WTFUCKme

Every holiday season (for the sake of clarity we’ll say late November-mid February) women go insane. It has to be in the female genome to feel needy at this designated time. We are bombarded with images of family and warmth so much so that even I, the anti-cheese, feel compelled to want or …eek to ‘need’ somebody to love. And because I live in the Northeast this time is coincidentally also the coldest of months—prompting us to spend more time indoors and possibly nurture emotions that would’ve never had a fighting chance in the summer.

All in all, what I wanted to say was:

FOR SALE/RENT/FREE: MY HORMONES

Parent trap

It's really hard to remember that our parents have emotions, thoughts and dreams that don't necessarily involve us. It's too easy to assume that once a parent you abandon any and everything that doesn't revolve around your kids. I hate seeing my parents compromising between what they want and what they should do. It's not like you can divorce your children. I'm really lucky to have the parents that I have. No, they don't spoil me. Nor are they perfect. But, they do their best. They feed me. They care.They don't hit me. That sort of thing. Some people get kicked out of their house or get cut off at 18, but here I am still around--college being (or atleast partly) paid off. Some people have crazy crack addict or incarcerated parents. Mine are just a little strict. Maybe I should appreciate them more. But it's so hard when what they believe conflicts so much with my ideals. I used to think it was an American thing to deviate from the values of one's parents. But it's completely normal and universal. Things change..everywhere. Even if I never moved to America, we would still have these dumb fights about things that don't matter. Sure my family's dysfunctional but when it counts we're there for eachother...and I love that about us.


I have to try to be more understanding. It's hard to keep reminding myself of that though.

You are special <3

"...the total number of possible genetic combinations for any human mating is about 70 trillion" Physical Anthropology~ Jurmain

you are one in a trillion!

MUST TRY: being selfulfilled

hmmmmmmmmm, so this semester focusing on me. this means 4.0, no boy chasing, no drama, all good things.

wish me luck!

trying<3

MUST *NOT* TRY: EDO

I missed New York so much yesterday that me and the roommate decided to eat out. Stumbled upon this Korean owned Japanese restaurant.

I can summarize the whole experience using one syllable: eh. It was okay. I guess my expectations were too high. The service was okay. The rolls were subpar considering what I paid. The chicken teriyaki made my roommate gag. I need authentic Japanese ASAP.

the worst/weirdest part? They played Christmas music in October..in Korean?

Won't be back.

Must Try: The Nice Guy

So, I went to a party last night. Filipinos know how to have a good time. Even though in the beginning it was really awkward without music eventually it was a good time.

But the thought provoking moment was this morning. This guy, let's call him Ben*, stood at my doorstep bearing gatorades as a love offering. What a guy. I don't know what it is about nice guys but I'm always put off by guys who are over eager or just give off the too nice vibe. Honestly, I think I'm immature in the sense that I love and invite drama even in my relationships. When a bonafide jerk messes up or hurts me, then logically that makes sense and is anticipated. But, when a labeled nice guy screws up, its disheartening. It's more traumatic.

Maybe when I grow up I'll grow out of my affinity for bad guys.

Must Try: Taking Own Advice

I think this blog must be more faithful to its name and suggest things to try.

Last night, my roommate was fighting with her boyfriend. Of course, I gave her an earful of awful advice. Why is it so easy to know exactly what to do when you're no the one in the situation? Why does involvement cloud our judgement? We all know the type of guy to stay away from--that is until we ourselves fall in love with the bad guy. We all know to keep our noses out of other people's drama---but it's so much fun to watch disaster happen.

This is why I think we are the cause for 86% of all our problems. Most college kids have the rational skills to differentiate good from bad. It's just that we have self destructive tendencies. We love our tragedies. We love whining about miniscule problems. Relishing our drama, we feel as though we are entitled to attention. Relishing our drama, we feel as though we are part of the chaos in the universe.

So next time you find yourself in a predicament. Jump out of your skin. Act as though you aren't involved in this issue. And you will know exactly what to do.

Try it on.

Restless

Surprise, surprise I can't sleep tonight.

Went into the city today. Insane amounts of nostalgia and maybe regret [?] Sometimes it's better not seeing what you're leaving behind. The park looks beautiful in its full and wet glory. City kids in makeshift bathing suits romp around in a mini water park that is the fountain. Today, I saw the street performers. There was a juggler, a group of 'afrobats', and a doowoop group. The singers were good but they kept lying about this song being the last one, so people would end up putting more money into their box, aptly named 'phillip.'

