Like a Delicious Twinkie

Overwhelming Thoughts

2010-07-21T14:00:00.000-07:00

I haven't written in this blog for quite some time, ever since I started keeping my other, daily blog. But I felt it necessary to write something that's not in poetic or prose form.

What an odd month it has been for me. It doesn't feel like it should be nearing August; I remember ringing in the new year watching The Hang Over as though it had just happened. Sometimes it scares me, how fast time moves by. It seems to creep and slowly slink along when we want it to move the fastest, but as we go about our every day, we suddenly blink and we're another year older. The world has tacked on another 365 (and a quarter) days to the billions that have already been had.

I realize that I get overwhelmed, sometimes, contemplating the past and the future. Not in a personal regard - I've spent too much time analyzing my past and wondering about my future - but in a general sense. I think about all of the people who have lived on this earth, who never dreamed of what we have now. I usually start at more recent times and work my way backwards.

So, for instance, I'll often think about Hollywood in the 1930's and 1940's and how glamorous everyone was. The was a certain air of class and a real sense of posh that surrounded everyone in that time. I think of those glamour shots that are so famous now, with the soft lighting and ethereal glow that seemed to frame everyone's head like a halo. The women looked stoic, but with a hint of mischief in their eyes - or with a hint of sex behind half-closed lids, fanned by long, beautiful eyelashes. I can't quite fathom how the women got their hair to look that way, and I imagine that it's always going to be a mystery to me.

From there, I jump back to the turn of the century. I think about the sinking of the Titanic and how it wasn't just the movie that jumped Leonardo DiCaprio's career. There were real people who were on that real ship, screaming for help in the blackness of the Atlantic. Captain EJ Smith really went down with his ship, his last trip before he was to retire and spend time with his family. That honestly and truly happened.

I often think about the people I see in the old photographs that my grandma has in her hallway. They're mainly of her parents or siblings. Sometimes, I get caught up in just staring at them, wondering what was in their mind at the precise instant that moment was captured on paper. No one looks happy, but I know it was more because of the long exposure time in order to get a picture taken - smiling for six minutes would be ridiculous. And impossible. But still, I wonder if they were hopeful. I wonder if they were thinking about what they were going to cook for dinner, or what they were going to do for work, or whether some golden opportunity was going to find them as they made their new lives in America. I wonder if they were thinking about whether their children would survive - I know my grandma has told me that they lost a few to various diseases when they were very small. I try to imagine them talking, breathing, their voices heavy with an Italian accent they hadn't quite lost - and would never really lose. I try to imagine my grandma as a baby, sitting on her father's knee, smiling up at him as she cooed.

And then it just keeps going. I think about literary London in the 1800's, the time of Marie Antoinette in France, Henry VIII, Galileo and then Inquisition, the Crusades, the Black Plague, the time of Beowulf and Grendel, and then neanderthals. My brain often feels like it's going to explode once I've reached that point, but I like the feeling. I think it's important to remember the past. I think that human nature is to commit the same errors, over and over and over again, so we might as well learn about it so we can try and break the cycle.

I often wonder if anyone else has thoughts like these, or if I'm just the only crazy girl in the world who makes up stories for the people she sees in pictures.

Cumpleanos.

2010-06-04T12:24:00.000-07:00

Birthdays are a wonderful thing. Not for the presents, but for the mere fact that it is a celebration of you being in this world. It is a time for you and everyone you know to rejoice in the fact that you have brought light and radiance to an otherwise dismal world. And while you share the day with thousands - perhaps millions - of other people in the world, it still feels like it is solely yours, and I think that's special.

For me, though, birthdays have always been bittersweet. As a child, I was most excited about getting presents. What kid wasn't? We're selfish and greedy (and some never grow out of that mindset), so all that we know is ourselves and what we want. But as I grew older, birthdays took on a different meaning for me. I don't know when it started, exactly, but at some point, it continually brought up thoughts of my birth mother. I used to ask my mom - and sometimes, I still do - whether or not my birth mother knew when my birthday was. Or if she thought of me at all. Or if she knew how old I was or was going to be. My mom always told me that there's no way for a woman to have a child and not know and remember all of these things. And while her words always brought solace to me, there was still this underlying twinge of doubt.

What if she really didn't remember? What if she didn't think of me at all? What if she had forced herself to forget giving birth to me or giving me up? What if she was dead? The last option gave me a sense of finality, at least, so I didn't have to wonder all of the time. If she's dead, she's dead - end of story. But all of those other thoughts? They tore me to the very core. The thought of being so thought-filled when it came to her, and to think of her not reciprocating that sort of emotion, ripped me apart. So while I smiled awkwardly as people sang "Happy Birthday" to me, I always had tears in my eyes at these swarming thoughts.

What if she had forgotten about me?

And now, I find myself six days away from my 23rd birthday. I can feel these thoughts tapping on my shoulder, beckoning me to turn around and weep at this hypothetical devastation. But I'm forcing myself to face forward. I've come to realize that if she has forgotten about me, then that's it. I cannot control her - I don't even know her. But even if I did, I wouldn't be able to control her thoughts or feelings or actions. They are hers, as mine are mine.

So, I'm taking five days off from work, starting on my birthday. I'm spending four of them with the one man who renews my faith in the world, in life, and in love, each and every day. I'm continuing to break out of my stage fright and singing a song of love and happiness at the store meeting on Sunday. I'm celebrating being alive. I'm celebrating having been born. I'm celebrating the fact that my birth mother, wherever she is, decided to give me up. I'm celebrating my life - what has come to pass and what will be in the future. I'm letting go of all of this pain and all of this fear and deciding that damn it - I'm worth it.

- May (you never forget to dance).

Parallels

2010-06-02T07:06:00.001-07:00

There have been two days over the past seven that I've found myself passing the motorcade for a funeral. And each time that I have, I've always said a small prayer to the Universe to bring healing to the families, to give thanks for the fact that I am not a part of the sorrow at this present moment, and to give strength to those around the world who are dealing with death. The weird thing to me is that both times have been on incredibly beautiful days -- full of warmth and sunshine. I don't usually understand what's going on when I find myself behind the last car in the motorcade, getting annoyed at his slow pace and hazards on. With my music blasting, my windows down, and my hair a mess, I change lanes so that I can get around the tortoise-paced person in front of me, thinking that perhaps he has to go slow because he has a dresser in his trunk or something. And then I see the whole line of slow-moving cars, hazards on, and I understand. I turn my music down. I don't speak a word. And I say my prayers to the Universe.

It usually takes me time to even want to put my music back up. I feel -- disrespectful, I suppose, in not being somber when there are people who are mourning the loss of a loved one. And then I realize that it happens every second of every day, somewhere in the world. Over and over and over again. Rather than making me sad, though, I am all the more determined to live a good life. To enjoy the people in it. To love fully and on purpose. To be compassionate to someone I may not have been compassionate to otherwise. To smile every day. To laugh every day. To cherish every second that I have. Because someday, I will be in the first car of that funeral motorcade -- except that I will wante everyone to have the windows down and music up, laughing and smiling along the way.

- May (you live with purpose).

When There's Nothing Left to Burn ...

2010-05-17T18:50:00.001-07:00

... You Must Set Yourself On Fire.

I've become obsessed with this song from the band Stars. It's called "Your Ex-Lover is Dead." It combines a myriad of instruments, which always makes me fall in love with a song. Always. They're introduced gradually, too, and there are lots of crescendos and decrescendos. It brings out my inner band geek.

Anyway, the song makes feel all kinds of -- melancholy. With twinges of something else. There may be a glimmer of happiness in there, for some strange reason or another, but generally, the tone of the song is one of longing, regret, and over-all sadness. I can't help it!: no matter how happy I am, I always love sad music. It reaches me on a different, deeper plane than any happy song ever could. I think it may be because sadness is one of life's ultimate equalizer. Not everyone becomes happy for the same reason; some people may find happiness when buying something, others when driving a fast sports car, while others find it in the company of others. Sadness, however, everyone feels, and for many of the same reasons. Losing love, death, falling out of touch with a friend, separation, and so on. Perhaps that's why I can't help but gravitate towards sad music. More than that, sad music that makes me think. Oh, what an intoxicating combination for me. Play a Death Cab For Cutie song, and you had me at "Love of mine ..."

God, that was strange to see you again.
Introduced by a friend of a friend,
Smiled and said, "Yes, I think we've met before."
In that instant, it started to pour.

Sometimes I wonder about the people who come into my life. Into everyone's lives. There's that very cheesy saying of how some people come in for a reason or a season, something something something. But I suppose that underneath all of that "Hallmark Fluff," there's some truth to it.

I try to stay in the present moment. I try very hard to do that. But sometimes, I get lost in my thoughts. It's a bad habit, but I like finding sanctuary there. It's like coming home after a long trip away and plopping down in your most favorite chair. You know you won't have the energy to get up and unpack your belongings, but it just feels so good to relax a moment. That's how it gets when I start thinking. I know that it will hinder me from doing other things, but sometimes, I just have to process the hodge podge of thoughts that are scattered about my cranial space. It's the only way I'll survive to the next day.

But anyway, despite my attempt at honest Buddhism and staying ever present in the moment, I think about the people in my life. I wonder who's going to be here for years, who's going to be here for days, for months, perhaps always. I wonder what purpose each person has in my life -- and truly, they all have some kind of purpose. Whether it's a friend who makes me smile at exactly the right moment, or someone who redeems my faith in others, or someone who shows me kinds of love that I've not yet known or understood or thought existed, they all have a purpose. Perhaps this is a selfish way of thinking, that everyone has a reason in my life. But how else can I relate things if not to myself?

Captured a taxi despite all the rain.
We drove in silence across Pont Champlain.
And all of the time you thought I was sad;
I was trying to remember your name.

I think about the people who've come and gone out of my daily life. I had to let go of some unwillingly. Others left when it was their time to leave. Some were in between. I wonder what it would be like to run into some of these people again, especially the ones who left some kind of imprint on me -- whether good or bad. I wonder how I would handle a run-in situation, how my compassion and love would hold up against, say, someone who hurt me in the past. I wonder if I would be reminded of distant memories that have been only collecting dust in the archives of my mind. I wonder if I would remember that person's story. Or if I would recognize him/her at all.

This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin.
Tried to reach deep, but you couldn't get in.
Now you're outside me, you see all the beauty,
Repent all your sin.

Not surprisingly, I think about the last person I gave my heart to. I think about the last person I trusted so fully -- perhaps too fully -- who crushed whatever hope I may have had. I harbored a lot of anger and a lot of resentment for a very long time. Seven years, in fact. The anger and resentment would start off the emotional playlist, until I eventually wound up feeling worthless, wondering what I could have done to have made him stay or made him change his mind. Anything.

It's nothing but time and a face that you lose.
I chose to feel it, and you couldn't choose.
I'll write you a postcard,
I'll send you the news
From a house down the road from real love.

But then I realize -- he lived out his purpose in my life. He brought many good things to me, and I'll keep many of those fond memories with me as I go through life. He brought bad things to me, as well, but I've come to see them in a positive light. He hurt me, but I learned how to heal. I learned how to stand on my own two feet, to figure out who I am before attempting to give myself to another. I learned what I wanted in someone else and what I most definitely didn't want. I suppose he ended up giving me more good things than I realized, though it took me a long time to come to that realization.

And, without all of these things and all of this growth that he inadvertently made happen, I wouldn't be where I am today. I wouldn't be as happy as I am today, relationship-wise. I don't think I would have ever been open to a relationship had it not been for the pain that I had to wade through years ago. I wouldn't be able to appreciate all of the wonderful things about who I'm with now if I hadn't lamented over all of the bad things about the other. Because of that sadness, I fully understand and am grateful for every second of happiness that I have now in my relationship. It is a rare day that I do not wake up and immediately thank the Universe for all that I am blessed with -- for who I am, for who I am with, for who he makes me, every day. I don't think I would be able to understand all of this if I had no frame of pained reference.

Live through this, and you won't look back.
Live through this, and you won't look back.
Live through this, and you won't look back.

I guess the whole point of it all is that we don't know why people are in our lives. We don't know if they'll bring us immense joy or immense sadness. We don't know if we will have to let them go. We don't know if we will even remember them at all in years to come. All we can do is be thankful that we can experience them, that we can know them. We can experience people in ways that animals can't. We must relish every second that we have with another person, whether good or bad, for what else is life but a string of a few, scattered, important moments? We can choose to be angry. We can choose to be sad. But in the end, it doesn't really matter.

In the end, all you can do is love. All you can do is let go.

There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave:
You were what I wanted,
I gave what I gave.
I'm not sorry I met you,
I'm not sorry it's over,
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save,
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save.

- May (you love, unconditionally).

Bolded sections are lyrics to the song, "Your Ex-Lover is Dead," by Stars.

Brainwashing.

2010-05-13T18:17:00.000-07:00

My brain is dead, after having written about 10 pages about the links between democracy and the media. I feel like I ended up going on a rant towards the end, about how the media is more or less making us all mindless, gray blobs. No one questions things. No one asks "why?" or "how?" anymore. People take things as fact, at face value, and are too lazy (and/or too apathetic) to do any more research.

I was watching videos about Shirley Phelps-Roper. I'm pretty sure I've talked about her before. But in case you don't know who she is, she's this insane, insane woman who is a part of the Westboro Baptist Church. The Church has about 100 members, mostly made up of her family. They protest and picket the funeral marches of soldiers who are killed in Iraq. They carry signs that say, "God Hates Fags" and "God Loves Dead Soldiers." They promote hatred and malice under God's name. They say that we sin by accepting homosexuality, and that's why people are killed. She believes that the young Amish girls who were shot to death last summer deserved to die -- not because they did anything wrong, necessarily, but because of Adam's Original Sin. And yet, she and her family are untouchable, because they're spreading this message and "enlightening" the world.

The liberal in me says that everyone is allowed to have his/her own opinion. And I believe that, though I don't agree with many of them. But there is such an extreme amount of variance in the human race that to say that everyone should think the same way is ridiculous. The Buddhist in me says to detach myself from what she says and to disassociate myself from such negative energy. The human in me becomes angry every time I hear her talk in such a way. It's a weird threeway tug-of-war that goes on inside of me at listening to this manic woman.

And then it makes me turn inward. What sort of things do I promote, and do I promote anything to such extreme levels? I examine myself and my life and my message. I can't imagine I've ever promoted hatred of any kind - and if I ever have, my Universe, I am sorry for it. I like to think that I would never intentionally do such a thing. And all of this introspection reminds me that I must live a life for love. For peace. For happiness. For energy. For balance. For myself. For others.

I try to channel the positive forces within me that tell me stay true to my Lo(ve)-Fi and Om tattoos. Receive love from other people (and do not be afraid of it) and send the signal back out, stronger. Even when forces against me are trying to steal it away. Stay balanced and in tune with myself and the rest of the Universe. Turn negatives into positives.

Be happy.

If I could somehow get this tattooed on my body, I would. The following excerpt, from Carl Sagan (1994), is one of my all-time favorites. It is based upon the picture below, a picture of earth taken from the edge of our galaxy.

Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there--on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.

-- Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot, 1994

- May (you never be afraid of what's inside).

Renewal.

2010-05-10T19:43:00.000-07:00

There's something that the very wise and very profound Jason Mraz said in a blog post a while back. He said something about how you have to look through the eyes of a hypothetical tourist - always seeing something as though it's for the first time. It keeps life interesting and keeps you in gratitude for being where you are at that particular moment in time. It keeps you IN that particular moment in time, period. Things look new. Things are exciting. Things are worthy of attention. There's no skimming through a town, letting the scenery around you blur into an obscure oblivion. You are there, and no where else.

It was such a simple, yet powerful suggestion for me. I've kept it in the back of my mind since I read it however many months ago. But it wasn't until recently that I started trying to put it into practice.

Every time I come home, I try to notice something different about my house, or my street, or my neighborhood. At least one thing, every time. Some of the thoughts I've had over the past few days have been the way the hedges by the kitchen window never really grow in quite right, or the hole that still remains from when my first dog, Freckles, ripped the soil out of the ground (I was about three at the time), or the little web a spider made on the lamp post by the driveway, or the way the houses around me have changed and morphed over time. And I try to make them insignificant things -- the types of things I would be looking for if I were in an alien place.

I've been trying to do it at work, too. I noticed the clicking of the doors as they open and close, the particular smell of computers and ipods and air conditioning that I remember from when I walked in for my first day back in September, the sound my Converse no-lace-ups make on the hardwood floor, the beeping of locker combinations and restricted-access rooms' key pads, sounds of laughter and of frustration, the random pictures that are scattered around.

Jason Mraz was onto something when he suggested this. Not only am I ever mindful in every moment that comes my way, I am grateful for every single one of them. Even the frustrating ones. Even the ones where my brain fizzles, and I swear I am on my last bit of hope for the human race. I am still grateful because I am still here. I am breathing. I can smile and I can love and I can laugh and I can hug.

I am alive.

Are you?

- May (you not only walk a mile in a stranger's shoes, but live a lifetime through his eyes).

Where Are You Going?

2010-04-27T19:09:00.000-07:00

Soon, in the very near future, I will be getting my third tattoo. I've gone back and forth and back again in trying to decide what it is that I want. I was fairly certain that I wanted "Go make your next choice be your best choice," and perhaps I'll get it somewhere down the line. I still think it's an important and potent quotation that I always need to remember - but I've found something better.

I don't know if I read it or came up with it or (most likely) stole it from someone else, but I'm going to get:

"You are where you are meant to be."

