A(musing)

Question

2011-06-02T09:21:00.000-07:00

How is it that I miss having something that I have never had? A permanent lack, compensated for by the fantasy for wholeness, never quite reaching that perfection that I will never know.

Is acceptance the answer? Or is the fantasy too beautiful, too encompassing, for me to let go of?

Childhood

2011-04-21T15:26:00.000-07:00

Part of therapy school means constantly analyzing my childhood- fun. This is an excerpt from a childhood autiobiography assignment that I'd like to share here:

In the fifth grade, I was in the Girl Scouts for less than a year. It was the first type of mainstream organization that I have been a part of. But our team was anything but serious participants in this highly esteemed institution. My friends and I were mostly interested in the perks associated with being a part of the Girl Scouts, aka, the free stuff. We went to Great America amusement park for free, we went to Raging Waters water park in the summer for free, and the prestigious Nutcracker ballet, for free. I don’t recall any life lessons learned, or any cookies being sold. We simply reaped the benefits of the Girl Scouts status, and had no shame about it (I guess someone’s mother did not have any shame about it either). I clearly remember the night we went to see the Nutcracker. My dad came along as a chaperone, to my dismay. My friends and I were giggling about being able to see the male dancer’s butt through his tights. We passed around my Dad’s pair of binoculars in order to see it more clearly. He, of course, had no idea why. At intermission, my friends ran to the concession stands. They weren’t buying anything, but they did want something- the sugar cubes. Each of us took at least 5 sugar cubes and returned to our chairs with them in a crumpled napkin. This doesn’t seem like a big deal, but my Dad took great offense with the crime. My parents did not allow me to eat excessive amounts of sugar in the form of candy or soda, much the less in the form of a cube. In front of my friends, he immediately chastised me and took the sugar cubes away from me. I was beyond mortified and resentful with my father. This is who he was, the one who restricts my ability to be silly, eat sugar, and do what all the other kids are doing. For the rest of the night, he would experience my anger though the most deadliest of punishments: the silent treatment.

high school

2011-04-06T00:16:00.000-07:00

I have a lot of respect, admiration, compassion and awe of high school girls...AND..
they FUCKING get on my nerves. I do not have any shame about that.

The texting beneath their desks, the unverbalized dismissal of me in the room, the demand that I read their minds, the refusal to express what it is they are wanting, for themselves or for anyone, the passivity of their presence. Answering questions about their feelings like it were a fill in the bubble state test. But I can't blame them. I do remember being a teenager, I know this is what they need to do right now in their lives, to exercise the little power that they have, in this "girls support group" that i run, the only place where I will not teach them or tell them what to do. In a place designed to provide support, empowerment and safety, I fear these girls do not know how to use it the way it is intended to be used.

At many points I truly hated them. Those who work with youth rarely admit this, but I don't mind being the minority voice. Some teachers like to be the funny one, some like to be strict yet kind, some are maternal goddesses. Me, I let myself be dragged into the depths of these teens' dark and cruel world with no blindfold, a place with no power or control. They ignored me, talked over me, told me I helped them with nothing, and filled the rest of the time with dead silence. It's almost hilarious, right?

I failed these girls horribly, and yet I'm still here, hoping one day to see them again, and show them that I survived.

Home

2011-04-03T22:58:00.000-07:00

There exists a real home - This is the place where we sleep at night, the people we come into regular contact with, the food we eat, the bars we frequent. It is the place where we were born, or the place where we are right now.

And there there is another home, the one inside our minds. The experience of being home, of belonging, acceptance, being held, and loved.

This is why it is possible that we can be at home but not feel like it is home. Instead of comforted we are stifled. The presence of others only serves to highlight our loneliness. And so we leave, to find another place to call home.

Sometimes, we are searching endlessly for home, only to realize that home does not exist. We think we know what home is, it's that place where if we close our eyes, we can imagine that somewhere out there, we belong. We are so sure that this home exists because we remember being there once before. Filling our minds with nostalgic wishes for a time when life was simple, easy, and so, so sweet.

Yet it is also a bittersweet memory, for this loved home can never be again, nor can it be refound elsewhere. Home is there, not here. Home is then, not now. I'm so sorry to tell you, that your home is gone. It's a terrible truth to admit, but only when we accept it, will we understand just what exactly a home means to us. This is a time when we appreciate what we did have. It wasn't much, but it was ours.

