23

In the number-titled, Jim Carrey thriller, JC's character is haunted by the number and believes its presence is foretelling of change. Now that I have reached that age, I feel that I too must change and strive to make this a productive year. I've committed some egregious sins. I lie to loved ones and have shown rudeness to those who are close to me. I need to be more responsible and more respectful. I don't know if the things I've done are forgiveable or recoverable, but I'll hopefully manage to pull through gracefully. I need more responsibility, but my actions are still very dependent upon the decision and whim of others. It is that which I think needs the most change.
I hope 23 will be a good year for me.

in sickness and in health

It's funny how five words can be so powerful. Another would be "til death do you part." It's so impactful when you're in love, and when you're standing in that white dress and staring at the man to whom you promise your whole self, you gotta tell yourself that being with this guy does not mean life gets any easier. Getting married only means that you have someone else who's problems to worry about until either you or he dies. Whichever comes first.

When my aunt got married in '92, she repeated those exact words as she faced a distinguished looking, 40-something gentleman of Italian descent. He is thirteen years older than she is, but what is age when you're in love? It was so romantic in every cliche. We flowergirls and bridesmaids were adorned in fuschia dresses that my grandmother had sewn by hand. She even sang in the church to him some Nat King Cole song whose title I don't remember at the moment. (And as something not pertaining to this story, the fact that I do not recall this song at the moment will drive me crazy the next couple of days.)

Fastforward 15 years. While she's at the prime of her life, his time-ravaged body is failing him, and she has to deal with it. As long as they've been married, all the time this man is suffering some sort of ailment. I would not be surprised if he had never been healthy a day in his life. In later years as I grew more socially aware, I did begin to realize that theirs may have been more of a marriage of convenience. Not to say that my aunt was a golddigger, because she was well established in her profession while she was still single. It seems more and more to me that they both married each other for what they were rather than for who they were. It's not that every match made in this fashion doesn't work out, but in this case my aunt didn't know beforehand the sort of person she was getting involved with.

To elaborate, my aunt is an old-fashioned, nurturing Filipina who wanted a financially well-to-do man, while her husband was a bachelor with an Asian fetish who had seen better days and was looking for more consistency in his homelife.

Getting back to the present, their marriage had been on the rocks for some time, while I'm supposing he has been unfaithful in all sorts of other ways excepting the physical. Being the strong Filipina woman she is, she is willing to stick by him, even though she already knows he is not emotionally committed anymore, and she is sticking to that 15-year old oath until he decides to leave her, or dies. Whichever comes first.

So, while my mother tells me all this, I wonder aloud, "why would she go through all this for a man who had said to her face that he wanted nothing more to do with the marriage?"

My mother replies: "She can't wait to be rid of him, but he won't leave when he is sick all the time and he takes care of her."

Mental followup: why does he have to do the leaving? I'd think that it would be best for her to leave him now while he is still in relatively good health. In spite of the fact that he's in the ER right now, I say "relatively" in consideration that his health is a bell curve with the peak somewhere around 35. It's all downhill from his vantage point, and with him she's got nowhere else to go.

But really, all this is bad. I'd imagine that whatever happens, their daughter will be in need of many hours in therapy.

"What is wrong with our family?!?!"

My mom likes to talk about the family gossip. I like to listen to her hypocrisies as she says what others have done wrong. The thing about my mom is that she always has to be right. When she says something that is incorrect and we correct it, she will instantly deny it seconds later and insists she said it the correct way, even when there are two other people who would verify that what she originally said was incorrect. Although it is something to which one should grow accustomed, it still invokes in me a cringe of annoyance.

So my cousin who, unprovoked, unfriended me on friendster a day after adding me as her friend, is getting divorced. I add the first part because I thought it was extremely rude of her. Anyway, she worked at a bank and started an intimate (and unprotected) relationship with her coworker. I can still remember as clear as day that conversation between my parents.

"...so now she's pregnant," my mother says with the same excitement in her voice whenever she delivers some bit of salaciousness. "And they'll have to get married now."

"Why do they have to get married?" asks my more Westernized father.

"Hon, because!" my mother replies in exasperation. For my mom, no explanation was necessary because it was so clear that the next necessary step for her niece was marriage to the father of her unborn child. And, my mother's trademark would be to tie together two completely nonrelevant items and present them as a cause-effect relationship.

"Because she couldn't pass her board exams those two times, she got depressed, and that's why she had to go to bed with that man, and that's how she got pregnant."

