My Words and Thoughts

So I am quoting cheesy stuff from "The Sound of Music". However, I have moved on to a better blog. You can read about my ramblings at the following link:

http://www.pnaypugpie415.blogspot.com

Still the same ramblings. However, more of an attempt at some critique, some satire and lots of pies and reviews on books, movies, television and things that I find interesting. Little less on the emotional drama as I have shared in past journals like my ALC 1 journal and previous blog before this one.

See ya!

I will have to say that this will be my last post on this Friendster blog. As much as I like Friendster and people clown on me for being on Friendster instead of that other internet connect with people website, the limitations of this format has made me reconsider and well, switch.

I have yet to make up a new link to my new blog but you folks will know. Then you will still be entertained and amused by my ramblings about life, how much I hate the suburbs (today’s long run in Chino Hills confirmed how much I hate the burbs- fucking illusionary flats that are actually long assed hills to climb as well as houses with the same fucking shade of beige), how much I love the City (oh to be back in the wet City by the Bay again), and yes, pie…glorious and oh so fucking yummy pie!

I will also make it an effort to at least write some of my entries in Tagalog. Not Taglish- straight assed Tagalog. Hell, if I want to head over to the Motherland again, I should at least say most of my shit in Tagalog, even if it is to tell the immigration officals that I don’t have a balikbayan box and if my nephew Barney acts up again, I’ll actually stuff him in a balikbayan box.

Tootles for now!

This morning, I found myself digging through my CD collection and fiding my CD of songs that the Glide Memorial Church choir would sing during their Sunday services. There was a time in my life were I would go to services to the lively church in the Tenderloin. A church that is an institution in San Francisco and doing a lot of things in that neighborhood. The Tenderloin, a seedy area where chemical addiction and illicit acts hang like a July fog mixed in with homelessness with a sprinkle of Vietnamese immigrants and their restaurants serving pho and bahn mi and a dash of Indian and Pakistani restaurants serving hot curries and samosas. The Tenderloin where the weapon of mass destruction isn’t anthrax or a heat seeking missile or gunfire but HIV; yes, the Tenderloin is where the AIDS pandemic is hardest hit.

And Glide Memorial Church is there as the beacon of light. Reverend Cecil Williams is there heading the reigns and guiding through the 52 programs that Glide runs which include providing meals in their kitchen, a chemical dependence recovery program, a health clinic, a strong HIV/ AIDS outreach program, youth programs, senior housing, and countless other programs I cannot think of at this moment. They are God’s love in action.

This was something that I was searching for when I was looking for a Catholic church to call home. I wanted a parish that did what God wanted his people to do- to love God and love one’s neighbor. At the time I was going to Glide, I would sometimes go with my old roommate Michael and his boyfriend John when they were still living in the City. It wasn’t until a few years later when I found my current parish, Most Holy Redeemer in the Castro, a place I call home.

One song on this CD which happens to be the title of this entry is one that I treasure from this CD. This is one song that I would play during my darkest moments in my life, during the struggles. I remembered listening to this CD when I had my cycling accident, when I struggled with fights with Ma and my family. I wondered if I even had this CD when I was struggling with training and preparing for my first AIDS ride which was in 2001 when this CD first came out.

I play this song now to give me strength and guidance through this time. As I deal with my issues and illness, as I prepare for a grueling Tagalog final today, as I pray for a dear friend and "pew buddy" from Most Holy Redeemer who suffered a massive heart attack a few days ago and is intensive care, this song provides me strength that I need. Maybe some wondered why I didn’t reach out for this when I was in the throws of my illness but at that time, I couldn’t even think about getting out of bed.

This song and my collection of three books by E. Lynn Harris provide me strength, hope and guidance through the rough periods of my life. This along with my faith in God and the love from my friends and yes, my family (God love them at times) help me through what I am going through where I know I can weather any storm.

I’ve been meaning to write a post about this for awhile ever since I one night was home and channel surfing, something that I rarely do. I ended up discovering two, not one, cable channels that have Asian American programming- Asn TV and ImaginasianTV. Each has some shows talking about entertainment and issues addressing the Asian American community along with shows and movies from the countries that make up the Asian diaspora. I have to admit that I did find a place where I can watch the occasional Korean soap opera with English subtitles but I don’t have the discipline to actually make sure I watch it. It’s not like the same fervor I have for "Sex and the City" re-runs.