It will be written in another language, most like Persian or Arabic, and it will run the length of the bottom of my right forearm.

In keeping with the idea of what I originally wanted, it is a reminder to stay mindful. To be happy. To be content. And most of all, to be grateful. Every decision that I have made in my life thus far has brought me to this very point in time. Friends I've lost, friends I've made, love I've forgotten, love I've created, losses, births, rebirths, changes, spiritual decisions, all of it - everything has been a step towards my position on this finite timeline of life. And every step that I take from here on out will bring me to my next destination.

I must be grateful that I've had the opportunity to take these steps. That I can continue to take steps. That I can plan for steps in the future - even if I never take them. There are times that I am reminded of what a beautiful, humbling, undeserving gift Life is. It is truly astonishing that we are given the chance to experience it - even the bad. It reminds us that we are alive and helps us to appreciate the wonderful. I've come to understand that, and so I must be as grateful for the negative experiences as I am for the positive.

Who else will live my life if not me?

The tattoo will serve as another reminder: make sure you're headed in the right direction!

- May (you be unafraid to change your mind).

Melodious Percussion.

2010-04-25T19:59:00.000-07:00

Something about the rainy weather does something odd to me, I've found. I don't know if it always existed or if it's been a more recent construct of this ridiculous life. Perhaps it always lingered, but I've only just noticed? I don't know what it does, but it turns me inside, into some kind of hypothetical, mental hermit. Thoughts I've not pondered in quite some time, or ever, suddenly take center stage in my cerebral jungle. I need a machete to often cut through the brush or to make a path to whatever lies at the other end.

On the surface, I'm very much the same as I always am. Years of hiding deeper thoughts, deeper fears, deeper everything has taught me well. I've been trained (by no one other than myself) to consistently contain two, distinct personalities: the introvert and the extrovert, the melancholy and the joyful, the emotional and apathetic, the little girl and the woman.

The introverted, melancholy, emotional little girl is withdrawn - she always meanders about my insides, but is happy in simply existing. She need not bring attention to herself often, only when she feels she needs attention to satiate her until the next outburst.

The extroverted, joyful albeit sometimes apathetic woman is the one people see the most often. She smiles as though nothing could possibly contain her. Her laughs know no decibel boundary; they escape from her mouth as though their very lives depended upon it. Her cheeks flush with wonder at the beautiful things that are always surrounding her. This can sometimes cause her to become apathetic to it all; but she puts on a good show. She always puts on a good show.

Today was a day for the little girl to come out and play for a little while. Not that I wanted her to, mind you, but like I said: there's something about the rain that does something weird. The first pitter-patters of rainfall call to the little girl like a siren to a sailor. She can't help but peek her head from above the hedges to see what else is there, what she can touch and turn to dust.

Impulsively, I decided to watch some of my arrival and christening video. It's odd. Obviously, I don't remember any of it as I was only seven months old when it was all taking place. Parts of me wishes I could remember what it was like from a first-person perspective. It almost makes me feel separated, detached from that part of my life - like someone else was living it and told me about it, but I was never given the actual experience of living through it. It's odd, indeed.

It was also odd to see relatives that are no longer around. Not in a bad way, of course. But I sometimes struggle to reconcile the past and the present. These people once existed. They once breathed the air I breathed. They once laughed the way I laugh, cried the way I cry, yelled the way I yell (perhaps in a different language), and loved the way I love. I'm thankful for the fact that my dad was pretty consistent in filming for these few days so that we've got some kind of digital proof of their existence, but it's weird to think that they're no longer around. Especially when seeing Mia, who my heart will always miss, and my Aunt Mary, who only recently passed away.

I wish I remembered my Aunt Mary more. I wish I visited with her more. I wish I spoke with her about her life. I wish I heard her stories and asked her questions. I wish I didn't become annoyed when Mia asked me to help her to bed late one night. I wish I had sat at the foot of her bed more often, telling her of the day's events. I wish I saved her Christmas cards and birthday cards - or at least remembered what I did with them. I wish I had been older while she was around so that I could have really appreciated her filthy, dirty, obscene humor properly. I wish I told her that I loved her more often. I wish I told my Aunt Mary that I loved her more often. I wish that I had told my Aunt Francis that I loved her the last time I saw her before she died.

I wish for a lot of things.

But I suppose sitting and wishing for things that can't be changed or altered is merely a waste of my time. It only makes the little girl more upset, ultimately. She cries harder when I think of things like these. She stomps her feet and throws her tantrums and refuses to budge. It really doesn't benefit anyone in the end.

I really need to stop wishing.

I need to start doing.

There's nothing stopping me from making sure I am as kind as I can possibly be. I can still be as compassionate as I can be, especially to those I dislike. I can tell people that I love them when I see them, and make sure they know it - and believe it. I can ask more questions about people's lives. I can sit with my parents and talk to them about what it was like growing up. I can listen to the stories that are always floating around me, the ones I will want to remember for the rest of my life.

I can, and more importantly must!, cherish every moment that I possibly have on this revolving earth in this fleeting, fleeting life.

I've learned from my past mistakes.

I really need to stop wishing.

I need to start doing.

- May (you live with purpose).

Bright.

2010-03-11T12:05:00.000-08:00

Even in the somewhat dreary sunshine (seems like a contradiction, doesn't it?) of the outside world, I find myself renewed. It is as though I've molted the bruised, battered, and scarred casing of before to reveal a pink (or perhaps, in my case, yellow) and fleshy undercoat.

The bully, Depression, has scurried away -- though his return is always a looming threat. But I've come to realize that I can't always be planning, or expecting, his arrival. If all of my time and all of my energy goes to dead-bolting the door and boarding up my windows, how will I ever let the sunlight in? How will I ever feel safe enough to venture into the world around me? It does me no good to act like that or to think like that. If he has to come back, and I think he may have to at some point in the future, wouldn't it be great if I were laying on a beach somewhere, warming myself in the sun's rays, so that he would barge into an empty home? What a disappointment!

There have been a few things leading to this mental change, I think. One would be, of course, the wonderful, glorious change in the weather. The brighter the sun shines, the happier I become. There's no hiding that -- and I know that I'm not the only one. The release of those endorphins is no joke. Another reason would be the compass necklace I received as a gift. A simple gesture, really, but one that meant (and still means) the world to me; a constant reminder that, even when I feel as though I can never find my way back home, I am never truly lost. All I have to do is open the necklace's latch to reveal the working compass and retrace my steps. Plus, the person from whence it came matters more to me than I could have ever imagined, and he fills my heart in ways I never dreamed. He has also helped me find hope in even the darkest of days, simply by being a major part of my life, and for that, I will always be grateful.

A third reason would be the active steps I have taken into being healthier. Cutting out fast food and coffee (again) has already made a difference. I've also been sticking with my "at least 1/2 hour of yoga, every day" routine. I attempted to do the P90X yoga video today, which is an hour and a half long, and only made it through the first hour before my body rebelled. I think that I will have to work my way up to that, as it is more intense than any yoga I've done before. But that is a goal -- to be able to complete that video without any sort of hesitation. And having goals, especially healthy ones, are uplifting.

Plus, I have found my hope. I do not know where I found it or where it had gone in the first place, but we have been reunited again. I am becoming more involved with my job, even though I am still unsure of where to go from here (and I've come to know that that's all right). I have decided that, within the next year, I will travel. I will, of course, take smaller trips -- maybe to the likes of DC to visit friends or back to New England to do the same -- but I have decided that I will take at least one big trip within the next year. It could be across the country or across the ocean. It really matters not. All I know is that I will.

I have found my peace with the Unknown (and it does deserve a capitalization here). I do not know where I am headed. I do not know how much longer I will stay with Apple. I do not know where I will go in my Graduate Studies. But what I do know is that I have been provided a gift -- and that gift is my not knowing. Others have their lives planned out before they can even protest. They are told that they will be doctors, they will be housewives, they will be lawyers. And while all of those things are wonderful and needed in their own right, there is no freedom there. They cannot say, "I find my joy in something else, so I will pursue that something else to make me happy." They must do what has been decided for them.

I don't have that. Those restrictions don't touch me. They never have.

What a beautiful, magnificent gift.

How could I waste it?

- May (you never lose hope).

Double? Madness! (Cue 300 jokes)

2010-03-07T19:34:00.001-08:00

It has been an introspective day for me. And I think it has been a long time coming.

My brain is constantly searching and thinking. It is rare that it is simply resting. In fact, I can't remember a time where it's been at rest, even while the other parts of my body fall into their natural comatose states every evening. I'm almost tempted, sometimes, to enter myself into a sleep study so that a very serious-looking scientist (wearing glasses and a lab coat, I imagine) can hook up electrical wires to my skull and monitor my brain waves. I want to know what goes on when I'm unconscious to this world and exploring the nightly, alternate universe. Even when I'm sleeping, I want to continue learning.

I don't quite know what I'm feeling. My initial reaction is to say that I'm numb, but then after some serious consideration, I don't think that's it. "Numb" implies some kind of sadness. An overwhelmed feeling. It's not a foreign feeling to me, not by any means. I used to use the analogy of standing underneath the shower head for long periods of time. You start off feeling every drop of water, then it spreads out until you feel one, cohesive stream and those droplets are no longer individual, and then there's nothing. Eventually, your skin goes numb to the feeling, and it's only when you hear the sound of the water swirling down the drain that you remember it's pouring over you.

But that's not what this feeling is.

I suppose I could call it apathy, but that, too, holds a negative connotation, and I really don't think this is a negative feeling. Part of me thinks that, perhaps, after an emotionally charged day, maybe this "flat-lining" is a kind of mental defense mechanism so that I don't short circuit.

Well, thank you, seemingly pragmatic part of me -- but I think you're wrong.

Underneath this -- we'll call it "acceptance" -- there is a general sense of hope. Of wonder. Of happiness. Which is why I know it's not feeling "numb" or "apathetic." I want more hours in the day so that I can spend them stretching my body and expanding my bones. I want more hours in the day so that I can spend them meditating and channeling the Universe. I want more hours in the day so that I have more reasons for which to be thankful for life.

That hardly sounds like numbness or apathy, right?

Somewhat unrelated, yet still tied in, I've decided what I want my third tattoo to be, to serve as a reminder of the lessons I've learned over the past few days. The lessons I've always known, deep down, but only realized and understood at this moment in time. It's a simple statement. It isn't especially poetic and, upon first listen or glance, it seems as obvious as a red light (or, in my case, a yellow one, reminding me to take life in the slow lane). But give it a moment to sink in. Let it infiltrate your mind. After you understand the clout of it, you'll understand why it's important.

Go make your next choice be your best choice.

Yes, it's taken from a song. And most would find that foolish. But I've been toying with the idea of getting this quote etched into my skin for a few months now. I've debated and wondered and scratched my head raw over it. But I know, now, that it's what I want. It's what I need.

I promise myself and the Universe that, from now on, every choice I make will be my best. Every time I'm presented with a choice, I have the opportunity to make my life a little more wonderful. To make this world a little happier. To spread light into someone else's life. To encourage someone else to search for their true happiness. Why on earth wouldn't I want to do that?

- May (you choose the right path).

Poetic Influence

2010-03-07T15:06:00.000-08:00

I really need to start writing happier things.

The only problem with that is that I feel like I am most inspired to write when things are miserable. And that really bothers me. It's the Tortured Soul thing, I think. Angst and sadness are ultimate equalizers -- no matter your status, no matter your place along life's timeline, everyone has felt it. Everyone knows it. And everyone, to some degree, fears it. And I think that's why it attracts us. It's why we watch horror movies with the lights off or go on death-defying roller coasters. We're intrigued by that which scares us most. (Except if you're me and one of your biggest fears is clowns. Then, you avoid them like the freaking plague).

Sadness doesn't scare me anymore, though.

Well, I suppose that's not true. It scares me in so much that I am afraid of it consuming me. A little shedding of tears every so often isn't a bad thing. In fact, I think it's healthy and a requirement for staying balanced. Too much of a good thing is a bad thing, as they say. Plus, without bad things, we would never have any sort of gratitude for the good. So, getting sad every once in a while is something to be promoted. But I fear, sometimes, that if I let myself feel the healthy dose of sadness, I won't be able to come back out of it.

I often wonder if that's a normal thought for people who've had their ankles chained by depression in the past. I guess it's like an alcoholic, always afraid that s/he is going to fall victim to the enticing allure of a beer or a glass of wine. And I don't think it's letting one's self feel those things as it is not being able to stop. Having a beer with dinner isn't a big deal, but it's the gluttonous consumption of beer after beer after beer that alcoholics fear, I think. At least, that's what I imagine. And that's how I feel with sadness. I'm not afraid of letting some angst out if it strikes, but I'm afraid of not being able to shake it once the poetic flow has finished.

That being said, it does make for some good creative juice.

When my dad was in the hospital a few weeks ago, I felt like all my senses were incredibly heightened. I was so detached from my body that I almost felt omniscient. Like I could be in all places at all times. It was one of the strangest feelings I've ever experienced, and not one I really ever want to have again, but it made for some interesting writing. Here's my favorite piece (which is weird to think, that I like something enough to call it a favorite) that I wrote over those few days:

--------------

021010

it seems ridiculous to think
that there is a whole
world outside of these
poorly decorated
(my god, who chose
these works of "art?")
walls. businessmen and
women go about their
days: "did i wear the right
tie?" "do these shoes
match my skirt?" "what
will i get for dinner
tonight?"

and i am confined. i
avoid eye contact, but
my other senses are
heightened. a young
girl chews the gummy
worms that her mother
bought her because she
wouldn't stop crying in
the drug store. i can
hear every movement of
her jaw and every snap
of her saliva as she consumes
those soured creatures.
a man, waiting for
his wife to be released
(he silently prays
for good news) taps
his empty water cup
against the wooden
arm rest of these worn
down benches. the
receptionist finds a
routine in filing his
paperwork: stamp, fold,
staple, rustle, file. his
routine is interrupted
with passing doctors;
interns trying their
hardest to look like
they know what they're
doing; visitors unsure of
where to go but knowing
they've got a lot of
paperwork to sign.

how does the world
carry on outside of these
walls? doesn't it know
that everything hangs
on a thread? that one
slip of the scalpel will
change it all?

everyone here, tied by
something that no one
else knows, yet we
all understand:

let him be okay.
let her live. let him
make it through another
night. please, we haven't
said goodbye.

yet the world keeps
spinning, the world
keeps moving
and, prisoners of this
god-forsaken space, we
are no longer in it.

--------------

On that note, I think I am going to make a conscious effort to write at least one happy thing a day. I used to keep a gratitude journal, if any of you (... hello? Anyone out there? *tap tap* This thing on?) remember. I used to write down at least one thing for which to be grateful, each and every day. I think I need to start that up again. I'm trying to get back into my healthier, spiritual habits. I've been feeling out of touch for a while, and I need to reconnect.

So, here are my resolutions for the rest of the year (three months late isn't too bad, right?):

1. Start up/restart the Gratitude Journal.
2. Do at least a 1/2 hour of yoga, every single day, even if I'm exhausted.
3. Under absolutely NO circumstances am I to eat fast food. Ever.
4. Look for healthy alternatives to the things I eat.
5. Get some raw food/vegetarian cookbooks and try to make at least one entree a week.
6. Meditate for 15 minutes every day. Repeat as necessary.
7. No more coffee! Tea is all right (it's the Brit in me).
8. Try to cut back on snacking. It has always been my downfall.
9. Find a Buddhist temple and actually attend some kind of gathering.
10. Pick a date, pick a destination, and save up for a trip I've always wanted to go on.

Ten things, but I think they're all doable.

It's never too late to start over, right?

- May (you be determined to live a happy life).

Bi-Polar.

2010-02-25T00:22:00.001-08:00

No, really. Sometimes I think I am.

I can point to a multitude of things for the reason: hormones, amount of sleep (or, usually, lack thereof), my typically fickle, scattered, Gemini nature. It's no surprise that I'll often point to the latter of the three. While I don't think that life and decisions can be made or altered based on how the constellations are arranged, I do think they help explain things we can't otherwise understand.

There's an astrology book that my grandma has in her house. It used to belong to her closest, dearest friend, Alice (after whom I get half of my full name), who was very much into astrology and things. It goes through each Zodiac sign, then breaks it down further into, for example, Gemini Man, Gemini Woman, Gemini Child, Gemini Employee, Gemini Boss. There may be another category or two tossed in there, but you get the idea.

I was attracted to the book, initially, because of the plastic, textured cover my Aunt Alice had put over it. I remember skimming the bookshelves and my eye immediately falling upon the red and black swirls. It was almost a paisley pattern. And then I became more interested in what the book was saying. I remember reading the Gemini child and feeling like, for once, someone actually understood me. Right down to the very suggestion of having a wrist-leash (yes, I was that kid in the mall). Things suddenly made sense. No wonder I was still exhausted after sleeping -- my brain never shuts off because I'm always thinking, always inquisitive, always pondering and reflecting. I find it's still true to this day. I could sleep for days but still feel mentally drained. Things related to the vocal chords and communication come naturally to me -- well, that certainly makes sense as Mercury is my ruling planet, otherwise known as Hermes, messenger to the gods. We're writers, speakers, talkers, chat-your-ear-off-ers. All of the above, and then some.

We're destined to live a life of searching. Geminis are air signs, as all zodiac signs are linked to some kind of natural element. Scorpio and Pisces, for example, are water signs. Capricorns are earth signs. And so on. Anyway, just as air is constantly moving, constantly finding new directions and new ways in which to get from place to place, so do Geminis. And I often feel that way, that I'm fated to live a life of curiosity. A life of wonderment.