And after we grieve the past, we can look around us and see that we still have something that can be saved right now in the present. Restore the dying plant by giving it some water and trimming the dead leaves. Make a meal out of whatever leftover scraps we have in our kitchens. We, and only we, can create our own homes; nothing does not turn into something by itself. "We can only feel at home if we can internalize, identify with and transform what is alien or strange into something that feels to belong to us, to be our own" - Susanna Wright (2009)

Thoughts

2011-02-25T22:11:00.000-08:00

1. Prince is a god. His concert is a night I will remember forever.

2. Hands down, freezing cold is way worse than boiling hot. I'd rather that the earth collided into the sun rather than away.

3. Nevertheless, on the coldest day of the year I will biking to Fairfax at 8 am tomorrow morning. That is to say, I am actually going to sleep at 10 PM on a Friday night.

4. No matter what I'm doing, I'm always missing out on something. I must accept FOMO as a part of life.

5. It's not just about what happens up here in my head. The rest of the body is somehow important too.

dear past me

2011-01-27T00:54:00.000-08:00

Dear Past Me,

I am laughing at you right now. Don't worry- soon you will join me. Your mistakes make such great stories to tell at dinner parties.

I'm sorry your ego was damaged. But perhaps that means you can actually try living without it for a change -it only seemed to get in your way! Now, please just trust what I am about to say. You will become a good enough therapist and person, if you just accept that you are not perfect, and that's OK.

It does get better.

Love,

Future Me.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2010-11-24T23:44:00.000-08:00

Wednesday Addams is my hero.

No Should's

2010-11-21T08:51:00.000-08:00

I awoke to the peaceful sounds of rain gently hitting my windows. I had dreamt of eating delicious sweet treats and helping teenage girls write their college application essays. Now the sun is steadily peaking its way through the clouds; the contrast creates bright buildings with dark shadows. I walk to the window to take a fuller a picture and of course there's a rainbow in the scene. Happy fucking birthday to me.

I'm having a birthday party today. Sadly, birthday parties are seen as a day where I please and take care of everyone in my life at one time. Where worlds collide and crash into one another in an explosion of culture clash and awkwardness. There's a lot to be anxious about, but as my friend told me, let that go. People know how to mingle even if they have to fake it, and they all have something in common: me. So I think I'll just chill the fuck out and enjoy turning 27! This is, after all, supposed to mark my Saturn Returns where I figure everything out and become a wise adult.

Today and hopefully from now on, there are no "should's" telling me what to do. Replace that inner authoritarian with my own desires. I want. I want to mediate for thirty minutes after I complete this blog posting. I want to run to the store and buy groceries and supplies for the party today. I want to take a shower and dance to Lady Gaga. Desire is attainable today.

Fundraising Thoughts

2010-11-20T08:49:00.000-08:00

I'm converting my online presence this week into a widespread fundraising campaign for the AIDS Ride. I've bombarded my Facebook friends with fundraising status updates, so I might as well post on the old blog as well.

Please, please sponsor me! I need to raise $3,000 by next June. If 100 people gave me $30, I'd be there!

Alright, I made my ask. It never ceases to be difficult to be fundraising for myself - like doing homework, it's not something I necessarily want to do. It comes more from a spiritual place inside me, that knows that any act that is uncomfortable is good for the soul. Asking people to give you money, even if it's for a good cause, it always makes me feel...

1) Anxious. Do I know enough people that will help me raise the required $3,000 I need to ride? Answer: You probably do but if you don't, you can throw a bake sale, ask strangers, or sell your body.

2) Annoying. Will I annoy and drive away my friends by asking them too often? The friends who find you annoying for asking them to support you should not be your friends.

3) Old. Fundraising is for mature adults - how can that be me already? I have this vision of old wealthy liberals who list "fundraising" as one of their hobbies. The only parties they attend are fundraisers, and they rate their friends based on who gave them money. You have been a fundraiser since you were selling chocolate bars at age 10

4) And, oddly enough, Happy. The reason why Happy is problematic, is because it's hard to view myself as a happy person, much less to show that self to others. Parts of me want so much to keep me in a jaded, depressive, and nihilistic worldview. And I see the ways in which I willingly follow the path of apathy and sadness, where I'm most comfortable, like staying home on a rainy day. I feel like a traitor, somehow, when I actually allow let myself to feel happy, content, and hopeful for change. Your sad side is happy for you.

New Bicycle!

