimistic, since the doctors have said that there is no reason why my dad shouldn't make a full recovery. It's hard not to be afraid all the time, though, especially since it's impossible to prepare oneself for things like this. Still, it's getting a little bit easier to cope and roll with the punches, and it helps that I am, predictably, comforting myself in my usual fashion.

I hardly ever update this thing (although I keep meaning to make it a regular occurrence), but, the next time I do, I hope to have more positive tidings to share.

This Provincial Life

2011-07-21T08:12:00.000-07:00

I've been in the Philippines for roughly a month now. There's not much to report, but the significant other — who shall now be referred to as the bearded one — is at work, which means I am bored, so I might as well update this thing.

So, here, apropos of nothing, is another lazy update.

I've been spending all my time with this guy (the aforementioned bearded one). He has been very sweet and has a magnificent beard.

I find him very manly.
This is the bearded one with his sister. She is six years old and has an opinion about everything. I like her.

After I took this picture, she yanked on his beard and demanded a piggyback ride. She is very forceful for her age.
This is a plate of longganisa from Lucban, Quezon. After more than a decade of being vegetarian, I have returned to my carnivorous ways. I'm not sure yet if I regret turning my back on my previously disciplined and ascetic lifestyle.

Just kidding. I have no regrets. It was fucking delicious.
This is me, in my front yard. I've been living the provincial life almost the whole time I've been here, which is just the way I like it. I've gone to a few shows since I arrived, but I honestly prefer the quiet of the countryside to showbiz/scene kid shenanigans. The older I get, the more pronounced my aversion to fakery becomes. (Yes, I'm completely aware that I sound like an old lady. Whatever. Walang basagan ng trip.)

Seriously, though, look how lovely my garden is. Why would I want to leave?

On that note, I am off to enjoy refreshments of an herbal sort in the garden you see above. There will be frolicking and stargazing involved, and it will be lovely.

In case you were curious (and maybe you’re not), I’m still alive.

2011-06-06T10:38:00.000-07:00

But it’s been a tumultuous few months, so I felt compelled to keep silent. I have been negative, pessimistic, passive-aggressive, and just sour. Kind of an asshole, really. I’m really embarrassed about it and I’m sorry if you were directly or indirectly affected by my assholery.

So, a few things that happened:

School has been kicking my ass. It’s hard to work full-time and go to school full-time. I am so stressed out that I want to vomit, which I can’t do since I have pretty much lost my appetite and haven’t been eating much at all. On the upside, I’ve lost about ten pounds. That isn’t much in the grand scheme of things since I have always been ~*~Rubenesque~*~ but I am consoling myself by referring to myself as curvy instead of chubby.

Admit it. I'm adorable.
My dad was hospitalized twice in the past few months. He’s fine now. He has more good days than bad days, and he’s more active and healthier, so I hope that’s a pattern that continues.
My boyfriend and I went through something. We’re fine now. I hope we stay that way. If we’re friends, then you know what went down and how ridiculous it all was. If we’re not super-close friends and you’re curious to find out the sordid details, thanks for your concern, but it’s not something that I want to dwell on anymore. The one thing I have learned from all that shit was this: artists have lots of feelings. I also learned who my real friends are, because they let me cry and run my mouth about my ~*~relationship woes~*~. Thanks, you guys, and I’m sorry for being such a weepy little bitch.
My nephew was hospitalized twice. He is apparently allergic to peanut butter. My family and I found out when he had one nibble (not even a bite, just a nibble) of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and his face swelled up. We had to call 911 and he was pumped full of antihistamine and other stuff that I don’t recall the names of. The second time he was hospitalized was just a week ago. He had a mild fever that suddenly spiked up to 104 and we had to call 911 because he had a seizure. Have you ever witnessed a baby having a seizure, eyes rolling in the back of his head and unresponsive to anything you say or do? It is the most terrifying thing I have ever seen and experienced. Thankfully, the baby is fine now. It’s like nothing ever happened. Kids are resilient that way.

My nephew, sleeping in the ER.
My grandmother had heart surgery. Things went as well as can be expected so she was released a few weeks ago. Just this weekend, she was admitted to the hospital again, where doctors are still running tests to figure out what’s going on. My grandmother and I aren’t close — she thinks I’m a whore and has no problem saying it lol — but I am Filipino and as such I will always feel a sense of obligation and even grudging affection towards all my family members, even the ones who think I’m a cheap, tattooed whore.

So. Typing all that was extremely cathartic. But I didn’t realize until just now, reading through everything I just wrote, exactly how draining the past several months have been. Tangina lang. I need to cleanse myself of all this bad juju. I’m glad I’m flying off to the Philippines in nine days, where I will have time to get away from everything. It all gets to be a bit much.

And how have you been?

The Shittiest Advice I Have Ever Received

2011-04-18T12:04:00.000-07:00

"Kung kaya mo, mag-sorry ka sa kanya kahit hindi mo kasalanan."

Unless it is under pain of death, do not ever do this. Anyone who needs you to sacrifice your dignity and self-respect in this way does not deserve to be in your life.

Things That Are True

2011-04-02T20:42:00.000-07:00

Misery loves company.
There are people on this earth who are so miserable that they love nothing more than fueling negativity. Their lives may be pathetic sacks of shit, but they will still be generous enough to share it with you. Beware of these people and refuse their generosity, for they will lay waste to the world and everything in it if given the chance. Their eagerness to commiserate with you is merely feigned concern. They do not care for your happiness. They care only that, finally, they have found someone whose bitterness they can nurture until it festers as much as their own.