As I watched a show showing various shorts from Asian American filmmakers on one of the channels (the show is called Popcorn Zen for those who are interested), one short was showing how a South Asian college young man tries to find out more about his heritage when he becomes smitten with a young woman involved in the college South Asian Student Association. The main character’s quest somewhat is similar to mine and perhaps some Asian Americans that come of age.

I’m trying to think what was the catalyst that brought me to look more into my Filipino hertiage a little more deeply than just the superficial things like food and certain traits that our relatives have that make us American born and raised kids scratch our heads. I did remember that during winter break of my freshman year, I holed myself in my room and read Carlos Bulosan’s America Is In The Heart, a poignant autobiography about a young Filipino man who immigrated to the United States in the 1920s and 1930s and worked in the fields and canneries throughout the United States. I’m trying to remember what prompted me to read that book- was it my older peers who took the dreaded 8 unit Humanities core the year before and Bulosan’s book was one of those they had to read and dissect and probably write a grueling paper on it. Or was it my curiosity that there were Filipinos that immigrated in to the United States in the 1920s and 1930s, naively thinking that every Filipino I knew must have immigrated around the same time my parents did (the post 1965 wave when immigration laws and quotas were lifted). But I can say that was my first exposure to my Asian American experience and maybe scratching the Filipino surface a little deeply.

College was that time where you could experiment and try and look at different things through different lenses and different perspectives. For me, my years at UC Irvine was that big backyard, that place that held a lot more than my own hometown in the Inland Empire. I’m not sure if it was the dearth of Asian American resources or the fact that I had to blend in with the rest of my white classmates during my high school years where I had to put my Filipino self on the shelf. Not only my Filipino self but my whole Asian self because I happened to be in one of those places and one of those times where most teachers assumed that every Asian was lumped together in one, big homogenious lump. I wonder if my teachers in my honors classes could tell the distinct differences between Bui, Cheung, Flores, Kim, Liu, Yeo, Ngo, Tsai, and Swamintath. I think in some way, each of us took something that distanced us from our Asian backgrounds. We blended in. We didn’t question. Maybe some of us stuck together because either we had the same classes together, but not because we were all Asian American and stuck in the same boat of lily white Redlands High School.

Then I do leave the confines of that safe zone of exploring my Asian American-ness and go out into the real world. I wonder at times, once you leave college, do you stop growing your Asian American self. Do you put that away along with the sorority girl letters and football sweaters and just gulp down a concotion of the American dream of working in corporate America, getting married, moving to the burbs and having 2.5 children in a good school district? Sometimes I wonder about my peers who were very active in Asian American organizations and issues, did they swallow that pill of American dream assimilation, the thing that our parents strived for and wished for while they held onto dear life on a rickety boat or held their stomachs during a harrowing 16 hour plane ride across the Pacific Ocean?

As I do get older and wonder about settling down, I wonder if my future husband will share some of the quirks and dreams that I have for myself, my home and my children. I wonder if he will be willing to let me sing Tagalog and Ilokano folk songs to lull my children to sleep? I wonder if he wouldn’t mind the major production of a Filipino Catholic wedding with the tons of ninangs and ninongs, bridesmaids, groomsmen, flower girls, coin bearer, ring bearer and do not forget the candle, cord and veil. Would he give me this strange look if I want to put the large spoon and fork in the dining room next to the depiction of the Last Supper and be very careful when dusting the capiz shell lamps and the shield with the Weapons of the Moroland? I won’t go so far as to put the plastic runner along the carpet and keep the plastic on the furniture. That’s a little much. But in some odd way, I could imagine myself toying away at my desk if I am stumped for some idea or stressed out that I would be fiddling with the wooden barrel man and barrel woman. I wonder if my children will want to eat not only the usual safe zone dishes of pancit and lumpia. Will they have a taste for dinaguan? Will they want halo halo to cool off hot summer days? Will they not gross out when they eat bittermelon like me? Can they eat balut?

I know the thoughts I have above are just superficial thoughts. I wonder if those things about me, my Filipino-ness will be passed on. Not just my looks and quirks but facts and tidbits, bits and pieces of history and language, not only the stuff straight from the Philippines but something that is also mixed in, perspectives of a Filipina born and raised in this country. I worry enough about marrying a Filipino who would embrace this, not necessarily fully but enough to just say, "Yeah, they should know that too."