2010-11-14T23:28:00.001-08:00

Check it out: It's my latest purchase: A Specialized Dolce X3 2011
Yep, I have a monthly financing plan set up to pay it off. But it's mine to ride and protect with my life starting tomorrow! The ride to LA next June is totally happening and everything is lining up: I'm taking hardcore spinning classes at the gym, I have the week of June 5-11 off from the clinic, I just received my first donation which officially cements my commitment to ALC, and now I have a spiffy, shiny new roadbike that will be able to withstand hours of intense riding.

The first thing I said when I tested it? "It looks like a toothbrush." This received a strange look from the sales person. Here's what I mean:

Everytime I ride my bike (hmm, should it be named? gender neutral i'm thinking...), I will feel minty and fresh!

i'm kinda over it. when will everyone else be?

2010-11-06T22:29:00.001-07:00

the giants have won the world series. everyone, myself included and even my mom who would be the last person i would expect to be interested in sports, caught the giants fever. it's been festive and fun to sing "don't stop believing" in the middle of mission street among incessant car honking. it was reminiscent of the night obama won. people were cheering into the night, and i was high-fiving anyone i saw. it was undoubtedly a night of hometown solidarity, which i could not help joining in on. the enthusiasm and excitement, however, quickly faded, as i reflected on the absurdity of it all (oh reflection, what a buzzkill!). how does the giants winning the world series affect my life? who is benefitting from the millions of dollars being profited off of their franchise? who knows how much it cost to fund the security, permits, and clean up for the big parade, attended by more than 500,000. when i think about all the excuses the city makes to explain cuts to public education and social services, i'll remember that city hall just spent $4000 to turn itself orange.

while all this was happening, an election happened, and i'll be the first person to admit that i did not know who or what the hell to vote for. luckily other people do their homework and give me cheatsheets to copy from - i just had to make sure i had my answers matched up correctly! i just learned that chinese american grassroots social activist jean quan may be the first woman mayor of oakland, and the first asian american mayor of a major city. i just learned that prop l just passed in sf, which makes it illegal to sit or lie on a san francisco sidewalk. in otherwords, being homeless is now a crime.

steve li, a 20 year old at city college studying to be a doctor, was arrested and is currently being incarcerated for having an expired visa. our country is kicking him out, forcing him to leave his entire life behind and deporting him to a country where he has no friends and family.

then the johannes mehserle verdict came out yesterday- i cannot believe that he was sentenced a measly 2 years! Another white cop practically gets away with murdering a black young man. he didn't even have the twinky defense. just the defense of capitalist patriarchal white supremacy.

i'm glad the giants won, but i'm relieved that the orgasm of their win is finally over and done with so that we can move on with our lives. there are more important issues to care about and to cheer about.

Las Vegas!

2010-06-09T23:55:00.000-07:00

I'm going to Las Vegas tomorrow! It's my first time ever to what I understand is an Adult Disneyland. Sounds great to me.

The main reason why I'm excited for my trip is because I'm just dying to get out of SF. Anywhere but here.

But I'm also looking forward to the so-called sin city; a place of indulgence, superficiality, a chance at a stroke of luck, and plenty of false promises. The sex, the glamour, the cigarette butts. All of it. Las Vegas, give me your best and worst!

At this moment, midnight, it's 85 fucking degrees in Las Vegas. Do you know how foreign that is to me right now? I'm not packing a single sock or closed toe shoe. Just one hoodie for the AC. I already feel the warm breeze and sweat trickling down my back.

2010-05-09T23:29:00.000-07:00

Jerk Chicken Fried Rice

A very naive person might walk into a Japanese restaurant and assume that most of the staff and cooks are Japanese.

But if you look and hear carefully, you'll notice that the wait staff and owners are actually Chinese. Then, often times you'll need to go to the bathroom and walk through the kitchen to get to it, and lo and behold, the chefs are busboys are Mexican. So there you have it: Japanese food served to you by the Chinese, and made by Mexicans.

I've noticed that people get kinda weirded out if a Mexican is cooking another ethnicity's food, usually because they have to mention it, like my Dad did tonight, which sparked this blog posting. They automatically think the food is inauthentic and just plain wrong. Even if right before they didn't think twice about their eating experience in a room that was decorated with all the right decor. Once you realize your food is made by Mexicans, it slightly unravels the fantasy of a meal that is representative of the food of a single, static culture bounded by ancient traditions passed down the generations.