You make your own hell.
Happiness is a choice and no one can take it away from you without your permission. You can choose to succumb to despair, or you can choose to rise above it. There's always a choice. Make the right one.

You are the only one who has understood even a whisper of me, and I will tell you that I am the only person who has understood even a whisper of you.
I know you better than you know yourself and you know me better than I know myself. Try to realize what a rare thing that is.

When you're young, you just believe there'll be many people whom you'll connect with. Later in life, you realize it only happens a few times.
The older I get, the more resonant this becomes. It's gotten to the point where I can't watch this film without dreading the ocean of regret it is sure to unleash. People and relationships are such ephemeral, transitory things. Regret, unfortunately, is just the opposite. I was aware of these things when I met you. But I'm still foolish enough to hope that we can become the exception.

Angst is not the human condition, it’s the purgatory between what we have and what we want but can’t get.
I'll come home to you if you come home to me. Just wait. Have faith. I can make things better if you let me.

Cave Idus Martias

2011-03-16T11:44:00.000-07:00

Or, a list of reasons why March has been extra-stressful thus far.

My family's big move is finally over, but there was a solid three weeks there where I was going to work from 8am to 430pm, going to class from 7pm to 930pm, then packing until 1130pm or 12am every single day. I actually lost weight from all the stress and labor. I'm about five feet tall so you can imagine how I handled all the heavy lifting. But at least it's over now, except for the unpacking.
The first week of classes coincided with the move, so that's a kick in the ass. So far, I'm already lagging two weeks behind on all my classwork. I'm struggling to catch up and I kind of feel like I'm drowning, but I'm trying to stay optimistic.
My sister and nephew are coming back to California from Texas!

My nephew!

This is something that I'm actually happy about, but, again, it coincides with the move and the first week of classes, so it's kind of difficult not to be stressed out by it, too.
I bought my plane ticket to the Philippines, which is something else that I'm happy about. My bank account, however, has taken a hit. I wish I could just win the lottery so I didn't have to worry about money. Then I can celebrate happy events without the nagging thought of financial ruin in the back of my mind.

They're not necessarily negative events, and this list is not even especially long, but I'm a creature of habit and routine, so it's hard for me not to feel overwhelmed when changes in my life take place in such quick succession. For a while, I was short-tempered with the people around me, just because I was having such difficulty coping with the stress. (Sorry, everyone I love, I promise I'll be better next time.)

But I'm hoping that things will slow down a bit after March. I tend to get a little bit panicky when April rolls along, too. Things start moving really fast and, although I have April and May to make sure I've taken care of all the loose ends, before I know it, I'm jetting off to the Philippines for two months, wondering if I've gotten all my bills and academics and all those annoying details squared away before my trip.

I'm actually hyperventilating little bit now as I think of all the stuff I have to take care of before my trip. Saving money, taking my midterms and finals, completing all my school work and projects while working full-time... It's kind of daunting. I know June seems like it's still really far away, but I've been going on this same trip since 2004, and I know from experience that there's never enough time to take care of everything. But I hope I break my pattern this year. Until I do, I'm just going to try to be more mellow and more positive and also try not to be such an asshole about life and its attendant chaos.

SERENITY NOW, INSANITY LATER

2011-03-02T10:41:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, at work, I was eating my lunch at my desk. I had cooked vegan sinigang the night before as I was feeling a little fluish and California has been experiencing wintry weather the past few weeks.

My boss walked by and saw that I was eating my delicious tamarind broth. She said, "You're eating at your desk?" I wanted to answer, "Yes, Captain Obvious, you get a cookie for being so observant." Instead, I said, "Yes, I was feeling a little faint and I'm not feeling that well, so I wanted to have some soup." She then said, "That's not good. Put that away."

Huh. My coworker, who is white, often eats at her desk, with nary a remark from the boss lady. So, since I was feeling cranky and fluish and also because I'm just naturally kind of a smart mouth, I asked, "Oh, so it's ok if (white coworker's name) does it but I'm not allowed to do the same thing?" She was taken aback that I would dare to ask her to explain herself, but I didn't think it was unreasonable to ask her to explain her double standards. This is how the rest of the conversation went:

My boss: I never saw (white coworker's name) eat at her desk.
Me: That's interesting, because the rest of us here in the office saw it.
My boss: Well, she only ever ate snacks.
Me: You just said you NEVER saw her eating at her desk in the twenty-eight years that she's worked here. I also didn't realize that cheeseburgers and animal fries from In n Out were considered snacks. And I didn't know you were familiar with Filipino food. Do you go to a lot of Filipino restaurants? How do you know this isn't a snack in my country? Can you tell me what kind of soup I'm eating?
My boss (getting increasingly flustered): No, I can't. But I never saw (white coworker's name) eating lunch at her desk. But snacks are ok, it's different from...

It was at that point that I interrupted her, because I could feel the tips of my ears getting hot and red, which can only mean that I was very close to losing my temper. I said, "You know what? Whatever. I'll put it away." You know when you have to take deep breaths and count to ten to wait for your anger to subside, but then it doesn't work? I kept thinking of that Seinfeld episode when George Costanza's dad kept yelling, "SERENITY NOW!" to control his rage, even though it was obviously ineffective. That's how I felt.

My boss left for a meeting a few minutes later, and I got to eat my lunch at my desk, anyway. But I was mentally kicking myself for not mouthing off more and for not standing my ground, since the conversation my boss and I had was pretty much a perfect example of casual racism.