Sometimes, it's frustrating. Sometimes, I want to have my life planned out. I want to know that I'll be doing Job A for the rest of my life. Things would be, I think, simpler in a lot of ways if that were the case. At the same time, I know how I get when I find myself stuck in a routine. This is also something that the book mentions. Routines drive me crazy. And when I say crazy, I mean sheer lunacy. The idea of doing the same thing every single day, with no variation, depresses me just with the thought. And, if that routine is combined with a stifling oppression of creativity, you might as well chuck me in a pine box and bury me. I won't be able to last longer than a breath in that kind of environment.

But I didn't write this to get hung up on Zodiacs. I wrote this to talk about my changing moods. There is a tie-in, that Geminis are Twins. In other words, we can go from happy to sad seemingly without reason. And while I'd love to constantly point the finger at the sparkling configurations overhead, I know that the responsibility does not lie with them. I think it's simply who I am.

I need to learn to better control my moods. Figure out when they happen, what triggers them, how to make them change (if it's a bad sort of mood, that is). I need to find my way back to how I was last summer. I need to cry every day not because I'm sad, but because I'm overcome with joy. I need to find that balance and peace with the universe and the unknown.

I had the Om put at the base of my neck in the hopes of opening and calling upon my Vishuddha chakra (turns positives into negatives, sees every experience as something to be learned, opens up creativity, etc.) .. It seemed to have worked for a little while. And then I think I started ignoring it, started falling back into my old ways.

Well, I'm done with it. I'm done with all of the garbage that I had gotten rid of last year. This is a fresh start. I've another day, another gift with which I can do whatever I please. I have the freedom of deciding who I want to be and where I want to be it. I can do something spectacular, something beautiful, something kind and compassionate, every single day of my life. And I want to. I want to do all of those things.

It's about time I started.

- May (you stop looking for excuses).

Downers.

2010-02-06T18:44:00.000-08:00

I've tried to keep this blog uplifting, not only for others, but for myself. To serve as a reminder of all of the wonderful things which I have been lucky enough to have been a witness to over the past year. I think a part of me knew that, at some point, I would lose that optimistic outlook on life and would need a reminder as to why I should work to keep it.

And though it pains me to do so, I have to post something that's less than happy. Less than bright. Less than hopeful.

This feeling terrifies me. It strips me of all of the defenses I have come to know. My clay army is but a pile of broken pottery, useless and meaningless. This feeling is one that I haven't felt in a few years, and the fact that I feel it creeping back into my life scares me. Petrifies me. I don't want it. I wanted to be rid of it forever. But the more I step away, the more it follows. It is as though I am leaving a perpetual trail of inedible bread crumbs that root to the ground behind me, forever to be a guide for an ambush.

This is guerrilla warfare, and the enemy is myself.

The worst part is that I can remember it all. I can remember the feeling of gazing at speeding cars longingly, wishing for nothing more than a strong gust of wind to push me towards them. I can remember my hand shaking on the banister as I walked down the stairs in my dorm, just in case I should "lose my footing" and find myself at the bottom much quicker than I had anticipated. I remember contemplating the dosage of Advil that would leave me numb, perhaps more, and wondering who would find me once I had gone.

And then I remember the feelings of hope I felt. I remember the simple beauty and pleasure of letting the sun warm my skin and flush my cheeks. I remember caring for myself and for my body, and wanting only to fill it with nutrition and health. I remember being too excited to fall asleep because there was so much to see in this beautiful world. I remember the tears that flowed from the overwhelming happiness I felt bubbling in my chest.

I remember it all.

And now I struggle with who I am, where I've been, where to go. Am I the girl who wishes for sleep because it hurts less than being awake? Or am I the girl who can hardly stay still because she itches to explore and live her life?

I don't know.

I don't know who I am. Who I'm supposed to be. Am I supposed to be anyone, for that matter? Or are these limitations ones I place on myself because I know not what else to do?

They make compasses for lost travellers, stranded in the woods. They always point north.

Please, someone. Anyone.

Let me get there.

- May (you search for your answers).

Tune-age.

2010-01-19T21:21:00.000-08:00

Do I even need to explain this one?

--------------------

Someday I'm gonna go out to the country.
I'll drive 'til the highway ends,
Chasing after picture perfect sunsets
To take away my breath.
I'm tired of living in the city.
The world's got me tied on a string.
Wanderlust has overcome me.
Like Lewis and Clark, I'll dream.
There's a million different ways to go,
Only God can know where I will call my home.

Love lead me on
Where no one else has gone.
Faith keep me strong,
Love lead me on.

The open road can be so lonely.
I'm longing for someone to love.
If only I could share my new surroundings,
Open the doors above.
There's a million different ways to go,
Only God can know where I will call my home.

Love lead me on
Where no one else has gone.
Faith keep me strong,
Love lead me on.

Faith keep me strong,
Love lead me home.

--------------------

I realize, in retrospect, that there's a heavy religious theme in this song. I also realize, after listening to more of The Afters (and looking at the Genre column in my iTunes that I casually ignored before), that they're a Christian band.

If anyone reading this (yes, I'm talking about you, lone reader ..) knows me, though, he or she will know that religion isn't really my thing.

Regardless of their religious affiliation, I dig their sound. They remind me a bit of Snow Patrol with the softer side of Something Corporate with a dash of The Hereafter and .. maybe the melancholy aspect of Coldplay. The lead singer's voice reminds me of someone else, but I can't pinpoint who. Anyway, they're good. Check out their most popular song, "Beautiful Love." It's one of my favorites. The acoustic version is wonderful!

As for the song above, I simply meant it for the latter part of that first verse, about wanderlust.

That may be my new-old favorite word. Wanderlust.

Wanderlust. Wanderlust. Wanderlust.

It just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?

- May (you search for deeper meaning).

Catch Up.

2010-01-18T16:26:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about a lot of things lately. Sometimes they're mundane and non-sensical, sometimes they're fleeting and amusing, sometimes they're sad and dreary, sometimes they're angry. I've had a myriad of different emotions constantly swirling around in my head, like an uncontrollable cyclone.

It's nothing I'm not used to.

One of the strongest thoughts I've had is how influential one's state of mind is on one's physical health. Through no one's fault but my own, I was struggling with some personal issues that are now starting to resolve themselves, but it brought my mood down quite a bit. I had fallen off the vegetarian wagon and stopped eating as healthy as I had for the majority of last year; I stopped my daily coconut water + Vitamineral Green combination; I was fighting with family members more often; I was finding myself sinking in the quicksand of my identity crisis that I had managed to deal with for a while. All of these things led to me feeling down on myself.

When I was eating right, meditating and yoga-ing on a daily basis, I can't even tell you when I got sick. Over a large span of time. My immune system was perky and doing well and fighting the good fight. As soon as my mood started slipping, my sinuses explode and my nose gets clogged. In other words, my body rebelled to the bad decisions I was making.

Okay, okay, Body. I get the hint. I promise. I made those New Year's Resolutions for a reason. I promise I'll stick with them. Please, can't we get along like we used to?

Anyway, it's just another little reminder of how interconnected things really are in the universe, in the world, in our lives, and in our bodies.

Symbiotic.

Another thought I've had was wondering where I'm going to end up.

I like the freedom and I like the ability to leave it up to chance (though, really, let's be honest .. is anything really accidental?). I like being able to say, "I don't know where I'll be, but I hope I like it."

I like being able to have grand dreams of waking up on a beach in San Diego, going out for a surfing lesson (years after my first lesson, I will still be too afraid of standing on the board), catching some grub at a Vegan and/or Raw Food cafe, and relaxing my weekends away with friends, some beer, and maybe a communal cook-out.

Simultaneously, I like being able to have the same grand dreams, only in England, trotting down the stairs from my East London flat, walking to the Tube, and hitting up the Victoria and Albert or the Tate Modern, sharing a few shouts at the local with some mates, and coming home to my faithful retired greyhound.

I like being able to have both of those visions in my head, without any sort of competition between the two. Without any real obligation to either of them, even. I like having them both floating about in my cranial space.

But, at the same time, I kind of wish I had something more solid. Sometimes, I wish I could answer with conviction when someone asks me, "So, what do you want to do with the rest of your life?" or "Where do you see yourself in five years?" My usual answer is, "I want to be happy," to both of those. And while I think that's adequate (albeit vague), sometimes I wish I had a little something more to fall back upon.

Sometimes, I don't think I'm destined to really stick around one place for too long. I've already spent close to 23 years living in New York, with a few travels here and there. I can feel my palms starting to itch, my legs starting to quiver, my breath starting to quicken.

I feel like I'm on the brink of something big.

I don't know what it is.

But I'm excited to find out.

- May (you never lose your thirst for discovery).

Unknown Space

2010-01-16T14:01:00.000-08:00

Slightly delirious from Nyquil. Feeling sleepy, feverish, stuffed, but somehow content. These drugs must be stronger than I thought.

Too many thoughts were racing through my already cluttered mind as I drove home from work today. Pieces of poems that have yet to be written were the most prominent. I managed to remember the opening lines of this one throughout the twenty minutes spent in the car and this is what I came up with. (As with yesterday's post, the link to download will be at the end).

-------------------------

"Unknown Space"

somewhere between

what he sees
and
what she cannot(will not?)

lies the squandered, the suppressed.

bulging hips and
dimpled thighs,

crooked this
and
off-center
that;

every flaw for which she
holds
herself somehow accountable;

every reason for which she
feels she deserves
far less than those with

hips that curve like country roads
and thighs as smooth as satin,

those with
hearts that pull like gravity
and smiles that silently serenade.

she saw it,
once,
the beauty by which he swears.

well,
she will tell you that she thinks she saw it.

perhaps
she saw it.

well,
it’s really, very unlikely that she saw it.

nothing more than imagination:
interesting,
adventurous,
inviting,
exhilarating,

but, at the end of it all,
non-existent.

nothing more than thoughts
in passing trains
that have an omniscient destination
except to the man wearing the hat.

trust,
says he.

i do,
says she.

in every form
in every action,
she tells the truth.

trust was always easy for her,

especially when faced with his
blackened pools through which she could see
only light,
only good,
only wonder(she wonders what they saw in her).

but struggle still
remains.

pull her(won’t he touch her?)close
and listen to the off-kilter beating
of what was once an unbroken heart.

steady her head
as she shakes it.

kiss her brow
as it furrows.

bite her lips
as they fall.

she will believe him,
eventually.

someday(please, have patience),
she will find herself
staring from his eyes,

and she will understand.

-------------------------

Here's the Pages file and here's the MS Word file.

- May (you remember to nurture your spirit).

Adoption

2010-01-14T18:29:00.000-08:00

I know it's been months. Many things have happened between then and now. Some were wonderful (many, most were wonderful), some were bad. Either way, life goes on and I am still here.

Tomorrow marks the anniversary of my adoption. I always write something around this time, usually poetry, and this year is no exception. I wrote two; one is rather sad, one is more accepting.

The spacing won't come out properly here, so I'm including a link to download the files at the end (there are two versions of each: one is a Pages document for all you iWork users, the other is a Microsoft Word document for everyone else).

----------------------

“January 15th”

one would figure.
in any other situation, it would
be more than(though
maybe just enough)adequate. one would

figure that something closely resembling
ELEVEN MILLION minutes(yes, you did,
indeed,
read that correctly)would give one(or two,
maybe three or four, if

you were daring)direction.

if not
direction,
then at least enough time to
hunt
down and locate a poorly-drawn map.

but these roads are many.
these roads are dimly lit(sometimes not at all).

dead ends are perpetual. i turn and walk yet
somehow end up back to where this involuntary

journey began. always back to her.

always in search of
HER.
i do not know her name. i do not know her face.
i do not remember the sweet words she may have sung
when my heart was not yet capable of gratitude(how

i curse it to this
very
moment).

i always imagine gazing into dark, dark eyes,
red-rimmed,
trying their hardest to avoid my own.

did i look at you, knowing they would soon
forget(how i wish i didn’t
forget)?

did they promise loyalty in return for yours?

how i wish i could have begged;
i would have pleaded, “my heart will be yours

if you keep me but a moment longer.” but i would
have promised you the moon if it
meant that you would love me.

do you love me now? from
across the
distant(so very
distant)sea?

our world, once together, now separated
by a pool of the Universe’s saline sadness.

there is no map to you.
i do not know where(who, what, why)i am.

PLEASE.

keep me but a moment longer;
i promise i will love you as i tried to eleven million minutes ago,
i promise i will remember,
i promise i will smile,

if you would only promise
to guide me back

to you.

----------------------

"January 15th, Part 2"

every thought
look
melody
question:
a boat

in which i am held captive,
in which i have

no c h o i c e but to

float

back to you.

accusations of false information(because
i am ultimately untrustworthy)from
mouths too

god damn

ignorant to fully
comprehend this from that,
those from these;

they are the worst and they are frequent.
they are the titantic of all vessels:

impossible
to ignore.
impossible
to forget.

tragic.
devastating.
but
somehow
beautiful.

i have started to believe that you are nothing

more
than something i have conjured(many things
are elusive fabrications)in this tangled web-mind
i have been bles(burdened)sed with.

yet logic and the universe tell me
that you must have

existed,

even if only for a moment.

i will

exhale my
breath,

pour out my
love,
bleed my eyes
dry,

so that each may fill a tiny
paper
boat;

i will

set each on a sheet of liquid glass,
salty and unclean and unknown
beyond
these shores of home;

and pray that they will find you,
pray that you will see them,

pray that you will know,
pray that you will remember(do these thoughts

haunt you when you wake?),

and learn
to let

you go.

----------------------

And, as promised, here is the link to download to see the proper spacing and formatting and things: poetry folder at box.net.

- May (you expect the unexpected, always).

Sticks and Stones .. And Sand .. And Pebbles .. And Beer?

2009-09-08T09:24:00.001-07:00

A friend of mine just sent this to me in an email. I thought I'd share it.

A philosophy professor stood before his class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly he pick up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with rocks, rocks about 2 inches in diameter.

He then asked the students if the jar was full? They agreed that it was. So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles, or course, rolled into the open areas between the rocks. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He then asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous- yes!

The professor then produced two cans of beer from under the table and proceeded to pour their entire contents into the jar- effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

"Now," said the professor, as the laughter subsided. "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The rocks are the important things- your family, your partner, your health, your children- things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, your car, the sand is everything else- the small stuff."

"If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued "there is no room for the pebbles or the rocks. The same goes for your life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out dancing. There will always be time to go to work, clean the house, give a dinner party and fix the disposal. Take care of the rocks first--the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the beer represented. The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple beers!"

- May (you gather the right stones).

Was That There Before?

2009-09-02T20:37:00.000-07:00

So, yesterday, my Facebook wife and I grabbed some Thai food. As we were waiting for our food to be made, we decided to take a walk up and down Main Street in that particular town. On our way back to the store, we stumbled upon this little park that's apparently been in existence for two years. Neither of us had ever seen it before -- and I drive up and down that road a lot.

The park was small, but beautiful. It had plaques with different etchings on it as you entered, and an obelisk fountain in the middle.

We took some pictures around the park, enjoying the brisk breeze and sunlight we'd been blessed with. It seemed like such a quiet little oasis in the middle of a bustling street, right in a town that's been trying to build itself up for years. New restaurants keep popping all over, new places with owners who are hopeful and praying their business sticks.

And as we left and walked back to the Thai restaurant (yummy green beans with garlic, tofu, and scallions for me and chicken pad Thai for her!), I couldn't help but wonder what else I'd been missing in my constant jet-setting pace of life. The park was so unassuming that I'd never even noticed before -- not once in the two years of driving back and forth on that road. And the park wasn't small enough to really be missed. What else was I not seeing?

I was reminded of what Jason Mraz often quotes as his favorite song:

Row, row, row your boat,
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream.

So, I ask you -- what are you missing? What have you been blinded to in your need to reach your next destination? A friendship, maybe? Or perhaps love. Stop speed-boating down the stream and take the time to simply row.

This life is but a dream -- before you know it, it'll be over. What will you remember?

- May (you open your eyes).

Etsy, Etsy, Etsy!

2009-08-22T21:46:00.000-07:00

I finally put stuff up on my Etsy shop! There'll be more coming soon! :) Check it out and buy something, if you're compelled!

Obvious Answers on Etsy, by May

Artistry

2009-08-20T16:42:00.000-07:00

Inspired by the likes of one of my favorite artists, Andre Jordan (with a hint of Marc Johns), I decided to do some random doodles today. They're not meant to be works of ART as it's typically known. The point is to do adult satire with child-like drawings. That's how I see it, anyway. Plus, it's fun. :)

There are seven total, two of which are together. Instead of filling up your page with them, I'm going to post one and then you can click the links for the others!

"Approximations aren't usually accurate."

P***y cat has been changed to Vagina Cat because it's more politically correct.

I never could figure out how to do things to scale.

The ___ and the ___. They're actually mortal enemies.

Small print: May result in broken glass.

Thanks for all the times I climbed your branches. But seriously. Do something with your life. Get a job.

Don't press that soft spot. Unless you need a make-shift ashtrayy.

- May (you find the humor in everything.)

Reconciling Possibilty

2009-08-19T08:51:00.000-07:00

Funny the way it is, if you think about it:
Somebody's going hungry and someone else is eating out.
Funny the way it is, not right or wrong.
Somebody's heart is broken and it becomes your favorite song.