Welcome to the post colonial world. Authenticity was disrupted long before Mexicans started cooking Asian food. Chinese immigrants are always adapting their recipes to fit the palate of whatever population they're serving. That's why if you go to a super white town with no Asian people, you'll think authentic Chinese food is just super sweet, grease filled chicken nuggets that's named after General Tso for some reason. It's completely disgusting (actually I kinda like it..), but the white people love it, and pay for it, and thus we have General Tso's Chicken on pretty much every Chinese food menu in the the US. Go to any other country, and the Chinese food will taste significantly different.

I have had Chinese-made Mexican food before. It's kinda strange, awkward, yet after a few bites and resolving that this is a new experience rather than trying to imagine a super burrito from Pancho Villa, it becomes something unique, innovative, and tasty in its own right. How come when people of color make food of a different ethnic background, it's called inauthentic, and when white people do it's called "FUSION"?

I especially enjoy the post colonial mashups made by such courageous innovators, like the famous Vietnamese sandwich which is now as common as a hamburger. Or the classic, California Roll. And my favorite: jerk chicken fried rice, which I ate at my first Chinese Carribean restaurant in Florida.

I think the only authentic food is that to which we can say, "Ah this is just how my grandma made it". But if you can't say that, then you just don't know what it is your looking for.

Here's what I'm thinking of lately

2010-04-30T01:00:00.001-07:00

The #1 Reason why I'm not going to become a "doctorate" of anything: Writing perfectly sucks. I'm writing my research paper and it's killing me to check my grammar, my sources, and my attempt at using "professional language" of a distinguished grad school student. i just hate being so controlled in the way i express my thoughts...I hate that I'm not as famous as Foucault or Judith Butler to be inventing my own academic words. I hate that in my head it all makes sense, and on paper it's a chaotic mess of ideas, words, arguments and questions swirling around destroying everything in sight. Will someone else please come and translate my brain for the rest of the world? Thanks.

My mother and I had tea today. My mom is, without a doubt, the happiest person I currently know. Why is she so happy? 2 things: Dancing and Buddhism. Those two things are the key to happiness. It makes a lot of sense to me. Anyway, I don't know why we got onto this topic, but she started talking to me about plans for her eventual retirement and move to a senior home.

Me: Isn't it a little early to be thinking about this?
Her: No way! The I-Hotel has a 10 year waiting list!

This turned into a conversation about her inevitable death. My mom is concerned about practical matters, such as purchasing burial plots early, and having a Buddhist funeral. She would plan it all out ahead of time, because "Your Dad would have no idea what to do!" She's right. I agree with my mom that no one would know what she would want for her funeral, so if she has an idea that it would be great if she shared that information with the ones who would have the honor of performing this holy task. She's heard of green burials, where machines can decompose your body in mere hours so that it can return to oneness with the earth, without hurting it. She said that sounds like a good idea. I'm just nodding my head while emotionally dissociating.

Only my mother would make dying sound so nice.

I deserve to be here

2010-04-03T10:57:00.000-07:00

I had a really nice time volunteering at Glide Church yesterday, serving lunch to homeless people in the TL. My job in the assembly line was to place a fork and napkin on the tray before went off to be filled up with a bun, fish fillet, tarter sauce, wilted lettuce and an orange. Simple repetitive activity is meditative as I let go of my mind and just feel my body perform its one little function in the whole machine. I watch the full tray come out at the other end and then served to the next person who walks into the cafeteria. I follow orders from the domineering kitchen staff who run this show 3 meals a day, every single day of the year.

After my shift at Glide ended, my mom and I took BART to Oakland, ate dinner and then walked 10 blocks in pouring rain to see Alice Walker talk. Alice is absolutely lovely. She sits in a chair holding a ceramic flower that someone in the audience gave her in front of a sold out auditorium of people. She reads a beautiful poem-tribute to Michael Jackson, aka "St. Michael" who taught us to love the children and animals. When asked how she stands up for herself and all people without a voice in the world, she just says "I deserve to be here." It's that simple for her. It's like, Of course I deserve to be here. Obviously, since I'm here; what are you going to do about it? She says she admires most Aung San Suu Kyi, the prime minister of Burma who has been forced into house arrest for nearly 20 years, who told her military persecutors, " I refuse to leave and I refuse to hate you"

I enjoyed spending the evening with my mom, which I rarely make the time to do. At one point in everyone had to look into each other's eyes for 10 minutes, and of course my mom and I couldn't stop laughing. That's when I realized that my mom is truly the most similar person to me in spirit than anyone I'll ever know.

