Snip Snap

I am Introspective, Aesthetic, and Understanding. (Ha!)

2011-12-09T01:12:00.001-08:00

It's just past 1 a.m., so I figured now is a good time to take a random personality test a friend blogged about on Tumblr. Here are the long-winded results:

The top 10 traits out of 90 that uniquely describe you.

Introspective
You like your own company; you're a very interesting person. Tracking your own mental processes, knowing what you're thinking and why you do what you do, is important to you. Often, what's going on in your mind is more compelling than what's going on outside. For the most part, those with a high score on the "introspective" trait enjoy reading, taking long walks, learning new things, and other solitary activities.

You are not someone who is constantly looking to be among a group of friends; you never feel bored when you are by yourself.

Aesthetic
You appreciate art, beauty, and design; you know that they are not superficial but absolutely crucial to living the good life. You have good taste, and you're proud of it. Those with a high score on the "aesthetic" trait are often employed in literary or artistic professions, enjoy domestic activities — doing things around the house — and are enthusiastic about the arts, reading, and travel.

You don't think it's pretentious to be moved by art and beauty. You're not one of those who believe it doesn't matter what something looks like as long as it does its job.

Understanding
You are willing to take the time to find out what's going on with other people, especially if they're in distress. You're a good listener, you don't criticize, and you offer unbiased, respectful, honest advice when it's requested. With a high score on the "understanding" trait, it is likely that you are enthusiastic about charitable work, helping others, and making the world a better place.

You don't feel the need to impose your standards on others or say things that, even though true, cause pain.

Scrupulous
You are an honest, fair person. You don't lie or cheat to get ahead. You treat others with respect and hope for the same in return.

You do not feel that you are above the rules that everyone else follows; you are definitely not willing to do whatever it takes to get ahead.

Prudent
You look before you leap, think before you act, consider what you're about to say before you open your mouth to speak; that's why you rarely have to eat your words.

You usually don't get excited easily or blurt out the first thing that comes to mind without considering the consequences.

Innovative
You come up with a lot of ideas; if one doesn't work out, there's always another waiting in the wings. You often have interesting solutions to difficult problems. You're practically a one-person brainstorming session.

You are less interested changing the world than in dealing with things as they are. Unlike those who spend all their time trying to solve problems, you prefer to zero in on things that work and stick with them.

Creative
You are good at solving problems, coming up with original ideas, and seeing connections between things, connections that most other people miss. People with a high score on the "creative" trait often are employed in such fields as finance and scientific research, and enjoy avant garde and classical music as well as literary fiction and scholarly non-fiction.

You do not shun abstractions and concepts in favor of the concrete and tangible.

Intellectual
You are thoughtful, rational, and comfortable in the world of ideas. People find you interesting to talk to. You're the living embodiment of the saying "You learn something new every day." In general, those with a high score on the "intellectual" trait are employed in such fields as teaching and research, and are enthusiastic about reading, foreign films, and classical music.

You do not avoid abstract conversation, experimenting with new ideas, or studying new things. It bores you to stick to the straight and narrow of what you already know.

Buttoned-Down
You like to know that everything is in its place; it's somehow empowering to know that the world around you is neat and organized. For you, schedules and timelines are great ways to stay on track, and mowing down the items on your "to do" list is a source of happiness.

You do not believe that a clean, orderly desk is the sign of a person who doesn't have enough to do; you don't thrive on a sense of personal anarchy.

Resilient
You bounce back quickly from adversity. For you, all setbacks are temporary. You don't dwell on bad news, bad luck, or criticism; you regroup and focus on solving the problem, whatever it may be.

You almost never feel that there's too much on your plate, that you don't have the strength to deal with the bad hand you've been dealt, or that you're going to lose it if you have to deal with one more problem.

What a bunch of malarkey.

It’s a bit late in the evening but…

2011-09-14T23:52:00.000-07:00

“I’m a hustla, baby! I just want you to know. It ain’t where I been, but where I’m ‘bout to go.”

Sometimes I get this track stuck in my head when I feel like my life’s headed in a good direction.

Spoiling myself.

2011-09-12T09:59:00.000-07:00

In the last week, I've spent a ton of money on myself: pretty dresses, rubber stamps, a fancy new camera, a video game pre-order, cross-stitch supplies, two foodie magazine subscriptions, etc.

I don't know why I'm treating myself to all of these goodies, but it just felt like a good time. In addition to work and school, I need to budget time to ramp up my hobbies again. Like cooking and photography and video games and cross-stitching and letter writing.

And the dresses? Well, I just like wearing cute dresses...

"Trouble melts like lemon drops."

2011-08-05T00:08:00.000-07:00

From left to right: Cousin Chris, my not-so-little-brother Nathan, baby Aiyanna and myself.

My last trip home left me strangely homesick. I'm homesick after living away for three and a half years!

The trip itself was a little bizarre though, but that is just Life, I suppose. I flew to LA to attend a memorial service, and as a result I was able to meet my new baby niece. My emotions were understandably all over the place.

The week preceding the trip, I was barreling through my first classes at Syracuse University, with some luck and a whole lot of kindness from my cohort and professor. (I am enormously indebted to them all, by the way. I spent only a few days with them, but they are some of the brightest and kindest people I've ever met.)

Truthfully, I barely felt present during that week at SU. I found out she died (died, not passed away. She hated it when people wrote that. People die.) the night before my flight to Syracuse, and I was numb for the first two or three days of my residency. I felt so odd. I could only think about Jolene Combs and the profound effect she had on my life. I would be in a very different place now if I had never taken J1 with her at El Camino College.

My best friends, those who know me through and through, are not the people I grew up with, or went to high school with, though I still love those guys dearly. I met my best friends on the Union. We scrambled and triumphed together under JC's iron AP style rule. I met David on that same staff, and we have now been together for nearly five years.

Perhaps the most crucial role JC played in my life was that of my personal cheerleader. She believed in me and my talents at a time when I was barely beginning to rebuild my life. I had just dropped out of Boston University and was content to take random classes at EC. I needed direction, but more than that, I sorely needed someone to encourage and guide me.

At SU, I kept contemplating the way JC had subtly woven herself into the very fabric of my existence. A little strange, but in a way I owe everything I now have to her. She told all of her students that there are only three things one needs in life to achieve happiness: Someone who loves you, good health and a job you love. The first two things are not necessarily in your control, but you can find a job you love.

I only felt some peace when I decided to cancel my trip to New York City to attend her memorial service in LA. Only then did I feel comfortable focusing on my studies; I would have my chance to say goodbye to JC, and do so with my best friends around me.

The service itself was very lovely. JC's influence was clear from the range of people there: students younger than me, a couple of my high school teachers who had also been taught by her, etc. I saw many people I haven't seen in years. I even learned a few things about her.

I still have trouble believing she is gone. I wish I could have guzzled a Suffering Bastard with her.

I prefer to think of that weekend home as a celebration of life on all levels. We celebrated and honored the life of an amazing woman, and I was able to experience the joy of new life in the form of my cousin's baby girl, pictured above.

Again, a curious mix of emotions. Seeing him with baby Aiyanna made me feel every day of my 24 years of life, but it also opened my eyes to the wealth of new experiences awaiting all of us.

Many of my friends are getting engaged or married, or already having children, and that is amazing. It's beautiful. We're all growing up and moving on, and though it makes me a little sad and a little nervous, I'm much more excited. Next June I'll be a bridesmaid for the first time; I'll have a front row seat to my oldest friend's wedding. We've known each other since we were babies, and it's only fitting that we experience these new chapters of our lives together.

All of this to provide some background for my homesickness. Whenever I visited home before, it never felt like anything had changed. I would fully expect everything to remain close to the same as when I had first left, and although I always knew that was unrealistic, now is the first time I actually feel the weight of all the potential for change. My friends are getting married. My cousin just had a baby. In a couple of years, my dad will retire and move back to the Philippines. My grandpa just keeps getting older and older.

And I'm missing this progress. That's where my homesickness stems from: the growing realization that Time is swift and unrelenting. And as well as I can come to terms with change, I just feel like I'm wasting precious time. I want to be around when Aiyanna starts to crawl and walk. I want to hear her gurgle out her first words. I should really get to know my friend's husband-to-be before I am a party to their marriage. I want the time to grill my grandpa so I can learn more about where I come from. I want to watch him play with his new great-granddaughter. I want to bug my dad every day until he leaves me here in the States with all the crazy relatives.

This feeling makes me want to move back to LA for the next few years, but I know it's unrealistic. I just need to budget my money and make more frequent trips home.

Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile!

2011-04-10T01:01:00.000-07:00

Peter Shortall as Jack Straw.

Oh-ro, you're welcome home!

Before my friends from LA arrive and fill my apartment with the sounds of young life, I wanted to write a little bit about my friend Peter J. Shortall.

I call him a friend even though I altogether spent only a few days with him in Ireland, almost three summers ago now. He and another older gentleman, Dara Vallely, graciously gave us so much of their attention and patience, and I likely learned more about Ireland from them than I ever would have on my own.

He died on Thursday. And I only discovered this because I'm a Facebook troll and noticed a recent status update from another fellow I met in Ireland. It's an odd thought, but if not for Facebook, I may never have known.

I can't quite explain my reaction his death. There was almost immediate acceptance, but I still want to cry a little bit. More than that, I want to grab a pint and just tell all my stories about him with others who knew him. Which I'll likely do at some point this week with my friend Megan. Peter was very kind to the both of us. He deserves some form of a wake, to the best of our abilities.

Peter and Dara are members of the Armagh Rhymers, a folk theater group that brings old Irish traditions to life for school children and adults alike. Megan's multimedia package focused on these mummers, and I often tagged along with her because Dara and Peter were veritable fonts of Irish culture. Their families have long histories in Armagh, so they could help me with any question I had. Almost. As an aside, I once asked Dara what he thought my ethnicity was, and he responded with a smile and a fair guess: "Puerto Rican...?"

But back to Peter. He was a little more gruff than Dara, and a lot less talkative, but his constant teasing showed us he cared. When we treated the mummers to dinner at the youth hostel, Peter kept looking around and asking for the chips. Or he'd tease us because even though we'd been there for a few weeks, we hadn't tried soda bread yet. He promised he'd bake some for us too.

He didn't get a chance to do that, but the day before we were set to fly back to the States, he and Dara gave me and Megan a little tour. I'd mentioned that Mosby and I had a lot of trouble finding St. Brigid's Well, and sure enough Dara knew its exact location. Peter tagged along because even though he grew up there, he either had never been or couldn't remember where it was. Turns out the well was covered with plant life, including stinging nettles, that we had to clear off before we could actually see the well.

A very unexciting St. Brigid's Well. And Dara.

Queen Medb as a mummer's stone.

Peter also gave us mummer's stones, little stones carved with the likeness of certain characters that each mummer carries for luck. He told me that if I take care of it, it will take care of me. Mine is supposed to be a likeness of Queen Medb, queen of Connacht in the Ulster Cycle of Irish mythology. She was one bad ass queen, and really liked bulls. In fact, she wanted one particular bull so much, she went to war to get it. Her name supposedly means “she who intoxicates.” Dang.

I try to carry it with me most of the time, but I'm always paranoid that I'll lose it or break it. But I suppose neglecting it by leaving it at home is just as bad, if not worse.

Any way, before I end up rambling any more, I'll close with this video of Dara and Peter performing at our hostel.

Peter touched many, many lives during the course of his long full life. That's all any of us can hope for, I suppose. Wish I could have been there to give you a proper send off, Peter!

Two against the world?

2011-03-16T10:22:00.000-07:00

American survives quake, walks 20 hours to find girlfriend – American Morning - CNN.com Blogs

In light of all the recent and seemingly continual horrors, it's uplifting to discover the scarce stories of human perseverance. More than the images of all the destruction in Japan, the photos and stories of survivors stay with me throughout the day. Like the one I link to above. Or the photo of the infant who survived under rubble for three days before being reunited with her father. Or even the photo of the man sobbing with joy because his dog survived too. I'll link to these photos when I have more time.

IT’S OFFICIAL!

2011-03-09T22:19:00.000-08:00

Now the paranoia can just fade away. I just needed the hard copy in my hands.

Funny though. It came in a regular letter-size envelope, which made me even more anxious. Back in high school, they used to say you did not want the small letter; you wanted to get the large packet.

Ah well. Here is the glorious evidence. And the reason why my mind has been up in the clouds lately.

BAMF!

2011-03-07T16:10:00.000-08:00

The sound Nightcrawler makes when he teleports, not the acronym for "bad ass motherfucker."

At least in my world.

So. Just when I start to think I have too much free time, I suddenly have none. Several (relatively) worthy opportunities have popped up since last week. I hope I can keep up.

I have always excelled at multitasking, but as the years pass I find it more difficult to juggle multiple responsibilities.

During my senior year of high school, I wore many hats:

Academic Decathlon team captain
News editor of the Trailblazer
College peer counselor
Senior member of the Carson Student Movement
Ephebian Socity (I just found out George Takei is also an Ephebian. Funny.)

I feel like I'm forgetting something, but eh. Despite still being very close to a majority of my high school friends, I feel so removed from those years. But clearly, I was a busy girl. Natch.

For the last month or so, I have only worried about my two jobs and little else. Both jobs are fairly self-contained; I am free beyond 9 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.

Now, once more, I must juggle work with extracurriculars, something that was once a no-brainer but now seems almost mind-boggling. I want to tell you I will delve into it with great gusto, but truthfully I am a bit leery. I'm a little apprehensive because I have grad school coming up in just four months. Perhaps that is a world away, but it will be here before I know it.

I'm quite fond of breaks.

2011-03-03T22:25:00.000-08:00

So much so, that this is technically my third break since I embarked on this evening's tasks. I keep taking breaks because I worked at home today, thus spending the majority of the day sitting at my desk. Every break consists of some physical task: vacuuming, doing the dishes, etc.

I GOT INTO SYRACUSE!

Time to bleed orange, I suppose.

I still can't believe it. I keep rereading the admissions email. I won't completely believe it until I receive the admission packet in the mail.

Mornin'!

2011-03-01T08:33:00.000-08:00

One enduring simple fantasy of mine is to have all of my favorite people mingle in the same room. They can love, laugh, even hate one another, but somewhere in all that mess I'd be as happy as a clam, even if I'm just observing from the fringes.

Despite my predilection for solitude, I am nothing without the people in my life. As much as I behave as a fully autonomous person, I know that almost everything, in even the smallest way, hinges on those who have managed to become a permanent part of my life. A part of me used to rail against this; I wanted to be fully independent, fully self-reliant, but it's not in the cards. It's unrealistic.

This is a roundabout way of articulating how grateful I am for all the friends I've accumulated, despite my machinations to the contrary. Yesterday, I learned I have been accepted to Syracuse University's iSchool to study library and information science. I couldn't be more ecstatic.

So thank you to everyone who has ever encouraged me or pushed me to accomplish all that I have. Thank you for not laughing at or mocking my academic/career choices. Thank you for saying, "That sounds perfect for you!" instead of "So how much money will you be making?"

I can't wait to embark on this new phase in my life. All the better knowing I have so many lovely people propping me up.

Koumpounophobia

2011-02-25T20:30:00.000-08:00

I learned a new word:

Koumpounophobia

The fear of buttons.