My thoughts always seem to jump from one topic to the next, like a skilled acrobat in some circus production I don't quite understand. Maybe it's the Cirque du Soleil of the mind that I'm viewing. The colors and movements are beautiful, fluid, but when it comes down to it -- it's a little too abstract to fully grasp. Maybe I'm not supposed to grasp it. Maybe I'm merely meant to be grateful to have thoughts at all.

Still, it makes me wonder. What I think about sometimes is what makes one person more fortunate than another? Why was I saved from what could have been a life of poverty, hunger, and despair when there are children who weren't saved? Why do I get paid to sit on the computer and answer phones when there are people who can't even imagine what a computer is? When there are people who've lost their jobs and are struggling to stay afloat? Why do I complain about different foods that I don't like to eat (namely, seafood) when there are children who haven't eaten in days?

What and where is the thread that separates the two worlds?

Funny the way it is, if you think about it:
One kid walks 10 miles to school, another's dropping out.
Funny the way it is, not right or wrong.
On a soldier's last breath, his baby's being born.

Perhaps we're not meant to know. I do think that a part of this life is the idea that we're meant to discover. We're meant to explore. We're meant to find the answers for ourselves. And maybe we'll never really find them. Maybe they will always elude us, like wisps of smoke. Maybe no matter how hard you try to curl your fingers around them, they will always seep through our grasp.

And, more importantly, maybe that's okay.

Maybe that's the Universe's way of telling us that there is always a reason to stay humble.

We are so insignificant when it boils down to it: we've been on earth for the shortest amount of time in comparison with animals, trees, and other means of life; no matter our technology, countries and people are still devastated by natural disasters; no matter what we do to try and stop those disasters, we cannot control Gaia when she's angry; we are easily swallowed up in the ocean, which is home to so many creatures that have adapted and evolved to live there, yet people still drown; despite our attempts to control and "domesticate" animals, they will always be higher than us on the food chain (think: tiger, lion, alligator, etc.); and we have been searching for the answers to life's biggest questions since the time of the Greek Philosophers but have come up with nothing.

I think a part of that is the fact that it depends upon your perception. The diversity amongst people is easily seen -- differences in tastes in movies, music, books; family traditions; differences between geographical location; varying accents; and so on and so forth. What I consider to be living "The Good Life" may not be what someone else considers. Someone may consider "The Good Life" only having the biggest house, the fastest cars, and the most expensive accessories. Others may consider it to be family and friends, to hell with the possessions.

But I think that, big or small, red or blue, here or there, we're all asking the same question: why?

Standing on a bridge, watch the water passing under me.
It must've been much harder when there was no bridge, just water.
Now the world is small.
Remember how it used to be with
Mountains and oceans and winters and rivers and stars?

I don't have an answer. I don't know why I was fortunate in ways when others weren't. I don't know why I am spoiled with air conditioning, technology, food when I'm hungry, a bed when I'm tired, a home to go back to at the end of the day. I don't know. But when and if I figure it out, I'll let you know.

Watch the sky, the jet planes, so far out of my reach
Is there someone up there looking down on me?

- May (you never stop wondering).

[Bolded text from "Funny the Way It Is," by Dave Matthews Band]

Skeptics, sceptics, stop!

2009-08-18T14:17:00.000-07:00

For any of you skeptics out there who are thinking to yourself, "There's no way that sort of positive shit works. It's a load of crap. The Universe can't 'reciprocate' whatever you give it. Life doesn't work that way," I'm going to share with you some recent examples from my life to show you that it's true.

I found out not too long ago that the job I have right now working as an Office Assistant is going to terminate. The program doesn't have enough funding to keep me on at $17.50/hour, so rather than cutting a position that's absolutely vital to the smooth running of the program, they cut mine. I wasn't upset -- I knew it was coming. Still, I couldn't help but wonder what I was going to do for a job. I couldn't not work for long.

The Associate Dean of the program sat me down in his office and told me that his wife, who works at Columbia University, was creating a new position that he wanted to recommend me for. It would be on the Level 10 or 11 pay (somewhere around $45 - $49k a year) and would consist mainly of clerical things, helping to implement new programs at the school, researching, etc. All of the stuff that I pretty much do at my current job. I quickly got caught up in the idea of becoming a full-time employee at what used to be my dream school. My mom and I had a huge fight about it -- the biggest we've probably had -- but I gave him my resume anyway, just to keep my options open.

Then I remembered that, back in July, a woman from Apple had emailed me to tell me they were considering me for a job. At that time, though, I was already employed and had to turn down the only job I'd ever really wanted. As I remember, I was devastated. She told me to get back in touch with her when this job terminated, though, so I sent her an email to see if she would still consider me.

Another woman wrote me back the next day to tell me that they wanted to set up a phone interview. We chatted briefly on the phone and then she asked me to come into the store a little before closing last night for a formal interview with another candidate. Obviously, I said yes.

All day yesterday, I was bouncing around, excited as all hell. After I had calmed down, I really thought about the situation. While I had been upset, of course, that my job was going to end, I kept my mind open to any other possibility. I told myself, and convinced myself, that I would find another job. That the Universe would help me find the next step. And that, by the time classes started up in September, I would be employed.

Of course, the Universe listened -- and, what's more, it delivered. When one door closes, the Universe opens a window, right?

I stayed positive after the interview, even though there was a large part of me that was doubtful. I made that part of me shut up because it was hindering my ability to tell the Universe what I wanted. I said to myself that I got the job, that I was going to hear back and they were going to tell me I was hired. I said to myself that the interview went well, despite any of the doubts I may have had, and that I had made a good impression on the woman.

Sure enough, this morning I received a call from the Store Manager who told me he wanted me to come in and sign paper work. He said he was getting a little ahead of himself with the paper work, but it wouldn't hurt to get it all done. I told my boss and asked to leave early -- at seeing how deliriously excited I was, she obviously agreed.

As I sit in my living room, 1 step away from being a legitimate Apple employee (they need to do a background check first), I can honestly say that YES, the Universe does reciprocate what you ask of it. But it's not enough just to say, "I hope I get this" or "I really wish I had that." You have to tell yourself, "I will get this" and "I will have that." I told myself that I was going to get this job. I was going to be hired by the one company I want to work for. I was going to celebrate on Sunday with a newly formed friend. I was going to have good news for everyone in my family and my friends. And sure enough, here I am, unable to stop smiling with sore eyes from crying tears of pure joy.

So, the next time you think that life is full of problems and full of struggle, ask yourself what you're doing to change it. Are you doing anything at all? It's not enough to wish for something. It's not enough to complain about something. If you think negatively, you will draw negativity to you. If you think pessimistically, you will draw in despair and depression. You have to actively take part in making the changes, in achieving your goals, in doing whatever it is you want to do. You'll be amazed at how your world opens up.

The Universe is knocking. Are you going to answer?

- May (you have the courage to start over again).

on the eve

2009-08-06T13:36:00.000-07:00

Also posted in Pen and Paper Addicts

When you breathe, you inhale and exhale,
but every single time you do that,
you're a little bit different than the one before.
WE'RE ALWAYS CHANGING.
and it's important to know that there are some changes
you can't control and there are others you can.
-- Taken from here.

one breath enters while another runs away,
screaming that it's not ready to fly.
can't you feel the impending revolution?
the drums beat from within your ivory cage.
marching, marching ... they are coming.

don't you feel the invasion?
it plunders and pillages on a molecular level.
organ by organ,
vein by vein.
until you have cavalries spilling from your teeth.

you canonot stop them;
you are no Fort Knox.

one breath enters while another runs away,
clinging to the battle cries of its predecessor.
"i am not ready!
you cannot make me go!"

they are here,
ready to overthrow the imaginary tyrant
you think you have become and always been.
but illusions no more.
your dream is well beyond its expiration date.
lay down your invisible sword and intangible shield.
they can no longer serve you
as you can no longer serve yourself.

don't you feel the invasion?

Check Check 1-2

2009-08-05T09:02:00.000-07:00

Not too much to report on. Things are cruising along wonderfully.

It's hard to believe that it's already August. When did that happen? .. Well, I guess the technical answer would be 5 days ago, but that's besides the point.

I've started trying a new coconut water from Zico. I ran out of O.N.E. yesterday, and since I seem to have bad automobile luck in Huntington, I drove to a different store in East Bumblefuck. I mean East Setauket. They didn't have any O.N.E. in stock so I had to opt for the other (and unfortunately more expensive) brand, Zico. I'm not going to lie -- I miss the metallic packaging of the O.N.E brand. It just looked so .. refreshing, collecting con-den-sa-tion (reference to Family Guy) in the fridge. Oh well.

Didn't buy either of the other two flavors offered (Passion Fruit and Mango), but they may be my next adventure. I have to keep this Vitamineral Green interesting somehow!

Also, I know I've already said this, but holy crap. The differences I've felt from using Vitamineral Green have literally be astounding. My mind is blown. Look, there's brain splatter over there. It's unbelievable. I have so much energy and I don't get that post-caffeine crash I'd get with coffee. I have two cups every day -- once in the morning and once after I get back from lunch. I'm good to go until around 11 or 12, when I force myself to go to sleep. Most of the time, though, I could keep going until God knows when.

It's a little pricey ($19.95 for 150gm, and with S&H, it works out to about $30), but I don't think I'll ever be able to stop using it. Not after what I've felt and experienced. Apparently, it's also a good counter cleaner. JMraz's brother spilled his VMGreen shake or something on the counter, where there were cherry juice stains, and after wiping the spill up, the stains were gone! This stuff really is amazing.

I like to think of it de-staining my insides. Not that I'm making a habit of ingesting dye or anything. The folks at Healthforce Nutritionals also gave some sample packets of a few of their other products. I plan on trying those soon, too. I'll let you know how it goes.

- May (you find rejuvenation).

Reflecting Like a Mirror

2009-07-29T07:17:00.000-07:00

I've been drinking O.N.E. Coconut Water with a heaping teaspoon of Vitamineral Green every morning this week. I've already felt the difference and it's ridiculous.

Let me give you a brief background. I am not a morning person. I have never been a morning person. Most times, if I had to wake up before noon, I'd grumble one-word responses and cut through anyone who looked at me wrong. Or looked at me, in general. My mom learned to avoid talking to me in the wee hours of the morning. Unless, of course, I'm carrying over from the night before. I'm a bit nocturnal -- I'd rather stay up 'til 5 or 6 AM from the night before than wake up at 5 or 6 AM.

But I knew that having a 9 - 5 office job meant having to be remotely sociable and human in the morning. So when I read about JMraz's use of Coconut H20 and Vitamineral Green to get himself energized, I knew it was exactly what I needed. And he wasn't lying, let me tell you. I feel so alert and connected with things around me whenever I've had it. I don't even crave coffee -- which is more or less a miracle in itself. I don't need it. And coffee, for me, took hours upon hours to actually kick in. And then it lasted a mere 15 minutes before I'd crash again, more tired than before ingestion. With this combination, though, I'm energized all day. It fills me up the way a good breakfast does. And man, does it clear me out.

Without going into detail, let's just say any sort of toxins I had in my body have been vacated. Through my intestines, both big and small. Nothing ridiculous, but it's just another testament to all the crap (no pun intended) we put into our bodies every day. Even if you think you're eating healthy, you're still taking in some level of bad things that have to get out somehow.

On another, completely unrelated note, I was in a minor fender bender yesterday. As I told my mom, I didn't even have my phone near me (I am sometimes guilty of texting while driving -- mainly due to the fact that I don't have to look at the keys to do it; I've memorized them). I was focused completely on the road, but apparently not on the car and how wide it was. Which is ironic, since my car is a Ford Focus.

All that aside, I pulled around a car in the Straight Lane when I was trying to get to the Left Turn Lane. I clipped my mirror on her back light, which barely got a scratch. My mirror, however, was hanging like a loose tooth off the side of the passenger side door.

After coming out of the shock and recovering from how bad it sounded (ever notice how little things on a car sound absolutely horrible?), she got out of her car and started yelling at me about how it looked like I was going to drive off and how I didn't stop to see if she'd gotten damage on her car. Because I'm really going to stop in the middle of a busy road in a turn lane, get out of my car, inspect hers, and then get run over. Right. I explained that I was pulling over where it was safe to do so, rather than putting myself at risk of getting killed. She started blabbing about something else, I pretty much drowned her out. She muttered things with her arms flailing as she walked back to her car.

Anyway, things were fine. I was grateful to be okay. I wanted to say a lot of things to her that wouldn't have gone along with my Buddhist attitude about life, but I didn't. I knew it wouldn't have helped the situation. I was amazed at how much she assumed about me, though -- like that I was going to drive away. It was a startling reminder to me to never presume to know anything about anyone -- because I don't. And I won't, unless they tell me. And even then, it may not be entire truths.

Things being fine didn't mean that I didn't start crying after she pulled away, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. It wasn't even that I was upset -- I didn't care, it was just a mirror and it still works. I was just so rattled by the entire experience and the only way I know to de-stress is by crying. So I drove to Wild By Nature to buy some more coconut water, went into Rite-Aid and bought some super tough tape, and taped my mirror back onto the door. I told my mom what happened, she called my dad, who's going to call the woman. Things were all right.

I just realized that optimism has to be tested for it to last. Being happy and looking at things in an eternally positive light is easy when things are going your way and things are peachy keen jelly bean. It's when that picture-perfect situation gets rattled that your true optimism shines. I think I made it through.

I think this is here to stay.

- May (you test your boundaries).

Reporting Live

2009-07-21T21:24:00.001-07:00

After having a brief conversation with someone I went to school with, he mentioned that he missed college, or at least the city.

I thought about it and realized .. I don't miss it. That's not to say I don't miss spending more time with the people I'd come to love, or that I don't miss random little things about the campus (like the fountain by Hunt-Cavanaugh or the way the leaves were always treacherously slippery up the Guzman Hill and by Sullivan Hall when I cut through the path between the trees because I was always late for work). But .. I'm okay. I see that part of my life as having lived out its short, four-year life. I gained the experiences I needed, I made life-long friends, I grew, I found myself, I figured some parts of my life out, I struggled and stared Death straight in the face and then told him to go fuck himself, I made it through and walked across that stage.

I was ready to go. I was ready for the next chapter of my life. I've somehow gotten to a place of complete .. peace. I'm no longer living in the past. I'm not looking at pictures from college longingly, wishing I could have more moments. Because somehow, having more would diminish the ones I already have. I know that I'll see my friends as often as our schedules allow. We won't lose touch that easily. It'll require more effort than just shouting down the hall, but it'll be worth it.

I've finally figured out how to live in the moment. I have no idea how, but God damn.

It feels amazing.

- May (you choose to live).

Water, Water Everywhere

2009-07-20T19:54:00.000-07:00

So, I bought this card when I was visiting Meg last summer at the Cape. I liked the simplistic art, the bright colors, and the typewriter-text font used. But I never really understood it. No, let me rephrase that. I understood it. But I never really got it. Catch my drift?

Anyway, if you can't read the text, it says, "She said she usually cried at least once each day not because she was sad, but because the world was so beautiful & life was so short." Looking at the card I have, it's actually a different illustration than the one in the picture -- it's a woman sitting with a growing plant in her hands, her tears a dotted-line that's watering it to grow. While I like this other version, I'm partial to the one I have on my wall.

There's something beautiful in that -- she's crying because the world is so beautiful and life is so short, and by allowing herself to be overwhelmed by these emotions, she's replenishing the very world she's come to love and appreciate through her tears. I hope to do this every day -- to be so overcome with emotion at seeing the majesty of this world that I'm moved to tears, so much so that I will water the earth I've come to adore with those very tears.

I actually had this moment not too long ago. On Saturday, after getting my hair done and getting my tattoo, I was driving home from the tattoo parlor and I literally started welling up with tears. I wasn't sad, I wasn't upset -- I was so moved by the amount of wonderful things in my life, that I could do nothing but cry.

I not only had begun this new journey of my life with his new, positive outlook, I was surrounded by people I love and care about. My brother and I spent the day together, something that doesn't happen all that often where it's just the two of us. We hung out, he fixed the a/c in my car, and took me to get my tattoo done. I was so grateful to just have him as my older brother and to have been able to share that momentous moment with him that I cried. I was so grateful to have the job and resulting paycheck to pay for the tattoo and hair that I cried. I was so grateful to have my mom supporting both of those decisions and to have my family supporting my new life that I cried.

Immediately, I felt like the woman on the card.

The world is so beautiful
And life is so short.

I will never forget these moments. I will keep them with me for the rest of this short, amazing, wondrous life. I hope you have that moment where your heart is so full that it has no other way to overflow than to make you cry tears of absolute joy. It's an experience unlike anything I've ever felt before.

- May (you live a beautiful life).

What Keeps You Up at Night?

2009-07-20T12:45:00.000-07:00

If you haven't, do go and check out J. Mraz's newest blog post (he's been taking 12 questions via Twitter and answering them on Mondays). Pay particular attention to his answer to the last question.

It starts off like this:
----
From lindsaygee: I am 28. hard age. what worries you the most about your own life; not the world; not the environment. what keeps you up @ night.

I often ask myself: Am I doing enough? What contributions have I made today? If my list is short I will get out of bed and start typing something - often a letter or a journal entry, as if my own journal will someday amount to something (which is usually does, allowing me sort out the garbage from the recycling in my head.) Otherwise, I waste little energy on worry. What's there to be anxious about? Missing a flight or not making a phone payment can be an inconvenience, just as someone you know getting sick or even dying can be very unfortunate. But Worry is what happens when you take those misfortunes on and think you have control over them. You tell yourself that you are responsible in some way for these situations. Or worse, you've decided if the outcome isn't pleasant, there could be even more trouble for yourself and others.
----
The post goes and he sheds an amazing amount of light on what I've been trying to live: The Zen Life. It's all-around inspiring if you're looking for some sort of sign to kick your life into gear. Was there something you've been meaning to try but have been too afraid to do? An instrument to learn? A letter to write? Kind words of love to share? A fear to conquer?