Showing off my scrabble tile earrings

2010-04-01T10:37:00.000-07:00

These are the coolest earrings ever. That's exactly who I am, essentially: a scrabble tile. If you know one concrete thing about me, it's that I love playing scrabble. It's the only arena where I feel actually good at something - where I can be cocky and sadistically kick someone's ass through the act of arranging letters and receiving points for them. The aggression in me all comes out on the scrabble board. Hey it has to come out somewhere.

I got these as a present so I wasn't able to pick the letters. I mean, I know my name starts with an N but my favorite scrabble letter is the one with the most points- either the 10 point scoring Q or the Z!

This is kind of a silly post. I just wanted to show off my awesome earrings.

Speaking out my sexuality...

2010-03-24T23:26:00.000-07:00

Today I had my first LGBTQ speakers gig today. This is a program formerly run by CUAV that trains volunteers to be speakers at schools, workplaces, and community centers to talk about their experience being a member of the LGBTQ community (god how i love all-encompassing acronyms). I trained for it a while back but it was right before I got a full time job so I was never able to do a gig until now!

The audience today was a school bus full of about 75 kids from a Jewish private school in Houston Texas. Their teachers took them on a springbreak fieldtrip to San Francisco- how awesome is that? They are travelling around SF learning about "social justice" and the LGBTC Center was one of their stops.

Me and two gay dudes sat in chairs on a stage looking down at the rows of kids. After giving a 5 minute bio, we opened it up for questions. It was like a press conference on queers!

This is the first time I've ever spoke openly to so many people at once about being queer identified. For the first time I got to speak truthfully about my sexuality in the form of a personal narrative rather than a restrictive one-word label. I got to explain how I believe sexuality and gender are fluid concepts, and my preferences can vary based on how I'm feeling at any given moment, and who happens to catch my eye. I call myself queer because queer simply means different. I'd rather be defined by what I'm not rather than what I am. Basically, I am NOT straight. I'll date and fuck whoever I want rather than be dictated by a label. This state of constant flux in my sexuality is sometimes confusing, but mostly liberating. "Questioning" isn't just a final phase before coming out, but rather it's an end in itself. I carefully explained this orientation to the kids, and I think they got it. I felt good about that.

OK, off to watch "Out of this World", the best 90's sitcom ever, with my roommate. Memories of coming home from school, eating an afternoon snack of cup of noodles, watching this followed by Saved by the Bell...pretty much on a daily basis.

The truth is...

2010-03-23T00:22:00.000-07:00

As I engage in the learning process at school, my mind has digested multiple ways of seeing the world. All each pointing to the same thing - truth- from a different angle. The thing that I'm grappling with now, is the very fact that the ways of seeing the world are infinite. my mind expands and expands to make room for everything, yet in the end I feel not full, but empty...of meaning. Because what is meaning, if meaning is infinite? How can I define myself- my values, core beliefs, if I know that I am constantly changing? It is within this paradox that existence is made.

Thus, with much hesitation, I realize that in order to exist I must purposely categorize my consciousness into what it is and what it is not, until I sort of tear out a shape; a shape that's constantly changing but shape nonetheless.

It's like rounding the number Pi to 3.14, such a superficial generalization that we must accept in order to make it useful. Life must be restricted in order to be useful, and then gradually expanded to be closer to the truth. I can round myself off to the farthest decimal I can reach, but the number will, eventually, need to be cut off. To live as a rounded off number in order to approximate the purpose of my life can be...frustrating. And wow, I love math allegories.

Back to my original train of thought - the fact that I'm filling my brain with idea after idea and knowing that eventually I'll need to restrict myself conceptually and align with a certain theoretical framework in order to be an effective therapist - a therapist that somehow knows what they're doing. Selecting a mode of practice gives me profound anxiety - the existential, "what is purpose of therapy" kind. Choosing what kind of therapist, let alone person I am, feels so contrived. Even the "I'm a human being" therapists are not safe from bias and inauthenticity, because what the hell is the definition of a human being? Right now, I just don't know. That's the danger of knowledge - the more we know, the more we render ourselves to the infinite, the shapeless, and the purposelessness of it all.

Which is why we have spirituality, my refuge. My faith embraces the unknown with love and compassion. Questions become the answers. Truth is unattainable; it will always be unknown. It's the greatest joy and the greatest suffering.