Racism isn’t always violent or blatantly displayed. If white employees are allowed to do things that we colored folks are not, then it’s fucking racist. It’s that simple. So what I really should have said to my boss was, "I think the problem here is not that I’m having my lunch at my desk. The problem is that I’m eating something that you cannot identify easily. At any rate, since you said you never saw (white coworker’s name) eating at her desk, why don’t you turn around so you don’t have to see me either?"

Stupid asshole with her goddamn double standards.

Anyway, I wish — I wish!!! — that I could tell my boss to suck a donkey dick, but the truth is, I need my job and would like to keep it. I am ashamed to say that my financial need trumps my righteous indignation. So I’ll just have to put up with her ignorant, malicious remarks, even though they are fucking prejudiced and make me feel small.

However, I think it’s my duty as an exemplary employee to abide by my boss’ rules, so, since she said that snacks were acceptable in the office, I’m planning on bringing authentic Filipino snacks like bugok, balut, green mangoes with shrimp paste, dried salted fish or squid, and other similarly ethnic and, more importantly, pungent things to nibble on. Then, when she makes a comment, I will bat my eyelashes and proclaim innocently, "I respect your rules. These are my favorite snacks." But inside, what I’ll really be saying is, "Snacks pala ha. Tangina mo, hindot ka."

Upon Finding A Pair Of Tiny Jeans In My Closet

2011-02-22T18:09:00.001-08:00

This was years ago, when I was a size 2/4.
Look at my fucking fat ass.
(Yes, I'm being sarcastic, and, no, I don't look like this now.)

I found a pair of size two jeans while I was packing. (Yes, the packing and organizing for the move is still ongoing as well as slowgoing.) Size two. And they belong to me. I wish I could say that I can still wear them, but, in all honesty, I'm lucky if I can get them past my ankles now.

The funny thing is, when I was a size two, I remember constantly thinking of how fat I was. Most of the people I know refer to me as being tiny, even now, though I've never felt tiny in my life. I have always been hypercritical of my weight and size. There's a lot of talk about how magazines and television and films give women impossible ideals to live up to, which is undoubtedly true. But, in my case, the pressure to be thin came mostly from my family.

I grew up with an aunt (who shall remain nameless) who would diet obsessively. I was never sure why she was so dissatisfied with the way she looked. She wasn't ugly and, while she wasn't stick thin, she certainly wasn't fat. If anything, she was something of a local legend in my tiny hometown because of her beauty. But she did gain weight, mainly because she rarely left the house. She didn't like to exercise and she didn't like to go outside out of fear that she would get dark. (That's another Filipino preoccupation: skin whitening is a multimillion-peso industry there.) So what she would do was go on an extreme and extremely unhealthy diet. Actually, it wasn't so much a diet as it was just plain starvation. She would abstain from nearly all solid food and drink only water until she felt light enough. When the hunger drove her insane, she would splurge on a piece of fruit or a glass of fresh-squeezed fruit juice. Sometimes, because she was so twisted, she would sit at the dining table, taking tiny sips from a glass of water, and watch the rest of the family have lunch. "Hindi ako kakain. Amoy lang ng ulam, ok na sa akin yun," she would say.¹ This would last for about a week, then she would cave and eat regularly for a few days before going back to starving herself and eyeballing us while we ate.

Can you imagine how uncomfortable it is for a child to eat while under that kind of scrutiny? Can you imagine what kind of behavior that child will then emulate as an adult?

My aunt never forced me to go on a diet. It was always my choice, and I take full responsibility for my eating habits, no matter how good or poor they are. But there were always comments about my size, my weight, my appearance. And there was also her poor example, which I tried to mimic exactly once, when I was about sixteen. I lasted less than a day because I got hungry and decided that, while I didn't love my body, I also didn't hate it enough to deprive myself of sustenance and joy.

That's not to say that I don't diet. I still do. I seem to always be trying to lose weight, whether it's five pounds or fifteen pounds. I still sometimes have what I feel is an unhealthy relationship with food. But I enjoy food a lot now, although I am still trying to unlearn the negative lessons and behaviors that my aunt has instilled in me. There is always that feeling of guilt when I feel that I may be overindulging, when — God forbid — I actually feel full, and the first thing that pops into my head in those moments is the image of my aunt, sipping on a glass of water and inhaling deeply as she watches me eat my lunch.

¹ Roughly translated, it means that she's not going to eat because just the smell of the entrees is enough for her to get by.

After You'd Gone

2011-02-18T11:12:00.002-08:00

I came across my mother's yearbook while I was packing for my family's big move.

My mom's college graduation picture.

I know that all children think that their mothers are the most beautiful creatures they've ever seen, but just look at her. She was stunning, wasn't she? And she likes to hear it, too, as often as possible. Whenever we start looking at old photo albums, she frequently tells me, "I was beautiful, wasn't I?" She doesn't wait for an answer, because the pictures speak for themselves. And then she'll say, "But am I still beautiful now?" It puzzles me that she would even ask, but, without fail, I always reply, "Of course, Mama, you're always beautiful."

My mom and I are pretty close, which I am pretty grateful for, considering that we didn't have a lot of time together when I was a child. My parents moved to California when I was barely starting kindergarten and left my sister and me to be raised by our grandfather in the Philippines. My father left when I was three years old, and my mom followed him to California a year later. My earliest memory is of my father crying at the airport on the day he left. But I don't remember my mother at all.