The real question is: What are you waiting for?

We cannot change the past, we cannot change or alter the future; we can only control the now and even then, our control only goes so far as to stay present, to stay mindful, and to come as we are.

- May (you live the life you've dreamed of).

Saying Goodbye

2009-07-18T17:40:00.001-07:00

So, today, as I promised myself, I did two huge things.

I got my hair highlighted. This may not seem like such a big deal, but for me, it was. I'd never done anything to my hair before, other than getting it cut. I'd always been one of those people who frowned upon artificial colors (I think it's from being in Catholic School my whole life and hearing, 'Nothing but your God-given color!' one too many times). I liked how highlights and different hair colors looked on other people, but not on me. But how could I really know what it would look like on me? I didn't, really, and I finally decided that I was sick of wondering. I wanted to actually get it done. So, I got red highlights. They're so subtle, you can barely notice them at first glance. If you sift through the layers of my now choppy hair (<3), you'll find lots of red streaks in strategic places. Especially underneath. It's like a little surprise whenever I pull my hair up -- a shock of red. And I love that.

Secondly, I got a tattoo. After 7 years of deciding what I wanted, I've finally gotten one. I almost backed out as I drove there with my brother. As we parked the cars (we drove separately), I felt my hands shaking. Walking inside, I could hear the buzz of the tattoo needle and I felt my stomach leap. The artists were how I expected them to look - covered in ink with a hint of a stand-up comic and biker who may or may not kick your ass after he keys your car. I signed the papers and felt my hands going numb. I gave them the picture and looked at how big I wanted it. They were all ridiculously nice. As I walked behind the small gate they had, I froze. The artist who'd be doing mine joked around, "I could throw the ink at you, hope it lands in some kind of pattern." I laughed nervously as I made my way past the empty leather chairs and towards his.

I felt awkward, sitting in the chair with most of my shirt up. Suddenly, I was more self-conscious over the fact that they'd seen what color bra I was wearing that day (red and white polka dots, just so you know). He explained to me what he was going to do, how to sit, how to hold my shirt, and told me to keep breathing. The buzzing of the needle started and I could feel the metal in my skin.

I finally understand what people say when they say that the pain's addicting. It didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it would, especially considering the location (at the back of the neck, below the shirt line). He asked me if I was doing all right and when I explained that I was, he shouted to my brother, who was sitting on the bench on the other side of the counter, "I don't know, bro, she's tough. She could kick your ass, I think." I said that I'm too short to kick his ass. He replied, "Just go for the nuts!... Sorry, man." This was, of course, after he'd called my brother my "man," assuming that we were dating. When I quickly quipped back with, "He's my brother!" he laughed and said, "Wow, you didn't even hesitate. You had that one ready."

So, I'm saying goodbye.

I'm saying goodbye to who I was. I'm saying goodbye to the girl who cried herself to sleep because she didn't know where she belonged. I'm saying goodbye to the girl who stared at herself in the mirror, wishing she knew which parent she looked like. I'm saying goodbye to the girl who wished for sleep because it didn't hurt as much as being awake. I'm saying goodbye to the girl who contemplated taking her life by her own hand because she was tired of being brave. I'm saying goodbye to the girl who was always looking at her life for what it didn't have, rather than loving what she did.

I'm saying goodbye to that girl, and I'm saying hello to who I am and who I will become.

- May (you know when it's time to leave it all behind).

Reconciling Want and Need

2009-07-16T21:40:00.000-07:00

So, it seems I'm constantly inspired by J. Mraz's blogs. Which is fine -- he's become a sort of muse for me, constantly opening my mind and making me see things from a different angle. Which is precisely what I need. I think I need a miniature Mraz in my pocket at all times, giving me sage advice and helping me to remember the karma. Think they manufacture those?

Anyway, after his recent post, I got to thinking about "want" versus "need."

At my job, we get paid on the 3rd and the 18th of every month. If any of those days fall on a weekend, you get paid the Friday before. Earlier in the month, as the 3rd came closer, I could feel the excitement. I'd only gotten one paycheck this summer and I was already planning all of the items for purchase that this second paycheck would be going to.

Thursday came. Since the 3rd was technically a holiday (the school was closed for the day), the checks came the day before. I anxiously awaited the envelope as my boss slipped them into everyone's respective mail cubbies. She usually skips mine to hand it to me in person, since I'm sitting right there. As she neared my desk, I remember literally holding my breath with excitement. She had a confused look on her face.

"They didn't send your check over. I'm going to give them a call to see why." I thought to myself, 'Minor setback, but maybe they just forgot because I'm technically temporary staff and they sent over everyone's who's a regular employee. No problem.' About half an hour later, she called me from her office and said that it turned out she'd not handed in my time sheets before the deadline. A complete accident, and one that was not her fault (she'd taken Friday and the following Monday off to spend time with her son who lives in a residential facility upstate). She hadn't realized that they were SO strict with the cut-off date and apologized again.

I told her it was no big deal, and really, it wasn't.

For a little while.

On the eve of the third pay day of the summer, with a measly $5 in my bank account, I can't help but think. I've had to seriously cut down on my frivolous spending since then since funds were all-around limited. I avoided places like the mall, since I knew my will power is kind of pathetic when it comes to certain things (read: clothes, sunglasses, accessories).

But, what I realized was that I didn't need to go to Starbucks all the time; I could just as easily brew a cup of tea or coffee at home, for less. I didn't need new clothes while I still had old ones to wear. I didn't need a fourth pair of sunglasses. All of these things that I kept thinking I needed, I really didn't. Maybe I wanted them, but I certainly didn't need them.

I had and have all of the things I need. Everything else is just superfluous.

That's not to say that I haven't already planned to what to buy with tomorrow's pay check, but all of those things have purpose -- and they're all things I've made sure I really want. I don't know if I need them quite yet, but I know that they're things that I've taken time to think about, ponder over, really decide upon:

List
- My tattoo, which will most likely happen on Saturday.
- Haircut and highlights, which I've never gotten before.
- O.N.E. Coconut Water.
- Vitamineral Green.
- More items for my mom's "meditation" room to help with the Feng Shui.
- Printing out more photos from Europe.
- Buying Mason Jars for said photos (it's a fun craft. Google it!)

The tattoo and haircut are in celebration of this new life I'm living. I feel renewed, I feel like I've woken up from a long sleep that's taken 22 years to come out of. I've undergone a positive, karmic transformation -- so now, it's time to restore and reawaken the external parts of me so that they match the internal parts.

So, I pose these questions to you -- what is it that you want? What is it that you need? Are they the same? Are they different? Will those things improve your life in the long-run? Are they temporary fixes to feelings of sadness, insecurity, or insignificance? Where would that energy be better spent in your life? Will they improve the lives of those around you? At whose expense have those things been made or created?

Can you tell the difference?

- May (you have the courage to re-examine everything).

Reflection

2009-07-14T07:44:00.000-07:00

Just a short story I felt like sharing, taken from my Zen Book by Daniel Levin.

Two dogs walk into a room.

One comes out quivering, barking in fear
the whole time, while the other comes out
wagging his tail, with a seemingly big smile
across his face. a man seeing this walks into
the room to discover that it's full of mirrors.
That is the way of this life.

What we see is who we are.

Green With Envy. But At Least You're Healthy!

2009-07-11T10:24:00.000-07:00

Following, as usual, J. Mraz's blogpost, I just thought I'd share his suggestions.

He talks about Vitamineral Green, from Healthforce Nutritional. He says that it gives him a boost of energy and clarity of mind for the entire day - from only having it for breakfast! I plan on buying some since my usual fruit and yogurt doesn't really cut it. I'm always drained by 12 (I eat it around 9, 9:30) and starving by the time lunch rolls around at 1. So, I plan on getting some of this because I can use that all-day energy boost. And if it's au natural and healthy, all the better!

Mraz says that he puts it in his O.N.E. coconut water, which, holy crap - sounds DELICIOUS. I plan on ordering me some of that, in addition to Acai water.

Just thought I'd share the knowledge that Mraz so generously shares with all his readers. Once I order/get this stuff, I'll be sure to let you know how it goes.

- May (you cleanse your spirit of the gunk!).

MSG & Shame, Part 2

2009-07-10T22:00:00.000-07:00

I just thought of something else.

People, generally those who aren't Asian, will always work a variation of the following into conversation with me:

"Hey, you know, I have a cousin who's Asian. Japanese, or something, I think."

That's great. Really. I'm glad your family is diverse and you're not only a bunch of melatonin-challenged folks (no offense, white people - you know I love you). But what do you want me to do with this newly found (yet undesired) piece of information? Am I supposed to throw chopsticks into the air into a celebratory moment, to commemorate the fact that you know another Asian person? Or do you expect me to say,

"Oh, what's his/her name? I probably know them." Because we all know each other, just like I know everyone in the state of New York.

Some of my favorite variations of this conversation faux pas (I have really had these said to me):
- "My niece wants to set me up with a Japanese woman .. I don't know if I'm ready, though." (After talking about his divorce)
- "My nephew studied in Japan - he really liked it. Japan's kind of close to Korea, isn't it?"
- "My wife's Japanese." (with absolutely nothing to segway into this statement)
- "I have a cousin who's South Korean. Maybe you know her?"

Please.

Stop.

For the love of God, just stop. I appreciate the attempt at making a connection, but .. what about art? Music? The Beatles? Tattoos? Anything - I really do have many other facets that have nothing to do with slanty eyes and a penchant for sticky rice.

- May (you look beyond the surface).

Something Smells Like MSG and Shame

2009-07-09T07:27:00.001-07:00

Let me just clear the air with answers to popular questions I receive from people I encounter on a day-to-day basis.

1. No, I'm not Filipino/Chinese/Hawaiian/other remotely Asian race. I'm Korean.
2. I'm not a Communist. I was born in South Korea. The good one.
3. No, I don't speak any Korean. And if you keep trying to talk to me in it, I'm going to throw Kimchi in your face.
4. I don't speak it because my parents don't speak it. Because they're not Korean. They're Italian.
5. I was adopted.
6. That means that I was given away by my birth parents at a young age and taken in by another family.
7. I was seven months.
8. No, I don't know anything about my birth mother/father, nor do I remember anything about coming here. I was seven months old.
9. I know that I don't look anything like the rest of my family, thanks.
10. I can do manicures and pedicures only on myself. I do not want to touch your ugly ass feet.
11. I can't work at a laundromat, either.
12. Yes, thank you, I like my hair, too. Yes, it's my natural color. I don't color it to look black.
13. I don't know how I know to use chopsticks. I picked them up when I was little and instinctively knew how to use them. (No joke).
14. Yes, my body cannot properly break down alcohol, resulting in a bright red face and skin that's scorching to the touch. I know that I'm a lightweight. Give me another shot.

Also, I'd like to ask the class why people generally feel it's all right to ask any of these questions. I will literally get most of these throughout a conversation with strangers, especially at the nail salon. Oh, those Korean ladies go at it when they find out that I'm Korean, too. And then they get quiet and shameful when they find out I'm adopted (cultural thing). But really.

You wouldn't believe how many times I've gotten the, "That's your mom? You don't look alike!" reaction. I don't mind answering questions, I don't, but .. you know. There's a way to go about them without sounding like an ignorant fool.

While we're on the topic, though, you hear about how Asian people name their kids? They throw pots and pans down the stairs: ping, pong, pang!

- May (you remember that sometimes, silence is golden).

The 10 Spot

2009-07-08T09:24:00.001-07:00

Inspired by J. Mraz's most recent blog post, I've decided to make a list of ten things I'm grateful for today. This is in addition to the small paragraph I've already written in my gratitude journal, but hey .. you can never have enough happiness or enough positive karma. I'm going to keep this going.

1. Sunshine. Sounds simplistic, but after somewhere around a month of constant gray, rain, and storms, I'm thankful for the radiant rays for however long I can soak them up. I am, of course, ignoring the fact that I'm stuck in an office for 8 hours a day.

2. Blue skies. See above. I'd almost forgotten how absolutely stunning the color is.

3. Having a job. Though I sometimes complain about being stuck in an office chair all day, sitting behind a desk, finding things to do online, I'm thankful to have this job. In an economic world where so many people are struggling to keep things afloat, I feel ridiculously unworthy of having a job that pays well and also has a window for me to gaze longingly outside at the sunshine. I also got to put up some pictures around my workspace. And a miniature Buddha!

4. The ability to read, walk, see, hear, smell, touch, breathe, eat, experience life. Kind of a long one, but I always forget how lucky I am to be able to do .. anything. I take advantage of my able body, all five of my senses that are still in good working order, the ability to breathe without a machine, everything. Such small things that really mean so much.

5. Discovering a new state of consciousness. In Yoga, there are four states (awake, sleeping, dreaming, and transcendental). Although awake is technically the furthest from being enlightened, I look at it as a positive. I feel as though I've been in the sleeping state for my entire life - lethargic, unmoved by beauty, callous, indifferent to the world and to myself. I've finally woken up and have been able to look at things through different eyes. I feel like I'm awake, truly awake, for the first time in my life. And now, it's time for me to start dreaming about the future and all of the wonderful, amazing things to come.

6. Finally finding peace and understanding with the universe. I don't know if this needs any explanation.

7. My new-found ability to not question the universe when things happen. Also inspired by J. Mraz, I'm taking a step back from the mortal need for control over the universe around me. I'm letting things happen the way they happen, and not questioning why. If someone does something nice for me, I'm not going to dig for reasons, or wonder if it was for their own gain rather than mine. I'm going to smile and thank them and take that peace with me and spread it to someone else. If something bad happens, I'm going to understand that the Universe has a reason for it. As the Dalai Lama says (who just celebrated his 74th birthday!), "I find hope in the darkest of days, and focus in the brightest. I do not judge the universe."

8. Having decided on a tattoo design and location. I've wanted a tattoo for seven years. SEVEN! I used to want the Gemini symbol, since I figured it wouldn't be changing any time soon. Then I wanted something to do with London, commemorating the fact that I found where my heart's always been and always wanted to be. That may be coming later, once I figure that design out, but I have never been more sure of a design and a location before in my life. I'm going to be getting the Om (Aum) symbol at the base of my neck, towards the middle of my back. The reason? The Vishuddha chakra, symbolizing creativity, turning negative situations into positives and lessons to be learned, and increasing communication. Also, for the deity who resides in the Vishuddha Chakra, Panchavaktra Shiva. He has five heads for each of the senses and in one of his hands, he's holding a drum that's perpetually beating, symbolizing the Om (Aum) sound -- balance between the world, its creatures, and people. Get it? It's all connected. And as with #7, I'm not questioning why it all suddenly made sense - I'm just accepting it and revelling in the fact that I finally understand.

9. Being alive! I end every entry in my gratitude journal with this. I take it from a quote from Buddha: "Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn't learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn't die; so, let us all be thankful."

10. Warmer weather. It means I can wear flowy skirts and dresses that always, always put me in happier moods! Not to mention that Serotonin! :D

I'd love to see what lists you come up with! Post them!

- May (you remember to be thankful for every breath).

Improved.

2009-07-07T08:18:00.001-07:00

111 words

Speed test

- May (you always remember to try and try again).

Apparently, You Really CAN'T Stop the Beat.

2009-07-06T07:52:00.000-07:00

Also posted in Pen & Paper Addicts

I can't stop writing. It feels amazing to be able to press a pen to a piece of paper and have words flow out, without hesitation or strain, the way they used to years ago. Except that I hope the words and syntax have improved since I was 12.

The poem make up is more scattered. Lines are indented, halves of words are moved about, and only 6 lines are actually left-aligned. However, blogspot doesn't keep the spaces I put in, so you're just going to have to use your imagination. :)

-------

[070509]
there are momentous moments
in which no explanation can be offered(nor
would you really want one)and sometimes
you can never ask the "right questions"(if it

gets you an answer, can i really be wrong?), no
matter how ha
rd you try. and believe you me,

i've tried.

it's in these momentous moments that
the silence(which has been bronzified
like a pair of baby booties your great

grand
mother once crocheted for the new breath
of life
she was so scared to lose, and, as a result,
couldn't control her nervous twitch and
before anyone could blink, she'd
created 1,002 delicately woven booties,
much like the small wriggling form in
the rocking bassinet --
she had been a

miracle, you see)suddenly
takes on a golden hue and
somehow,

you finally seem to
get it.

the first draft of the declaration of independence.

2009-07-04T14:58:00.000-07:00

Also posted in Pen & Paper Addicts.

freedom is not just about
flipping off the monarchy
and telling them that they
can take their crowns and
eat them for all you
care. it's about letting
go of everything that's
haunted you, forever on your
back and forever on your
heart. it's flipping off
all of the negativity other
people try to spread,
like some rampant case of
VD, and keeping your
proverbial legs closed.

it's learning to forgive
the negativity and under-
standing that it never
really had a say in where
it was going but was
strung along like some
derranged pinocchio with
no hopes of ever becoming
a real boy (it was never
encouraged as a child). it's
finally realizing that, damn
it, you're worth the
sun and the breeze to
cool those beads of sweat
upon your salty flesh
and the whispering of those
gossiping trees (i swear they're
worse than most beauticians) and

the joy of waking up
another morning and
realizing that you have
the chance to do something
extraordinary. because
that's what you are; forget
what you've learned in those
wretched, glossy spreads
and repeat after me: i
am an extraordinary
being. i want you to take
2 doses each and every morning
and, you know what, it's
PRN (as needed, for those
of you who may not know),
because this life is one of those
drugs that can turn you
into some kind of addict,

with your tongue
hanging out and your
forearms bruised, always
begging for more.