Ahh, it's all so clear... and I refer not to her representation of my cousin's mindset, but the stark contrast between Americans and Filipinos. My American cousin has 4 children and has not been married yet while my Filipino cousin plans a shotgun wedding while expecting. My cousin had a small wedding, and now, only a handful of months later, she's considering divorce. So much for preservation of family, but for the sake of appearances, the baby was born in wedlock.

Now, my mom hums a different tune. "I don't know why she got married! What a mistake. However, I do sympathize with her. After all, her mom put all hopes on her to get them out of financial disaster. She did not have the choice to do what she wanted in the first place, and when she did not pass the exams, her mom criticized her."

Story of my life, minus the baby and impending divorce. Then again, who knows what the future has in store?

off to the Ville

So, it's like almost 4 in the morning. I'm supposed to get up in... oh, say about 3-4 hours or so, but I'm not that tired yet, so I thought I'd post about what's going on in my head. Hopefully then I'll be able to sleep.

Anecdote called again. Yes, he's gotten so persistent, I've code-named him. I did not answer. Hopefully he doesn't call again.

I'm going to a meeting tomorrow morning with the coworkers across town. MINI-ROAD TRIP!! Free breakfast and fun times to ensue. Hopefully I wake up for that.

I'm going to visit my boyfriend this weekend, and I'll actually be able to sleep over at his place instead of staying with my cousin. Don't get me wrong, I love my cousin, but my bf and I deserve a little alone time. I'm packing some essentials, like my bathing suit for the beach, a couple day dresses, and my fedora. Hopefully I don't forget anything else important.

Hopefully everything works out.

Hopefully I don't get caught.

Long Distance Lovers

5 months ago, I though the world was crashing in when I had to move back to Orlando and away from my boyfriend in Gainesville. I vividly remember when I was leaving him. We spent nearly 30 minutes in the parking lot saying our goodbyes. He ran alongside my car for two buildings before he disappeared from my field of vision.

2 months ago, I was in Gainesville for my boyfriend's commencement ceremony. The summer had gone by uneventfully. I would visit every couple weekends or so, but he was for the most part near breaking point just trying to finish his thesis. I hung in there for moral support. His low spirits may have affected me, but I maintained optimism in a happier future for him and me. We were both preoccupied with our own situations, and distance didn't seem like a bother. And, the culmination of his stay at UF-- his graduation-- was so happy and hopeful. My parents even travelled up to watch him walk across the stage. I also helped him move in to his new apartment in Jacksonville, and we couldn't have been any happier had we both been moving in. Because Jacksonville is only 2 hours away, and because of my cousin living in Jax, I'd be able to visit often.

1 month ago, he was disappointed that his job wasn't what he envisioned. In spite of it, he was happy that our relationship still felt close. By then, we had seen each other twice, with me visiting him and him visiting me. He was even so optimistic as to say, "It doesn't feel like we're even apart."

18 hours ago, I woke up to my phone. My bf left me a text message: "Hi Ganda, I feel so lonely up here. I wish that we could be together on a daily basis. I miss you so much. I love you. How I think of the times that we were together..." I quickly call him up, and he stats telling me that he doesn't know if we're on the same level when the relationship is as serious as it is. His tone is bleak and dour, and I am frightened to tears. Admittedly, I've procrastinated on my grad school app, but he takes it to heart and thinks that I'm not taking our future seriously because of my dalliance. Also my parents have become such an issue. True, a man his age shouldn't have to be sneaking around to be intimate with his own long term girlfriend, but with my parents one has to honor formalities. It's all on me. The success of this relationship is all on me, and it can't be any harder to bear right now. Realistically, we won't be able to be together until after I finish my program in '09. He's even telling me now that the two hour travel back and forth is exhausting and takes away from his work performance, and that he may one day even opt not to see as not to sacrafice his energy during the work week. So, are hope and love enough to make this long-distance relationship last?
20 minutes ago, I wished him goodnight as we got off the phone. He couldn't tell me enough that he loved me. His perspective changed drastically from this morning, after receiving input from others. For now our relationship is fine, but how long will this last? I don't know which adage to refer to: Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or out of sight, out of mind.

2-weekends in a row...