At times this word happends to be thrown around a lot, sometimes cliched. Like if someone is sad, they would say, "I’m depressed."

There is a slump of blues.

Then there’s real depression.

Each day is a new challenge for me. I try to tell myself to at least get up to look at my roommate Molly’s succulents that she has in the window in the living room. It was great having my three roomies talk and check in with me. They were worried about me being holed up in my room and just sleeping which was the agenda for the last few days. Sleep, go to the bathroom, maybe eat, pop a pill twice a day. Rinse and repeat.

At least I was able to eat more than just cinnamon toast. I got some fish that I got from my last trek in So Cal and heated it with a little salsa. Then a few episodes of "Sex and the City" and a nice long shower. Now that felt good.

In a way, I’m down to bare bones right now. Just trying to take each day bit by bit. Now I have the real issues I have to deal with, the ones I have been avoiding or putting away in the back burner. I honestly think that’s what makes it really hard to deal with life these days is just those big issues.

And maybe, just maybe, this might be the thing that makes me stronger. That I do not know.

It’s been almost a month since I’ve been really depressed. At first I thought it was something that I could kick within a few weeks. After a few weeks of not feeling all that great and just wanting to be alone and just sleeping a lot, I ended up going to my doctor to see what was wrong. She prescribed me Prozac. Just today, I filed a leave of absence from work.

I have been told that it takes awhile for anti depressants to kick in. Right now, things just seem so overwhelming and it has to be the holidays too. More than ever, I feel really sad and blue.

This illness is forcing me to take things day by day- literally. I cannot predict what I will feel like doing tommorrow. I’m not sure how much energy I might have. Sometimes, the only thing that I can rely on is a lot of prayers and hopefully some ray of hope. There are days where it’s there, days when it’s not.

Sometimes I wish I can reach out but I don’t want people to pity me nor feel sorry for me. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know I will get through this but for now, I really can’t see it. It seems like everything is colored grey.

Just send your good thoughts and prayers as I go through this.

You know how sometimes, despite having one of your bad days unfolding- incessant rain, the stress of work, and just not feeling all that great- there is something, a patch of blue, a bit of hope, a ray, a clue of why you live.

December 1st. World AIDS Day.

I’m not sure what the origins are of why December 1st is declared World AIDS Day. I wasn’t even aware of it until coming home from therapy tonight from the dreary rain and flipping the channels. I found myself parking my butt in front of the tube on a VH-1 special called, "Tracking the Monster" where actress Ashley Judd and singer India Aire go to Madagascar and Kenya respectively to learn more about the global AIDS epidemic. As I sat there and admire these women for their efforts in the fight against AIDS, I think about my own little dent in this somewhat big epidemic.

On my bulletin board are things things that I have posted that are very meaningful to me. I have a few favorite comic strips that joke about how talking about bicycle parts can be pretty boring and where the childhood game of playing house takes a new meaning (think political here). A few of my favorite buttons are posted here as well, still reminding me of my dream of being a public servant in either the California State Legislature or the US Congress aka the big leagues. I have my chain that has all my cyclist chips from all my rides. I have a ceramic plaque that Pop gave me to decorate my new home when I first moved to Washington, DC. I have two of my three numbers from the marathons I ran (my first one happens to be in an album). And I have a spattering of photos- mostly from the ride but one photo of me and Ma that shows that I am her daughter (I am smiling exactly the same way that she is).

As I write this entry, one photo sticks out. It is of me and two other friends at one of the rest stops on AIDS/ LifeCycle 2. I suddenly remember one of the days of that ride where I was sitting next to one of the guys in the photo. He asked me why I was riding and he was recording my thoughts into his little tape cassette. However, both of us didn’t know that what I was saying was being relayed to his friend via the walkie talkie set, the other person in the photo. His friend was in the bathroom and as I was telling this gentleman my reasons, (I was told later by his friend) that his friend began crying. As I poured out my story about me being a young Pinay so moved to do something about this epidemic to ride her bike to fight against an epidemic taking so many lives and is still shameful to her own community, this young man was so deeply moved that a complete stranger whose only connection was that she was of the same ethnicity as him would do this.