It's interesting to note, though, that I am a lot like her despite her absence for most of my formative years. She and I are big readers and tend to be kind of shy. We also share a sarcastic sense of humor and can easily overcome our natural shyness when confronted with people who need to be put in their place. Unlike me, however, she is deeply religious, socially conservative, and hates tattoos. She and I never talk about politics, religion, or social policy, because it can lead to epic arguments. Whenever we do, though, we manage to work out our differences afterwards by watching Filipino soap operas (the more absurd and hysterical and melodramatic, the better).

I wish she could have stayed with me or I could have gone with her, but it's okay. Life without her wasn't easy, but I understand why she left when she did. That's not to say that her absence didn't affect me; in a lot of ways, it damaged me irreparably. But I try not to let it define my life. I know she tried and I know it was hard for her to leave, too, so I forgive her. She's here now. That's what matters.

Life: Waiting For It To Start And/Or How It Gets In The Way

2011-02-12T13:15:00.002-08:00

One of my new year's resolutions — the only one, really — was to land myself in novel and incomprehensible situations. It is now February, and life continues to pass me by, and, no, I still have no novel and incomprehensible situations to memorialize. It's okay, though. Maybe it's just not in me to seek out adventure, seeing as how the day-to-day stress of everyday life can be enough to overwhelm me.

So, a few updates (not novel or incomprehensible, but what can you do?) —

1. My nephew turned a year old last month.

My very adorable nephew.

We were not together, which made me sad, but I was able to greet him over the phone, which he obviously didn't understand and won't remember, and I got to hear him gurgle over the phone when he recognized my voice. Fair trade? Not really, but I'll take what I can get.

2. My sister is pregnant again. I believe she is two months along, give or take. It's surprising, since James (the adorable bundle of joy in the photo above) just turned a year old, but there is a precedent: my sister and I are ten months apart. Yep, ten months, which would mean that my mom got knocked up again pretty much as soon as she popped me out. Like mother, like daughter, I guess. Anyway, babies are awesome so it's exciting, of course, but also scary. It's a lot of responsibility.

3. My dad has to go to the hospital again. It's supposed to be a very minor procedure. But the last time he went in for a minor procedure, he ended up staying in the hospital for a month. I'm trying to be optimistic. It's not easy.

4. My family and I are moving to a new place. It's two blocks away from where we live now, so it's not exactly an epic journey, but our new place will have five bedrooms and a slightly bigger backyard. I can't wait. I am already perusing the Ikea catalog to see how I'm going to redecorate my space.

5. I am buying my plane ticket to the Philippines in a few days. I won't be leaving until June, but I want to get the process started early since it's the first time that I will be using my mileage rewards. I have flown roughly 65,000 miles since my boyfriend and I got together, so that's enough for a free ride, thankfully. Yes, sixty-five thousand miles. The things I do for love.

Speaking of which, I suppose I should go back to packing my stuff now. It hasn't escaped my attention that it's Valentine's Day weekend (when Valentine's Day falls on a Monday or a Friday, it becomes a weekend-long celebration, as if one day weren't bad enough), but I'm trying to keep my mind off that (and my suddenly magnified loneliness at being away from my man) by wasting time online (hence this post) and by eating my feelings. I'm just going to smoke pot — only a little so that I can still be productive — and go back to ignoring this fabricated pseudo-holiday.

My Top Five Reads, 2010

2010-12-31T22:23:00.002-08:00

Because I like to read and I like to make lists, here now are my five favorite reads this year. This doesn't mean these books were published this year; it just means I finally got around to reading them. I'm not that well-read. Please don't judge.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy.
The Road was one of the first books I read this year, and although I really liked it, reading it was emotionally exhausting. It is a story about a pair of survivors — a man and his son, whose names are never revealed — trying to survive the end of the world. This is a gray and gritty tale, but, surprisingly, a hopeful one as well. Despite the certain bleakness of their future, there exists in the man that urge just as primal and eternal as the will to survive: a father’s love for his son. This is what makes this book essential reading, for, in illustrating the father’s struggle to teach his son to go on without him, the boy — and the reader — learn not just to endure, but to hope.
Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami.
I'm a big Murakami fan, and although the translation on this one was a little stiff — Jay Rubin and absolutely no one else should translate all of Murakami — it was still one of my favorites this year. Reading Murakami is always a special experience; there really isn't anyone quite like him. Kafka on the Shore is a bit like that disturbing, elusive dream hovering at the edge of your senses when you wake up. The emotion it inspired stays with you, but it’s nearly impossible to explain why. Murakami is not one for easy answers, but a clear resolution to plot is secondary when literature is imbued with this much skill and compassion.
No One Belongs Here More Than You by Miranda July.
This was among my favorites this year, and, yes, I realize I am late to the party. This romantic but dark collection of short stories showcases the author's skewed and sensual perspective on the world. For Miranda July, it's not love unless it kills you, and there is always beauty in the breakdown. It's surprising how emotionally powerful this slim collection is, and it's hard not to get swept away by Miranda July's whimsical, voluptuous prose.
How to Paint a Dead Man by Sarah Hall.
This book moved me so much that I immediately checked out Sarah Hall's three other novels after I finished reading it. The novel tells the story of four people: Giorgio, a well-known Italian painter who is being slowly ravaged by cancer; Peter, a landscape artist who recalls his fiery ex-wife; Annette, a pupil of Giorgio's who is slowly going blind; and Susan, Peter's daughter and a talented photographer trying to accept the death of her twin brother. Of these four, Susan's story is the strongest; the death of her twin causes her to question her own identity, and the ensuing journey back from the void is tragic, sensual, desperate, and evocative. How to Paint a Dead Man is a moving, meditative piece about grief, love, art, and the maddening but unavoidable connection between all three. Everyone should read this book.
Ilustrado by Miguel Syjuco.
There have been accusations leveled at Miguel Syjuco that he is part of the elite ilustrado class that he skewers in his debut novel. Well, yes, I guess there's no denying that, but I'm not sure why it's being used to try to diminish an exuberant and inspired piece of literature. Ilustrado is just as much about the search of every exile / immigrant for his own identity as it is about the Philippines' struggle to define itself, and while it is at times overwritten and too clever for its own good, it succeeds admirably in bringing to light the fractured history and uncertain present of the Philippines, and should therefore not be faulted for the scope of its ambition.