This got me thinking about my antics and my gimmicks. Deny it as much as you want, but I'm convinced we all have our individual go-to roles. In psych last fall, (my memory sucks lately, forgot the researcher let alone the name) I learned about this theory wherein we all carry around with us a bag of roles. Faced with a situation, we alter our identities based upon our handy dandy kit'o'aliases in order to efficiently handle a situation. For example, in a group of urban kids, we hash up all the gangsta references we know, throw up gang symbols we don't comprehend, and metaphorically pour champagne on the daily as an homage to the fallen ones.

These stupid stupid roles are so easy to utilize that sometimes I think I use them as a crutch. They say you are who you are when no one's watching. But when no one's watching, I'm either sleeping or lying on the couch absorbing whatever is on TV. I've been called a chameleon girlfriend before, but what if I'm so sucked into the vortex of non-identity that I lack individuality outside of romantic relationships?

I don't juggle. I can't do a cartwheel. And I can't sing. If I had to perform in a park for survival, I wouldn't survive.

An answer

Currently reading: Irresistible Revolution

Shane Claiborne is such a witty and down to earth writer. I love authors who's prose is more like dialogue between the writer and the audience. And his crazy little footnotes are such a great way to ground some of the concepts.

I really relate to the early chapters wherein he talks about Christianity being commercialized. I remember watching Real Housewives of New York and one of the rich male breadwinners attributing his riches to selling Christian jewelry. And the worst part was realizing that I was part of this vicious cycle of making christianity fashionable. I bought the shirts. I shopped for promise rings. I accumulated so much stuff to constantly remind myself I was Christian.

The ensuing chapter talks about a leper colony with which he stays. He says that while the poor suffer physically from leprosy and lack sensation in their bodies, the rich suffer from a more serious condition, emotional apathy in their hearts and actions.

After reading the Calcutta section, I felt extremely convicted. When we ask God why he let's poverty, war, and disease to cripple his people, we must be prepared to be asked the same question. And when He asks, I have no answer. Laziness, Fear, Apathy? I don't know.

And to think today I was upset over having an outdated phone.

Just Keep Swimming

Sitting on my deck sipping cold drinks and soaking up some sun, my roommate and I exchange stories. Somewhere between talks about the future, and reveling in the past, we talk about sharks. Sharks, she said, die if they keep stagnant.

My ears perk up when I heard this random fact. What in interesting concept for a life mantra. If we do not keep moving we risk the consequences. Sometimes, the direction isn't the most important part--but the fact that we are consciously making moves. Most of the time, wallowing in our current situations and remaining stagnant is the most dangerous thing we can do.

Side Orders

Looking at menus some haughtier places call their side orders complements. 

A friend once asked me what my philosophy was with dating. The choices being complementary or completion. Should love birds complement or complete each other. Oddly enough, I think those two choices are contingent upon one another. If something complements another, essentially doesn't it make it better. Okay, if I were a fry and my non-existent boyfriend was ketchup (or another dip of choice) wouldn't I be lacking without the addition of said dip? So the combination in essence is completion through complements. 

Also, what is this fascination with "letting relationships happen." Another friend told me, proactive searching for a significant other hinders relationships from occurring. Granted, when people actively search, they seem desperate, BUT I firmly believe everyone should pursue the love they want and deserve. No one sits around waiting for a burger to fall into his mouth. So why deprive oneself of another basic need such as love? 

So I ask, where is my waiter with my ketchup.

Insomnia

Being disillusioned is so bittersweet. Even though you're so relieved to have the veil of ignorance stripped away, you're left staring with translucent eyelids at the ugliest and most hurtful of truths. And I think I'm addicted to this feeling of having spontaneous epiphanies. I am purposefully delusional to achieve the high of uncovering a mistruth.. weird.

But the boundary between delusional and optimistic is blurry, buried, and drawn on outdated maps. When am I basking in the bliss of delusional ignorance versus hoping for the best or dreaming big?

So this summer I've fallen in love with reading again. In high school, we did this exercise where we read most ( if not all of ) the works by a single literary genius. I'm repeating the process with my new found love, Mr. Kurt Vonnegut Jr. In Breakfast of Champions there's an anecdote about this bird. Its owner decides to grant the bird three wishes. One, he is let out of the cage. Two, a window is opened. But at thought of defenestration, the bird panics and flies back into its cage. The logic being, if it flew away it had nothing left to look forward to. So by staying in the cage, the bird retains its power for hope and imagination. Behind bars, he has something left to wish for. Though physically behind bars, his mind is free to wander the possibilities of the outside world. 