I love Neil Gaiman. And his house and library. You see all of this in the video!

SPINELLI!

2011-02-24T20:09:00.000-08:00

My second (and last) therapist always reminded me of Miss Finster. Except my doctor was an audaciously fake redhead who liked to tell me all about her well-adjusted, successful grandchildren who were going to Stanford.

Needless to say, I didn't see her for long.

I dislike making up post titles.

2011-02-24T10:48:00.000-08:00

This past Sunday's collection of Post Secrets really resonates with me: libraries/librarians, race, suicide, etc.

Here's one that echoes some thoughts I've had twirling around in my brain lately:

Growing up in Carson, I never thought much about being Filipina. Now it occupies much of my mind.

More later. Maybe.

Snag

2011-02-21T18:37:00.000-08:00

I'm a little torn. I may have to cover an Agent Orange event at the Rotary Club of Oakland on Thursday, and I would really love to attend the Asian Art Museum's MATCHA: Sacred Offerings at 5 p.m. Their newest exhibit on Bali starts this week:

Temple dances involve refined, stylized motions of daily life as a gift to visiting deities during festivals. Enchanting music, splendid costumes, and exquisite movements are pleasurable to both divine guests and village audiences. Celebrate the opening of Bali with an auspicious performance of dance and music by ensemble Gadung Kasturi.

I encourage everyone to attend either event.

At the Rotary Club, Charles Bailey, Director of the Special Initiative on Agent Orange/Dioxin at the Ford Foundation (and all around nice guy), will address the lingering issues surrounding Agent Orange and dioxin, including what has been done about it and what still needs to be done. Before working with the Renaissance Journalism Center, most of what I knew about the Vietnam War came from movies and little blurbs in incredibly dry textbooks. Now through one of our initiatives, the Vietnam Reporting Project, I can put names and faces to the victims, those still living with the ravaging effects of dioxin.

------

What a "terrible" life I'm living, while people younger than me in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and Bahrain fight for these freedoms I enjoy. These 17-, 18-year-olds possess more moxie than I ever will.

I've been reading more of the news lately, partly due to my job, and while yes, much of it is depressing and horrifying or trivial, so much of it is also rousing. Even here in the United States, with what's happening with Planned Parenthood and in Wisconsin. So many people out there care for more than their personal well-being; they're fighting for the welfare of all.

Troubles abroad, troubles at home. I'm never certain of what form my support should take, especially since I can't force people into action, but at the very least I should increase awareness among my meager circle of influence in any way I can. Then it's up to you.

I want pneumatic tubes.

2011-02-18T23:59:00.000-08:00

The kind that propelled mail in office buildings. I want a tube connected to your apartment; you'd get postcards and letters galore!

So, I made a banner. Mostly out of boredom. I needed something to occupy my fingers while we watched "Raging Bull." The title font is probably a bit gimmicky, but eh. I collect so many fonts on my laptop, most of which I never get to use. Let me indulge my typographic mania. It could be worse.

This small creative exercise seriously emphasized how quickly my Photoshop skills have debilitated. I either need to pick up a class or some easy design work somewhere just to maintain them. Or start designing wacky random things. I've always thought it would be fun to just redesign most of the signs I encounter in my every day life.

2011-02-17T11:21:00.001-08:00

If you are depressed you are living in the past. If you are anxious you are living in the future. If you are at peace you are living in the present.

– Lao Tzu

Thought this was apt. Not exactly sure if this is by Lao Tzu, but it certainly sounds like him to me.

Life's a hoot!

2011-02-17T10:16:00.000-08:00

Another morning at the office. This new schedule certainly makes the week fly by, but I constantly feel like I need to catch up. With what? Work-work, leisure reading, car issues, this bloody blog. Yet despite this anxiety, last night I restarted Batman: Arkham Asylum instead of tackling my to-do list. I can't wait for the next game.

-----

The delicious guy over at Quixotica has been blogging with the regularity that I'd intended for my own blog, but eh. I stare at the "New Post" screen without any compulsion to write.

However, since one of Alex's posts ended with a question, I figured it was compelling enough to respond.

"Do you work to live, live to work or just...live?"

At the moment I'm sitting at my desk in my lovely half cubicle, with colorful little gel owls on the glass panels. The woman I share this space with has it all Feng Shui'd; various plants, stones, images and mirrors litter our communal area.

Obviously, since I'm typing this at my office desk, I'm not exactly "living to work." While I really enjoy this particular job and share some modicum of my employer's zeal, it does not define my whole life.

Neither am I biding my time to fund other pursuits or passions.

I just live, I suppose. I make more money now than I ever have before, but it has not changed the quality of my life in any discernable, enriching way. Certainly, rent and school loans are less of a burden and I no longer have to rely on help from my dad, but qualitatively, life is much the same as it's been for the last few years.

Hey, that means I'm happy and content! And have been, other than those few months when I felt guilty for bugging my dad for help with rent. I don't have any grandiose ambitions; I simply prefer to augment my life with good literature, occasional travels and fine people. I also enjoy supporting those around me, even people in the Tumblr, Facebook or Twitter communities. (Which reminds me, I actually have a wee story about a girl I met through Tumblr, two years my junior, but I'll get to that another day, or another hour.)

I wrote recently that I would love to have a large enough income to help my family, and more specifically, my father. I honestly would, but I am fully aware that he is happy with his lot too. I suppose I inherited his levelheaded demeanor.

I don't really know what I'm trying to express here. I don't see myself as simply plodding through life. I do what I like. If I accomplish something that others deem fantastic or impressive, so it goes.

I love, I read, I experiment. I experience. That's enough for me.

Shahrazad is my homegirl?

2011-02-12T20:52:00.000-08:00

The Arabian Nights

I told the world I would read a tale from this book at bedtime each night.

Sorry, no dice.

Aside from the usual excuses of fatigue and forgetfulness, I find it difficult to pick up before I sleep lest I have horrible, angry and violent anti-male dreams. The pervasive misogynist attitude within every single story so far just leaves me in a foul mood. Trust that I am fully aware of the original time period and culture, and ordinarily I willingly look past this sort of thing in literature, yet the distaste men have for women in "The Arabian Nights" is thus far so potent, so vicious, that I find it hard to believe it all ends well (although I know it does).

While the women depicted are anything but meek or submissive, most are cunning, malicious and best of all, lecherous. (As an aside, this brings to mind the whole "Dragon Lady" stereotype that plagued Asian women for years, but I digress.)

All of the men are victims of feminine wiles. Damaged and emasculated by his queen's debauchery (with a black slave, no less!), the king beds a new wife each night, only to kill her by sunrise so she may never live to betray him.

At least until the grand vizier's daughter, Shahrazad, takes it upon herself to end this senseless slaughter. I know that I will likely love this book and the heroine once I barrel through it, but lately I have just been so easily disgusted by chauvinism.

I avoided paying real attention to the Super Bowl ads last weekend. I scowl at men on the streets when I see them undress young women with their eyes. My blood literally boils when I think about how often women are abused (something like one in four), and how many women I personally know who have experienced it. Part of my anger stems from my own helplessness; my efforts to help usually fall upon deaf ears until it's too late.

Anyway, this post escaped my original intention. I was supposed to end by pledging to read more of "The Arabian Nights," and I will. But now I'll finish off the tub of Dreyer's chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream and do my taxes. How vanilla.

Copycat Complex

2011-02-10T21:56:00.000-08:00

I take huge comfort in the fact that my work week now resembles my dad's. Granted, he works the late-late shift every day and I have normal office hours, but we are both off Sundays and Mondays and in a very small way it makes me feel closer to him, despite the 400 miles separating us.

He runs his mundane errands—laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning—with the same regularity that I do. We both agree Monday is a fine day off, mostly because everything is open and it is easier to accomplish goals or fancies while everyone else is at work. I know that if I need to have a lengthy phone call with him, I can call him on Sunday or Monday afternoon and he will be free. I look for these minute parallels constantly; they both reassure me and cure any bouts of homesickness.

Trying to focus on the similarities also causes me to take greater note of the actual polarity. While sharing my dad's routine eases me, it also propels me to be better. Often I go home to my old, tiny room and stare at the ceiling until 3 a.m., formulating plans geared toward improving my family's situation. I will be the first person in my immediate family to attend grad school, a heavy fact that I can't ignore. Sometimes I spend a few hours kicking myself for not selecting the medical school route, which could have simultaneously made the grandparents ridiculously proud while also ensuring a more lucrative future. Time and time again I wish with all my might for a ton of money just so I could buy my dad a decent house, or send him on a long trip to visit every city he was ever curious about. The older I get, the more similarities I see between us, and although he doesn't talk about himself I often sense the same spark of curiosity, of spirit, that catapults me forward in my own life.

At some point in his life, I like to think my dad had dreamed of more for himself. He has never tried to live vicariously through me; he has never tried to dissuade me in any of my life choices, preferring to trust me. By all accounts, my dad relegated his ambitions as soon as I was born, and since then he's worked tirelessly to provide for me and my brother. He has given us choices he never had.

For this I am exceedingly grateful. Because of this my dad will always be the man of the hour. Who could blame me for playing the copycat here?

Bang bang.

2011-02-10T11:19:00.000-08:00

In honor of the research I did for my boss earlier this morning.

The original song was recorded in 1966 by Cher, then covered by Nancy Sinatra in the same year. And it looks like Pan Ron, a Cambodian singer from the same era, also did a version of it, called “Snaeha,” which I think means “love.” You may find it on the CD “Dengue Fever Presents: Electric Cambodia,” a compilation of songs from old Cambodian tapes.

FEED me.

2011-02-09T10:43:00.001-08:00

Tri-tip sandwich from Firestone Grill in San Luis Obispo

I stare at feeds all day, nearly every day.

Twitter feeds.
Facebook feeds.
RSS feeds.
Tumblr feeds.

I wish all this feeding actually involved food.

"That's why I FRAMED Krusty."

2011-02-08T22:56:00.000-08:00

(Thus begins my renewed attempt at inane blogging. I'll try to be serious on occasion, but really, I'm serious enough in my day-to-day life as it is.)

Whining is highly contagious, so please, keep it to a minimum.

I've been intensely craving chocolate. To combat the inevitable weight gain, I should really get rid of my car, get $1,000 from the state, and buy a swanky red bicycle with a little red bell and a sturdy basket. But mmm... chocolate.

I made the most amazing batch of brownies on Super Bowl Sunday: Nutella Caramel Hazelnut brownies. They were devoured within a day. A day! (But not by me alone, thank goodness.) I paired the dregs of the pan with chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream. It was sublime.

See. Serious sweet tooth. Mmm...

A book quiz filched from Sylvia

2011-01-06T19:29:00.001-08:00

1. Which book has been on your shelves the longest?

Aside from my old children's books, "The Brothers Karamazov" by Dostoyevsky. I LOVED it when I finally finished it years later.

2. What is your current read, your last read and the book you’ll read next?

current read: "The Fairy tales of Herman Hesse" and "The Screwtape Letters." I like to have several books in the works.

last read: "Lolita" by Vladimir Nabokov

next read: Most likely "Interpreter of Maladies" by Jhumpa Lahiri. My boss gave it to me for my birthday.

3. What book did everyone like and you hated?

The entire Harry Potter series. Well, that's a lie. I only read up to Book Four before I lost interest.

4. Which book do you keep telling yourself you’ll read, but you probably won’t?

Hard to say. I eventually read everything.

5. Which book are you saving for “retirement”?

Shaping up to be "The Tale of Genji."

6. Last page: read it first or wait till the end?

I typically wait until the end. If I skip ahead, it's because I'm pretty bored with the book and hope it gets more exciting.

7. Acknowledgements: waste of ink and paper or interesting aside?

I tend to find them interesting. After interning with HarperCollins, I also know why they're necessary!

8. Which book character would you switch places with?

Again, difficult to determine, especially since some of the books I've read lately are pretty depressing or a little too... risque for real life. Like, I'd never switch places with Humbert Humbert. But if I had to pick, I'd switch places with Catwoman. Or Huck Finn.

9. Do you have a book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time)?

"The Blind Assassin" by Margaret Atwood. Iris' life really started to remind me of my own, before I met David.

10. Name a book you acquired in some interesting way.

I'd guess that half the books I get are dropped in my lap by some friend or another. I picked up a few books from random street markets in Ireland too.

11. Have you ever given away a book for a special reason to a special person?

I actually make it a point to find a book for each of my friends.

12. Which book has been with you to the most places?

"The Idiot" by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. To Ireland and back.

13. Any “required reading” you hated in high school that wasn’t so bad ten years later?

I can't think of any. "The Jungle" and "The Grapes of Wrath" were tough reads back then, only because they're long and fairly heavy material. I enjoyed them, and was probably the only student in class who read them all the way through.

14. What is the strangest item you’ve ever found in a book?

Some sort of pamphlet in Chinese characters. Someone had written stuff about their parents in the margins.

15. Used or brand new?

Doesn't matter. Only the condition of the book matters, especially if it's a comic book.

16. Stephen King: Literary genius or opiate of the masses?

I've never read any of his stuff, so I can't judge.

17. Have you ever seen a movie you liked better than the book?

Hum. Not that I can recall. Not a movie, anyway. The Dexter books are terrible, but I love the TV show.

18. Conversely, which book should NEVER have been introduced to celluloid?

Harry Potter and Twilight, only because I am so tired of all the promotional material.

19. Have you ever read a book that’s made you hungry, cookbooks being excluded from this question?

Hum. No?

20. Who is the person whose book advice you’ll always take?

Kathy or Jeremiah. And Alex.

http://jaenarae.posterous.com/38829942

Happiness is...

2010-12-09T10:12:00.001-08:00

Being told to come up with a "dream list" of technology I would want for our organization.

I'm currently researching a variety of point-and-shoots, DSLRs and HD camcorders.

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Batman in a Suit

2010-12-06T23:07:00.001-08:00

Utterly ridiculous but I love it. My friend Kathy sent this to me, so I'm not sure who created it, but major kudos, sir or madam.

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Cosplay With My Heart (Bruno Mars Parody)

2010-12-02T12:24:00.001-08:00

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Minimalist Muppets by Eric Slager

2010-12-01T09:27:00.001-08:00

Minimalist Muppets by Eric Slager via LaughingSquid.

Simply awesome.

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I know I've got a case of the Mondays on account of little sleep...

2010-11-29T09:16:00.001-08:00

But I really wish the couple next to me on this crowded BART train would stop smooching every two seconds.

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Productivity.

2010-11-28T16:29:00.001-08:00

Finished a book, got all caught up on Dexter, and now it's time to pick up Fallout: New Vegas again. Busy, busy. I really don't miss homework!

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#Watching "The Muppet Christmas Carol" to get us more into the holiday spirit!