Anyway, that's all I got for this year. I wish I could have gotten more reading and reviewing done, but it's hard to make the time. Work and school and everything else in life tend to get in the way. The last ~review~ I wrote was for Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go in April 2010. So that's a grand total of five reviews, even though I read forty-four books. That's just unacceptable. For 2011, I resolve not just to read more but also to write more. I say that every year and achieve only minimal amounts of success, but I'm hoping that this will be the year that I can actually put it into practice.

On that note, I'm going to not read for a little while, hang with my family, and look longingly at the food that I can't eat. (I had my second wisdom teeth extraction yesterday, which was unfortunate scheduling on my part.) Anyway, I hope you all emerged from 2010 relatively unscathed and with sense of humor intact. Happy 2011, everyone. :)

Decreased Wisdom

2010-12-22T16:03:00.002-08:00

After a long and grueling several months, I am finally free from school and my job — for three weeks, anyway. So what's the first thing I do?

Get my wisdom teeth pulled.

Granted, there's never a good time for major dental work, but I am really questioning my judgment at the moment. Why in the name of Christmas did I decide to schedule these procedures during my long-awaited holiday? I can't remember why I made the decision, so the only thing I can say is that I want to get it over with already. So now, I am sans the wisdom teeth on my right side, and I have to go back in ten days to get the other two on my left side pulled out. What a lovely holiday.

Anyway, because I am forbidden to indulge in my favorite hobby — i.e., smoking weed — while healing, I decided to shop for Christmas presents. I am not foolish enough to brave the rain and the holiday crowd, so I did all of my shopping online. More people should do this as it saves time, energy, and sanity.

1. and 2. The younger folks are getting DVDs, because I'm poor and also because they are impossible to shop for. The good thing about this is that I was able to get them DVDs that I will also enjoy. It's not selfish, exactly; I just want to enjoy their gifts with them is all.

3. I got my dad the always dad-approved George Foreman grill. Apparently, he had one a long time ago, but he cannot recall what happened to it. Did you know that there is now a second-generation George Foreman grill? That's the one I got him. I wonder how it differs from the first-generation model. There can't be that many different ways to grill things.

4. My mom will be receiving her very own iPod on Christmas day. She's never had her own music player because she is too ~~cheap~~ frugal to buy one for herself. I had meant to get her the fifth-generation nano, but I had hit purchase and finalize before I noticed that I totally got her the wrong iPod. Obviously, I want to get my mom the best there is, but the problem is that she is not familiar with the new nano and she does have a propensity to throw / hurl things at the wall when she gets impatient. I'm hoping that her Christmas present won't be one of those things.

I also got some vinyl for my boyfriend and a couple of books for my (future) brother-in-law; I also got my grandfather's favorite hair dye along with his vitamins and other random requests. I haven't had a chance to mail them to the Philippines yet, though. It will have to wait until after Christmas, because there's no way I'm going out with the weather being as horrible as it is. My Christmas wishlist is right here, but I don't know if I'm getting anything from it. I showed it to my mom a few days ago, and all she had to say was, "A label writer? Really?" Yes, really. I am very easy to please.

Anyway, now that I've got the shopping done and the first half of my dental surgery out of the way, the rest of my break will be comprised of entirely nothing, which is just the way I like it. I will rest, catch up on the reading I've meant to do these past few months (nerdy, I know, but that's how I roll), watch movies on Netflix, and generally behave as if I were funemployed. Just thinking about all the nothing I'm going to do is putting a smile on my sore, lopsided face. I've missed being unproductive.

Christmas Wishlist, 2010

2010-12-12T20:03:00.002-08:00

Or, a list of crap that I want but don't really need.

A label writer.

I just think it looks slick.
A new pair of shoes.

Right after Christmas comes the New Year, which will lead me to make an ultimately fruitless list of ways to improve myself. No doubt it will include some sort of vow to become healthier, and that's where the brand-spanking new shoes come in.
Bookses.

I'm fortunate enough to work right next to a public library, so I very rarely buy books anymore. But The Dark is Rising has been my favorite book series since I was seven, and it's silly that I still haven't got a set to call my own. This year, I read Mrs. Dalloway and Michael Cunningham's The Hours, and both affected me deeply, so I also want a copy of The Letters of Vita Sackville-West and Virginia Woolf, which collects over five hundred letters exchanged over twenty years. And everyone's talking about Jonathan Safran Foer's Tree of Codes, so I don't think I need to elaborate on why I want it for Christmas.

A new digital camera.

Nothing fancy, just a regular point-and-shoot. I have the digital camera on my iPhone 4 (which, incidentally, was an early Christmas present to myself), but it's just not the same. I also have my Instax 210 and Instax Mini, but, seeing as how I don't have a scanner, I haven't been able to back up my instant film captures. Speaking of which...
A new scanner.