- May (you discover your passion).

Independence

2009-07-02T14:30:00.001-07:00

The 4th of July's coming up on Saturday, aka America's Independence Day. While I enjoy waving around a sparkler like an idiot as much as the next idiot, and also enjoy BBQ's and nursing a cold one while balancing a paper plate with a hamburger and macaroni salad on my leg, it's an odd year for a celebration of independence, don't you think?

Most of the world isn't really independent. Most of us aren't independent. So here are some things that I hope you think about on Saturday. And every day following.

What (Insert Your Name Here) Needs To Be Independent From
- The Fear of Failing. I can't use failure as an excuse anymore. As they say, there are no mistakes in life, only lessons to be learned.
- Reservation. If I want to dance when the dance floor is empty, may I have the strength to will my legs and body to move.
- The Fear of Forgetting. The moments that aren't always remembered are sometimes the ones that mean the most to us. I will make it a point to have more of these moments until my heart is over-flowing.
- Baggage. Everyone's struggled to get to where s/he is in life. Everyone has been carrying heavy suitcases and maybe even a backpack (or rucksack, for you overseas). May I free myself from the extra weight and not be afraid to let go.
- The Future. No matter what I do, I can't control the future. I can only control the now. My present actions may influence my future, but until time-travelling is invented, I'm stuck in the here and now. I'd better get used to it and take advantage before the present turns into the past.
- Time. Everyone grows older. In a world where there's so much emphasis put on youth and beauty, we all forget what a gift it is to be able to say that we've lived. My mom refuses to dye her graying hair because she says that it shows that she's experienced things, good and bad, and shows that she's lived her life. I won't belittle the chance to grow older, to grow wiser, and to pass my wisdom onto those behind me.
- Other People. Many of them will build me up and support me (cue Josh Groban's "You Lift Me Up." I'll leave you to your thoughts for a moment while you absorb that. ... Okay, no. I'm done). But many of them will try to cut me down. Many of them will stampede upon me and my aspirations. Many of them will maliciously harm me and will be unapologetic. May I look at them for the pain they have inside of their own hearts - may I inhale their suffering, and exhale my peace to them.
- And most importantly, myself. I will not let myself stand in the way of anything that I want to accomplish, of my success, of my life. Instead, I will take myself along for the ride, hoping that at the end of it all, I can look back and say that it was worth it.

Happy 4th, everyone.

- May (you find your freedom).

No Need to Complicate

2009-06-30T07:46:00.000-07:00

I'm sure that most people are sick of hearing "I'm Yours" on the radio. I'm sure that people switch off whenever the beginning chords start. I'm sure people think it's played out and 'what's the big deal?' and it was good the first time around, not the 50239487th.

I don't care.

I will never get enough of this song.

I've been a Mraz fan since I heard "The Remedy." It steadily grew with songs like "Geek in the Pink" and "Wordplay." But his most recent album, "We Sing. We Dance. We Steal Things." is my favorite, by far. And a lot of loyalists of Mr. Mraz detest the fans who were suddenly all about the hat-loving singer once they heard the upbeat, summer-appropriate notes of "I'm Yours." Personally, I'm not one of those people.

I've always respected Mraz, not only for his blatant honesty in his lyrics, but the sheer poetry of his words. He's one of the few talented song-writers still out there. Where most people are fulfilling the cookie-cutter mold of "Wahhhh life suuuucks .. Here's my soooong about ittttt. Wahhhh .." he takes the idea of heartbreak and turns it into something beautifully tragic. It's not a complaint about losing a loved one, losing a relationship, but rather an observation as someone outside of his own life, while still devastatingly involved.

With WSWDWST, though, it dove even deeper into the personal realm. With songs like "Love For A Child," we get to listen to his feelings about growing up in a broken home, riddled with divorce, celebrating separate holidays, and his struggle with reconciling it all. The first time I heard the song, I cried. I couldn't even make that up. The sad twangs of the guitar got to me initially, and then when the line, "They never checked to see my grades, what a fool I'd be to start complaining now" came out, tears flowed without hesitation. I'm not a child of divorce, but the family I once saw as forever together has been anything but - but don't get me wrong. I wouldn't trade my family situation for anything. I love every single person in my family more than I can say. I respect all of them for who they are and what they bring. But there's something deeply personal in Mraz's lyrics that I think everyone can relate to, in some way or another.

But the point of this post wasn't to give a way-too-late album review of WSWDWST. It was to talk about "I'm Yours." Where people switch off the radio, I turn the volume dial higher. I hear it just about every morning on my way to work, and if I don't naturally hear it on the radio, I put it on my iPod and listen to it. As soon as I hear that 5/7 slide, followed by the off-beat strumming, I smile. The sun's a little brighter. The day's already off to a great start.

It's one of those songs that you sing along to without even listening to it. But when you stop and actually hear the lyrics, you realize how beautiful the song really is. The words stay in time with its upbeat, reggae-like swagger. My favorite part is the last verse, though, after the short interlude.

I've been spending way too long checking my tongue in the mirror,
And bending over backwards just to try to see it clearer.
But my breath fogged up the glass,
So I drew a new face and I laughed.
I guess what I be saying is there ain't no better reason
To rid yourself of vanity and just go with the seasons.
It's what we aim to do;
Our name is our virtue.

It sums up everything. Don't take yourself too seriously. Go with the flow. Enjoy life without getting caught up in the ridiculous standards demanded by society. Be yourself. Laugh at yourself more often. Who you are is a gift to the world; don't waste it.

If you haven't already, go check out Mraz's blog. Every time you finish reading a post, you'll feel inspired to leave this world a better place than how you found it. One of my favorites is the post about the manicure set. The universe really is a wonderful thing.

- May (you make the life you lead YOURS).

PS. - After listening to something mellow, like "A Beautiful Mess" or "Love For A Child," listen to something insanely amazing, like "The Dynamo of Volition," which was written entirely around the one line (it was a challenge from someone Mraz works with/knows): "Driving off on a blind man's bike." The man's the miracle worker of music and lyrics.

Gay Pride in New York!

2009-06-29T06:38:00.000-07:00

The subject line shouldn't be startling. If anything, it shouldn't even phase you. New York's been long known as a center for Gay Pride, and yesterday was no different! Yesterday was the annual Gay Pride Parade that extends down 5th Avenue down towards the West Village. It also marked the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall riots.

Here's a brief history lesson in case you aren't sure what Stonewall was. In 1969, people were feeling the love -- it was a decade of revolution, of free love, of expression, of drugs, of love beads, of sit-ins and getting tear gassed, of protests and demonstrations. In the Village, there was a place called the Stonewall Inn, known for being gay-friendly in a time when everything but homosexuality seemed to be all right. Police raids were more or less routine, but on June 28th, 1969, the gay and lesbian community fought back against the police raids. The following year, the Gay Pride Parade began in New York & Los Angeles to commemorate this act of justified rebellion. If you want to read the whole spiel, you can read all about it here.

So, yesterday was the 39th Gay Pride Parade in New York, and it gets more and more fabulouuuuus! every single year! One of my favorite things about this year is that Governor David Patterson marched in it -- he's already said that if the bill passes the Senate, he's going to sign it.

I wanted to head to the Parade myself, but having a dentist appointment at 8 AM, after which I couldn't feel the right side of my face, I came back home and fell asleep until the afternoon. Then made myself lunch and hung around until I went over to a friend's house and subsequently went on our usual trip to Starbucks. So. You know. I didn't actually get to the Parade, but my gay-loving side was there in spirit! That's what counts, right? The gay spirit? Or something?

Anyway .. have some pictures and TRY to tell me they're not fabulous!

Drag queens! I'm still on my mission to become BFFs with one. Any takers?

Rainbow balloons outside St. Patrick's

Work it, honey, work it!

Governor David Patterson! <3 He's so adorable!

I imagine them skipping through a meadow of daisies .. FABULOUS.

Pictures taken from here (Link to the Washington Post).

- May (you, at the end of the day, remember the love).

Kablam.

2009-06-26T18:11:00.001-07:00

106 words

Typing Test

- May (you always challenge yourself).

Just Beat It! No, Not THAT, You Freak.

2009-06-26T07:51:00.000-07:00

Look.

Let's be frank here, okay? (I suddenly have the urge to say, "And don't call me Shirley.") Michael Jackson was weird. As some comedian said, and I'm paraphrasing here, 'Only in America can a poor black guy turn into a rich white guy.' The guy obviously had issues. More issues than all the psychologists/psychiatrists/counselors could ever attempt to talk about. He grew up with an abusive father (come on, admit it - you've seen that Michael Jackson movie on VH1, more than once. Don't lie. I'm onto you). If I'm remembering correctly, his father used to talk about his nose and how wide, how "black" it was. It was something he used to harp on constantly as MJ was growing up, hence his obsession with making it small, petite, and virtually non-existent.

The guy was accused of being a pedophile. In case you have selective amnesia, though, the charges were dropped because the stories of the kid and his family were inconsistent. There was even a Law & Order: Special Victims Unit episode paralleling the story ('not based on actual events' my ass, Dick Wolf) where Shirley from Laverne & Shirley was actually poisoning her granddaughter and making her think she had cancer. They then fabricated a story about a famous pop singer who'd had charges of molestation/improper relations with children before, but it all ended up being a plot to get money from him.

So. I mean. I don't know. I'm not saying that MJ didn't do it (he fully admitted letting kids sleep in his bed), but if Dick Wolf, Elliot Stabler, and Olivia Benson are insinuating that people are money-hungry bastards who poison their grandkids to make a more convincing story, then .. you know. It makes you pause and think. Because Benson and Stabler don't lie. They just don't do it. Except when Benson's trying to protect her long-lost brother ..

Anyway, the point is - the guy had his issues. I think people really are money-hungry bastards who'll do just about anything to exploit someone else (is it that far-fetched? Think about the lawsuit-happy culture we all live in right now) .. I mean, it's like that person who sued McDonald's after she spilled her hot coffee in her lap and burned herself.

And won.

That's sick. You're an idiot who ordered hot coffee and were too stupid to put it in a cup holder and instead squeezed the cup between your thighs and oops! Surprise! Hot coffee lap. Deal with your own stupidity and own up to your mistakes.

All of that aside, MJ revolutionized music. He changed it forever.

I was adopted in 1988. MJ was at the early peak of his solo career. Thriller had come out in 1982 (it's the world's best-selling record, in case you weren't aware) and Bad had just come out the year before. My brother's cabbage patch doll was named Michael. My sister's doll was named Billie Jean (these names were given by my brother and sister, respectively). If you watch my arrival video, you can see Michael Jackson's "Bad" video on the TV behind me as I bounce around in my wheeling-chair-with-tray-attached thing, which I called my Boinga Boinga. Don't ask questions. Just keep reading.

The "Thriller" video still scares the shit out of me if I watch it by myself and at night. Because of that video, I sprint past cemeteries if I happen to be walking past one at night. The opening beats of the song immediately pop into my head, in addition to Vincent Price's creepy-as-hell voice over, as I imagine decomposing hands and limbs coming forth from the depths of the crypts and graves and mausoleums. But then I think to myself, "Even if that did happen, we just have to do a synchronized dance sequence with the werewolf hand march and we'll all be okay. They'll think I'm one of them and then I'll turn around as I leave with yellow eyes and fangs. Success!"

Everyone, I don't care who you are, has tried to Moonwalk. And probably fallen over/tripped/backed up into a wall/kicked a small child. Everyone, secretly or not, dances around to Billie Jean, The Way You Make Me Feel, Bad, Beat It, and/or Thriller. Everyone's at least tried to lean the Thriller dance in its entirety. And who didn't cry at the end of Free Willy when "Will You Be There" came on? Admit it! You bawled like a baby. As did everyone else in the theatre. GO FREE WILLY, GO!

Ahem.

His personal life aside, MJ was a staple in the music world. I grew up listening to him, even if it was after he'd made it big. I grew up watching his videos. Wanting to imitate his dance moves, only to realize that I couldn't ever Moonwalk the way he did. The man may have been on the creepy side of life, but my Social Work education has made me look at him for who he really was, despite public persona: the result of an abusive, abusive father, an unhealthy family system, and a child who was stripped of his chance of being a child in order to be a performer.

To quote Micky J himself, "It don't matter if you're black or white." His death is a loss for everyone.

Here's a link to one of my favorite MJ videos, "Black or White."

- May (you remember to listen to the music).

Nighttime Thoughts

2009-06-25T20:46:00.001-07:00

Also posted in Pen & Paper Addicts

Fondness rode the swings over Tivoli and I was elated
Sincerity slipped another sunrise into watery eyes
Train stations spit citizens back onto the streets
And I am still not asleep
- J. Mraz, blog entry on 06/24.

i will always be this way.
i will always feel my skin tingle
and my lips curl
and my tongue dance
and my eyes glisten
as soon as the sun hides its in-need-of-Rogaine head
and i am surrounded by the cloak of the absence of light.

my body may protest and, indeed,
it often does.
fibrous muscles ache
and remind me of the casualties of the day:
a wrong twist in the swirling, rolling chair-turned-amusement-ride;
a purpled section of flesh after violent contact
with a desk or table that seemingly appeared out of nowhere;
7 hours of being resigned to the same
position, upright with knees at right angles.

by the time this hemisphere of the world
has long shut its eyes
and kissed its beloved children good night
and turned its shadowed back upon the growing light
that's slowly trickling over its shoulder,
i have just awoken from my daytime slumber.
my adventures have only just begun.
thoughts leap from my cluttered cranium,
wishing to explore the world they've heard so much about.

but i resign myself to becoming a follower
of trends,
though my individuality is none too happy with my
nightly battle and resulting decision.

slowly, i slide underneath my cotton and polyester cape
that's a few sizes too big for my small frame,
skin tingling,
lips curling,
tongue dancing,
eyes glistening,
lullabied by the melodies of the slumbering world.

- May (you wake up with life anew).

Owl City, Owl Mania

2009-06-25T09:21:00.000-07:00

You know those moments when you hear a song, by chance, and for some reason, you can never scrape it off of the linoleum of your cranial cavity? You're not really sure how it got there, why it's there, or why it's made its habitat on your brain-floor, but what you know is that .. you don't mind. You like having more company in your already cluttered space. You decide that it should stay there, splat on the ground, next to other random bits of information, like "your favorite yoga pose is the Sage Pose, followed by anything that stretches your back" which looks like a miniature Buddha figurine that's gotten super-glued to the floor, or "you need to feed your cat before he gets angry and starts gnawing at your ankles," which looks like a can of cat food with a bright, red exclamation point above it. Or a fang stuck in the cover.

.. Wow, that was a long analogy for something simple. Sorry, folks. I think I'm getting cabin fever, being locked in this office from 9 - 5 every day. I'm also getting creepy vibes from whatever still inhabits this place (it used to be a psychiatric hospital) .. and they are not very friendly. You know that feeling of being unwanted? Of being scrutinized from some invisible pair of eyes? Of being sneered at behind your back? Yeah, I get that feeling here. And it's not because of the people I work with - they're awesome. They're friendly and I can't remember most of their names. It's something bigger, something .. stranger.

But I digress.

The point of this post was to talk about songs that get stuck in your head. As of late, it's been all of Owl City's songs. I found them through the miracle that is Pandora, and I've been addicted ever since. My favorites include, "Fuzzy Blue Lights," "I'll Meet You There," "The Saltwater Room," and "Captains and Cruise Ships."

If you want they according to mood:
Mellow/Sad: Fuzzy Blue Lights, The Saltwater Room
Upbeat/Kind of Reminds You Of Another Song From Someone: I'll Meet You There, Captains and Cruise Ships

Go here and listen to them. The four songs are scattered about my blip station, but seriously. Have a listen. Then buy their stuff on iTunes. You won't regret it, I promise.

- May (you live a life worthy of a soundtrack)

Meow Meow Purr Purr

2009-06-24T20:23:00.000-07:00

Let me just say, for the record, I love my cat.

No, scratch that.

I love my cats. And my dog, the poor old man.

You know those weird people who go on and on and on about their pets? About how intuitive they are or how smart they are or how they 'have a sixth sense about ____!' or some other random tidbit of information? I sometimes fall into that category, but more or less, I laugh at my pets. Like they were a person.

For instance, my one cat, Teddy, is obese. Despite all attempts at helping him shed those kitty pounds, nothing seems to work. We've put him on Indoor Cat diets, put him food for non-active, yet still frisky, felines. Still, when he jumps from the back of the couch to the floor, he walks three steps and then realizes how tired he is and how much work he put into moving, and lays back down, belly sprawling onto the floor.

I couldn't even make this up.

Besides his weight problems (he's "big boned" and has a "thyroid condition"), he's missing one of his fangs. I think it's the left one. I remember finding a small tooth on the ground, but thought that maybe cats were like people - they lost their kitten teeth to make way for the cat teeth.

I was wrong.

There was never another tooth behind it to replace the one that I'd found tangled in the fibers of the carpet. He lost a tooth. I'm not sure how, but he lost one. But! His lack of left-fang provides me with endless entertainment. How? His lip gets stuck and so it looks like he's sneering. Or smelling a particularly pungent pile of crap. Or like an old guy whose mouth is a tad dry and didn't remember his dentures.