2010-11-27T22:36:00.001-08:00

And my favorite song: "It Feels Like Christmas"

It's in the singing of a street corner choir
It's going home and getting warm by the fire
It's true
Wherever you find love
It feels like Christmas
A cup of kindness that we share with another
A sweet reunion with a friend or a brother
In all the places you find love
It feels like Christmas
It is the season of the heart
A special time of caring
The ways of love made clear
It is the season of the sprit
The message if we hear it
Is make it last all year
It's in the giving of a gift to another
A pair of mittens that were made by your mother
It's all the ways that we show love
That feel like Christmas
A part of childhood we'll always remember
It is the summer of the soul in December
Yes, when you do your best for love
It feels like Christmas
It is the season of the heart
A special time of caring
The ways of love made clear
It is the season of the sprit
The message if we hear it
Is make it last all year
It's in the singing of a street corner choir
It's going home and getting warm by the fire
It's true, wherever you find love
It feels like Christmas
It's true, wherever you find love
It feels like Christmas

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When I start to read more frequently, my Internet presence drops dramatically. Good or bad?

2010-11-27T12:30:00.001-08:00

I've been reading "My Year of Meats" and I can't seem to put it down.http://jaenarae.posterous.com/when-i-start-to-read-more-frequently-my-inter email

Union Square is disgustingly crowded. )

2010-11-26T17:34:00.001-08:00

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Underwater Carousel http://vimeo.com/16919229

2010-11-26T12:33:00.001-08:00

via @sharonvakhttp://jaenarae.posterous.com/underwater-carousel-httpvimeocom16919229 email

Aaaauuuggghhhh. SamTrans is so unreliable.

2010-11-26T09:26:00.001-08:00

{{short_post_url}} email

Just past the midnight hour, but I'm thankful for the presence of @lildork80 and @rahorvath at my dinner table this evening!

2010-11-26T00:05:00.001-08:00

{{short_post_url}} email

Sorry about all the testing updates. I'm just killing time while the turkey roasts.

2010-11-25T13:50:00.001-08:00

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Another Posterous test.

2010-11-25T11:28:00.001-08:00

Bear with me.

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More testing! Now look, Wyatt Earp's grave!

2010-11-25T11:03:00.001-08:00

The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade is on the TV and no one is paying attention to it. Just like home!

2010-11-25T10:46:00.001-08:00

Testing my new Posterous site. Oh look, it's BATCAT.

2010-11-25T00:08:00.001-08:00

Pieces.

2010-10-17T22:13:00.000-07:00

It's the first rainy day in a long while, and all I'd like to do is curl up next to my grandpa and put together a jigsaw puzzle.

When I was little, I was only allowed to stay up really late if we were in the middle of a big puzzle. I remember sitting at the dining table at 3 a.m. with Pa, both intent on completing the puzzle, both content with the comfortable silence between us. I was probably only 6 or 7 years old, but I cherished those rare evenings. I felt so special that we had this time together, and it made me feel so grown up.

Pa and I always had a few activities that were uniquely our own. He would read the newspaper to me before I enrolled in preschool, and although I didn't understand much, I thought he was telling a story so I always tried very hard to comprehend. He stopped reading the newspaper to me when I started to read voraciously on my own.

He also used to help me out with my math homework. When I started kindergarten, I struggled in very basic math. Something just wouldn't click in the classroom but Pa had more patience with me than my teacher or anyone else in my family. Thanks to him I fought my way through AP Calculus.

Out of everything we did together, puzzles became my favorite activity though. For Pa and I, it was a tranquil pastime in direct contrast to the hustle and bustle of the daytime games I played with my brother and cousin.

Something about the shift in the weather brought this all back to the forefront of my memory. I should probably call Pa this week.

Hauntings.

2010-10-10T19:59:00.000-07:00

I keep dreaming about my grandmother, the one who died almost three years ago.

This time, we were taking a trip together, alone for once. We were on a bus on its way to oblivion; I had no idea where we were headed, but it was just nice to be alone with my grandma and I trusted her to lead us onward.

At one point, the bus rolled into a rest stop on some dreary highway and we were all asked to exit. The bus driver and another official-looking individual started to check our tickets and also measure our heights. I was confused but we all complied. Somehow, I returned to my seat before Ma, and I didn't notice her absence until the bus had already started moving.

I frantically scanned the faces of the other passengers, hoping I'd somehow overlooked her, but she was definitely missing. I rushed up to the bus driver in a panic, but he didn't seem at all surprised.

"We left her behind. Her ticket was invalid and she didn't have enough money on her to cover the fee."

I ranted and railed, tried to bully the driver into turning us around.

"She's 73 years old. How could you leave her in the middle-of-nowhere? Why wasn't I notified?!"

Etc., etc.

The driver ignored me.

The dream ended before I could strangle the bastard.

Lately, many of my dreams have ended in my utter frustration and helplessness.

Portals.

2010-10-03T20:28:00.000-07:00

Strange dream about portals and scrying.

I found myself with a young girl and older woman who seemed to be related to me. The elder was in the middle of a lesson. She said that it is easier to travel between worlds by falling into them, rather than climbing into them. The young girl and I were both holding thick stubs of red chalk, and the elder instructed us to begin drawing our portals on the floor. The little one drew small, even circles, while mine were large and askew. Suddenly, I started to furiously scribble, but instead of red, the lines were black. Eventually the black lines resembled letters: "Beware Charles." I dropped the chalk and scooted away from what I'd just done. The elder gasped, but had no way to explain my frenzy. She called the other elders, and they huddled together on the other side of the room, throwing furtive glances in my direction.

I was confused and afraid. I think I knew who Charles was, but my dream ended there.

Strange dream.

A Bibliophile's Boon!

2010-09-23T23:46:00.000-07:00

Friends of the San Francisco Public Library’s 46th Annual Big Book Sale

AMAZING. I wish someone had been there to record the smile that bloomed on my face when I first walked in.

I could have spent my entire day there. As it is, I only spent a couple of hours riffling through the wide assortment of books. Most paperbacks were $1 or $2, so I spent $23 for 15 books. Not too shabby. I’ll probably return for more on Sunday, when every book is only $1. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

Today’s haul:

“Herland: A Lost Feminist Utopian Novel” - Charlotte Perkins Gilman
“The Stone Boy and other stories” - Thich Nhat Hanh
“Dubliners” - James Joyce
“The Turn of the Screw and other short novels” - Henry James
“The Secret Agent” - Joseph Conrad
“Nineteenth Century German Tales” - Edited by Angel Flores
“May We Borrow Your Husband?” - Graham Greene
“Cat and Mouse” - Gunter Grass
“Seven Gothic Tales” - Isak Dinesan
“The Power and the Glory” - Graham Greene
“Washington Square” - Henry James
“Life is Elsewhere” - Milan Kundera
“The Passion” - Jeanette Winterson
“The Book of the Dun Cow” - Walter Wangerin Jr.
“Bone” - Fae Myenne Ng

I definitely need to purchase a decent bookshelf now, or at least add more shelves to my space in the living room.

Good news!

2010-09-22T23:29:00.000-07:00

Dad agreed to buy me a bike for my birthday!

I asked for a shiny red one.

Good lord, I’m still such a child.

The only stipulation is that I must do the research myself and select a bike, but now I feel a wee bit in over my head. I initially thought comfort bikes and hybrid bikes were one and the same, but now I’ve learned quite differently. Namely, that a comfort bike has wide tires and smaller wheels, while a hybrid has skinnier tires (like a road bike) and bigger wheels, so the bike will go faster without as much effort.

Sounds like a hybrid is the way to go. I’m still hoping I can find something within my price range that’s cheerfully red, but I’ve come across some pretty snazzy cream-colored hybrid bikes. Decisions!

Dad also reiterated that he’ll help me with my school loans when they rear their ugly heads in December.

Long story short, my dad rules.

Unnecessary.

2010-09-08T23:42:00.000-07:00

The older I get, the less I listen to people. Most are so full of themselves, and I grow less patient with each passing year.

Now, I'm just as full of myself as the rest, but I don't burden others with the menial comings-and-goings in my life, and generally, no one asks me anything because they're too busy talking about themselves. I mostly write out my feelings, so you may opt-in if you so choose.

To those who ask, I really appreciate it. I don't particularly like talking about myself, or talking in general, but it shows consideration, something I find myself craving more and more.

I'm not really bitter about it; it seems to simply be a Fact of Life. I just used to be able to listen better, and perhaps, care more. I want to care, I really do, but sometimes it's difficult for me to ignore the fact that we all have a certain amount of control over our lives that we just don't exert, or refuse to exert. Sometimes I just want to scream, "OWN UP!"

On a side note, I'm truly amazed that a cat of Mancat's girth is still so flexible. Gives me hope for myself.

Unexpected pleasure.

2010-09-08T23:29:00.000-07:00

When I dream, the sequences are fairly jumbled. I'll only remember snatches of conversations or mere impressions of images or scenes.

A couple of days ago, I dreamed that I was back in therapy but this time I had a male doctor. A young, attractive male doctor. Wearing a nice suit. I suppose we were blatantly flirting with one another; in the back of my mind I knew it was unprofessional and wouldn't do me any good in the long run.

He asked me out for coffee and I couldn't prevent myself from answering in the affirmative.

That was it. In reality, I would never have been OK with a male therapist, and I certainly wouldn't have flirted with another guy so shamelessly.

Nonetheless, I awoke feeling very pleased. I think it was simply the fact that a handsome stranger was very obviously attracted to me.

Simple gratification.

Three years ago.

2010-08-24T22:54:00.000-07:00

I posted this more than three years ago. I don't think anything has changed... but let's see if I can check off anything.

Friday, January 26, 2007
I want.

_| I want to see New Zealand & meet the Maori.

_| I want to go to the mountains of Nepal and search for my kindred spirit, the elusive snow leopard.

_| I want to fall in love all over again in Italy, floating in a gondola.

_| Skydive. [Yes, I want to jump out of a fuckin' plane.]

_| I want to backpack through Germany.

_| I want to eat authentic sushi in Japan & ride a bullet train all day long.

_| I want to spend a month in the sunniest town in Greece.

_| I want to stand in the shadow of a pyramid in Egypt.

_| I want to dance with the monkeys at Carnaval in Brazil.

_| I want to pretend to be Canadian in Canada.

_| I want to figure out how a bidet works in France.

_| I want to spend the beginning of a new year in London.

_| I want to own a boat & drive around like a maniac on the open sea.

_| I want to own a plane so I can go anywhere whenever my fancy strikes.

_| I want to own a house so I can build a family.

_| I want to go up in a hot air balloon & float over Los Angeles at night.

_| I want to learn to kickbox & turn myself into a lethal weapon. [Hardiharhar? :P]

_| I want to learn yoga to relax & become extremely flexible.

_| I want to learn to box because I want to knock someone out.

_| I want to ride a horse all by myself so I can feel like a real cowboy.

_| I want to earn my pilot's license so I can fly my own damn plane.

_| I want to ride in the Goodyear blimp & get a different perspective of the South Bay.

_| I want to go whale watching in the hopes that a whale will jump onto the boat.

_| I want to go hunting & take down Big Foot.

_| I want to write the GREAT AMERICAN novel, just like Snoopy.

_| I want to write a screenplay & wrench out the hearts of millions.

_| I want to create a graphic novel to portray my inner demons.

_| I want to go on a cruise & feel like a pampered millionaire.

_| I want to go to New York City & watch a Broadway play.

X| I want to go to Washington, D.C.

X| I want to visit the Smithsonian & feel like an excited, nerdy little kid again.

X| I want to take a Duck Tour throughout good ol' Boston.

_| I want to learn to develop my own film so I can call myself an amateur photographer.

_| I want to watch a real opera in a foreign language.

_| I want to go to Bali & pretend the rest of the world is just as it was a few centuries ago.

_| I want to learn how to meditate & lose my individuality.

_| I want to live it up in Bali for a month.

_| I want to murder someone someday.

_| I want to ride an elephant.

_| I want to climb a mountain and scream at the top of my lungs at the peak.

Eh, three things isn't so bad? I've also moved to San Francisco(-ish), spent a month in Northern Ireland and helped bury a man. I've done more, but I really need to get crackin' on this list.

BLITZKRIEG UPDATE.

2010-08-24T21:49:00.000-07:00

This is the first week of school for most SF State students. Sadly, I am no longer one of them. I thought I'd feel some remorse, but the past two days progressed with nary a thought about school. At least, undergraduate school.

I've been giving some thought to graduate programs since the start of this year, but none of it was serious as I couldn't narrow down a specific major. As much as I've enjoyed journalism classes, I can't endure another two years of them.

So! My choices are library science or publishing. Or both...? That's not possible, but eh, a bookworm may dream. I'll likely apply to library of science programs, take publishing seminars and earn a certificate in publishing along the way.

It seems there are about 50+ American Library Association accredited graduate programs in the country, but only two in this state: San Jose State and UCLA. SJSU's program is entirely online, but UCLA's is only on-campus. Ideally, I would not have to move for grad school. January 2011 will mark three years in the Bay Area but it still feels fairly brand-new.

Syracuse University is also a nicely ranked school for my intended program, and it seems they actually have a distance-learning program there too, albeit with a mandatory week-long residency. I'd be more than willing to swing that.

Although I don't particularly miss SF State, I do miss the classroom. I'll be doing my damnedest to get myself back there by Fall 2011.

-----

In other news, my HarperCollins internship ends tomorrow. I will sorely miss it. Publishing is definitely in my future now.

I'm still at Spectacles but I've added an extra day to my rotation. It isn't an ideal situation, but I try not to complain about having a steady job, even if said-job doesn't pay me enough to live up here.

I may have another contract job in the works. Fingers crossed.

I will soon be a freelancer for a particular magazine. More on this when it becomes official.

It's awfully warm and muggy today too. While the heat is welcome, I can do without the humidity.

And that's that! There is probably more, but I've grown weary. Looking forward to the sugary high of an In-N-Out chocolate milkshake though, courtesy of Mr. Raykhenberg.

I'm a Tumblr.

2010-08-05T15:11:00.000-07:00

Truth: jaenarae.tumblr.com

Why?

Well, two reasons.

First, I noticed that Snip Snap has became rather dreary. I tend to write anything of substance when I'm feeling low, and while this can be incredibly cathartic, it doesn't exactly lift my spirits. If anything, I usually feel crappy after the writing exercise; it was an expulsion, of a sort, but in the creation of that post I was so (too?) focused on the reason of my displeasure. My little Tumblr will serve as a suppository of silly and fun things that simply make me smile.

Second, I figure it isn't a bad idea to experience the hype for myself. I have a number of other online accounts for that reason, just so I know what everyone is on about.

That's why I have a Wordpress account that just gathers Interweb dust. But eh, Tumblr seems pretty easy and simple so far. And the process of posting things that make me giggle tends to put me in a good mood.

So WIN, on all accounts.

I won't use Tumblr for anything lengthy. Right now it's really just a new toy for me. We'll see how long this dalliance lasts.

I should visit the moon.

2010-07-27T20:18:00.001-07:00

Happier times^

Money makes me angry. Well, mostly my lack of it. During my lunch break at HarperOne, I researched various graduate programs and publishing certificate programs. And I realized I can't even afford a certificate program at City College of San Francisco. Disheartening, to say the least. Financial aid is available and so is help from my parents, but I feel like I should be more financially self-sufficient by now. Certainly unrealistic, but eh. Hard to shake nonetheless.

If I must admit it, I probably shouldn't even indulge in the occasional movie/museum or dinner outing if I want to save money.