Again, nothing fancy, just a regular and basic scanner. I don't know why, but I always have the worst luck when it comes to scanners, possibly because I always buy the combo fax/printer/scanner thingie, and I end up getting really confused instead of getting it to work properly. I suck. But, yes, I would like a scanner, thank you.
A new car.
Yes, I know this is a long shot, but that's why it's called a wishlist. This one, I actually do need, but I'm well aware that it's not a present I'll ever receive, no matter how lovable I am.
Peace on earth and piece of mind.
This is the Ms. Universe portion of this list, but it's also the one that means the most. I want the people I love — especially my boyfriend and my grandfather, who are the two most important people in my life (and who I won't see again until June 2011) — to know that I love them, and I want them to be safe at all times, and to be happy. I want to figure out what I want and to have the courage and focus to pursue it. Simple things, but that doesn't mean they're easy to achieve.

That's it. That is everything I want right now. But if I can just have lucky number 7 on this list, then 1 through 6 don't matter.

Happy holidays, everyone. :)

We're Older Now, The Light is Dim

2010-11-22T23:50:00.002-08:00

I realize I've been MIA for a while. Life and its attendant stresses got in the way, so there was no time for me to indulge in my usual navel-gazing. But a little film called Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 was released this week, and that was enough to get me to shake off the doldrums.

I've seen the film twice — the first time was at a midnight screening on Thursday and the second time was on Friday night. It goes without saying that I'm a big fan of the books and the films, and I'm really distraught at the thought that there is only more film left. I've read the books at least four times each, and I don't even know how many times I've seen the films. I'm certain that I will be a sobbing mess when the final film comes out, especially since Deathly Hallows: Part 1 was a surprisingly tender, affecting adaptation.

Anyway, I'm a very enthusiastic and geeky fan, not a film critic, so my observations will be made in bullet points, possibly without much sense or context.

Goodbye, Hogwarts.

I loved seeing the trio really and fully alone for the first time, cut off from friends and family and, for a while, from each other. I also liked how they Apparated from one beautifully remote location to another, so that they could be in proper despair at their predicament. All kidding aside, though, the film was just beautiful to look at and all the cold, remote locations added to the mood of the film.
Harry + Luna = OTP for life.

This is a huge bone of contention for me. I hated reading about Harry and Ginny ostensibly falling for each other, and I hate watching it in the films even more. Ginny has always struck me as an underdeveloped, gormless cipher.

Luna is my spirit animal.

Luna, on the other hand, was kind and awkward and endearing. Yes, she was weird, but she was interesting, and she knew exactly who she was and made no apologies for it. I held out hope that JK Rowling would see the light and pair Harry with the right girl, but no.

Sexy times.

Mostly I'm talking about the scene between Harry and Hermione, where they emerge from the Horcrux's evil, squid-ink cloud of rage, looking like a pair of silver pod people, and proceed to make out while mist covers their genitals. I mean, I knew they were going to kiss, but I didn't know they would be naked and glistening and bumping uglies. It was pretty awesome.
Where the hell was Oliver Wood?

Oliver Wood is played by the pretty actor Sean Biggerstaff. (Such wonderfully phallic names.) I was led to believe that there would be an Oliver Wood sighting but there was not. I was very disappointed.
Ron and Hermione.

Just look at the way Ron is looking at her.

This is a pairing that makes sense. And Emma Watson just looked luminous. How can you not fall in love with her?
Harry, Hermione, a dimly lit tent, and Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' "O Children" playing in the background.

This scene didn't happen in the book, but it captured the spirit of the books and the characters perfectly, illustrating their weary loneliness, fearful isolation, and shaky maturity, as well as the importance and depth of their friendship. I love that it was such an intimate dance between loyal friends because it acknowledged that great love doesn't always have to include romance. This scene was powerful and unexpected, and it made the film for me. Everything about it was beautiful, lyrical, melancholy, and completely, transcendentally inspired.

There were a few things that I wish had been kept in the film. I thought that Regulus' part in the story was glossed over, as was the relationship between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, and the doubts that Harry had about Dumbledore were pretty much entirely written off. But there are worse things than straying from the books, such as creating soulless, by-the-book adaptations (I'm looking in your direction, Chris Columbus.) While it's true that Deathly Hallows: Part 1 was not completely faithful to its source material, it did remain faithful to the spirit and the heart of the story, much in the same way that Alfonso Cuaron's Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban did, which is why these are the two standouts in the series, despite their flaws and deviations from the books. At any rate, there's no point in complaining, really, because these characters have been with me for years; it's impossible for me to view the films and the books with anything but the greatest respect and affection, and I'm just happy and grateful that a capable director is finally doing their story justice.

I'm a Pretty Nice Person, Until I'm Given a Reason Not to Be

2010-09-26T00:00:00.002-07:00

So, today I had to go to school since I missed class earlier in the week. Not a big deal, although it's not the ideal way to spend a Saturday morning. But, because I'm trying to make this scholastic experience as short and as successful as possible, I got up bright and early this morning (despite a grueling work week), dosed myself with coffee, and drove off to class.

When I get there, I took a seat in the back and waited for the class to get full. As the lecture was about to begin, the girl sitting next to me says,

Our group is full, so I'm really sorry, but you're going to have to leave.

I thought it was an odd and extremely rude request, since I have the right to sit where I want. I'm paying for my education just like everybody else, and I had thought that, since this was college and not preschool, we could all act like adults instead of whining when taken out of our respective comfort zones. So, yes, I had a few choice words for her, but I chose to bite my tongue and give her a polite answer, stating that I would be sitting in at that section just for today and making it clear that I was staying.