I look now at myself. Lately I haven’t been feeling all that great. I doubt and wonder a lot of myself and my shortcomings. I wonder could I be the same person so full of hope and promise and giggles going from long hair to pig tails to a short do peddaling a bike from her adopted home to the place of her humble beginnings.

The bike isn’t going away. Nor is the passion. Though there is still much debate whether I will ride or not, I still will train people. I will not stop talking about this ride nor this disease.

This ride has taught me many lessons that I could have never learned through higher education or even professional school which I have yet to enter. I have learned courage and loss. I have learned perserverance. I have learned laughter. I have learned to make a pie and used it to form friendships that I value so much. Many of these people I have met have become a family during a time when I felt so estranged from my own. It has given me the courage to branch into other things and to even go for my own dreams. I look at my friends, some negative, some positive ranging from a few years to an entire generation.

I pray for myself that this little ray of light, this insight of hope will remind me that I am not so small nor hopeless. Because, if I truly lost hope, I probably would not be as inspired as I was looking at the photo of three people, all of us affected by the pandemic in some way, shape or form, doing something to fight a disease bigger than themselves.

AIDS still rages on. Next year marks 25 years since the first reported case in the United States. In the span of 25 years, over 22 million have died. There is still no cure. If this disease was not around, we would be spared of losing the pain of loved ones and even for some of us, our healthy selves. Yet, this disease spurned us to action, to take a simple childhood toy of a bicycle and even the simple act of running and using it to action.

This entry I dedicate to my friends who still struggle with the battle against HIV and AIDS.

Lalaban tayo hangang may lunas.

So I have been in Southern Cal for about a few days now. It feels wierd to be back. Funny thing was that this morning I got up at the crack of dawn so that I can get the first pickings for produce at the Santa Monica Farmer’s Market. Literally people were ready, baskets and carts on hand, circling the vendors like vultures eyeing a prized carcas. Each of the vendors set up as fast as they could. Usually, the market doesn’t open until 8:30 am but being the day before Thanksgiving, the rule was once they were set up, you can go buy.

I ended up getting a nice mix of apples and a nice pumpkin for the pies. Got a variety of baby red, white and pink potatoes for the mashed potatoes. Colored carots and red lettuce for a simple salad. Onions- both white and green- for lumpiang shanghai. Walking around the market gave me a sense of what is grown down in So Cal. Unlike Northern Cali and parts of the Central Valley, the climate down south is constant like an incubator. I also got some citrus fruit from Vicky at Bernard Farms. She has always come up from her grove in Riverside to sell up at the Fairy Plaza and she was the one who told me about this market since this is one of her regular markets.

Alain happened to be in town. Since his sister lives in either Monrovia or Aracadia (one of those places), he could have stayed with her. But now the house is getting a little full with young children and Alain’s folks are coming down from San Jose, he managed to get a little hotel room in WeHo. We decided to get together and go for a 5 mile run from the Santa Monica Pier down to Marina Del Rey. It was a nice long jog. On the way back from Marina Del Rey, we decided to run about a good 1/4 of a mile on the sand which gave us quite a workout. We ended up going to lunch in WeHo.

I swear it took a lot longer to get back home than to get there to Santa Monica this morning. It took me a good two hours. The trip back took me 3 1/2 hours. I know that this time is the biggest traveling season of the year. But I was hearing a report from one of the local NPR stations talking about the booming growth in the Inland Empire. It makes me quite sad that the land I once knew is being gobbled up to bland subdivisions and streets of natural things that were once there. I’m not used to the traffic nor all these retail outlets blooming like mushrooms. It was before where we would go out of our comfort zones to find things like movies, attractions, cool places to hang out. Now it’s all there. I guess that’s why some of the people I know who are coming of age (becoming 18 or so) decide to stay home, not venture out. Someone who lived in the Inland Empire, a college sophomore at CSU Fullerton who grew up in Rialto, said that a lot of her friends never even ventured west of I-15.