I am by no means poor and I wouldn't call my life a struggle, but I am acutely aware of my monetary means, and it depresses me. I look at people whose parents can afford to foot their entire higher education bills, and I GLARE. Even if they still live at home. I can't help it. I know they don't have to worry about credit cards or lurking loans. They don't have to count their pennies just to learn something they love. I have to wonder, "Why not me?" I LOVE learning. I want to return to school already, and I'm only two months removed from graduation. Why can't I easily pursue knowledge like them?

I'm seriously contemplating moving back to Los Angeles, mostly out of necessity. I've given myself a bit of a deadline: if no decent job prospects within a year, I have to move back. I can't keep digging myself into more financial debt alone.

Meh, rant over. I eventually just get too tired and continue on with Life. There isn't much else to do anyway.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.4.8

Found this on my phone.

2010-07-15T23:56:00.001-07:00

Good ol' [X]press humor.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.4.7

Hello like before?

2010-06-30T23:53:00.001-07:00

All day I've been plagued by a really intense flashback.

I probably wrote this before, when it was all still vivid and tender. It was actually only two years ago but it certainly seems a lifetime ago.

I watched my grandmother die.

It was the last way I'd envisioned that week to end. My family and I had spent the last few days at the hospital, only leaving to have bizarre, disconnected meals at nearby restaurants. One afternoon the doctors informed us that only a miracle would save her; her mind was virtually defunct from the stroke and subsequent hemorrhaging. The decision to pull the plug fell on my grandpa's shoulders.

One reads about this all the time, but the words of others hardly do justice to the real misery. Many people like to say they would do it as a service to the soon-to-be-departed, but when faced with the actual decision, having a loved one's life in your hands changes everything.

I know it did for my grandpa. In my mind I knew it was best, but he didn't want to let go. Fifty years together wasn't enough. We spent an agonizing hour or so waiting for the decision, but in the end she took it away from us. She started to go on her own.

All we could do was watch and make her comfortable. She didn't take long. Maybe she was fed up with wasting our time, or seeing our sad faces for a whole week. I like to think she knew my grandpa was having such a hard time and wanted to alleviate his burden.

God, that waiting was the worst. At first, waiting to see if she would pull out of her coma, then waiting for my grandpa's decision. And then finally waiting for her to die.

It was incredibly quiet in her small hospital room. There were silent tears and the occasional sniffle, and we hardly noticed the droning of all the machines surrounding her bed.

When her heart monitor issued that tell-tale flatline, we all released a collective sigh before the sobbing began. I didn't realize it until afterward, but we'd all been holding each other in some way: hands touched, or arms curved around shoulders.

I think I cried silently; I'd been holding back the tears, perhaps because I could feel that I wouldn't be able to stop them in the near future. For me, it was strange to cry over something that hardly resembled Ma anyway. The lifeless form in the hospital bed never seemed to be her.

This is the moment that shocks me out of reality from time to time with its seemingly endless pain. So far, it is the most significant episode of my life.

I try to push back these flashbacks because I don't want to remember Ma that way. She was much more than that moment.

Manic Monday

2010-06-24T21:35:00.001-07:00

Yes, I know it's Thursday.

I too clearly remember the days of my manic moods. Particularly nowadays.

I miss them. Sometimes I think they meant that I actually cared or loved something.

"Do a little dance, make a little love..."

2010-06-10T21:52:00.000-07:00

"Get down tonight!"

Seriously. This made my day.

MUCH better than the image Alex sent me last night, which, in my opinion, is too graphic, disturbing and nonsensical to display here. Let's just say that if Superman and Batman were in a romantic, committed relationship, Batman would most definitely not be the catcher.

Big shout-out across the Interwebs to Jeremiah for sending this to me as a good luck charm.

Yikes, Part 2!

2010-06-09T23:43:00.000-07:00

I don't visit my blog much these days, but when I do I like to quickly scan my most recent entries.

This is what I've gleaned from the last month or so:

Jaena is angry.
Jaena is frustrated.
Jaena wants to be a better person but likes to make excuses as to why she isn't yet.
Jaena is fairly emotional even though she likes to present herself as otherwise.
Jaena needs to make a real concerted effort to be positive.

I could go on, but this would just end up being horribly defeatist.

So! In a new vein, today was lovely. The weather was beautiful once I got out of Daly City, as usual.

Today marks the end of my third week at HarperCollins and I've been meaning to write about all the little things I've learned thus far. Next entry, I promise.

David actually had the evening off, so we had a nice dinner together and went grocery shopping. (How terribly mundane! But I bought ingredients for carnitas tacos. We're going to eat well during Sunday's Laker game!)

Speaking of the Lakers, last night I watched Game 3 of the Finals at Zeki's Bar in Nob Hill with a few friends. It was the first time I've watched a basketball game at a bar. I used to grab drinks at National's on Sepulveda in Torrance during MMA fights or boxing. Zeki's touts itself as the only Lakers bar in the city, which I was ready to believe.

Positive forward-thinking:
- Job interview tomorrow
- Game 4 tomorrow
- Meggie visits on Friday
- Lakers again on Sunday, plus carnitas tacos by yours truly
- Another week of interning and volunteering
- Possibly watching the Banksy movie next week
- BOSTON next weekend

There.

Rapid OPTIMISM!

Yikes!

2010-06-09T23:13:00.000-07:00

Chris Guevarrararararara gave me some good news earlier this evening: "Batman: Year One" - The Movie!

Well, the animated movie, which is all right with me. I'm not sure if it's official yet, but I'm eager to see what they do with it. Artistically, will it remain in keeping with the current animated Batman? Or will they stick closely to Frank Miller's grittier Dark Knight?

I'm a bit nervous about it though. Whenever a favorite of mine is adapted, I usually lean more heavily on the skeptical side. Because, of course, the only right version is the one in my own head.

Miller's Batman was the first I met after growing up with the 1990s animated series and Tim Burton's inexplicable revamping. His work refashioned my love for Batman, morphing it from a child's simple admiration to real adoration. I'll end my gushing here; I'm afraid this post may get much more graphic if I go on.

Interjection: Today, the barista took one look at my necklace and asked, "Do you really like Batman that much? Or is it just the movie."

Ha.

Tangential stuff.

Truth be told, I'm a little behind on my Caped Crusader's capers. I know he's been in some major trouble, but I haven't yet learned how he's getting out of it, as surely he will. Batman always prevails. I don't realistically have the time or funds to follow him as dutifully as my heart would like.

But, Sir, know that I love you and that you're in my heart and dreams, always.

"It's that million dollar bash."

2010-06-06T21:17:00.000-07:00

I like to walk around by myself and pretend I'm invisible, and as such I also have the ability to see every little thing strangers hope no one notices. Like whether their socks are matching today, or if their gait is somewhat pigeon-toed. I notice the faint traces of pain on women's faces while they walk around in their high-heels. I'm privy to those secret and not-so-secret glances directed at attractive potential mates, those somewhat disconcerting body-length scans. Sometimes these are so transparent that I'm disgusted.

None of it really matters to me though. I don't take any secret joy in their possible embarrassment or discomfort. I just like to know. I file all that stuff away in my head for later, these curious and real human idiosyncrasies. For what purpose, I can't put into words yet. For now, it's just a necessary and pleasurable exercise.

I don't fancy the day I lock eyes with a stranger and realize he is playing the same game. All the fun in it would dissipate immediately.

But truth be told, the fun in it has been missing lately. I've been distracted.

I've been spending a lot of time alone. Mostly by my own machinations, but sometimes because the only person I'd like to spend time with is always at work. Instead of sitting in my room by myself, I've been stretching out those hours of freedom between work/volunteering/interning and arriving at my apartment by wandering aimlessly around the neighborhood I happen to be in.

And while this meandering is usually fairly cathartic, lately, underneath my blank expression, I'm seething. This anger is often directed at a number of things—usually whatever occurred most recently—but I'm certain the well from which it springs is much deeper than anything I'm usually frustrated about.

I think I feel perfectly fine, and suddenly my thoughts darken and the anger slams into me like lightning. Earlier today, while running some errand by myself, I was aghast by a sudden awareness of the tension above my brow. I think I physically froze in the middle of the store aisle. This now happens often when I'm wandering alone.

I've come to the conclusion that I'm fiercely unhappy, perhaps more so than I initially realized. Perhaps it's because graduation has passed and my life doesn't seem to be any more clear than before. In some ways it's even shadier than before. I'm starting to feel trapped again, as I did a few years ago when I still lived in Carson. So what then? My anger should be directed at myself, should it not? All of my decisions are my own. Technically, I "trapped" myself, therefore I should just as easily be able to free myself.

I broke my Wookie.

2010-05-31T12:54:00.000-07:00

While growing up, I always had the distinct impression that I'm supposed to be someone else. I've never felt quite comfortable in my own skin. Thus, I am (was?) an expert of escapism, through books or video games, or when I feel particularly low, through my own imagination as I huddle in bed before sleep.

I turn 24 in November. One would think 24 years is ample time to grow accustomed to one's own skin, but the older I get, the more confused I become. I certainly spend too much time wishing I was someone else. I know I'm not alone in this feeling, but oftentimes I become so consumed by this notion that my real life just becomes mechanical.

<--- Stole this postcard from this weekend's Post Secret.

The sentiment isn't quite the same but eh, I liked it.

This relentless discontent fuels an anger that now seems to flare up at any disappointment, small or large.

Like right now. I can't seem to prevent my brow from furrowing in exasperation.

I can't explain why I've always wanted to be someone else. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my life. I have a multitude of people who love me for who they think I am. I'm no imbecile. I don't waste my time doing absolutely nothing. I'm not a horrible person. My future is bright.

I have no reason to complain. I don't believe I should have a right to complain. It's a frustrating feeling, this uncalled for discontent. Perhaps I need to return to therapy? I'm not sure how else to address it.

I have a problem.

2010-05-18T17:07:00.000-07:00

I don't like to be touched.

Well, to be more specific, I prefer genuine affection, which, in my opinion, does not generally include hugs-as-greetings.

Meh. I'm just being sullen. Well, it's mostly true that I don't like affection, but I can stomach it because it's the norm. Just know I'm inwardly squirming.

Moving on.

I want to visit home. It's only been about a month and a half, but I need a breather. I should have taken a small break after graduation, but my HarperOne internship begins immediately after all the graduation hullabaloo this weekend. That was my own scheduling mishap. (I really wanted to use the word "boner" but eh.)

As it stands, it looks like I won't visit LA until perhaps July.

Avaunt!

2010-05-15T23:10:00.000-07:00

Envy and loneliness are ugly feelings. I won't go into any details regarding the sources of these emotions, but it took me some time to even acknowledge these feelings. I battled them for the better part of this week before I noticed a pervasive melancholy that accompanied my waking hours. (Note: this has nothing to do with graduation, although I'm not terribly excited about that either.) Even today, my boss noticed I was more glum that usual.

To be honest, Mark's visit last week was the most enjoyable outing I've had recently, outside of hanging out with David. I don't feel stressed in any way when I'm around my old friends. I suppose I feel more like myself with them. I don't need to impress them; they think the world of me already. I simply can't judge them; we've known each other far too long, and have experienced too much together for me to make blanket assumptions.

Funny. It used to be the other way around. I looked forward to getting away from my old friends, as much as I love them. There is a danger in being around the same people all the time. The danger lies in growing too comfortable. And I like challenges. Occasionally it seems that it's more difficult to grow and change as a person when you're surrounded by people who expect you to behave a particular way. Or who want to shove a thermometer in your mouth when you behave out of character. But I suppose the friends who are willing to roll with your inner turmoil—who encourage your desire for betterment even if they don't understand it—are the pals who stick around when the others shake their heads in bewilderment.

Unfortunately for me, I left a majority of these good friends in Southern California and I'm usually too tired or busy to make the effort to get to know people on that level up here. To be sure, I've met some amazing people in my two and half years in San Francisco. People to write home about, as it were. Yet it isn't quite right. I know it's largely my own fault for not digging my roots more deeply here. Perhaps I can change that after graduation.

But I think I have digressed. The envy is self-explanatory, if you care to think a bit more deeply on it. However, even if I wanted to, I can't exactly explain the loneliness. I've been craving a deep connection with someone other than David. He's a given, which is nice in itself. But it isn't quite the same as calling up Tony to grab a slice of pie at Polly's and just jabber over coffee for hours. No one else I know purposely says things to rile me up, like Noel. And I definitely need to indulge my cheesy romantic side with Damo some time soon. I've only mentioned middle school and high school friends so far, but the Union kids are just as dear to my heart. I miss random drives with Matthew, belting out Weezer's "Buddy Holly" because that always seems to play on the radio when we're hanging out. I don't particularly like affection, but I don't mind when Kathy assaults me with her tongue.

Ah, well. I need to set up a time every week when I can meet with Paul or Guevarra for drinks. Maybe I'll start feeling more like myself if I get a weekly dose of hometown flavor.

Order.

2010-05-14T23:04:00.000-07:00

One reason I love Facebook: it's a friend catalogue.

It's fascinating to see how far connections go, or how many friends you get from a new job or hobby. This evening, I was perusing an old coworker's profile and I noticed we have 20 mutual friends. That's at least 20 people from that old job. From an old colleague's profile, I learned that being on staff at the Union introduced me to at least 41 more people. I like being able to know that. Appeals to my obsessive-compulsive tendencies.

Mmm... codification.

Old scars.

2010-05-10T22:21:00.000-07:00

Say hello to my grandparents, circa Fall 2007. They celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary on a cruise. I came across this photo while looking through my aunt's family album on Facebook and I felt a strange twinge. The first time I saw this was during my grandma's funeral in March 2008.

Seeing this photo brought about a deluge of memories, mostly happy; the only sad memories are from the final week we spent with her in the hospital.

Ah well. I never expected these wounds to heal fast, if ever. Sometimes I'm surprisingly overwhelmed.

Blasphemy, apparently.

2010-05-05T07:34:00.000-07:00

Last night, I mentioned to my roommate that I've been trying to get myself to compliment people more often, whether it be for a job well done or just that they look nice today. There is already too much negativity, and sometimes an unexpected compliment can brighten someone's day.

Her reaction?

"Are you feeling OK?"

Hum. Well, that speaks volumes about the kind of person I used to be and the obstacles I still face to become the sort of person I admire. Sometimes I feel like some of the people around me are holding me back. I don't want to be a gossip, but one good friend loves gossip. I want to generally be more positive, but my roommate is rather snarky. I want to be more sensitive but someone closest to me can be rather callous.

Half the time I end up censoring myself when it comes to matters of being, lest I be ridiculed or checked for a fever.

I actually found last night's exchange rather depressing, after the fact.

So it goes.

C-food.

2010-05-03T17:06:00.000-07:00

I often intensely crave seafood, but being a low-income college student, I can only splurge on it perhaps once a month. And it goes without saying that purchasing and cooking seafood at home is a hell of a lot cheaper than eating out. When the seafood grumbles come, we typically opt for salmon. It's hearty and can be prepared a number of ways. However, this time I wanted something a little different. It took me a while, but I hunted down a few filets of mahi mahi.

I don't usually consider white fish a viable dinner prospect, but I was nostalgic for our family trips to Hawaii when I was younger, and I remembered the first time I ever tried mahi mahi. It was in a sandwich I had for lunch in our hotel. I was hooked. The fish was juicy, firm and perfectly grilled. It needed very little seasoning to make it wonderful.