As it turned out, the reason the girl wanted me to leave was because I was occupying her boyfriend's seat. She spent the entirety of lecture trying to look past me so that she could shoot flirtatious glances and giggles at her boyfriend. I thought it was kind of gross and creepy but I tried not to pay too much attention to them lest my mind suddenly play tricks on me, as it sometimes does in a long boring class, and I suddenly imagine them having sex or something. (My imagination is cruel and overactive in that way.)

When it came time to start the lab, the girl repeated her earlier statement, asking me to leave the group. This time, she said that the spot had been reserved for the person who was actually in the class. At this point, my temper began to flare a little bit, so I asked the professor if this were true, which, of course, it wasn't. After the professor walked away, the tiresome girl repeated her tiresome request yet again. I made a few quick calculations and figured that one lab wouldn't do too much to my grade if I decided to leave the class early, which finally spurred me on to respond to the girl's rudeness in kind.

I began to pack up and organize my things, then I said:

Ok, fine, I'll leave if it's that important to you to sit next to your boyfriend. I kind of understand, since judging from the way you look, he's the first and last man you'll ever get.

Then I walked out of the class, went home, and smoked a bowl. Sometimes, people can just be too much to deal with.

The Year That Was: 09.13.09 - 09.13.10

2010-09-13T23:36:00.002-07:00

I stopped looking forward to birthdays when it became unacceptable for me to harass my godparents to give me money or Gameboys, but, in the interest of preserving memories, I've decided to try to do an assessment of my life every year around my birthday. This includes a physical inventory of how the years have ravaged me. In other words, I've taken a self-portrait on my birthday every year since 2006, even though, really, not much has changed about the way I look (except for the tattoos and piercings) since I was a child.

Case in point: this is me at six years old with my grandfather.

And these are my annual self-portraits since 2006:

09.13.06

09.13.07

09.13.08

09.13.09

And this is what I looked like today.


09.13.10

As you can see, I look pretty much the same as I did when I was child, which is not such a bad thing. (I didn't know until now, though, that my affection for heavy bangs goes back to my early childhood.) It could be worse. But the lack of change in my features doesn't indicate how much and what I have learned, and how hard it sometimes is to process the problems that life seems to have an abundance of.

Anyway, I realize that most people do the annual-list-of-things-that-changed-your-life when the new year rolls around, but I think this is the more accurate way to evaluate the recent past. So, I shall now use bullets to summarize the year that was.

Things That Sucked

My dad having to stay in the hospital, off and on, for almost two months.
Starting a new job where the work is less labor-intensive but the people are, on good days, unpleasant, and, on bad days, downright racist.
Spending almost $3,000 to fix my car. (Thankfully, it's been running fine and has exhibited no other problems yet.)
Apropos of the previous point, being broke, or, at least, more broke than usual.

Things That Rocked

My beautiful nephew was born.
My newfound energy to go back to school and take responsibility for my life.
Allowing myself to let go of a lot of (although, sadly, not all) negativity in my life. It's freaking exhilarating.
My generally calmer demeanor, which enabled me to roll with the punches and deal with problems as they came, due in part, I'm sure, to my fondness for certain herbal relaxants.

On the whole and despite the items on the first list, it's been a good year. Far from perfect, but still with more high points than low. I think the most important thing is, I've come to realize that, though my life isn't sunshine and daisies all the time, there really hasn't been anything yet that I haven't been able to handle. It would seem that I'm finally walking down the timorous road to self-acceptance. I'm reminded of that moment in Before Sunset, where Jesse explains the enigmatic process of becoming your own person:

Am I getting worse? Am I improving? I don't know. When I was younger, I was healthier, but I was whacked with insecurity, you know? Now I'm older and my problems are deeper, but I'm more equipped to handle them.

I don't know how or when it happened, but that's pretty much where I am right now. Some days, I struggle with the reality of getting older, but, most of the time, when I remember who I used to be, I'm just glad to have become the person that I am now. So, here's to the end of one and the start of another year for me. My only hope is that it will be easier but just as empowering as the previous year has been.

Step By Difficult Step

2010-09-01T23:31:00.002-07:00

Apropos of this post and the life-changing choices I was contemplating at the time of its writing, I have made the decision to go back to college. The reason, of course, is to further my education and to better my life, but my first week back has already given me so much joy. I overheard gems like these:

When I go to a Starbucks that's not too crowded, I like to leave little pieces of installation art on the chairs.

I feel like writing is the only real art form left that hasn't been corrupted by commercialism.

Your tattoos creep me out. No offense.

Honestly, what am I supposed to say when someone says my tattoos are creepy? Is "No offense, bro," an appropriate response? Actually, that's pretty much exactly what I said, since he was a big guy and I was too scared to be offended.

This is the best one I've heard so far, though.

I want my acts of rebellion to matter, but not just to my parents.

Ah, yes. It's good to be back. I've missed the self-aware snark of young students as well as their unselfconscious sincerity. More than that, I've missed having a goal to reach for, even though all the studying I have to do has already put a dent in my very busy schedule of smoking pot and watching all seven seasons of Buffy on Netflix (I'm on season three right now).

At any rate, I feel really good about this decision, even though it's only the first of many small steps that I have to take to become the person I want to be. But at least I'm not standing still anymore. That's got to count for something.