On loneliness

2010-03-15T16:45:00.000-07:00

I've decided to write my psychodynamic research paper on the origin of loneliness. Loneliness is my favorite topic (in case you can't tell). I think it's the key to basically everything that is unique about the human experience. Loneliness is a paradox- it is the painful knowledge that we are both together and alone at the same time. While I think loneliness is a natural and innate feature of our lives, I've felt self conscious about sharing it with others because I get the response, "That's so depressing" with the perceived sub-message being, "YOU are depressed and I pity you." But what I'm trying to do is acknowledge our suffering from loneliness as simply a fact of life. This acceptance brings me much joy and inner peace. It's the very opposite of depressing. In fact, I may explore the value of loneliness in my paper in order to counteract the stigma around it. Yes!

I'm breaking through the shame of loneliness. I will forever be trapped in my own subjectivity that no one else can enter. I'm responsible for my life because I'm the only person in it. I don't even understand people who claim they don't get lonely. The only way I can wrap my brain around that is to decide that these people are so lonely that they can't tolerate knowing how lonely they are. Isn't it better and healing, just to accept it and move on with life?

Conscious dreaming

2010-01-26T16:45:00.000-08:00

I've started a dream journal. Basically the plan is write in every morning, as soon as I wake up. I hope to cultivate more attention to my dream states, and have more awareness of my unconscious experiences.

Last night, I happened to wake up 3 different times. Each time, I wrote down the dream I was having. I captured visual details, people, and feelings, knowing that these were experiences that I would normally forget in 5 minutes if I hadn't written them down. Throughout the day I have had vivid recollections of those dreams. I'm looking forward to collecting more and more memories. It's like filling in the missing pieces of my life. I wonder if eventually I will start to lucid dream (being aware that I'm dreaming within my dream), and my real and dream lives will start to merge into one.

The Farmer and the Snake

2010-01-21T12:33:00.000-08:00

I read this story in Alice Walker's book "Now is the Time to Open Your Heart." An old black lady in the south tells it to a group of civil rights activists in the 60's. They are idealists who want to end racism through nonviolent action. She tells this cautionary tale to explain that it was more complicated than that.

It's an aesop fable:

One winter a Farmer found a Snake stiff and frozen with cold. He had compassion on it, and taking it up, placed it in his bosom. The Snake was quickly revived by the warmth, and resuming its natural instincts, bit its benefactor, inflicting on him a mortal wound. "Oh," cried the Farmer with his last breath, "I am rightly served for pitying a scoundrel."

According to Aesop, where all of his fables have m orals, the moral is: The greatest kindness will not bind the ungrateful. Yet in the book Alice Walker leaves it ambiguous. I think the activists just stare at the old lady and say something like, "what does this mean? We shouldn't work with white people? Is our struggle a futile one? " and she just shrugs and laughs.

I liked this story - but I have a different take on it. OK, I accept that the snake's only true nature is a violent one (which i don't really believe but...) and it would definitely kill me. But, what if the snake and I were the only creatures left on earth? And then the snake froze, and I had found no reason to live because I was so utterly alone. I'd warm him up. And then he'd kill me, putting me out of my misery. And the poor snake would be the one, suffering alone until he froze again.

Basically I'd rather die than be alone. That's how I see it.

Freud the revolutionary

2010-01-20T11:10:00.000-08:00

Freud's Free Clinics: Psychoanalysis & Social Justice, 1918-1938 by Elizabeth Ann Danto

Freud believed in psychoanalysis for the masses.Before the phenomena of $200/per session psychotherapy that we now see as normal, Freud and his friends were opening free clinics in Germany, declaring that free mental health care was a human right and social obligation!

An eye-opening look at a part of Freud's legacy that has been largely forgotten or overlooked by the therapist industry.

EDIT: Ahh! This the most boring 200 pages I've ever read! Painful, rambling paragraphs that go on and on and on about this person, that person, this date, that date. It's just sad that such a well-intentioned book can lose it's passion through dense writing. To me it defeats the purpose.

Art Manifesto

2010-01-20T01:47:00.001-08:00

I took my collages to the gallery yesterday to submit to this "women of color" art show. As I hesitantly took them one by one out of a paper grocery bag, I felt like I was unveiling raw chunks of my heart instead of 4X6 frames bought from Goodwill. The owner peered at them over her glasses, looked at me skeptically and just said, "Are you an Artist?"