I hoped to recreate that experience at home, but I wanted to kick it up a notch now that I'm more comfortable in the kitchen. While searching for recipes, I found a Bobby Flay recipe on the Food Network: Barbecued Mahi Mahi with Yellow Pepper-Cilantro Pesto

It sounded perfect: a simple execution and complex flavors. Luckily, aside from the fish and the various chili powders, I already had everything else in my kitchen. I could not find the chile de arbol powder though, and after some Internet research I decided to let it go. It seems like it would mostly add heat more than flavor. In retrospect, I wish I'd added something else, but the results were still more than satisfying.

I also had to improvise and use the broiler in my oven since I don't have a grill. My apartment complex has a ban on barbecue grills, much to my chagrin. I'd like to own a cast-iron grill/griddle to use in the kitchen, but something like that is still outside of my budget. Meh.

Another thing I love about seafood? It all cooks extremely fast. Just a few minutes on each side, and the mahi mahi was perfect. The recipe stated that the barbecue rub should only be on one side of the filets, but since I was missing the really spicy component, I probably could have used a lot more of it. Ah, well. N00b mistakes.

While the mahi mahi turned out very good, my favorite part of the recipe was the yellow pepper-cilantro pesto. Instead of two yellow peppers, I used one red and one yellow, since I had both on hand. After roasting the peppers, I tossed everything together. I've never made pesto before, but it was surprisingly easy thanks to my blender. I added more garlic and a touch more parmesan cheese than I probably should have, but it didn't harm the results in any way. David especially liked the pesto, and he's not a huge fan of pesto. I love the pesto so much that I may make more and use it on other dishes, perhaps on steak or chicken.

I also cooked brown rice for the meal, but in the end I thought it would be better to turn this dish into fish tacos. The addition of fresh cilantro and a dollop of sour cream made it perfect.

So, here's the finished result:

If I could afford it, I'd eat this more often. I'm already looking forward to next time.

Wanker.

2010-05-01T09:38:00.000-07:00

I try my damnedest to remain stoic in most situations. I rationalize everything to the nth degree in order to alleviate the common emotions one might experience. Gossip is beneath me. I'd rather discuss something completely inane than entertain myself at the expense of others. I can stomach the occasional rant, but I would prefer not to do that either. I don't find it as cathartic as most people. If anything, I grow even more frustrated as I vent because in the end I realize that I am only venting because I know that is all I can do about my predicament.

Unfortunately, of late, my anger seems to swiftly flare up in spite of my machinations. When I feel as though I'm losing control, my tolerance dips to an alarmingly low threshold. I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be cranky, easily exasperated and downright miserable. I know I don't have to be like that, but sometimes the world seems to tell me that I should just go with it and be as petty and vindictive as everyone else.

Reading back on that ^, it doesn't seem to make much sense anymore. Maybe I'm just hungry. Yep, that's it.

Humdrum.

2010-04-30T19:59:00.000-07:00

It's rare for me to get so nervous that I want to vomit. This morning I awoke feeling incredibly optimistic, but the feeling faded as the minutes ticked by. As I walked toward the building, I could feel my legs start to tremble; I briefly considered walking away from the glass doors. In the back of my mind I still knew everything would be fine. The interview would be short, just as all the previous interviews had been. The executive editor would like me, because there is little to really dislike about me, especially after a fairly cursory meeting.

The interview progressed just as I'd expected. There was the usual chitchat about my previous work experience, but one question completely caught me off guard:

"Now, my next question will be completely off-topic, but I noticed something on your résumé that is pretty unusual. It states that you're a philosophy and religion minor. We don't see that often, if ever. Could you tell me a little more about that?" (I'm paraphrasing, just so you know.)

Whoa. I went blank for a second. That was the last bit on my résumé that I expected to discuss today. It turns out he studied comparative religion in college. He'd even heard of my Concept of God professor, Jacob Needleman. Prof. Needleman's son apparently works down the street at CNET/CBS Interactive. It felt wonderful to converse about something other than my journalism experience, and I felt like he got to know me a bit better than if he had stuck to conventional queries.

I left the office still feeling rather light-headed, but I did not barf on the sidewalk. Instead, I walked tall on my way to work. I took a bit of a detour and walked by SFMoMA, one of the first places to hire me up here. I'm considering applying again if none of these internships work out.

Despite the anxiety, this whole process has been wonderful. I'm very appreciative of just being considered for this opportunity; this alone boosts my confidence tenfold. By Monday, I'll finally have an answer. I'll be content with it either way.

Pour out some liquor and I reminisce.

2010-04-29T23:09:00.000-07:00

Ignore the post title: just listened to "Dear Mama" by Tupac.

I've never felt more like a creeper: eating Cheetos puffs over my laptop and surfing Facebook. I don't even want to mention the topic of conversation between my roommate and I.

My last entry was all about how much my life has changed within the last two years. Right now I feel like the same kid I was in high school. The fact that I'm listening to Journey now probably means something as well.

Funky mood today. Felt rebellious and lazy, so I didn't do any work today. Classes ended early and Nancy convinced me to grab lunch with her at Squat & Gobble. Nine hours later and I'm still full from that crab cake florentine.

Oy. This is probably the most inane post in recent memory. My apologies. All I'm doing is streaming 93.5 KDAY and enjoying aimless chatter with Nancy.

I ought to go to bed. Big interview in the morning.

Accolades!

2010-04-28T23:44:00.000-07:00

I've been feeling great all day.

"TOP OF THE WORLD, MA!," as it were.

Every day just proves all of my fears are unfounded. I wish Ma was still alive so I could share with her everything I've done in the last two years: the spoils of my travels, the tales of new friends and places. All of it. If I could, I'd recount every last excruciating detail because I know she would love to hear everything.

She wasn't a huge fan of my decision to move away to finish my bachelor's degree. After all, I kept trying to escape during high school, and we all know how I botched my chances at Boston University. There were no good reasons to believe I could succeed in San Francisco. I'm not sure she ever understood the enthusiasm with which I would pack up my things for a new locale, yet she accepted it and never stifled it.

Ma would be so proud of me right now. No, scratch that. She most definitely is proud of me. I don't think there was ever a moment when she didn't feel that way.

Even I didn't believe I could succeed if I moved away from the South Bay. In a sense, I relinquished good opportunities: amazing networking possibilities, possible internships at the Daily Breeze or the Press-Telegram without any effort, etc. Actually, shortly after moving here, I received an email from a former adviser in which she informed me that she recommended me for a copy editing/design job with the local daily newspaper. I felt like a huge imbecile. A former colleague from my community college paper got the position and she is still there, moving up the ranks. (Just a note: I feel no ill will here. To be perfectly honest, at the time she completely deserved the position, more so than me. Her skill set completely blew mine out of the water.)

I knew I would have to start from scratch. I had to prove myself again and forge new professional contacts, juggling a part-time job and a full-time class schedule all the while. A small part of me relished the challenge. That part of me felt I could flourish anywhere. The fear was always there, but it was initially minute.

Life here just started to pick up when Ma died. It was during my first semester, but rather than wallow in my sadness and guilt, I kept moving forward. All of the suppressed stress finally caught up to me. I couldn't find a job to help me pay rent and other living expenses. I didn't know anyone here and no one knew me, so I was terrified of applying to any internship. Most internships were out of the question anyway because the majority were unpaid, and there was no way I could work for free and still have a roof over my head.

Dark times, indeed. My second semester at SF State was awful. I don't know how I passed any of my classes, let alone completed any of the assignments in publication lab. My situation only improved after I decided to study abroad in Ireland for the summer. Those five weeks thoroughly changed my disposition. It reawakened my interest in, well, everything.

Now I'm back to feeling like I can do anything. I have one internship under my belt, one in the bag, and I'm a serious contender for two more PAYING internships. My writing has been published in a couple of well-known San Francisco organizations and I've established solid connections in fields I am strongly interested in.

Nothing to worry about anymore, other than what will be my next adventure.

And now that I've hastily finished this, it is time for bed.

------

Tangent:

"You're quiet, but I love you."

Yeah, I actually get that a lot. I don't remember who shared this with me this week. Regardless, it was much appreciated and made me smile.

Foodie exploits.

2010-04-28T09:34:00.000-07:00

Decided to add a new, topic specific section to my blog. I want to document my successes and failures of my foodie exploits. I've made a lot of progress since moving out on my own. When I lived with my family, I used to balk at the idea of scrambling eggs. Now I have more kitchen appliances than any other gadgets and I want to try out a new recipe every weekend.

I will have to catch up on posts about recipes I've already attempted, but that shouldn't be too difficult. I always save them all and photograph the results. Drop me a comment if any of you ever have recipe suggestions.

This weekend's projects: some sort of coffee cake and red velvet cupcakes.

Another week.

2010-04-26T00:08:00.000-07:00

Many would think I don't indulge enough vices, particularly for a person my age.

I rarely imbibe. I can count the number of times I've smoked cigarettes or hookah with my fingers and toes. I have only tried marijuana once, and only as an edible. I try to avoid bitching and moaning about anything because I feel it is pointless, and frankly, very immature (I always feel horrendously guilty whenever I do). There are other, less damaging, methods of catharsis.

I constantly check my own impulses because I value discipline. This is one of my best foibles. I am cautious to a fault.

Truth be told, it's tiring being the responsible one, yet I am too wary of the consequences if I ever decide to let go.

Dang, when did I grow up?

This made my day. Thanks, Monica!

2010-04-14T00:18:00.001-07:00

Spring Break: A Synopsis (A Lie)

2010-04-04T19:54:00.000-07:00

My brain hurts. Every time I bend down/over to a certain level, I get a sudden rush of pain somewhere in the middle of my head. Probably not good.

Ah, well. I just won't bend then.

Caveat: You really don't have to read this. I'm just writing this out as an exercise in fastidiousness. It's humdrum stuff, I tell you. I repeat, you don't have to read this. In fact, you really shouldn't.

My mini-vacation began on Friday, March 26. After work I took a short ride on a jet plane to LAX, where David kindly picked me up in his leprous jalopy. Instead of immediately hitting the Fun, we cruised to the Pinkberry in Hermosa Beach for some fresh delightfulness. I requested granola, to David's dismay. Afterward, we went on a leisurely drive through the beach cities, up through Palos Verdes, back down through San Pedro, over the Vincent Thomas Bridge into Long Beach, before finally heading back to his home in Redondo Beach. Up in PV we went on a short walk by some incredibly beautiful homes on the cliffs. Wealthy bastards.

Saturday was spent completing errands: buying birthday and wedding gifts, and random odds and ends for ourselves. We had lunch at El Pollo Inka on Hawthrone. The best lomo saltado, as far as I'm concerned. We besieged the Easter bunny at Del Amo Mall in between all that. S/he was mighty uncomfortable.

While David hung out with his best friend, Berenice and I gorged on gelato and went on a stroll around Hermosa Beach. She indulged me and just watched as I splashed around in the water and marveled at the sunset.

We met up with Cris and it was decided that we would drink because Berenice claimed that I've never been drunk with her. It was mostly true. We grabbed three 40 oz. bottles of Mickey's, a case of Tecate and a case of hard cider for me. Eventually, the forties were duct-taped to our hands and we had to finish them. It was torture. I love that stuff but I just can't chug any kind of alcohol the way many people can. Before long, my bottle was warm and the fluid seemed to get stuck in my throat. Then I was a bit tipsy. The rest of the night became very vague after that, but there are photos and a video on Facebook.

Sunday! Said hello to my brother and grandpa before David whisked me away to Vegas for a friend's wedding. An Elvis wedding. It was mightily cheesy, which isn't usually my thing, but it was fun. I was forced to do a bit of a can-can with the rest of the wedding party. That video may surface soon, but fingers are crossed that it won't. I spent the rest of the evening walking around Vegas and cheering on the Dragon Knight during the Tournament of Kings. In my heart of hearts I was actually rooting for the Irish King. We left Vegas at about 11 p.m. and knocked out as soon as our heads hit our pillows.

Monday started out in fits and starts, but we didn't leave until almost 1 p.m. because David couldn't find his keys. For lunch we gorged on carnitas dishes at Lupita's, my favorite Mexican restaurant in Carson. Afterward, we drove to Cerritos to say hello to my dad. A few weeks ago, he anxiously called me because he thought that my cat, Gizmo, was ravished by a male cat that somehow got into her outside playpen. As a result, Gizmo did look a bit more plump than usual. I resolved to take her to a vet the next day, after lunch with Dad and my brother. We drove back to David's place, where his mom was watching over the corned beef we were to consume for dinner. David and Matt did their show while I read.

Yadda yadda. Dinner went swimmingly. David's cousin and aunt came over. His aunt is... special. Nothing like his mother, who is warm and inviting. I kept getting the distinct impression that his aunt was talking over me, or around me. Certainly never directly to me, even if I did say something. I met her once before, years ago, and I remember feeling the same way. Now, I don't want to immediately bring up the race/ethnicity factor, but I was racking my brain for explanations. I recall her not quite accepting her son's former fiancée, who was Latina. My hunch is only that; nothing conclusive, but eh. This wouldn't be the first time I've experienced this.

Thankfully, she left and I only had to deal with his mom and cousin for dinner. It was pleasant enough. I'd never had homemade corned beef and cabbage before, and there were also little potatoes and carrots. After we ate, we sat there for hours. Mostly them talking about random things, TV shows I don't watch, people I don't know. This is something my family never really does. Sit at the table and talk. Well, perhaps the adults do that, but I still consider myself a kid, and we kids usually run off into another room to play video games. I was itching to get back to my laptop or book. But eh, in retrospect it was nice. Just unusual for me.

Tuesday was my final full day at home. I had lunch with my brother and dad at Olive Garden in Cerritos, and afterward I shoved Gizmo into a carrier and sat in a veterinary clinic for two and a half hours. I brought "As I Lay Dying' with me to ease the wait, but all the crazy cat lovers around me kept gushing about their pets and I was distracted to the point of frustration. I ended up being the last person the doctor could see. Since it was a clinic, they had no X-rays or anything that could definitively tell me if Gizmo was pregnant, but all outward appearances led to that conclusion. She had quite a belly and her appetite had grown. The vet helped me schedule a spay appointment for the very next day, much to my dad's relief. I thought briefly about keeping the kittens, but realistically it would not have made sense. I wouldn't be able to find them proper homes since I live in the Bay Area, and my dad wouldn't have time to do that either. I also hated the idea of giving them to a shelter or a rescue center, for fear that they would never find homes and be euthanized. Better now than after a few months of life.

That evening, we had dinner at Hennessy's in Manhattan Beach for Cristian's birthday. Can't beat two-for-one burgers. Most of my old Union crew was there, so it was nice to crack-wise and catch up with good friends. Everyone wanted ice cream, but David and I filched Robert's keys so we could get into his and Cris' apartment first. We set up a piñata in his backyard and waited for everyone.

So, that was my sojourn south. Now it's time for me to enjoy the Easter dinner I prepared: pot roast with root veggies, roasted corn on the cob, and homemade carrot cake.

Softer Than a Summer's Night

2010-04-03T13:48:00.000-07:00

So. I just realized my last post is titled "Strides," and now I remember what its point should have been. I need to remember to title posts after I finish them.