I do admit there is some sense of pride that makes me unique that I am a true Inland Empire brat. Most people I know don’t even have roots here. They either sprouted from some other part of Southern California. I can be proud to say that I was born at the local hospital and went to schools in the area- public schools I might add. In a sense that I was unique amongst most of the Filipinos I went to college with who grew up in predominately Filipino neighborhoods in San Diego, Los Angeles, West Covina, Cerritos and even Daly City up in Northern Cali. Yet, I kind of have to distance myself from most Inland Empire folks in the sense that they aren’t really that sophisticated, even do-hickey in some matters. I can’t think of an concrete examples right now. But I do have to say that living in a red county where there is a predominance of right winged folks who embrace Christian (read evangelical Christian) values does prove a challenge. For one thing, I know I would get dirty looks for wearing my Planned Parenthod shirt that is a warning label for President Bush and how he is hazardous to women’s health.

So far,things have been a series of chutes and ladders, ups and downs. At times I know that it is really difficult for me to express to others my frustrations I have with things right now and wondering what to do next. All I can do is really plod one day at a time and not expect too much. And sometimes, you do find the support you need in the oddest of places.

Link: Your Blogs | Friendster Blogs.

Somehow, I have this line from an old Schoolhouse Rock song teaching kids about nouns stuck in my head. For those of you that are not products of the 70s, "Schoolhouse Rock" was a series of five minute cartoons teaching kids the basics about American History, English grammar, multiplication tables and science. This was during the breaks during Saturday morning cartoons on ABC.

OK, enough of the history lesson and things to get at Urban Outfitters (which these days, things that I treasure and remember about my childhood are suddenly categorized "retro". I have yet to see someone come up with Underoos for adults- you know, underwear in the form of your favorite superhero although I did see a cute boyshort and camisole set in the form of a Wonder Woman uniform in US Magazine a while back…).

As I’m slogging through law school applications and wondering where I will be in the next few years, part of me yearns to go back to the East Coast. I miss seasons. I miss the importance and strictness of time. I miss real bagels that are boiled then baked (note: Noah’s Bagles are NOT real New York Style bagels; I happened to get my bagel snobbery from one of my cycling pals born and raised in the Bronyx and he’s Jewish). Yet, I know if I head out East once again, I will find my longing for the West strong again. I remembered during my time in Washington, DC, I stayed up late at night to watch Laker games (a 10:30pm game time as opposed to 7:30pm game time when the Lakers were at home), people made fun of me because I preferred Jay Leno’s monologue as opposed to David Letterman’s, I bitched about the high price and low quality of produce although now I see myself searching for the nearest Farmer’s Market in whatever city I settle in and getting used to the seasonal calendar of fruits and veggies.

This time last year, I was itching to stay in the West Coast, to stay in California, even the Bay Area where I would pursue law school. Yes, it was because of a guy. Now the guy is pretty much all but gone and the call is stronger for me to go east and even part of me wants to leave this country that has been home for me for the last thirty or so years. It’s not that San Francisco is vexing me which at times it can but maybe like the seasons, it’s time for change.

In a previous entry, I said that Southern California happens to be the point of origin, ground zero for many things in my life. For some odd reason, I don’t myself attending law school in Southern California. Yes it is still California but for me, Southern Cali, as much as it is home, at times can be a foreign country. And people say that the Bay Area is its own republic. In a way it is. However, I see the later part of my life here in the Bay Area and even part of it in the East Coast or the Philippines. I’m not sure when those times and places will come.

Those places do have a sense of origin to me. After all, it was my parents that immigrated from the Philippines and the East Coast was my first time living in a major metropolitan city. So there is some sense of beginning and origin to things. And yes, the East Coast truly planted the seeds of my political roots and dreams.

I know that certain people in life will find So Cal still home. It is home to my nuclear and most of my extended family. It is home to my godbrothers, all who are making it in Hollywood in the land of television and entertainment. Hopefully they will stay in the game long enough where I can purge their Roledexes and shamelessly ask their entertainment executive friends to fund my campaign for some statewide office in California when that time comes. It is home to some of my friends, a small circle who are happy in to bask in the warm sunshine and beautiful people. To me, So Cal is a place to visit, a stop, the end point of a 7 day, 600 mile bike journey. The home of Vons and Ralph’s and Gelerts and Bakers burgers and real good citrus fruit.