Eyes On The Prize

2010-08-18T03:35:00.002-07:00

Now is probably not the best time to immerse myself in my thoughts, seeing as how I am severely jetlagged and extremely emotional. I flew in to LAX about five hours ago, and my mind is still in that in-between state where I'm not exactly sure where or who I am.

Let me be clear: I'm not unhappy to be back in California. I've made a life for myself here. I have a reasonably well-paying job. My friends are here. My family is here. So, no, I'm not unhappy, exactly. But it's becoming increasingly clear to me that this isn't the life I want. It's incomplete, and it will remain so until I figure out how to get what I want, which I think I finally have. It's foolish to rely on fate to take its course. I can while away my whole life hoping for that magic step to happen by itself.

So I'm keeping my eyes on the prize. It will be a long time before I can achieve what I want. I could choose to soak up all the sadness and longing I'm feeling right now, but I'd rather not. I get the feeling that this could be the beginning of a very exciting time in my life. I just need to remind myself to let it and make it happen.

This Time, Next Week

2010-08-10T08:15:00.002-07:00

By this time, next week, I'll be at the airport, waiting for my flight back to California. I want to make the most of the time I have here in Laguna, but it's hard to do that when I know there's that familiar loneliness creeping around the corner again.

It's hard to explain what a long-distance relationship is like to someone who's never been in one. I suppose it's not that much different from any other relationship, except we don't see each other very often. That's kind of a big deal, though, isn't it? But you can get used to anything, if the person is worth the sacrifice. True, I miss my boyfriend almost all the time, but I don't ever really feel disconnected from him. I guess I'm lucky. Regardless of the time apart and the distance between us, I've always felt secure and comfortable because we still grow together, never living separate lives even though we have several time zones and seven thousand miles between us.

Does that make it any easier? Of course not. Because physical separation is always imminent, every joyful reunion feels like one long tearful goodbye. It can be exhausting, both physically and emotionally, and there are times when the strain of being apart makes me feel like I am living only half my life. What makes it bearable, though, is that the short time we have together— despite the time apart, the distance, and the loneliness — is always, always, worth it.

New Ink

2010-08-08T23:48:00.002-07:00

My boyfriend Chi and I went to our tattoo artist's shop a few days ago, where I got this painting by Sylvia Ji tattooed on my right forearm.

It was a pretty grueling process, as the entire piece was finished in one epic eight-hour session. It was supposed to have been divided into two sessions, but the decision was made to get it done in one sitting because I am flying back to California next week.

Although I was still smiling in the above photo, it really was a pretty painful process, and it didn't take very long before the long hours blended into one another. I remember laughing hysterically at one point, most likely because the intense pain was making me delirious.

I don't have a high tolerance for pain at all, so I'm really not sure how I was able to sit still for eight hours. Still, I'm glad I did, because our tattoo artist, as always, did not disappoint. The finished product is phenomenal.


For more of Rakel's work, check facebook.com/rakeltattoo.

I'm not very good at explaining why I like to get tattoos, mainly because there's no esoteric or deeply personal reason as to why I like to get them. I thought that the painting on which the piece was based was beautiful and evocative. It spoke to me, and that's enough of a reason for me to get it tattooed. I get tattoos when I feel like it or when I can afford it, and all my tattoos have only ever been done by one person: the immensely talented Rakel Natividad, who lives and tattoos in Santa Cruz, Laguna, the same town my boyfriend Chi and I grew up in.

Chi and I have become good friends with her and her husband Kus over the years, so getting inked by her is always a fun and memorable experience, because it's not just a chance for me to add to my collection; it's also a chance for me and Chi to spend time with friends that we don't get to see very often. It's also extremely gratifying to see the success Rakel and Kus have achieved in the short time we've known them, and I know that I'm not alone when I say that I look forward to getting inked by her again in the future. She's not just a good friend but a true artist, and I'm very fortunate to know her. For more of Rakel's work, check her out on Facebook: facebook.com/rakeltattoo.

Holiday Malaise

2010-07-24T02:45:00.002-07:00

I am now a little bit over a month into my holiday here in the Philippines, but I haven't done much except nurse various illnesses. No trips to the beaches of Palawan, no spelunking in Sagada, no historical jaunts through Ilocos. Mostly, I've just been staying home with my grandfather and my boyfriend, which is what I usually end up doing, anyway.

So I'm not complaining, exactly. It's just that I had promised myself that I would be more adventurous this holiday. But given that I got sick almost immediately after I got here, it was hard to follow through on that. This holiday has been rewarding in other ways, though. Spending time with my grandfather and my (step?)grandmother is always a blessing, since we don't get to see each other all the time. The same goes for the time that I'm able to spend with my boyfriend.

I still have about a month to go before I fly back to California. I'm already dreading it. Leaving behind the people I love is always emotionally shattering, and it literally takes me months to recover from being away from them. But I go through it willingly year after year, because, really, what choice have I got? I'd rather be with them for a little while than not be able to see them at all. So, even though I haven't exactly painted the town red (yet), every minute that I'm here doing absolutely nothing still counts, because I'm surrounded by the people I love.

It's Supposed To Be A Struggle

2010-07-16T11:42:00.002-07:00

I'm here to take up space, and you can't stop me from doing that. But I can only take up your time if you let me. And I hope you do.

I'm not sure yet if I have anything left to write about. No, scratch that. There's always something to write about. The problem is, I'm not as enthusiastic as I used to be. I've come to recognize that I'm not as special as I thought I was. I'm not the person I expected I would be, and I'm trying to be ok with that. It's taken some time, but I've realized that this is supposed to be a struggle. Maybe I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.