Even though it's been more than three years, I've only been able to listen to The Drifters without any odd twinges within the last month or so. "This Magic Moment" was particularly difficult to hear. It used to be on a CD he gave me for our first Valentine's Day together and I couldn't help thinking of him every time it played.

A few weeks ago, the boss put The Drifters into the store's music rotation. Instead of cringing, I found myself softly singing along. When "This Magic Moment" came on, I was able to enjoy it as just a good song. All of the negative feelings associated with it had disappeared. I was very pleased and copied my boss' CD for my iPod. Now I'm listening to The Drifters almost every time I'm on BART or the bus.

I rarely think about that part of my past anymore, and if I do it never gets much of a rise out of me. I suppose that's progress. I recently read a book in which Elie Wiesel's quote, "The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference," was a constant refrain. A little too tidy to be realistic, but it's fairly apt in this case.

Strides.

2010-04-02T23:39:00.000-07:00

Chuckles erupt silently from my gut; "Cape Feare," the Simpsons' spoof on the film of a similar name, has just come on. A cup of very hot peppermint tea balances precariously on the sofa cushion beside me; the ottoman/coffee table is a bit too out of reach. I just jammed tissue up my nose because it has been leaking steadily for the last five or six hours. This will make it difficult to drink the aforementioned tea, but meh. My head feels remarkably heavy and nothing quite registers, other than the long ago memorized lines from this TV show.

I left work early today. Initially, I figured my discomfort was due to my allergies, but all the rain today should have squelched those. My throat is itchy too. What a horrible weekend to feel crummy. I won't be able to enjoy WonderCon or my friends' company as much as I would if I wasn't sniffling.

Note to self: "Noel Dequina Jr. feel so dirty tonight...and it's not the need to wash my hair type dirty. Thanks Jaena Rae Cabrera for pulling through time and time again. Koji tofu tacos the next time youre in town for sure!"

KOGI TACOS. Hot damn. That made my evening. Noel and I are going to stand the Test of Time. No doubt. We already are, anyhow.

At long last! I can pick up David from BART now. This also means I am that much closer to downing Nyquil and going to bed.

!

Crude things and Kabbalah.

2010-03-25T20:15:00.000-07:00

A handful of my lady friends recently brought this fan page (via Facebook) to my attention: Intelligent, classy, well-educated women who say "F*ck" a lot.

I'm not sure I can place "fuck" alongside "classy" without many reservations. Admittedly, there was a time in the very recent past that I considered it a point of pride that I could curse as well as any sailor, but I suppose I've grown up and my tastes have changed. Occasionally I'll drop an F-bomb here and there because it has such a lovely way of being all-encompassing, but I generally avoid it, especially in my writing. Sometimes I search my old blog and inwardly wince at the profanity-laced tirades that I once maniacally typed up. Nowadays, I consider it incredibly impressive if one can fully express themselves without curse words.

Now! Enough of this fuckery.

I just finished a paper on how Kabbalists deal with accusations of pantheism and idolatry, which means I'M ON SPRING BREAK!

I need to start packing for my five-day trip. I fly to LA tomorrow night after work. On Sunday, after visting Ma's grave, David and I will drive to Vegas for a special occasion. Not our special occasion, mind you. We're coming back that same night though so we can spend Monday back in LA with friends and family. In between all of that driving I have to celebrate birthdays, get drunk at least once, and write a couple of briefs for Nichi Bei Weekly.

Then it's back to the ordinary grind on Wednesday. I plan on going straight into the office after my flight, but we'll see.

Some day I will take a vacation to a boring place and plant myself on some beach to read.

Off to do that packing I mentioned. But really, I'll just be reading and putting off necessary things.

"Who am I, for God's sake, that I should be kind?"

2010-03-25T13:46:00.000-07:00

Oh, Miss Havisham. Strange that you would pop into my head just now.

Interjection: I was the only kid in my ninth grade class who enjoyed "Great Expectations." At the very least, I was certainly the only student who read through it, in its entirety. Miss Havisham is a nightmare shade of the ravages of love and fixation. She caused me to be doubly afraid of falling in love and of growing old. I like to think I'm over that, nine years later.

It's difficult to be a better person when you're surrounded by thoughtlessness and pettiness. I will never, ever claim to be a paragon of virtue, but I do want to be a better person than I am.

It wasn't very long ago that I decided I could be a better person, or that I wanted to be one. It was a very conscious deliberation, and I still sometimes wish I could just let it go and be incredibly nasty (And I could certainly be very nasty if I ever made it a goal).

Meh. I think I stay home so often so as to avoid this decision. If I stay home with a book or mete out my version of justice in a video game, I don't have to think about how I should act to be a good person.

Balls. I'm aimlessly typing this during class because I can only maintain focus for about 20 minutes. Perhaps during spring break I'll give this blog more attention.

My apologies.

Bakit?

2010-02-25T20:30:00.000-08:00

I'm a poor excuse for a Filipina-American. Growing up, I detested most things about my culture: the clothes, the religion, and perhaps most vehemently, the food.

Despite being a curious child, I never asked about our mother-country. Of course, my grandparents, particularly Ma, loved to talk about it, but I would only listen with one ear, the other always tuned into whatever cartoon was on the TV. If Batman was talking, rest assured I was listening.

My brother and I were understandably Americanized by both our parents and my father's parents. When they moved here (the U.S.) as children, both of my parents quickly assimilated at school. While growing up, we rarely heard Tagalog or Ilocano (another dialect spoken by my dad’s side of the family) in our own household. We weren't really given the opportunity to learn the language.

Consequently, I developed no interest or pride in my culture. It even went so far as I thought our food was weird (quite possibly gross), and not nearly as good as Chinese food or McDonald’s. The only dish my brother and I liked was chicken adobo, a simple stew made from soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, bay leaves and pepper. Often, we still opted for fast food. Chicken nuggets and French fries ruled our palettes.

I often felt like the only kid in Carson who didn't care that I was Filipina. Everyone else loved the food, wore Barong Tagalog shirts to family gatherings, and went to church every Sunday. Many of my friends joined Filipino clubs and organizations, leaving me alone to pooh-pooh their enthusiasm.

Despite living in a very large Filipino-American community, I learned nothing about Filipino culture outside of my own home. There was nothing about Filipinos in our history classes until perhaps eighth grade, when I found a small section about the Philippine-American War in my textbook. Not surprisingly, the subject had no real substance and it remained a mystery.

During high school and my first two years of college, I didn’t think about what it meant to be Filipino. By then I had already decided that it didn't comprise much of my personality. As I got older, I realized that outside of my hometown of Carson, not many people even knew what a Filipino was to begin with. I spent a summer in Ithaca, New York and attended Boston University for a semester. In both places I was constantly asked, “So what are you? Chinese?” Even my current boyfriend, who grew up just nine miles away from my hometown, hadn’t heard much about Filipino-Americans before meeting me.

Ma’s death nearly two years ago changed everything for me though. In reliving my life with her and acknowledging my life without her, I started remembering the hints of culture that my grandparents subtly weaved into our upbringing. I ate more Filipino food than I thought, such as Filipino egg rolls (lumpia), Filipino chicken soup (tinola), and Filipino beef stew (caldereta).

I became more curious about my family’s personal history, and questioned my dad about it, verifying his information with whatever Pa told me.

I learned that my great-grandpa was among the first wave of Filipino immigrant workers to come over in 1906, when there was a need for sugarcane workers. He and his oldest son went to Hawaii to make a fortune. His son, Mike, was only 18 when he decided to stay in the States, eventually moving to Southern California, while my great-grandpa returned home to gamble away his share of the wealth and father more children.

When Pa was old enough to have his own family, he soon decided that moving to the United States was the best thing he could do for his young family. In 1968, he contacted Mike, whom he’d never met, and saved enough money to move to Carson. He left behind Ma, my dad and my aunt until he earned enough money to move them to the United States. My grandpa had a college education in the Philippines, but that meant little in the new country so he worked in a textile factory. It took him more than a year to save enough money. To cut costs, he lived with his brother, and when the rest of the family finally came over, they stayed with Uncle Mike until they could afford their own house down the street.

My dad was nine years old when he left the Philippines. In many ways, Filipino immigrants, especially younger ones, have an easier time assimilating because they already learn English in the Philippines. When they come here, many try very hard to downplay their accents. To this day, my dad and my mom (she moved here when she was 14) both barely retain the inflections that would make it apparent that they were born elsewhere. Consequently, I cannot pronounce anything in Tagalog or Ilocano that doesn't make it painfully obvious that I'm a native U.S. citizen.

Just the other day, I held open the apartment building door for an older Filipino man. He looked at me, asked me if I was Filipina, and when I answered in the affirmative, he smiled and said "Salamat po," which means "thank you." I desperately wanted to tell him "you're welcome" in his own tongue, but I completely blanked out and could only answer him in English.

I figured the best way to delve into my culture was through the food. I even started testing out some Filipino recipes that I had eaten when I was younger, but only if I could remember the names of the dishes. My culinary attempts greatly amused Pa, because whenever I started cooking a recipe, I would call him right away to ask him how he would normally cook it. The first time I made chicken adobo, he asked me if I even knew how to work the stove. (It's apparently a running joke between Pa and my dad. I'm 23 years old and they still like to think I can't do anything for myself.)

I'm a poor excuse for a Filipina-American, but I'm trying to be better about it.

A few months ago, while David and I were having lunch, I started asking him questions about his family. His roots couldn't be more dissimilar, as he's a second generation American. He can't even pinpoint when his family first emerged in this country. In a sense, his past is a little more muddled than mine, but I'm sure that if he did some research he would unearth so much.

As for my family, I can only trace as far back as my grandparents' parents. Not to be morbid, but one of my goals is to sit down with Pa and just interview him before he dies. He has a wealth of information and I never anticipated this strong desire to learn so much more from him. I want to record the family history with video, audio and an extensive family tree.

The more I learn about my family and my culture, the more I obviously learn about myself.

When I was in LA last month, I came home quite late from a friend's shindig to find my dad fiddling with Google maps on his laptop. He was squinting at a satellite photo of the Philippines, and when it was clear that my interest was piqued, he proceeded to point out where our family is from and where the rest of us still reside. I can't remember all the names of the towns and villages, but I do recall an odd sensation come over me as I began to remember other stories Ma had told me when I was little. Some of our family is still very poor, and a few of them still live in a very rural area. Such a contrast to the life I lead now.

Some day I'll visit the homeland. A part of me is excited by the prospect, but a huge part of me is afraid. My brother and I would stand out so much. Physically, we're just much larger and taller than most other Filipinos (according to Dad, anyway.) My brother is slowly learning Tagalog, and I hardly know a lick of it. I'd also like to share that experience with David, as he's been so supportive of me learning more about my culture. Well, I like to think of him as being supportive, but really he is in it for the food.

I'm just going to end this long spiel now, otherwise I could probably type away the evening.

Snafu.

2010-02-20T19:34:00.000-08:00

In high school, melancholy was my most paralyzing emotion. I would board myself up in my room all weekend and do little more than lie in bed. Now that I am a tiny bit older, anger seems to have the strongest debilitating effect. To prevent myself from acting out all of the horrible things fluttering around my brain, I have to sit very still and forget my troubles and responsibilities for a little while. This period is usually followed by a whirlwind of some mindless activity, like cleaning my room or washing the dishes. When my frustrated energy is spent, only then can I proceed as usual.

This sounds like a convoluted process but it actually happens within 15 minutes or so. For me, emotions are a choice, therefore I tend to quickly snap out of negative feelings. I suppose that makes me doubly at fault if I remain angry or sad for a while, but eh. I digress. David will likely read this later and nod.

I was mad at the beginning of this entry, but now I am in better spirits. I am full of Australian root beer (courtesy of Alex) and macaroni and cheese, and will likely pop in "Equilibrium" while I edit some video.

A mundane Saturday evening.

Ridiculous negligence.

2010-02-10T00:26:00.000-08:00

My family visits Ma's grave every Sunday morning, and I join them whenever I'm home. This past Sunday morning, I received this in a text from my brother:

"Why???"

Yes, that is indeed my grandmother's headstone sinking into the ground.

Turns out she has a new neighbor. The caretakers didn't fill out this new person's grave as well as they should have, and the recent heavy rain caused the earth to sink.

The photo was an immense shock, to say the least. I think my family has already made a complaint, but that likely does little to allay this upset, particularly for them.

Perhaps this is a regular occurrence at cemeteries. However, it may still be construed as disrespect. Families pay exorbitant amounts for plots and burial services and caretakers should be more vigilant.

Victory!

2010-02-07T13:14:00.000-08:00

Somewhat. Clicking the comments link will now produce a pop-up window for you to comment in. This is a temporary solution; eventually I'll fiddle with the CSS to fix the embedded comment box.

Curses!

2010-02-06T21:52:00.001-08:00

It's always something. Caroline pointed out that the comments link doesn't work. Now, to find the time to fix it. Meh. In the meantime, if you find yourself so inclined to leave me a comment, do so on Facebook or even on Twitter: @jaenarae.

P.S. Very happy to know people actually read this.

Home field.

2010-02-01T19:28:00.000-08:00

I arrived in LA Friday evening, but I spent most of it and the following day in West Hollywood and Redondo Beach. We started off at Molly Mallone's to surprise Jeremiah during his little birthday shindig. He was already quite drunk when we arrived, and at first he was utterly speechless to see me. I finally met some of his friends who were never on the Union, which was a nice little change. Sometimes it feels like I never meet anyone new when I go home to visit; we're all in our firmly established friend circles these days.

We didn't stay very long. I downed a pint of Guiness and shared an Irish car bomb with Jeremiah before we headed for our next destination, Girl Bar. Berenice wanted to take me to one of her favorite lesbian clubs. This was to celebrate Berenice's birthday, which was last weekend. I'd never been to a gay bar before; strange, considering where I live these days. Now, at the best of times I don't like clubs; everything from the music to the expensive drinks usually leaves me in a bit of a sour mood. This club was a bit unique because of the go-go dancers who might as well have been strippers. Cristian and I ended up hanging out on the patio, having a few smokes and catching up. Overall, it was a totally distinctive evening, ending in me driving to Lakewood to drop off Berenice's friend because she drank too much even though she drove herself to the club. Quite frankly, that was a stupid move.

View My Friday, Jan. 29, 2010. in a larger map

But I digress. Part of me wanted to stay at Molly Malone's. Bars are really much more my speed. You know, knocking back a few pints while getting to know someone. However, I must admit I found our waitress rather irritating. Her unabashed flirting to earn higher tips was rather disgusting.

"This is a hold-up."

2010-01-18T18:21:00.001-08:00

I've spent the last two weeks either in front of the TV or reading a book. Low-key entertainment.

I won't even go into how much money I've probably saved just by staying home, but I assure you, I am very pleased. I go through these phases often, when I'd much rather stay home than go out. In addition to saving money, it is an excellent way to unwind.

But eh, so it goes. I trekked out this past weekend because some old friends were in town. After work on Saturday, they picked me up and we did the usual touristy activities: dinner at Fisherman's Wharf and dessert in Ghirardelli Square. I wanted to take them to Tommy's Joynt on Geary and Van Ness, but we had a vegetarian in the group and I didn't think it wise to dine at a hof-brau (or hofbrau?).