Case in point:

He looks remotely like Elvis. Something about his whiskers reminds me of the Jamie Hyneman walrus:

(Still cracks me up, by the way).

What was the point of this post? Oh, right .. those weird people who go on and on about their pets ..

Did I ever tell you about the time my blind, diabetic dog tried to hump my other cat? And she walked away? And he kept humping because he's blind?

- May (you find the humor in the small things)

Musings of a Bored Assistant

2009-06-24T09:23:00.001-07:00

I've worked just about 3 full weeks, with the European interruption in between. I've gotten one pay check (score!). I've sent out about 500 emails, no exaggerations. I get to listen to Pandora all day, sing (quietly) along to songs I already know, and even do some chair-restricted dancing to "Shake It" from MetroStation.

All this aside, my mind still wanders.

And what does it wander to? Why, Europe, of course.

It was a week yesterday since I've returned to the US. A week since we all enjoyed a four-course meal consisting of salad (delicious), farfalle carbonara, a gigantic (in my case) slab of turkey with rosemary roasted potatoes, and tiramisu. A week since I bid farewell to the friends I'd made, separated by the different queues for the differing airlines in L. Da Vinci Airport. A week since I was caught amidst the Roman heat, wishing that I could take a dunk in the Fontana di Trevi or the fountain at La Piazza di Spagna. A week since I said goodbye to some of the best 16 days I've ever had.

And I'm trying not to be Debbie Downer/Negative Nancy about the whole thing. It's proving to be harder than I expected. But then again, I suppose I shouldn't be all that surprised considering the mood I found myself in after leaving London two years ago. It took a good year and a half to fully recover from 3 weeks of living there. God knows how long it will take for me to recover from this trip.

But. Okay. No more thinking along those lines. No more being upset about it.

Right. I need to get back into yoga. I haven't done it since I've gotten back, and my soul's feeling the repercussions. I did buy "The Zen Book," by Daniel Levin, though. I plan on reading through it whenever I feel the need for some positive inspiration. I also bought "Wreck This Journal," and plan to write in it as often as I possibly can. There's something missing in this online blog world - it's like the art of letter writing, just about extinct. I refuse to give it up. I'm going to keep writing letters and writing in journals! They'll never be obsolete or outdated.

Anyway .. back to the database and sending 500 more emails.

Is it the weekend yet?

- May (you find your inspiration).

Randoms.

2009-06-18T07:45:00.000-07:00

Because boredom happens.

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Still on that European High

2009-06-17T08:39:00.000-07:00

I just got back from Europe yesterday. I'm still struggling with the fact that my vacation is over, after months of planning and arranging details. But I'm keeping up with my life philosophy: rather than being sad about it being over, I'm revelling in the happiness that it happened at all. I got to see things so many people have never seen. I've experienced things no one else has experienced. I've eaten some of the most delicious Gelati on a hot, Roman day while walking towards the Trevi Fontana and La Piazza di Spagna. I've had authentic Italian pasta and pizza, and will NEVER forget how amazing it tasted and the way the flavors swirled on my tongue. I've walked in the same steps of an ancient people who were buried under layers of ash and pumice from Mount Vesuvius. I've walked their streets, been in their houses, seen their last moments the way they saw them. I've walked the same crosswalk that the Beatles walked. I've signed my name to the wall outside Abbey Road Studios. I've seen the Cliffs of Moher and learned about Faery Circles.

For the past 16 days, I've really, really lived.

And I've come back to some good horoscopes and guiding words from Rob Brezsny. One particular clip of his horoscope really struck me for some reason:

"A familiar stranger will hand you a Cracker Jack toy and whisper, 'Are we never going to see each other again? Or will we get married tomorrow?'"

I love the open-ended route that quote can take. We don't know what will happen. With the familiar stranger, will we marry tomorrow? Will we never see each other again? Will we speak again and reminisce about long-lost, vague times? Will we lead our separate lives with never a thought of one another?

I don't know. I don't know if I'll ever talk to the friends I made on the European trip ever again. I don't know if Anthony and Trisha will really journey down to Long Island to visit. I don't know if I'll remember people's names a year from now. I don't know if I'll see them ever again.

But for the 16 days they were in my life, I must say thank you -- you made it some of the most memorable that I've had in my 22 years. It doesn't matter if we get married tomorrow or never see each other again; we were in each other's lives, we shared laughs and stories and sights, and that's what I will take with me on this ridiculous journey called life. Thank you for adding to my story and for doing so willingly and so generously.

- May (you experience the world).

Graduation from college: best thing ever.

2009-05-28T16:28:00.001-07:00

I don't know what happened.

I really don't.

I was depressed over graduating not too long ago. I was depressed over leaving my friends, over leaving the campus I'd come to call home for four years, over moving on to the next chapter of my life. I cried most of the ride home back to New York. I cried when I got home that night, listening to sad music (cue the "Here's To The Nights" and "Time Of Your Life" -- I even broke out "Friends Forever" from the 2001-ish era).

And now?

Now, I feel like I could conquer the world. I feel like nothing could ever get me down ever again. And, this is probably TMI, but I'm even PMSing and I'm still feeling awesome.

I don't know what changed. Something inside of me just clicked. I woke up and I realized that spending my life being upset, being regretful, being constantly stuck in the vortex of the past wasn't going to do me any good. It's cliche, but I started living in the present. And I've never been able to do it before. Not until now.

I've adopted new life philosophies. Primarily, the idea that this life is mine. No one else has it. No one else is priviledged enough to have it. No one else would make the same decisions that I've made and will make. And because this life is mine, and only mine, it's unique. It's worth exploring, celebrating, feeling, experiencing, and above all, living.

I could harp on the past 'til I died. I could spend my entire life looking back, rather than looking at the world around me. I could talk about how I wish I knew my birth mother for years. Eons. I could talk about how I felt a loss of identity because I didn't and don't know her. I could. But I've decided not to.

I've decided to take charge of my life because you know what? No one else is going to do it for me. No one else can. It's up to me to start living the right way.

So. I'm choosing life. I'm choosing positive things. I'm choosing friends. I'm choosing family. I'm choosing letting go when I have to let go. I'm choosing healthy food options. I'm choosing doing yoga. I'm choosing meditation. I'm choosing burning incense and chilling out. I'm choosing to be excited over the unknowns of life. I'm choosing positive energies, both giving and receiving. I'm choosing karma and improving this shithole of a world.

I'm choosing to live.

And I have never, ever felt more at peace with myself, the world, and the universe.

- May (you find your reason for life).

Prop 8. No, Really. Why?

2009-05-27T12:27:00.000-07:00

Well.

Again.

California has proven itself to be less progressive than Iowa. People, are you listening? Iowa and Maine are MORE progressive than California. California, land of surfers, sun, beach, sand, SAN FRANSISCO (rivaled only by Provincetown, Massachusetts and the entirety of the Village, New York City), and happy cows (from which comes good cheese) is less progressive than Iowa, which has nothing really notable in it, and Maine, land of lobster and snow. Did I mention that Iowa and Maine are stereotypically full of backwards people?

Don't get your long johns in a twist -- I said stereotypically.

Somehow, the majority managed to overturn these people:

I mean, look at them! Raising their fists and rainbow flags to fight injustice! There's even a large man wearing a pink shirt, for Pete's sake. Also, side note, who is Pete? And why are we always excusing ourselves on his behalf?

Anyway, I just don't get it. I don't think I'll ever get it. Love is love is love.

But if you need some convincing as to why you should vote NO on Prop 8, if it ever comes around again (which it probably will), might I offer:

The National Organization For Marriage's "The Gathering Storm" video. It's a repost, but you know what, it's SO ridiculous that it deserves to be posted twice. Because listening to it once is just enough to melt your brain. The second time around, the rest of your explodes.

Jason Mraz's comical picture to show his lack of support for Prop 8.

And if those don't work, have a picture of me, pissed at the way things are going. You don't want me going all Ninja (yes, I realize those are typically Japanese and not Korean) on your ass. I'm serious.

Now. Once you've gone and changed your now-brown underwear (or long johns), go out and fight against this stupid, stupid ban. Even if you're not in California. I don't care. Go out and fight. Organize. Something. Anything. Just do it and do it for love.

- May (you remember love).

New York, New York!

2009-05-13T18:52:00.000-07:00

We are officially one step closer to legalizing Same-Sex Marriage in New York!

The NYS Assembly passed the bill today (89 to 52)! Now, it's on to the Senate, and if it passes there, then Governor David Paterson must sign it, which he has already said he would. The Assembly already had passed this bill back in 2007, but I think that since so many states have already legalized it, now's the time it'll actually happen. I mean, if Iowa and Maine are more progressive than New York, which houses such areas as The Village, something is seriously wrong.

Anyway, this bit of legislative action is, in a word, awesome!

A quote from Mayor Bloomberg pretty much sums it up: "I applaud ... members of both parties for moving this historic legislation forward."

California, you'd better catch up. Over-turn Prop 8 now!

Here's the article at CNN.com.

- May (you take your steps in the right direction).

Don't Ask, Don't Tell Leads to Ignorance

2009-05-10T17:46:00.000-07:00

Because I was sucked into the world of Twitter, I've been following a slew of different people. Some are celebrities, like Rainn Wilson and Jason Mraz (well, his Joyoligist, since she's doing the Tweeting). Others have to do with politics, like one account called Obamawatcher.

Something caught my about one of the twats: "Obama Caving on Gays in the Military." There's an article at The Huffington Post about it, which is what the link was in the twat (sorry, Mraz, I stole that term from you; the PC term would be tweet).

Anyway .. I don't think I've ever really fully understood the DADT policy. What does someone's sexual orientation have to do with his/her ability to protect his/her country? No, this is really a question I'd like someone to asnwer.

Seriously.

How does having a sexual preference for the same gender mean that you're unworthy of doing a civic duty? Especially since there isn't a draft and so many men and women (the "special and straight" ones, mind you) are being sent back for their third or fourth tour because there's a shortage of soldiers.

But really. Are people afraid that they're going to "catch the gay" or something? Are they worried that if they spend time in close quarters with someone who is homosexual, they're going to get hit on? First of all -- a compliment's a compliment, regardless of who gives it. Get over it and be flattered. Secondly, is that the worst that can happen? Someone gets uncomfortable because someone thinks they're attractive?

Please, someone explain the point of this policy to me. Why, logically (that's the key word here), does it matter whether someone is straight or gay? When an enemy's charging at you with a gun or a bomb, I don't think it matters.

To quote the verifiably insane and talented Jack Nicholson from "The Departed:" ... Today, what I'm saying to you is this: when you're facing a loaded gun, what's the difference?

- May (you make the right decision when the time comes).

Also, Obama, please hurry the hell up and dissolve this policy. KTHNXBYE.

God, I Should Just Start Bleating

2009-05-08T15:58:00.000-07:00

I pride myself on my abilities to stand against the crowd. It's like the one time I was at a Backstreet Boys concert, back in my teeny bopper days, and I ran AGAINST a horde of screaming girls. Have you ever tried to run against hundreds of hormonally charged 12 and 13 year-olds? Who are chasing what they think to be the tour bus of their fake boyfriends/husbands/future soulmates? Yeah. I did that. And I lived to tell the tale. And I didn't even get injured.

That point aside, I've caved in. I've become one of the masses. In my efforts to not conform, I've slipped myself into the stupid mold.

I'm now on Twitter. Feel free to follow the ever-exciting (read: it's a lie) life of mine.

http://twitter.com/tidestheyturn

Yeah. Have fun with that.

- May (you live enough to have tales to tell).

Widget

2009-05-08T15:34:00.001-07:00

I've Got Blisters On These Fingahs!

2009-05-06T18:02:00.001-07:00

My pointer, middle, and ring finger on my left hand hurt from the blisters that I've self-induced by playing the guitar so much these past few days. I don't really mind the pain. Does that make me a masochist? Hm. I probably am.

I still suck like a Dyson vacuum though. Despite all my practicing and the blisters and the hours of time put into it. My hand was just not meant to play a guitar I don't think. I can barely spread my fingers across an octave on the piano -- it's that much harder on a guitar, and I can't really stretch beyond two frets on a good day. Also, my left hand is kind of like the "very special" cousin twice-removed of my right hand and is not nearly as nimble or quick (jumping over a candlestick) as my right hand. Maybe I should try playing a lefty guitar. Or maybe I should get one made for kids. I bet I could reach more than two frets' worth on that.

A friend of mine yelled at me for downgrading myself to an electric due to my small hand-span. He told me that anyone can sound good on an electric (and I can even convince myself with a few songs that I'm moderately good and will soon become a rockstar) but that an acoustic is where it's at. There's nothing like the meaty, raw sound of an acoustic guitar. I explained that I would love to learn how to play it properly, but that my hand is the size of a four year-old's. He suggested I look into a Baby Taylor, which .. I may have to do, once I have money again.

So. My fingers are blistered. They hurt. They burn when they're near hot objects (cooking myself dinner tonight was fun). They ache when I touch them on things, rendering them near useless as they're fingers, used for touching. Still .. I guess it's all a good pain. Something about the greater good, sacrificing for the craft, blah dee blah.

I just have one thing to say: this better improve my chi or my in-touch-ness with the musical universe. I like to imagine John Lennon listening from Heaven, cringing every time he sees me grab my guitar and prop it on my leg. I imagine him going, in his Liverpool-ian accent, "Oh for Christ's sake, not 'er again!" and covering his ears. I also picture him hanging out with Gandhi and JFK.

Is that weird?

- May (your wounds heal).

It's Official.

2009-05-05T09:04:00.000-07:00

I hate New England weather.

I should probably mention that I've hated it for a long time. Probably since I first step foot on the soils of the small Ocean State four years ago. I came ill-equipped to my first year of college: no rain boots, no rain coat, no umbrella. Sure, it rains in New York, but not like New England.

I smartened up my second year. I bought a pair of rain boots from Target.com and they have probably been one of the best investments I ever made. I now have a rain coat, too, after having needing one when I lived in London for a month.

But as I sit at my desk, the tips of my fingers nearly blue and frozen and falling off (okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit), with the roar of the wind and the rain crashing against the bricks outside of my apartment ... I realize how much I really do loathe the weather.

Yet.

I'm going to miss it in 12 days. I'll pack up all of my things and leave this room the way I entered it -- empty, without personality, without sheets on the bed or crap all over the floor (not literal crap, mind you), without the drawers full of clothes and things, without laughter and tears and memories. It'll hit me during the first rainstorm of the summer, back in New York. I'll pull out my boots and my rain coat and somehow ..

I'll feel incomplete.

And maybe, just maybe, a little, tiny piece of me will miss the freezing cold of a New England rainstorm in the beginning of May. Maybe a little piece of me will smile nostalgically as I think about how it can still get so cold, even when it's in the midst of Spring. Maybe a little piece of me will even miss hearing the roars over the Red Sox winning a -- you know what, no. That won't ever happen.

Sorry. I'm clearly getting delusional.

- May (you let go when you need to let go).

A Pain in the Ash.

2009-04-29T21:37:00.000-07:00

So, my horoscope for today:

GEMINI (May 21-June 20): "A Pain in the Ash: Volcano Irritates Alaskans." That was the headline of a news story about how the people of Anchorage, Alaska are dealing with the erratic behavior of nearby Mount Redoubt. As of this writing, the volcano hasn't exploded yet, but it keeps hinting that it might. Meanwhile, it regularly burps clouds of ash that float around and wreak a lot of inconvenience. "I would like it to have a big boom and get it over with," said one native. In accordance with your astrological omens, Gemini, let's use this situation as a metaphor for your life. The fact is, there's no sense in getting irritated or impatient with the primal force in your vicinity. Doing so would be a waste of your precious emotional energy. Besides, cultivating calm equanimity is the best way to acquire the grace you'll need to respond appropriately when the primal force does go boom.

I love getting these horoscopes because they're different than the ones you read in the paper. Rob Brezsney, to whom I was introduced thanks to my fabulous ex-boss, Karin, two summers ago, writes horoscopes that give you advice, but also incorporate literature, music, art, whatever. I love analogies. I love analogies the way I love chocolate when I'm PMSing. I love them the way I love 75 degree weather with a slight breeze. I love them like a fat kid loves cake. Which is why I love these horoscopes.

Anyway, you can sign up for them, if you want, via email. I think they're sent out once a week or once every other week. He's also been startingly accurate before, and it keeps me coming back!

The point: even a horoscope, told to me by some guy who may resemble

is telling me to find peace. Except he used the term "calm equanimity." And the need to acquire grace.

Even if you do look like the scary man with guns and two Guitar Hero controllers (I dig the wireless one myself), Rob Brezsney, you still shed insight on my life at exactly the right time. I guess this is one of those moments where the universe is telling me something, where that weird moment is finding me when I need it most.

That's my mission for .. well, the rest of my life: find peace. Find grace. Find that calm equanimity. Find something. We're all in this journey together, even if our paces are different and the shoes in which we walk vary. And maybe all the world needs is a little bit of that peace, that grace. Maybe we can find it together.

- May (every step you take be sweet).

90 Degrees. In April.

2009-04-28T14:44:00.000-07:00

Remember that time that I almost sweat my hypothetical balls off because Rhode Island experienced a freak heat wave in the middle of April?

Yeah, so do I.

The weather here has been cooky. Kooky? Hm. I'm never sure how to spell that word; not that I have to do it that often. But anyway, it's been weird. Over the past week, the temperature has shot up to the high 80's/low 90's, taking everyone by surprise. Some people flourish in this weather. Me? There's a reason I chose to attend a school in New England. I can handle 65 - 70 degrees. 75 is the max. Anything over that, and I'm wishing that indecent exposure wasn't a crime.