This weekend, my bf came down. "For my ganda," he says, but in reality his best friend called him and said he was going to watch the game in Orlando. It doesn't matter, because I take reunions with him any way I can take it. He even came to Orlando last weekend, but had a tiresome Saturday at the Epcot Food and Wine Festival. Rain provided a persistent obstacle this weekend and last weekend, especially when one chooses to wear open-toed shoes; however, we Floridians are resilient.
On Friday, I improvized a very cute outfit and hung out around Pointe Orlando's Adobe Gila. Great Spinach Dip, but then again, it would be extremely hard to mess up spinach dip. The most memorable event of the night involved me being scared sh**less by my bf's friend. Yeah, I don't think I'd be going to a haunted house anytime soon.
On Saturday, I spent the day around Orlando with my bf. We shopped around Florida Mall and ate at Taverna Opa. Note to self: overindulging in Greek food will render one comatose. And, then we went to a friend's place to watch the UF game. It was then that we felt such hope and happiness by halftime. We also felt heartbreak in the last 4 minutes of the game. I hadn't expected UF to win in the first place against #1 LSU, but they made me believe when we were up by ten at the start of the 4th quarter. 2 losses in a row for UF-- hasn't happened in a while. =(
Afterwards, we kinda forced ourselves to go out and head downtown. It was okay, but we were all tired and unimpressed with all the inebriates.
And to end my weekend, I spendt all afternoon watching Law and Order: CI and planning my BGC schedule for the week.

The deconstruction of a quip

"Oh no she didn't!!" is apparently on the mouths of every Filipino ever since this past episode of Desperate Housewives. This is how it went down:

Doctor: Susan, I know for a lot of women that the word menopause has negative connotations. It says here "aging, brittle bones, loss of sexual desire..."
Susan: Okay, wait. Before we go any further, can I check those diplomas, because I would just like to make sure that they're not from some med school in the Philippines.

Racist? Ignorant? Offensive? Hells naw. Being a FilAm and former med school student wannabe, it's common knowledge that med school in the States is hard to get into, and if you are not smart/lucky enough, then you go overseas. The Caribbean and the PI are the two top options for FilAms such as myself.

Edit: It's so funny that just after I published this blog, my mom barges in and is asking me to change the channel to FOX News to watch Bill O'Reilly. His headlining debate: "Desperate Housewives vs. Filipino Med Schools."

And then this morning, every other friend of mine is joining some Facebook group that demands an apology from ABC for being so insensitive.

Seriously??!

You know, maybe if Filipinos wanted their med schools to be more high calibre, then maybe they should make it harder to get into. Graduate more high calibre people that can pass board exams in developed countries, and then maybe the quip may be more offensive.

People need to get over themselves and laugh a little more. How come that "Family Guy" can make a joke about Filipino men and everyone laughs, while Desperate Housewives makes a joke about medical degrees from the PI, and it's horror?

Poetic Compilation

so&so Haiku:
He called me again.
I ignored it, but I don't
think he understands.

bf limerick (lame, i know)
My boyfriend's 2 hours away
His workweek's all work and no play
I'm going to see him
At the start of the weekend
And we'll play all Saturday.

PS. Stop Calling Me

Dear So and So,
Perhaps it's my passive agressive nature, but I thought you'd get it by now. 5 calls. At least, 5 that came from your phone. Then there have been the calls from withheld numbers and numbers I didn't recognize. Thanks to you, I screen all unknown numbers. Since when did obsessive persistence become a virtue? I danced with you for five minutes in a club, and now you think we're bffs. You, in all your sobriety, took advantage of a clearly buzzed female and got her phone number, but by no means does that mean you're automatically in. I imagine that where you live must be extremely deprived of female life, that you must cling to the hopes that I will answer my phone.
Believe me, I felt guilt the next day when you called, and I felt guilt when I ignored your call the first two times. Now, I am pissed off. Obviously, I do not want to talk to you. No, not even for your bribes of free hip-hop dance lessons and whatnot. Not even for 1 million dollars would I endure your bipolar communicative skills. Well... maybe I would, but for 1 million dollars, I would also roll around naked in pig squalor.
I've already deleted pictures of you from my camera, and the only reason I have your number still in my phone is so that I can identify your call and avoid you like Britney Spears actively avoids sanity. I've learned my lesson: no more giving out any contact information, and no more dancing with ugly strangers. No more. No more.

When to say "no"

Last weekend, I had a great time. I saw DJ Kaskade at the Social in downtown Orlando, and even though I cannot remember anything that he played, I remember that I danced to every bit of it, so that must mean I liked it. When I come into the club, that's my persona-- perpetual dancer. Considering I don't go the the gym or participate in outdoor activities, dancing is my own form of exercise and release at the end of the week. When I go downtown, I go there to have fun and dance, and people gravitate towards me.

As happenstance would have it, I brought my camera with me. I was looking admittedly hot that night, and so was my friend, and I went crazy with my 1gb storage space. So there I was, striking poses with everyone around me. I must have taken at least 50 pictures that night. Some of the pictures turned out great, some of them didn't, and more of them revealed to me with its automatic flash what I couldn't see in the darkness of the nightclub.