-----

I watched two movies today: "City of God" and "Casino." The first film has been a long time coming. Leibs raved about it when I was in high school, and I regret not making it a priority back then.

Unfortunately, my "Casino" was sullied by the fact that I was heavily distracted by Robert De Niro's spectacles through the film.

Update BLITZ.

2010-01-11T21:29:00.000-08:00

Some positives:

David and I celebrated our three year anniversary on Jan. 4. Spent four days and three nights in Vegas.
Jan. 7: I started an internship with the Women's Funding Network as their social media intern.
Housewarming shindig for Guevarra and his lady on Sunday. Some of the guys will be up here too.
Jan. 20 will mark a full two years of living in the Bay.
I already have my summer planned out with an internship at HarperOne.
Just landed my first paid gig writing stories and shooting/editing video. It's temporary, but it's a start.
Final semester at SF State. Mixed feelings there.

The one BIG negative (and also why this is no longer a blitz post):

I've been told I'm silly for wanting to believe in people. Let me clarify. I have faith in individuals, but not so much for humanity as a whole. However, I don't know how I feel anymore.

On Wednesday, my 78-year-old grandpa was virtually kidnapped outside of his home bank in Carson by three men. These three men drove to another bank in Compton, declaring that my grandpa would have to give them $10,000 if he wanted to go home. While two men stayed in the car, the third acted as escort as my grandpa walked up to a teller and withdrew the money. These morally bankrupt individuals are now spending my grandpa's hard-earned savings from years of work.

This is my grandpa, along with myself and the other grand-kids on Christmas Eve:

I ask you, what kind of person would think it is OK to harm a harmless senior citizen like my grandpa? I don't give a damn how desperate your situation may be; there is always a way to persevere, to survive, without taking advantage of someone weaker than you.

Victimizing senior citizens is utterly despicable. I worry that there will be no retribution for these low-life bastards, as my grandpa is scared and simply thankful they didn't hurt him, or worse. I spoke to him on the phone today, hoping to convince him to do something about it. While he understood my ire, he just kept insisting that he will continue praying to God to make things right.

It seems that this has been his reply to everyone else in the family. We're all angrier than he is, although we are also thankful he is fine. The mere idea that we could have lost him frightens me to no end. I can't write for my dad, brother, cousin or aunt, but I know a large portion of my indignation stems from the fact that I wasn't there to help Pa.

I keep playing the incident in my mind, and it is all so vivid. I can imagine every moment, from the bank (which is my home bank too) to the car ride through Carson to Compton. My grandpa's fear and confusion, and the thoughts whirling around in his brain the whole time. Sometimes I place myself at the scene, and the pathetic culprits choose another old person as their victim. Or I happen to walk up as they bully my grandpa into their car. Then things get heated and/or violent.

Pa shouldn't experience anything of that sort. No person of any age should be targeted in this manner. Pa has worked too hard and has been too good of a parent and grandparent.

Part of me hopes he'll soon change his mind and report the crime. These pisants are still out there, and they will likely pull the job again after the success of this one.

Nevertheless, I'll try to focus on the positive. Pa is still in my life and will likely see me graduate, as he's been talking about since I was little. Thank god for that.

Google "fun" times.

2010-01-07T22:48:00.000-08:00

I've noticed a lot of people doing this: type in the beginning of a sentence into the Google search box, and wait for Google to make some recommendations.

Here is one I did:

It initially made me laugh, but it's actually rather pathetic if these are true examples of what people look up on Google.

Borrowing from Doi.

2010-01-01T22:50:00.000-08:00

As we all welcome 2010 today, I figured I'd follow the crowd and create my own list for the past decade. I was still in middle school when this decade began.

These are the memories that will carry me through the next decade. (I tried to break it down by "era," which basically means by the schools I attended. Nothing is chronological beyond the section heads though. I'm just coming up with them as I go; consequently, this will take me the better part of the day.)

This is simply a cathartic exercise for me, so anyone else who reads this will likely get bored quickly. Woops.

Andrew Carnegie Middle School:

Meeting Paul, Noel and Justin in my honors classes. Noel started out as "that-boy-who-keeps-breathing-heavily-behind-me" in algebra. I first knew Justin as my neighbor's ex. Just about ten years later, and we're all still friends even though we're separated by so many miles.
The first instance that I can recall being really interested in my cultural heritage. I was in Maharlika for a year.
Learning how to play the violin. I set my mind to playing an instrument, and I became damn good at it at the time. Too bad I couldn't (and still can't) afford my own.
Joining the yearbook staff. This was my first taste of working on a publication. I was hooked immediately, even though editing those god damn eighth grade "shout-outs" was a pain in the ass. "To my evah-so-dearest ______... h0me g1rl5 4 evah!" Seriously.

Carson Senior High School:

Meeting Tony in my 9th grade biology class. Little did I know we'd be best friends after that.
Getting my first boyfriend and my shortest relationship to date. Many "firsts" here, but not that big one. Ha! We broke up on bad terms but we've grown up enough by now to have a nice chat when we randomly ran into one another at SFO.
Mother married a guy from Oklahoma out of the blue. The family completely changed after that. Consequently, my brother and I became closer, and we moved in with Dad in Cerritos.
Joining Humanitas. This brought me closer to a lot of people I'd known in middle school, like Paul, Donna (I've actually known her since I could crawl), G-R-U-E-Z-Ohhh!, etc. Humanitas introduced me to wonderful mentors like Ms. Frank, Niere, Ms. Weir, and Mr. Lee. Before then, I never really felt that my teachers had a vested interest in my intellectual//social development.
Started dating Richard in 10th grade.
Humanitas went on a field trip to Catalina Island. One night, while everyone else was snorkeling, I just lay on the dock and stared up at the sky. Probably one of the most peaceful moments in my life.
Joining the staff of the Trailblazer, which cemented my interest in writing and journalism. Before then, I was convinced that I'd be a doctor. Woops.
Taking a summer physics class at UCLA with Paul and Lilly. Public transportation had been foreign to me up until that point, but it was fun getting lost in LA with my friends.
Taking that trip to the Santa Margarita Ecological Reserve with Niere, Paul, Donna and Guevarra. That first "walk" led to wading through a stagnant river, where I slipped on a rock and banged myself against a rusty car. On another hike, we giggled hysterically because tiny flies were swarming around our guide's butt. This trip also marks the first time Guevarra and I actually hung out, and now he is also one of my best friends. (Notice the trend: I retain friendships. So blessed.)
Joining the Academic Decathlon. I could use my brains in something wholly competitive. I still have my musical era CDs and my letterman jacket. So many hours spent in DC's backroom, drinking coffee and munching on trail mix and chocolate as we "studied."
Meeting Leibner and DC. Two of the most influential men in my life. DC was my decathlon coach, and Leibs was my first philosophy and film teacher. Everything they introduced to me broadened my mind and made me realize there is so much beyond Carson.
Dating Oz. The first time I was head-over-heels in "love," and also the first time I was ever truly rebellious against my family. While I still look back on it and cringe, I admit it is likely the defining relationship in my life so far, in that I now know what love is, and that was not it. Not by a long shot.
Attending Cornell University in Ithaca, New York for a summer session. First time away from home, but at least Paul came with me. It was a wonderful summer. Met Jeff, Patrick and Alina there. Also had my first fling there. I still keep in touch with everyone, thanks to Facebook.
Ithaca wasn't exactly a happening town in the summer. I fell asleep on a couch in a club.
Interspersed within these years are dozens of kickbacks, house parties, beach bonfires, and bowling hang-outs. Sometimes I miss the simplicity of just hanging out with my friends on the quad. It was such a luxury to see all of my friends every day.
Speaking of bowling, I was out with Tony and Noel once. I believe the World Series was on the TV. The guys were watching that when it was my turn. When they turned around, I'd already managed to slip, and my entire body was somehow on the other side of the line.
Visiting Boston University on my own to make my final university decision. It was the first time I traveled anywhere alone, and it was horribly daunting. But I loved it. I could go where I pleased, and I could truly be myself without old friends or family wondering when I changed.
GRADUATING! It was bittersweet. I was ready to move on to Boston, but I had so much to leave behind: a boyfriend, dozens of good friends, etc.

Boston University:

Moving was tough. Packing all of my things, making sure I said all of my farewells.
Living with four girls in one room with a communal bathroom that was shared by the rest of the 14th floor of Warren Towers. Up until then, I mostly lived with my dad and brother, and I almost always had my own room. This dorm situation was incredibly uncomfortable. Thankfully, I had one awesome roommate.
And she gets her own little tidbit. Caroline was awesome. She loved to read, she loved the theater, and she cared not for the piles of fashion magazines and and clothes that littered the other half of our room. If I had stayed, she probably would have become one of my best friends.
Caroline introducing me to Ash, Kim and Valerie, all cool ladies in their own right. We visited the Museum of Science in Boston, and at the time they had a Star Wars exhibit. We explored Boston together. They introduced me to Monty Python. Kim and I saw "The Last 5 Years" twice, partly because Caroline was doing the lighting, and partly because we enjoyed the story.
Attending a Red Sox game at Fenway Park.
Being IN Boston the night the Red Sox won the World Series for the first time in almost a century. REVERSE THE CURSE! Caroline and I ventured out that evening, only to be frightened by the masses of drunken men trolling the streets of Boston. Someone tried to pull me deeper into the crowd, and another guy bit her on the shoulder.
I'm highlighting all the good times, but I need to mention the homesickness. It was rough. And it didn't help that Oz kept getting frustrated with me. One night my RA found me crying to myself in the hallway. It wasn't just because of him though. My relationship with my family was so strained at that point that I barely lived with them before I moved to Boston.
Starting therapy. Yep, things were pretty crazy in my brain. I was crying all over Commonwealth Ave. One day I couldn't make myself go to class, and ended up sobbing on a bench along the Charles River. Most people just stared at me as they walked by, but one young woman stopped to offer me tissue, and ask me if I was all right. I don't know her name, but she convinced me to get help.
Leaving BU. Still one of my biggest regrets, behind staying with Oz for as long as I did. I often think about where I might be now if I hadn't left BU. So it goes. I wouldn't trade what I have now to find out.

I'm skipping Santa Monica College. Not much happened there. Took some classes, sat in horrible traffic, etc.

El Camino College:

The Union. My future didn't become any more discernible until I joined the staff. Before then, I was biding my time by just taking GEs and classes for fun. The Union was a real turning point in my life. I gained a bevy of new friends (David, Matt, Rob, Cris, Kathy, Berenice, Nancy, Sara, Jeremiah, Heather, Emily, etc.) and was reintroduced to activities I really enjoyed doing, namely, writing and editing.
Going to the ACP convention in St. Louis with David, Jeremiah, Aaron, Angela, Nancy and Aaron. Nancy and I became closer after that, and we were in town the night the St. Louis Cardinals won the World Series.
Attending and winning at various JACC conventions.
Attending another convention, but in Washington, D.C. We had a much larger delegation of Union staffers on this trip. Matt and I ended up wandering around a lot on our own.
Breaking up with Oz just days before our three year anniversary. I'd had enough of being unhappy, and of feeling stuck. It just took me so long to do it because I was afraid of all the changes I'd have to make.
Dating Saunders. After ending that relationship, Noel and I went on a fairly impromptu Vegas road trip. David kidnapped Emily and showed up at my hotel room door at 4 a.m. Needless to say, I was impressed.

San Francisco State University:

Moving to the Bay area. Certainly an adjustment on so many levels, but I love it up here.
Getting a job at SFMOMA, and meeting Caroline, Christine, Vanessa and Carmel.
(I'm stopping here because now I'm tired. I'll add more later.)

Greetings, 2010.

2009-12-31T13:19:00.001-08:00

It's New Year's Eve and it just struck me that this is the first time I'll be away from LA for New Year's. I can't remember the last time I spent this day with my family, but I usually surrounded myself with loved ones, nonetheless. Thus far, it seems I'll be spending New Year's Eve at home with Nancy. Ricky is in LA and David will be slaving away at KRON4 until at least 11 p.m. David hopes to be home by midnight for that customary New Year's kiss, but we're not counting on it.

This all makes for a pretty tame evening, but I don't mind. People hound me to go out and act my age, but I truly value the relaxation of a peaceful night in. Especially when I'm paying rent and can't afford much else.

But I digress. If anyone is looking for me this evening, I will be in front of our big TV, watching the NYE's festivities while piecing together the Star Wars Battle of Endor Lego set that David gave me for Christmas.

So as we all prepare for the new year, I hope you're all surrounded by the people you love, and those who love you just as much in return. I hope you're all looking forward to the new adventures that 2010 will bring, and reminiscing on the wisdom gained from 2009.

We will double the number of times we laugh together.

I tend to forget what "family" means.

2009-12-25T01:32:00.000-08:00

Until I visit, that is. Then I take a few quiet moments to myself and just look at all the family photos.

Yesterday, I stood in Pa's hallway and stared at the photos of the Cabrera family over the years. I, being camera shy, had very few up; in fact, the most recent photo of me on that wall is a senior photo from high school. The cheesy, awkward smiles light up that hallway, spanning three rooms, all the way from my dad's old room to the master bedroom.

My eyes inevitably bounce between the pictures of my grandma, and these span from when she was my age until the holidays just before she died. In the living room, there is the iconic image of my grandparents on their wedding day in the late 1950s. Then there are photos from the cruise they went on for their 50th anniversary.

I noticed today that I preferred to glance over all the photos. I was purposely avoiding my grandma's gaze. Her eyes, which seem so much like mine, were always so warm and happy. I suppose I purposely avoid thinking about her when I'm home because it's still difficult to grasp that she's gone.

I'll finally graduate from college in May, and I wasn't sure if I would put myself through the whole graduation ceremony. Personally, I don't need it. I would be content with my diploma. However, I put the decision out of my own hands: if my dad and grandpa actually attend the ceremony in San Francisco, I will grin and bear it. I will wear the crap out of that purple graduation gown.

Pa said he'd come with my dad, and then he said something that made me freeze: "I wish your grandma could see it. She was always talking about you graduating."

I froze for a second, and all I could come up with in response was: "Well, Pa, then you have to come to see it for her."

Such a feeble reply, but it is true.

There is definitely something about family that I miss. I wish it didn't have to take coming back to remind me of that.

Bygone era.

2009-12-24T15:14:00.000-08:00

We constantly screamed at each other when we were little, but my brother and I were always in cahoots come Christmas time.

At some point we realized that we had greater success in getting what we wanted if the other sibling dropped blatant hints: "Nathan wants that BIIIG Wolverine toy. You know, the one that you can punch things with? Yeah, that's what he wants for Christmas... I know it's expensive but that's the only thing he talks about."

More often than not, I would end up going to the toy store with one of our parents to point out the toy, which would then be promptly purchased, wrapped, and put under the tree. Later on, I would report back to my brother and tell him the good news.

This worked for many years, probably up until high school. By then, the items we wanted became far too expensive, so we didn't even want to attempt swindling our parents. Cash in our hands became the customary gift.

In a sense, this took the whole surprise element out of our Christmas gifts, but it didn't bother us. Actually, it still doesn't bother us, because now my brother, cousin and I just tell each other exactly what we want, and even go out all together just to buy the gifts. Instant gratification, and a nice little outing for the three of us that usually includes lunch or dinner.