An acquaintance who once worked for the Mayor’s office here in the City once joked to me that if I ended up working in City Hall, he would chuck my Dodger blue baseball cap for an orange and black Giants cap. Now if that were to happen, I swear, I will beat them to a pulp. Maybe that’s why I get along better with guys who did NOT grow up in the Bay Area and "immigrated" to San Francisco like I did. At least both of us can feel the pain and mockery of San Francisco Giants fans pelting us with batteries, beer and peanuts while we wear the hats of our hometown teams proud and strong. Of course I get the worst of it because the Giants and the Dodgers do have such a deep seeded rivalry, like Bruins and Trojan fans (UCLA and USC) and Cal and Stanford fans.

A noun is a person, place or thing.

Person- me, yo, ako

Place- house, casa, bahay

Thing- well, insert favorite thing here; I welcome items in English, Spanish and Tagalog

I will have to admit that my trip to LA thus far was not really what I expected. Ended up getting lost in trying to find my friend Liza’s place. Then I ended up getting a good bout of food poisoning the second day of the GABRIELA conference which pretty much knocked me out of the rest of the day and today. I ended up in the ER of UCLA Med Center and had a really asshole of an attending ER physician.

Part of me wants to totally bitch and gripe but I’m really thankful for Liza in being a lovely and understanding host and her girlfriend Kim for taking us home one night. At least I was in a place where I was able to take care of what I need to do.

This trip has made me realize how hard I am on myself to the point where I end up beating myself up. That is nothing really new but I just know it’s gotten to the point where it’s really destructive, where I can’t really progress. I’m slowly working on those things and even trying my best to be vulnerable and to open up.

My best friend Amy sent me this little thing on birthdays. I think it summarizes me accurately.

FEBRUARY:

Abstract thoughts. Loves reality and abstract. Intelligent and clever. Changing personality. Attractive. Sexy. Temperamental. Quiet, shy and humble. Honest and loyal. Determined to reach goals. Loves freedom. Rebellious when restricted. Loves aggressiveness. Too sensitive and easily hurt. Gets angry really easily but does not show it. Dislikes unnecessary things. Loves making friends but rarely shows it. Daring and stubborn. Ambitious. Realizing dreams and hopes. Sharp. Loves entertainment and leisure. Romantic on the inside not outside. Superstitious and ludicrous. Spendthrift. Tries to learn to show emotions.

I wonder at times can I show emotions to Ma and Pop and my brother Ed. Can I really open myself up to my ex and others who are close to me without fear of being judged?

In an earlier post, I said that Southern California and particularly LA is the start of beginnings. I had my first political internship in LA. I ran my first marathon in LA. I thought of doing my first AIDS ride when I was a student at UC Irvine. I worked on my first fledged political campaign in Southern California. My family is still in Southern Cal. I am proud to say that I am a Southern Cali native (I just don’t tell people that I’m an Inland Empire brat).

I think about this trip and perhaps this is the start of trying to be better towards me. Maybe a shot of really embracing who I am. Because I’m really sick of letting myself get to me.

I will admit that when I was a little kid, I always looked forward to trips to LA. Usually around the springtime, Ma and Pop would put me and Ed in the car and make the drive from San Bernardino to the Silver Lake district in Los Angeles. There they would meet with their accountant and deal with their income tax forms and other financial stuff and at the end of the day, stock up on Filipino groceries since at the time, San Bernardino didn’t have anything like that. I always looked forward to that part where the 5 and the 10 and the 110 and the 101 somehow weave together and you see the skyscrapers of downtown LA. It always facinated me as a child and it still does.

As much as I will bitch about Southern Cali and LA, there will always be some kind of magic that will make me smile. No matter where I go or live, you can’t get me to stop rooting for the Lakers or the Dodgers. I will always have a soft spot for Tommy Burgers and good Thai takeout and Versailles Cuban food. I will always know what a sig alert on the 5 means during traffic reports. I will always love to run along So Cal beaches in my running shoes.

I just know that this is not home anymore. At times I wonder what is home and where it is. I wonder at times if I am being really true to myself and who I really am. Sometimes I wonder if I am a faux Filipina (well she looks Pinay but hardly speaks a lick of Tagalog). OK, more accurrately, is too chicken to speak Tagalog for fear of people not wanting to hear her broken assed attempts of doing so. At times I wonder if I am the marathon runner or the cyclist that I am since I didn’t do either of those events this year. Could I ever be the law student or attorney that I want to be?

I know, I will stop bitching and griping. Anyways, this girl needs to eat.