No, I am not an artist. I like to make art. But I am not an artist. And I don't want to be an artist.

All artists are people. And I am a person. I am a person who likes to make art. I don't intend to use art to get rich, famous, or love. I don't intend to use art to make myself important, smart, special in any way. All of life is art, and automatically legitimate in any form that it's in.

Let this be a manifesto to lay the groundwork for a new vision, that celebrates art in the context that it was made from; not hanging in the wall of a sterile gallery, or in some rich person's collection. Let us make art not for art's sake, but for the spirit's sake. Let art not be priceless, but free for all.

This bizarre submission experience made me realize I am not an artist. And I'm totally fine with that. Finally.

My rant about Benjamin Button

2010-01-18T01:37:00.000-08:00

that's brad pitt

The curious case of benjamin button was the most ridiculous piece of hollywood nonsense that i've seen in a long time. i wish i could go back in time and take the money used to produce it, and donate it to the Hurricane Katrina relief fund. thank god i didn't pay to see this.

the film is so desperate for an Oscar that it attempts to utilize every hollywood device known to human - most notably it takes after the Forrest Gump formula: a 3 hour epic that covers the lifespan of an interesting man with "developmental challenges" (that's the best way i can describe the condition of aging backwards), set in the South, with a strong, nurturing mama (although in this case, he was raised by a black mammy caretaker figure, which is even more vomit-inducing hollywood). Ben Button impacts the lives of many different folks on his journey from old man-baby to deranged baby-man. There's even a ship captain friend who is basically Lieutenant Dan with legs. But unlike lovable Forrest, Benjamin Button isn't even an interesting person, there's not a single thing curious about him. His strange condition seems to have no special effect on his character, except to ruin his love life.

When he gets to mid-life in like the second third of the movie, he finally gets to have a normal life. in his hey day, he's sexy Brad Pitt having a ton of hot sex on the beach. But that can only last so long. "Nothing lasts" is the basic moral of this heavy handed movie that's trying to be so much more deep than it really is.

After running away from the family he knows he won't be able to grow old with, Benjamin embarks on a motorcycle diaries, jack kerouac soul-searching cliche. Cue a 5 minute montage sequence of Brad Pitt, getting his hands dirty with brown people in India (and adopting their babies...?), climbing the Himalayas, mopping floors in NYC, and finally, homeless. It was the most amazing, hilarious montage. It was probably the highlight of the whole movie!

Meanwhile, in the present time, an old and dying cate blanchett is recounting Benjamin's story to her daughter as Hurricane Katrina whirls around them. You can hardly make out what she's saying and her daughter is irritated that she had to sit through this 3 hour longwinded story just to find out who her real father is. That makes two of us.

Before I dismiss the film completely, I have to admit that the scene of Benjamin Button as a dying baby being cradled in his old lover's arms profoundly moved me. Not exactly sure what the meaning of this image is, but it was powerful enough to leave me with a really creepy feeling afterward.

Untitled

2010-01-08T00:56:00.001-08:00

I'm entering this art show with some collages that i've made.

After writing a 1 page artists statement triggered my existential crisis, I realized that I hadn't titled my pieces. I spent over an hour with my neighbor Rob trying to think of them. I wanted to be simple and call the picture of Frida Kahlo "Frida" and the picture of an upside down Owl "Upside down Owl"...you get the picture. Rob didn't like that at all. We argued. What happened at the end? "Untitled" for all of them. Of course. Meanwhile, Rob's giving me the evil eye. The one that looks sideways at me and says, "seriously?"

"Untitled"

Checking my 2009 Goals

2009-12-22T23:53:00.000-08:00

I'm revisiting my New Year's Resolutions for 2009 early enough so that I can get the ones I didn't accomplish done in... 9 days!

2009 Goals:
-Go on a silent meditation retreat - CHECK!
-Consistency: journaling not really, it's still the same, blogging same, meditating a little bit better, art-making collage is my medium, exercising on a regular basis there was that month where I ran everyday.... Routines are helpful, not boring.
-Start really saving my money for grad school Nope.
-Keep a clean room Nope
-Keep an organized, simplified life Ok so I just bought a filing system last week and it WILL change my life so does that count?
-Write letters to friends far away One friend in Denver, one letter.
-Get into grad schoool! AN EMPHATIC CHECK!!!!!
-Wake up at the alarm, eat breakfast in the morning, get to work on time Well I solved this problem by getting laid off at my job.
-I think it's time for a new bicycle! No...instead I'm running my old one into the ground because I hella stepped up my bike riding this year...
-Travel somewhere out of the country ANOTHER EMPHATIC CHECK!!!!!
-Build up the courage to ask people out on dates nope. try again next year.
-Knit a sweater no, only more socks
-Learn how to be a good arguer. Since starting therapy school, I've decided that arguments aren't useful. Only intense discussions. I'm pretty good at that.