Most of the time, I am definitely that bird. I refuse chances to get out of my cage because I want something to look forward to. But someday, I should probably learn how to fly. 

puwet poet.

I wrote this a while ago. I felt particularly broken that day I guess.

__________________________

&hearts. 

Imploded into bits, pieces of me

Ache and pine for new owners.

The blind world turns with haste

Unaware I am being pulled apart.

Its bottomless gravity entangles

The tiny sinews of my muscles,

Uncorks my bones from their sockets,

While my marrow oozes like dark red wine

And in a snap I fall apart.

A powerless arm for my mother

A stagnant leg for my dad

An upturned lip for each sister

And to my brothers go deafened ears

My guts lay on display for public prodding.

As my friends pick apart my half alive liver

They leave the dead half to the ravenous birds above

A semi circle of semi serious lovers

Throw my heart around for a game of catch

Their grips too loose or their hands too small

 My heart is doomed to fall

Between the grates of their fingers.

Then silent footsteps approach—

Their only warning a glow emanating both warmth and blinding light

The loving hands which hold the world

Take a reprieve and now cradle my mangled mangy heart

And in the lull

In the moment the earth stood still

The voice which commands the sun to shine

Whispers a breath into my black lungs

As quickly as I fall apart

I am whole again.

 

Every dog has its day

This post is way past due but I didn't have the right words until now.

Tradition, defined by its latin forefather 'traditionem', translates to "handing over, or passing on." Being a microcosm of the melting pot that is America, I carry on my back an odd concoction of traditions and customs. The Filipina in me shakes her hips at the vaguest notion of music. The newly formed American version of me stands proud and confused by the paradoxical yet patriotic act of flag burning. Although I am a gluttonous gourmand of any edible bits of information available to me, I fail to know all the traditions of both these backgrounds. But I was and always will be struck by the assumption that it is part of the Filipino (if not all of the South Eastern Asian cultures) to eat dog.

So I asked a few people why dogs are off the menu. Of course one answer pointed out the less than pristine habits of a dog. Being in close proximity to our canine counterparts, we see all their filthy idiosyncrasies--from autogenital licking, to drinking from the toilet, we are painfully exposed to the disgusting things that could be going on in our four legged friends. Although for me this is a compelling enough argument not to eat a dog there is a more salient reason for keeping fido kosher. In America, dogs are treated as a part of the family. Paris Hilton even goes to the extent of toting her Chihuahua, Tinkerbell, in haute couture bags. In the end, the consensus claims there's something wrong with sautéing man's best friend. 

I can't speak for all of the Asian cultures but the plight of the Native Filipino is close to my heart. Recently having visited my homeland, I again was exposed to the overwhelming poverty seeping through the streets. The smell of sewage in the air and the stench of corruption in the bureaucracies has left the countrymen and women  gasping for air. The daily minimum wage is a measly 400 pesos or roughly 8 American Dollars. While the cost of an average meal from McDonalds is 80 Pesos. I'm not a brilliant mathematician but I know there's a flaw in that equation. Although some controversy swirls around the methods of harvesting dog meat, the matter boils down to survival. The lipid padded derrières of most Americans don't know the meaning of starvation. Most exploit the funds intended for the disabled and impoverished. Most are blind to the reality  of the empty distended bellies half a world away. They see the traditions of America instead. They see the ideal of pulling oneself up by the boot straps. They praise the self made man.  But most of all they love their hotdogs.

The 233rd birthday of our nation was a spectacle. Like every year we had fireworks, flags and of course Nathan's annual hot dog eating contest. This year, to even qualify, contestants had to eat 32 hotdogs in 12 minutes. But in the end, the three time champion Joey Chestnut wins the competition eating a shocking 68 dogs in 10 minutes. Nathan's contest is just one of the many ludicrous competitions condoning gluttony. There are countless pie scarfing, pizza popping, canoli consuming contests in the nation for sport. Not to mention, the completely self-serving 'challenges' on the food network that urges chefs and bakers to fabricate buildings made of food. 

So the question posed no longer ponders the harm in eating dog. But I ask, which is worse? Eating a dog in order to survive another day? Or for one man to consume hot dogs enough to feed 68 people? To praise and promote excess, while most go without? 

To this day I have never eaten a dog, but who knows? I've got some time.