It's a given that guys will come up to the club and dance with you. It is another given that guys will ask for your or some kind of way to get in touch with you. That's about the time where a fun night could extend to much more, like longterm friendship or a possible relationship. Granted, guys are out for a certain thing too, but I won't get into that. I have a great boyfriend, and I'm not at the club to make new friends. That's about the time where my judgement should have kicked in and said, "HELL NO," but I guess the DJ's music put me in a congenial mood. Damn you, Kaskade.

I woke up the next morning, and I began looking through my phone, and I happened to have received a missed call from the guy, only hours after having given him my digits. He had a sweet voicemail of feigned concern for my safety in getting home, and I had hoped it would end at that. "Had hoped," indicating that I was optimistic at one point, and then reality sunk in.

He called later that afternoon, in the middle of my college football game. Thanks to him, I had to check the final score from online. And, I would have at least hoped that it was a good convo, but it was just him talking, and might I add, abusing the art of anecdotal conversation. He probably talked for an hour, while I talked for maybe 5 minutes. So, while he was chatting away, I went on the computer and downloaded the pictures to my laptop. Oh, the horror as I looked at the 15 or so pictures of me with this guy, pose after pose, and seeing him getting progressively closer and even trying to lean in to kiss me?! Of course, I resisted. I'm not that bad of a girlfriend. But still, I'm not good enough to have just said no, and I was receiving my punishment right then.

Oh, and did I mention that he's fug? Because it wouldn't be some hot adonis that calls me the next day to strike up convo-- it would be the bottom of the barrel hoping that they can sink their teeth in before the decent guys employ the 3-day courtesy waiting time before calling.

For my flirty behavior, I was upset and ashamed. It's sad, because i love dancing with different people, but if that means that I'm enticing guys or making them think I want something more, then maybe I'm better off not dancing with them. I told my bf about it, and even vowed that I wouldn't even dance with a stranger again, let alone give him my . He was very comforting in that he trusts me and knows me well enough that I'm giving myself a beating over the experience. I could tell though that he was relieved when I showed him the picture of that fug guy and maybe wouldn't have acted the same way if the guy was like Jake Gyllenhall or something.

I <3 Brad Paisley

So, in the past I've always been one of those people who would put in my online profiles...

Music: everything... except country

But I think ever since I heard Billy Ray Cyrus 10+ years ago, I've been a fan. And no, it wasn't his "Achy Breaky Heart" which got me (although I do know the words by heart), but it's his "Where'm I Gonna Live When I Get Home" that was my favorite back in the day. For those of you who don't know, I was born and raised in Texas, which should be an indicator that I have a certain thing for cowboys. I also get that country twang when I get sleepy or excited. My first concert was Reba McIntyre when she came to San Antonio for the annual stock show and rodeo. My dad would play a tape deck of Billy Ray in the minivan when I was younger and my sister and I would sing along to his songs all the time. And yes, I even owned a pair of boots when I was younger. But being a minority in a state of whites who listened to country, I conformed with my fellow minorities who listened to pop/r&b/hiphop and detested anything and everything country. So, up until college I was a self-professed country-music hater.

I would continue cringing at that yee-haw music until a then crush of mine who was also a minority told me that he listened to country music. I consider myself a bit of a music connoisseur, and I had admired his taste in music as well, and I was curious why he listened to country. "Country music is about hanging out and having a good time, which is what I do," he replied. Wanting to prove myself, I started downloading all the current country hits. And it was then that I discovered Brad Paisley.

To me, Brad Paisley brought sexy back in a Chevy truck. His song "Mud on the Tires" was an instant favorite of mine, and he single-handedly brought me back in to country music. I started listening to country music stations and watching music videos on CMT. It was so easy to fall back into country music because it integrates corny humor, sincere lyrics, and anecdotes on everyday life with acoustic melodies. It's fun to listen to and, for the most part, inoffensive to listeners. I haven't abandoned other genres, but I've begun to appreciate country music more and more.

However, when I had recently assigned country stations to numbers 2 and 3 on my car radio presets, my boyfriend began to complain that my taste in music had gone south (haha). I hope to someday convert him =)

Is There Internet in Heaven?