I really enjoyed our Christmas schemes. Christmas was the one time of year that we didn't bicker over little things, but cooperated. Of course, the fact that our intrigues were successful was also a plus.

In the Dreaming.

2009-12-12T00:18:00.000-08:00

Last night, I dreamed that Pa wanted to start a new life. He sold the first and only home he ever owned in this country, and decided to move to the SOMA area of San Francisco, where there is still a sizable Filipino population. He planned on hooking up with old friends and taking classes at the Filipino community center there.

Part of me was happy that he'd be so much closer to me, but at the same time, I felt an inexplicable surge of panic. Pa was giving up his home, the place I used to call home, to live away from the family in a small, cramped apartment in a shady neighborhood. I was worried. I couldn't stay there and watch him all the time. All I could think about were ways to stop him.

I knew my dismay stemmed from his strong desire to seemingly throw away his old life.

Hum. So selfish of me, to want him to stay just my Pa in Carson for as long as I live. I'm growing up and I shouldn't expect him to remain the same, or subconsciously prevent him from changing either.

Sometimes it hits me that despite my brother living with him, he must still feel very lonely without Ma. I'm always happy when I hear of him going out and doing things with his friends, even if it's just going to church a few times a week, or spending the day at the Indian casinos.

I keep meaning to send him a postcard from the King Tut exhibit I saw last weekend. He seems to get a kick out of my random postcards.

Pa deserves to be happy more than anyone else I know.

Indulge me for a moment.

2009-12-09T23:03:00.000-08:00

One would think that by now I'd have learned not to swallow my emotions. Perhaps I do like to implode. The clean-up seems to be easier.

Annoyances abound.

2009-11-18T22:00:00.000-08:00

Today has been a very long day. I could describe this week in the same manner. I haven't been able to relax for a single moment. Even my sleep has been punctuated by frequent interruptions: the sniffles, David's random nudges, an unsavory dream. I need to do more than just veg in front of the TV. David might be taking me to the zoo on Wednesday. That might help.

I've noticed a correlation: I feel progressively more stressed out if I haven't spoken with Danny in a while. He's my opium, but he's busy with his own life these days. I've just grown so accustomed to him acting as an anchor. However, I'm happy for him if he's happy.

Thursday evening could not come any sooner.

------

Just a little more than one week before Thanksgiving dinner. I have a vague list of dishes in mind, but I certainly need to give the entire ordeal more thought. I keep putting it off because I don't want to face the more pressing reality: this is my first Thanksgiving away from home.

I'm surprised by how much more bothered I become as the days pass. I actually miss my family and their idiosyncrasies. It's just been so long since I've had to deal with them, and I miss the inherent mayhem and annoyances. This just means I need to work even harder so that I can make a hometown Christmas more of a possibility.

-----

My head hurts and I know I'm being inane. I don't often feel so low, so I'll force myself to look on the bright.

Tomorrow is the last day before Thanksgiving break officially begins for me. Although I will have work, at least academic pressures will ease for a bit and I can pick up a few extra shifts.

Friday. The Boss is OUT for the day, which means we can play our own music and fiddle with our computers to our hearts' content. I may also be popping my Settlers of Catan cherry with Tom later that evening. I know the game, but I've never known anyone who played it regularly. Apparently I'm missing out on quite a phenomenon.

Saturday. Perhaps a drag show in the Mission with Carmel? This is something I've been meaning to do since last summer. Our old coworker from MOMA is a regular performer, and Carmel is using her as the subject for a photojournalism project. That, and I desperately need a drink outside of my own apartment.

Sunday. Rest and do as I please, which will largely consist of starting "Uncharted 2: Among Thieves" and finishing up "The Idiot" by Dostoevsky. I'm hoping this is the day the rain finally chooses to come down. There is nothing more soothing than listening to the rain fall.

-----

It isn't quite 11 p.m. yet, but it's bedtime just the same.

I don't feel like a grown-up.

2009-11-17T22:40:00.001-08:00

I want to see "A Ma Soeur!" again. I only saw it once during my junior year of high school. Thanks, Leibs.

Many movies from those bygone film classes with Leibner struck a chord with my adolescent mind. The serious, gritty emotions that many of these films highlighted were so unlike the cheesy Disney films and action flicks that I usually found myself watching on a Friday night out with my friends.

Some goodies from those classes:
"Maelstrom"
"Memento"
"Talk to Her"
"Amores Perros"
"The Piano"
"Y Tu Mama Tambien"
"Jesus' Son"
"Enlightenment Guaranteed"
"eXistenZ"
"Full Metal Jacket"
"Run, Lola, Run"
"FUN"
"Proof"
"Italian for Beginners"
"Dark Water"

But I digress. "A Ma Soeur!" was one of those films that stayed with me for at least a month after I saw it. While watching it, I completely forgot about the Lupita's chicken burrito I was so keen on grabbing before class started. (I sure wish we had Lupita's up here. Mexican food isn't quite the same.)

While on summer holiday, 15- year-old Elena meets a young Italian man who is hell-bent on seducing her, while 12-year-old Anais can do nothing but watch and conspire with them. This surface story propels the narrative, but the sisters themselves are the most captivating part of the film. The sisters' interactions with one another feel so real, so raw, that it almost seems as though we are intruding on their lives in the simple act of watching the movie. Although so close in age, their lives could not be any more dissimilar, and the audience can see and also feel these palpable differences.

The shocking ending is perhaps the main reason that this film stands out in my mind. I can't really mention much about it without giving it away, but when the light switched on in that small auditorium, there was a long moment of silence before anyone could even comment on what we'd just seen.

Hum. I'll have to hunt down this film and watch it alone in my room. The roommates aren't too keen on foreign films. For that matter, they don't even like watching horror films. This means I end up watching a lot of rather boring or predictable movies, unless I retreat to my room with "Italian for Beginners" or the original "Dark Water." At least I'm up with the times, eh?

@#%$!

2009-11-17T12:14:00.001-08:00

Hum. I just wrote a rather lengthy entry about scars, and it disappeared. That will teach me to use this gadget for more than just a few thoughts.

Damn. That. Dollar.

2009-11-13T14:56:00.001-08:00

Joy! I discovered this nifty little gadget that allows me to post straight from my iGoogle homepage. It's ridiculous how much of my life Google frames and controls, yet I still don't mind.
I'm in a rather unpleasant mood today. I rolled out of bed just fine, but over the course of the day my spirit just sank. I keep worrying about my financial situation. I'm tired of asking my parents for help because I know they don't have much to give, and I'd feel worthless if David had to bail me out again. Yes, again. He and his mother have helped me so much for various things, including my Ireland trip. I will always be indebted to them.

I researched graduate programs for library science and other possibilities. There are only three ALA-accredited library science programs in California. One at San Jose State, and the others in the LA area. UCLA would be a possibility if I wanted to move back home.

But I don't. I can't imagine living with my dad again, even though I love him and he never once enforced any limitations on me. I've been living on my own for two years now; it would feel like a step backward to go home, even if it seems to be the most logical solution.

Ideally, I would move east for graduate school. I left Carson for Boston right after high school, and a part of me still regrets not staying there. But eh, so it goes. I like to think I have another shot at the East Coast with grad. school, but that is unrealistic. The cost of moving and out-of-state fees would drive me crazy.

Instinct would have me crawl under the covers with "The Idiot" by Dostoevsky as soon as I get home, but my coworker wants me grab some drinks with her during happy hour at Roe. A belated birthday celebration. I could probably use the drink, but eh. I was never one to amplify or drown my emotions with outside influences.

But I'll likely go, if only for the free appetizers. Then I can crawl under the covers.

This is a promise.

2009-11-12T00:45:00.000-08:00

I know I've been away for quite some time and I have no good reason for my absence. The annual visit of the Carson delegation was this past weekend, and as we were walking toward Coit Tower, Leibs pointed out that I haven't Snip Snapped in a while.

So. Here is a promise: Despite my busy schedule, I will attempt to sit down and devote at least 15 minutes of my day to my blog.

Starting... later today. For now, here are a few photos from my Halloween shenanigans.

The first photo was taken after the screening of "Nosferatu" at the SF Symphony. There was live organ music and special sound effects throughout the film. It was incredibly geeky entertainment. In the photo, you will spy Christine with the fangs, and Caroline and Brian in the fedoras.

An evening at the symphony also made us all feel very snazzy and classy, which is unusual for Halloween these days, what with the barely-there-costumes that expose tons of cleavage and about 10 inches of thigh. More often than not, it's clear that you are a human female. No real need to prove it with tiny skirts.

Obviously, I opted for a fairly cozy and demure costume. I channeled Carmen Sandiego for the evening and completed the look with a red fedora and a red trench coat, although I was lacking a suitcase. It was fun to be recognized on Muni and in the bar. I already owned the red trench coat, so in reality it was the easiest costume I could come up with on short notice. I really didn't feel like purchasing an over-priced and poorly made skanky costume. Where is the creativity in being a slutty pirate, or a slutty nurse, or a slutty... Sponge Bob? But I'm starting to rant. Halloween is over for another year. Let's move on.

This Halloween proved much more exciting than last year's. I can't even recall much of that evening, other than dinner with the Carson kids and visiting the Castro for a bit.

After the symphony, the lollipop-licking Kojak (Alex) and I tried to make it to a party, but we took the incorrect bus and ended up on the wrong side of Golden Gate Park. Rather than figure it out or walk through the park at 11 p.m., we called Mosby and headed for a bar. She's the lady giving me the long peck in this last photo.

We know one of the bartenders, so one of our drinks was on-the-house. The rest of the evening was spent chatting and people-watching. Very mellow, very nice. That is, until the other patrons became more rowdy.

We started watching the small party sitting next to us. The women were all sexy cops, while the men's costumes varied from prisoners to a California raisin. One couple got up to dance. The usual bumping and grinding sort of dance. She was wearing a tiny cop costume, while he was dressed as a prison inmate. When they noticed we were taking random photos, they posed for us and right before the flash, he lifted up her skirt, exposing her entire thong-clad ass to us. We were shocked and she was angry, but because she was drunk she let it go rather quickly.

Mmm... tasteful. But perhaps I'm being a bit uptight. I was taught to always be a lady, and even though I sometimes disagreed with my grandma about what to wear and how to conduct myself with men, I was always very aware of my own self-respect. Besides, it chills me to merely imagine how my dad would react if I was even remotely like a hussy. He wouldn't be mad, but he'd certainly be disappointed. I have boundless respect for him, and I would never do anything to injure his respect for me.

But again, I digress. I'm testing the waters here. I haven't written anything personal in perhaps two months, and it feels like I will soon implode if I don't do so soon.

More to come later today, perhaps when I get home from my journalistic jaunt into the Mission.

So it goes. Again.

2009-09-16T14:58:00.000-07:00

Over the course of a single evening, I have several dreams. Most are nonsensical, with my subconscious strangely reorganizing my experiences from the preceding day.

Every so often though, my mind throws me for a loop.
Last night I dreamed about my grandma for the first time in months. She's only been gone a year and a half now, and to be honest, lately I've hardly noticed. It's easy to forget when I no longer live at home where I would be surrounded by memories of her.

In the dream I'd just walked out of the room that used to be mine when I was little, the center bedroom in the house I grew up in. Ma was sitting at the kitchen table eating her lunch, for the sunlight seemed to be that of high noon. I said hello but made a B-line for the fridge to grab a Coke.

While I stood by the fridge chugging that soda, it dawned on me that Ma should not be there. We buried her months ago. I could still too clearly recall pacing the sterile halls of the hospital, waiting for her to wake up. She appeared smaller than usual in that bed, dwarfed by the medical apparatuses that were the only indication that she was still with us.

I remember when she stopped fighting, even though my grandpa begged her to hold on.

At our family church, I gave the crappy eulogy that I had to cut short because I'd started crying.

But God, there she was, sitting at the kitchen table again. This was no apparition.

The dream became a little bit fuzzy there. I remember having a short, private conversation with my grandpa though. He said that even though she did die, she somehow came back, and she had no recollection of dying. Everyone in the family decided to keep it that way. Strange as the circumstances were, they didn't matter. The mere idea of losing her again so soon was enough to keep our mouths shut.

I remember feeling immense relief. I could now tell her all the things I wished I'd said aloud before she died. She could teach me how to cook my favorite Filipino dishes and how to sew on all the buttons that I seem to regularly lose.

When I awoke, I felt wistful but also at peace. I still miss her dearly and clearly she is still in my thoughts. Even now, I cry when I let myself do so, even though I know she would tell me to just be happy.

Death is just one of those certainties in life. The feelings of loss and heartbreak are not easy to manage, but there isn't much else one can do other than coping in the healthiest possible way. While every death I will experience through out my life will be different, I like to think I'm now a tiny bit more prepared for them all. One must take them all in stride, and celebrate that person's life rather than mourning his or her death (Another thing I internalized while I was studying Irish wakes in Ireland).

Curse you, subconscious. Sometimes I like being blissfully unaware of the realities of life.

Slainte!

2009-09-15T11:33:00.000-07:00

So.

The last time I spent any time on this here blog, I was still in Armagh. I apologize for the time-lapse. While I was there, I tried so very hard to remain in the moment, only reflecting at bedtime as I stared at the slats of the bed above mine. I thought it silly to set aside even 15 minutes to visit my blog when instead I could be getting to know someone a bit better in the kitchen or in the hostel lobby.

But now that it's been just about a month since that trip, I will try my best to adequately describe the whole adventure. Honestly, it was the best experience of my life to-date.

One thing that struck me as odd from the very beginning was my lack of nervousness. By all accounts, I could have been very worried. I was traveling out of the country by myself for the first time, with virtually no familiar faces to greet me once I touched ground. (Except for Fuzzy, David's first toy.) I felt absolutely no anxiety about anything. Both the long flight and the prospect of making new friends/acquaintances did not perturb me in the slightest.

Quite the contrary, in fact. I was thrilled. The older I become, the more eager I am to go off on my own. I feel more myself when I am alone. On some levels, I feel held back by my friends and acquaintances because I'm aware of their expectations and I know that most people dislike change, particular in those they think they know. In Ireland, I expected to be free to behave and do as I pleased.

But I'm digressing a bit.

Again, I was thrilled. And I was so very happy. There was nothing to complain about. Not the hours of waiting for a bus, or the inevitable small talk with strangers, which I typically avoid.

But just in a few words, Ireland is a place where people have not forgotten how to live life. Everything from the food to the people themselves attest to that as fact. I have never known people who are friendlier or more accommodating. So many of my nights were spent just sitting in a pub listening to live traditional music, or talking to people I met there and hearing their stories. The Irish love to talk, and I much prefer to listen, so I felt incredibly comfortable. The trip was a lovely respite from the rush-rush, hustle-and-bustle of city life that I grew up in. Life moves at its own pace in many places in Ireland, and I very much appreciated it.

I'm still unsure of how to progress. So much happened and I don't know how I can package it. Perhaps the best way will be through photos, which I'll get to soon.

-----

Classes are already in full swing, and though I've been keeping up rather easily, I already feel the laziness seeping in.

Thus far, my favorite class is Chinese Philosophy and Religion because it is so vastly different from most other philosophy/religion courses I've had. The ideas/values are almost entirely opposite of Western ideals.