But it got me thinking. On a day like today, I can't help but think about how .. powerless we are. We like to think we're in control of every aspect of our lives: who we talk to, what we eat, what to wear, who to sleep with, whatever. But, at the end of the day, we're pushed out of the pilot's seat and told to enjoy the ride.

We can't control the weather, for instance. If I could, I would turn the temperature down just a notch. Okay, more like a lot of notches. But I can't. No one can. We just have to make do and adjust and keep on trucking. Because it's those random things that keep life interesting. Keep us on our toes.

I don't know about you, but I have really weak ankles and knees, meaning I will never be a ballerina. Staying on my toes constantly does wear down the joints, and eventually, my legs give out and I collapse to the ground.

But I've realized .. it's okay. It's okay to collapse and fall. It's okay to even want to stay down on the ground for a little while, to recooperate. It's okay to cry, to complain, to whine about it, to lay back and accept defeat for a little while. But not indefinitely.

Eventually, you get up. You curse your weak ankles and knees and you try again.

And if you find yourself in the middle of a heat wave, find yourself a fan and forget the ballet all together.

- May (you have fun during the proverbial dance).

A Week Before It Ends

2009-04-24T08:16:00.000-07:00

So, classes officially end in one week from today.

I've been in complete denial over the fact that everything's ending. That's not to say that I'm not excited over the next chapter -- I've finally come a place where I can accept and even get pumped about what's about to come -- but I'm not quite ready to say goodbye to people yet.

Then again .. are you ever ready?

One thing that I will be glad to leave behind will be the oppressive conservatism of this school. (I won't name it, but let's put it this way -- it's Catholic, it's run by the Dominicans, and .. it's Catholic). They banned the Vagina Monologues four years ago and cited some ridiculous reasons as to why. I think one of them was actually that the play focused too much on women's sexuality, rather than the other gifts that they possess. Well, yeah, that's nice. We are more than a vagina, but the play, written by a woman, shows how we can write, we can act, we can perform, we can sing, we can do anything. And ignoring the fact that women are sexual, like this administration and Church like to do, doesn't mean it's not there -- in fact, it makes us want to rebel more.

I've been in some form of Catholic school since I was three years old. THREE. I've had this stuff force-fed to me a billion times over. For a while, I accepted it, because what else does a stupid little five year old do? You follow the words that teachers tell you without having the cognitive ability to ask deeper or search farther.

It wasn't until I got to high school that things changed. I was thrown into a Theology class that was unlike anything I'd ever had before. She wanted us to question our beliefs. She wanted us to really find out why things were the way they were, figure out what we didn't support, what we did. She explained that in questioning something and searching for the answer, it brings us closer to the origin of it all. Of course, she was also the teacher who told us morbid details of people jumping from the top of the Twin Towers (9-11 happened in the beginning of that same year, and I'm in NY). That left me with a distaste for her, but I never forgot that eye-opening experience.

We can't just accept what we hear or "learn" as truth. We have to delve deeper. We have to ask questions. We have to ask as many questions as we can until we're satisfied. And I don't think we ever will be -- we have to keep learning.

I cite that Theology class, ironically, as the beginning of my fall from Catholicism. I attended Church less and less (except when mandated by the school), and by the time I reached college, I was pretty sure I didn't believe in anything spiritual anymore.

Then I went through another transformation. I went on a religious retreat with one of my room mates. For the first time in my entire life, I felt connected. I felt in sync with the people around me, with the world, and most importantly, with God. I remember sitting in the on-campus chapel after our return, begging God to always stay with me, to never let me forget those feelings or those experiences.

Of course .. I did forget. I forgot, mostly on purpose, the ridiculous dogmas of the Catholic Church. I felt they only hindered me from having a more poignant relationship with God/She/It/Whoever. Remembering when to sit, when to kneel, what to say, what to do .. It got in the way. It complicated something that was meant to be simple.

I stopped going to Church. This year, my mom didn't even ask me to go to Church with her on Easter. I knew that signified something big, because I'd always been the Chr-easter Catholic (Christmas/Easter). Those were the two holidays where I'd go to Church, mainly out of guilt, but not this year. I was demoted to a Chralm Catholic (Christmas/Palm Sunday).

Now that I don't have to worry about that, I was able to enjoy those miserable 40 days of Lent. I ate meat on Fridays because I wasn't going to abide by some thousand-year-old ritual that was introduced to save money on meat (that's the real reason for it; the Bible doesn't say anything about sacrificing meat). I ate meat on Fridays because hell, I wanted that Prosciutto sandwich from Au Bon Pain.

I know that it's about sacrifice, but I gave up other things. I didn't need some old man in expensive, Italian silks, living in his own zip code thousands of miles away from me to tell me what I had to give up in order to feel closer to God.

He doesn't even know me.

... So, I started out talking about how it's a week before the official end of my collegiate career. I ended up talkng about how I dislike the Pope. Like I said in my introduction post, I have one of the shortest attention spans known to mankind.

Hopefully you can keep up.

- May (you live the life you want to live).

My Boyfriends Ben and Jerry

2009-04-21T18:57:00.000-07:00

After writing about the Alouette song, the rainy weather, and the sexist picture .. I realized that all that aside? It's a great day.

I'll tell you why.

FREE ICE CREAM DAY AT BEN AND JERRY'S, that's why! It was also $.50 coffee day at Dunkin Donuts! (Mind you, those USED to be free .. I guess times are tough for everyone, even the most over-populated coffee/bagels that suck/donuts/munchkins chain in New England).

So anyway, back to the free ice cream. I'm not a huge fan of the frozen dairy product. I'm just not. As a kid, my teeth were always super sensitive (thanks, non-existent pre-natal care!) and the icy delicacy made them hurt. But my eyes were always bigger than my stomach, so I'd always order it, ignoring the protests from my mom and dad that I never finished it and they didn't want to spend ___ amount of money on something that was just going to get thrown out, take a few licks, and then declare that I was done. Sometimes, I'd wait for it all to melt into a pinkish soup (I always got strawberry), slosh it around a few times with my spoon, and declare that I didn't want to drink my ice cream and didn't want any more. Of course, I purposely waited for the warmer temperature of the restaurant to start dismantling the mound of cream and sugar .. and my parents knew that.

But that's slowly started to change.

I point the accusatory finger at the four root canals I've had over the past five years (I told you, pre-natal care was virtually non-existent over in S. Korea). The front four teeth on the top of my mouth have no root in them, so I can't feel a thing. This makes it easier for me to bite into the ice cream without any kind of complaint. Sometimes, I get a little over-zealous, like today, and ... maybe I got in line a second time for a second free ice cream cone.

Maybe.

... Okay, so I did. And I pretty much looked like ^ that guy.

The first time, I got the cake batter .. which didn't taste a thing like cake. It tasted like chocolate fudge with vanilla ice cream. But I wasn't going to complain. It was free. I used to my hand as a makeshift umbrella for my ice cream cone as my friends and I stood in the rain. After we gobbled them all down, we decided to give it another shot, try another flavor. As I stood in the line, I had a huge pang of brain freeze, but decided to persevere. After all, free cone day only came around once a year .. I wasn't going to blow this chance. Not yet.

I got the Sweet Cream Cookie for the second round. Which is the Vermont company's way of saying "Cookies n' Cream." It was delicious. And I ate it just as fast as the first.

My stomach's already been pissed at me. Mind you, I was filling it up with two rounds of ice cream, which it's still not entirely used to having, AFTER already filling it with Teriyaki and Honey BBQ wings ($.25 each!) AND .. a bottle of Killian's.

Can't you just hear the angry growl?

I immediately regretted my decision for the second cone, but then, as I was curled over on the toilet, I thought to myself -- 'Fuck it. It's free cone day. If anything, you should've gotten a third.'

- May (you always feel full, in more ways than one).

Rain Rain Go Away

2009-04-21T12:22:00.000-07:00

I was randomly thinking about some childhood songs I used to sing without really understanding. One of them was "Alouette," which .. as it turns out .. is kind of a mean song. Alouette, in French, means Lark. Like the bird. And the French songs talks about plucking feathers from the poor bird's body!

Don't ask why I was thinking about this song or why it suddenly dawned on me that it's some inadvertent way to promote ripping feathers out of a poor bird's body. I mean, I obviously didn't know that when I was a kid -- I just thought that I sounded cool and bilingual, singing songs in French. Add on Frere Jacques and heck, I could work for the United Nations .. so long as they sang in rhymes and catchy melodies.

And also stuck to those two songs.

Maybe this is what dreary, rainy weather does to people because you can't do anything else, like .. hiking. Or sun bathing. Or .. any number of other activities which require sunlight and warm temperatures. Like calculating how strong UV rays are.

In case you don't remember the song, the Wikipedia entry is here.

Oh, I also found something funny in Googling pictures for my thesis presentation.

Okay, so the premise is funny. To an extent. The file title is called "Why Most Men are Republican." First of it, there are plenty of men who aren't Republican (and if you're one of them, please feel free to send me a message). Second, since when are credentials based solely on a person's looks?

I think that Miss South Carolina pretty much proves that just because you're physically attractive does not you're a full set of Chef Tony's Miracle Blade knives. Maybe they forgot the Rock n' Chop at the warehouse or something. Or maybe she was that piece of the boot that he cut up and forgot to throw in the trash.

Anyway. It just made think of sexism. Because hello, it's overly blatant in this situation. I couldn't find any similar images with men, because women are the only ones who are judged based on appearances -- at least in most circumstances. So, because the creator of this wonderful little image carefully chose the most attractive Republicans and the least attractive Democrats, that somehow proves their value and their ability to think clearly and make rational decisions. Just because they're aesthetically pleasing.

But if we're going to play that nasty, dirty game, must I remind the image creator of Shirley Phelps-Roper?

One of THE MOST conservative, Republican people in the whole freakin' universe?

Don't play that game with me, you random Republican person with too much time on your hands who should have his/her internet taken away so you can no longer do Google image searches! You're going to lose!

- May (you find the strength within yourself).

Om Nom Nom Nom

2009-04-20T10:32:00.001-07:00

I wish that I could chomp down and swallow up NOM (the National Organization for Marriage).

I wish that I could take all of the hateful people in the world and just .. let them secede from the rest of the earth.

I wish that people could simply be who they are, be who they want to be without fear of judgment.

The reason for this post is because of the ridiculous ad that the National Organization for Marriage came out with not too long ago. It's called "The Gathering Storm," and it's fueled by the lack of support for Gay Marriage. PS - If you're like me, you may suffer a stroke, heart attack, leprosy, enlarged duodenum, or other uncomfortable/deadly ailment from watching that. I was pretty sure I had a seizure following that video. A large, leggy creature was also crawling its way across my desk, unbeknownst to me -- a sign of a plague, I'm sure, except it's the Plague of Hatred.

And look, I understand that not everyone is in support of the movement. I get that. I can respect that (though barely). But the arguments given, particularly the ones in this video, are laughable, at best.

If anyone can figure out what kind of job the Californian doctor has where she would have to choose between her job and her faith, please share with the rest of the class. My room mates and I couldn't figure it out. I'm sure there was .. actually, you know what, no. I don't think there was anything logical in the entire commercial.

Except for that rainbow coalition they mention at the end. Which I found to be rather ironic. A rainbow, huh? Are you sure you're not just a bunch of closet homosexuals?

There was a study done, actually, where scientists took two groups of men (one was homophobic, the other wasn't) and studied them to see if they had any kind of sexual response to homo-errotic stimuli. They would measure the circumference of a participant's penis before showing pictures or videos of homosexual people (I think it was both women and men), and then measured the circumference again. The ones who were the most homophobic had the greatest increase in measurement, meaning more bloodflow to the penis, meaning .. they were sexually aroused.

It just goes to prove the old addage: "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." Except in this case, instead of lady, it's homophobic idiot.

May (you feel love).

Dreaming a Dream.

2009-04-18T18:28:00.000-07:00

I had a weird thought today.

It was a shared thought with a friend who's visiting for the next two days. We started talking about that woman on "Britain's Got Talent," the one who's practically taking the world by storm. I mean, Oprah wanted to interview her -- you know you're big when Oprah's requesting you to be on her show.

Anyway, I later Youtubed the clip because I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

The thought that I had was how much weight we put into appearances.

Now, don't get me wrong -- I can appreciate an aesthetically pleasing person as much as the next woman or man. I have no qualms with admitting that I've got massive girl-crushes on the likes of Angelina Jolie and Natalie Portman. I also have no issues with revealing my daydreams involving Gerard Butler and/or Adam Levine, purely based on the fact that I think they're gorgeous.

But when does that kind of behavior and thinking have to stop?

I think that Susan Boyle's audition shows that boundary. She walks on stage, very unassuming. The audience rolls their eyes when Simon asks her what she wants to do and she says that she wants to be a professional singer. The girls with too much eyeliner and artificially-straightened hair scoff at seeing this woman with a pepper-colored mini afro, thick eyebrows, and a figure that would never be allowed on a runway wiggle her hips awkwardly.

What the hell?

How do those girls somehow have the right deem this woman "less than worthy" of .. whatever it is she deserves, not only as a woman with extreme talent, but simply as a human? How does altering one's appearance to be unnatural in a lot of ways mean that one is better than someone who really doesn't care about that kind of thing? If anything, shouldn't that kind of beavior mean that one is even further from that authoritative role?

I think there's a real need for change, not just in the US but in other places, too. We should be judged by what we do -- do we help the old lady across the street? Do we laugh at someone who is different from us? Do we try and leave this earth a little better than how we entered? -- and not by how we look.

But I'm glad that everyone got a dose of their own medicine at that taping of BGT.

Maybe people are just jealous. Heck, I know that I'm jealous of that's woman's ability to sing "I Dreamed a Dream." Lord knows that I've tried (yes, I do have a karaoke verison of the song) and try as I might, I don't sound even a quarter as good as her. And if I did?

I'd be damn lucky.

-- May (you be happy).

Trying my heartest .. Get it? Didja?

2009-04-16T21:39:00.000-07:00

Good news, New Yorkers! Well .. for the LBGT ones and for the ones who support the LBGT community, like this wee Asian girl does.

Gov. Paterson said yesterday (Thursday, April 16th, in case you've got selective amnesia like me) that he's going to introduce a bill to legalize same-sex marriage!

I think I just heard a part of the earth explode with cheers, dancing, maybe some confetti. No, it's okay. Take your time. I'll still be here when you're done. In fact, I'm going to join you in the confetti-dancing because this is great news!

It's about damn time, don't you think? After seeing what happened in California (boo to you, my West Coast Brother), I'm glad New York is trying to take a step in the right direction. Don't get your underoos all in a twist if you don't agree with it. I don't want to hear all of those excuses like it "takes away from the sacred institute of marriage." Since when has marriage really been sacred? Since Vegas opened up those 24-hour chapels for people to get hitched? Since the 1950's when girls who got pregnant out of wedlock were forced to get married to the guy she probably never wanted to see again? Since Britney Spears had a 55-hour marriage while in a drunken and idiotic stupor?

Don't tell me about the "sanctity of marriage" when straight people (and I'm included in this category, so I'm allowed to talk about it!) go and defile it all the time. While religious meaning of marriage would be great for the LGBT community, the focus for this is on the legal meaning -- thousands upon thousands of Federal rights that married couples take for granted. Seriously. Look it up. I'm not lying.

For all of those who say that two people of the same sex can't get married because marriage and the subsequent sexual relations that occur are unnatural, please kindly find a bridge and jump. You know what's unnatural? Trying to restrict and impede upon another person's rights. Or trying to interfere with someone's life that really, really doesn't affect you at all. If LGBT people get married, the world isn't going to blow up in some fiery apocalypse -- we're already halfway there thanks to a man called George W. Bush and his greed for oil and money and power. If anything? Allowing LGBT marriage will save us from the raging fires of destruction.

When love is shared and felt and spread and given and taken, you just get it. And somehow, things are a little brighter .. the world's a little better .. and you're smiling a little wider.

Besides, karma's a bitch, and it doesn't like when you keep sending its Negative-Nancy-sister to people who haven't harmed you in the least. So stop it with the negative attitudes and energies!

Anyway .. for all of those who actually like the idea of celebrating in love who are currently in New York? Let's make it happen. Let's show our support in every way we possibly can.

You've got to spread love to get love.

May (you find peace).

Introductions are for suckers.

2009-04-16T19:47:00.001-07:00

But I'm a sucker for a lot of things, so here it is.

I had another Blogger page a while ago (here), but I thought it was high time for another one. High time .. what does that even mean? Can it be low time? Middle time? Nowhere time?

Oh, that's another thing .. I have a virtually non-existent attention span. And I have conversations in my head. So if it seems like I'm starting out somewhere in New York and suddenly it's like I'm in Dubai, don't worry -- you're not mistaken. I'm just a really fast runner.

Hi, I'm May.

And I'm a blog-aholic.

Because I Dig The Idea!

1987-06-10T18:10:00.000-07:00

The #1 song in the United States: "Always," by Atlantic Starr.
The weather in Islip Terrace, NY:
Min. Temp: 55.9°F
Mean Temp: 65.7°F
Max. Temp: 79.0°F
Precipitation: 0.51 in.

Of course .. when this was happening, I was on the other side of the globe, already born (because it's just about 12 hours ahead over in Seoul, S. Korea) and two months earlier than my birth mother expected .. I have no idea what time it was when I was born, but I suspect it was sometime at night, which is why I'm practically nocturnal now.

At least the weather was nice in my soon-to-be home! :)