From time to time, I wonder what happens to a blog or web journal after its creator passes away. Does it get deleted after a while due to inactivity, or will it forever be encapsulated in that web address, with its owner's last entry in full view for people to visit in 50 or 100 years? An acquaintance of mine recently joined a RIP group for one of her friends, and naturally I saw an overflow of emotion with each message: missing her and reminiscing ancient memories like yesterday. I didn't know the girl, but it seemed like she touched alot of people's lives. This got me thinking about my own cousin's death over 3 years ago, and I wandered over to her xanga. Her last post was still on Sept. 19, 2003, just as it was when I visited months ago, but still I read it. My cousin also has a memorial website with pictures and a section where you can share your memories with everyone else.

I'm sure there is some part of you stored in whatever you write, so no matter what happens to you, you are eternal as long as people keep reading your words. JK Rowling comes to mind as I write this, since she incorporated a cursed journal with the soul of its creator in the Harry Potter series. But, unlike this journal that would reply to Harry when he would ask questions, our blogs don't. But, anyway, what I'm getting at is with all the memorials sites and comments or wall postings saying "i miss you" and all, do they ever reach their intended? They are no doubt comforting to those left behind to look back on, but these weblogs and sites are deceiving. After you leave the message, something to the extent of "your message will be received the next time he/she logs on," and that's unlikely.

I wrote a letter to my cousin Melissa shortly after she died, wishing I had written it while she was still alive. I sealed it in the envelope and told my other cousin, her brother, to please put it in her casket. I wrote it to her, maybe hoping there'd be some response in the clouds or on some traffic sign, and I like to think that through some divine intervention she reintroduced some lost friends into my life shortly after, but reality is the envelope is still sealed and six feet under with no light source and no life. And no matter how many "I miss you" messages I leave on websites, they won't reply back "I miss you too." Part of me wants to believe that Melissa has internet access on a computer with no keyboard and is sitting on some cloud reading those responses without being able to type out a reply. But I guess if I were in heaven I wouldn't be spending my time on xanga, myspace, or facebook.

Sometimes I wish my late grandfather had a xanga too that I could look back on and write comments on because maybe then it'd be easier to remember him, and maybe I'd feel closer to him because I'd be reading thoughts that he himself typed into existance. I guess at the heart of it that's what weblogs are meant for-- sharing your voice, commemorating your own will. And it'd be so easily accessible, that even if you've left this world and are far out of reach, random strangers could google you up and you could have an impact on that person's day. But as expansive as the internet seems, it only goes so far as the next computer and otherwise is nonexistent. Still, as dour as all this sounds, I entertain the notion that somewhere beyond all the stars and galaxies that my departed friends and relatives know exactly when I think of them and they can hear when I call out to them.

minorities hating on minorities: the solution is understanding

"I would argue that blacks are weak-willed. They are the only race that has been enslaved for 300 years," penned Kenneth Eng in his most recent column, "Why I Hate Blacks," featured in Asiaweek magazine. Currently he's being lambasted by Asian American and Black activist groups alike to his apparent ignorance, but to me this story is telling of a more deep-seeded intolerance among minorities. It is a dirty secret that we minorities don't want to admit to, because it speaks hypocrisy. Being a part of a minority, you face a constant struggle with your identity in a place run rampant with stereotypes and systemic prejudice, and to put another group down based on stereotypes and prejudice only perpetuates what you yourself try to fight.

What I see here, as in any other case of racial intolerance, is a lack of understanding and empathy. Asian and Black Americans are two vastly different cultures originating in different continents altogether and forced to live together in another continent. As progressive as Asian American and Black American activists are, minority children are unlikely to learn their own cultural heritage, let alone the heritage of other minorities. History books tell of the caucasian's manifest destiny in America and how they brought Africans in through slave trade and how they turned Chinese immigrants into indentured servants. Students don't learn how or why Filipinos migrated to the US, nor do they understand the Japanese American internment during WWII or the plight of the Vietnamese and Koreans due to Communism. I believe education needs to change and I would delve into it, but for the sake of brevity I'll save that for another time.

Meanwhile, as we are raised to be ethnicly ignorant, we grow up in an environment of racial overload. We think in terms of color-- red, white, black, yellow--- when we are all really just different shades of brown. We turn derogatory slurs into slang without thinking. We'd rather trust the truth in stereotypes than to see the truth to a group. And why? Because it's easier. It's easier to generalize than to go out of your way and seek answers. It's easier to believe that intelligence and personality traits are somehow related to your skin tone. It's easier to be stupid than to think. And so I challenge this to you, dear reader: be intelligent. Think and try to understand a situation before you form and verbalize opinions about a group of people. Don't be so ignorant to think you know everything.



http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/02/27/racist.column.ap/index.html