This year I am thankful for...

2009-11-26T11:19:00.001-08:00

In no particular order:

Michael Jackson. Long Live the King of Pop! I just saw the film and it was a beautiful tribute. Simply showing footage of his last moments, getting ready for the tour he was about to go on. For everyone involved in the concert, being able to work with MJ was the highlight of their lives. He was a gift to the world. He loved us, we loved him. Thank you MJ.

My friends and family. Thanks for teaching me all about love, beauty, and laughter

Unemployment Checks. Thanks, state of CA, for paying my rent. Thanks for letting me focus only on school this year. May the recession continue to push our government towards a socialist system, rather than raising public school tuition and cutting services for the people that need them.

Thich Nhat Hanh. He's a visionary because he practices what he preaches: living in the present moment and enjoying each second of it.

The ocean. And all the creatures that live in it. Especially jellyfish, they are beautiful creatures.

Myself. For being alive and healthy.

Push

2009-11-24T01:01:00.001-08:00

I read the book before the film- it's very important to read the original novel in its pure form before tainting your perception of the story through the lens of say, Mariah Carey. I read it on the bus, was thinking about it during work, came home, read it until the end- i haven't read a book in a day in quite some time. precious' story is heartbreaking. no one should have to go through what she does. and what's amazing is that people do - that much and so much more, and somehow make it through.

It's time to open our eyes to the truth. put simply, we still live in slave times. fuck, we talk about life being a struggle and i've been known to bitch and whine from time to time. sure, i hate waiting for unemployment checks, but i love that i had a childhood. and that i don't have any other mouths to feed. and oh yeah, i can read, thank god i can read.

my heart can break into a million pieces sometimes, but i don't know struggle. not like Precious, not like my grandparents when they immigrated here. 3 kids, round the clock working at restaurants and sweatshops. with the hope for survival - not their's, but mine.

Studying my addiction to the internet

2009-11-18T11:17:00.000-08:00

For a paper for my addictions class I've chosen to examine my addiction to the internet. While writing a different paper at a cafe, I've noted the times of each time I take a break from paper writing and go online. Here's my log thus far:

9:43 am - updated status and closed facebook. Quit.
9:58 am - checked facebook because someone had commented on something i said. Also checked email. No email. Quit.
10:04 AM - checked facebook. 2 more updates. quit.
10:19 AM- checked facebook again. 2 more updates.quit.
10:42 - checked facebook again. no updates. quit.
10:49 - checked facebook and email until 10:52. quit.
10:59 - checked facebook and email again. quit.
11:10 am- checked facebook and got an update- someone made a move on scrabble. opened scrabble to play move. Decide to keep window open.
11:15 am- clicked on window. peruse facebook newsfeeds. quit.
11:16 am- opened again. updated blog about how amused I am about my facebook addiction. quit at 11:20 am

today i'm just noticing my behavior. tomorrow i'll take a full 24 hour cold turkey fast from the internet.

And I'm back

2009-11-17T00:47:00.000-08:00

Here's what I wrote in my journal when I returned from the retreat yesterday. 24 hours later, I'm already trying to remember. Raw and unpolished, they are my first expressions of thought in 6 days.

It's been 6 days. I've been at Spirit Rock Meditation Center, practicing mindfulness and loving compassion all day, everyday. Waking up at 6:30 to rise with the sun. Taking walks under clear starry nights in lush grassy hills, walking to the rhythm of sound of water droplets that are slowly dripping from a drain. Sharing the path with wild turkeys and deers and birds and other creatures. Listening to my breath, and sometimes, my heartbeat. Eating fresh cooked food that's loving made and served to us. Guided by an amazing combination of 3 wise, queer, loving spiritual teachers, each bringing their own distinct expression of the dharma. Like Larry says, we make the practice our own. That's what we have to do.

I've learned so much. Quite simply, I learned how to exist, peacefully, at ease. Doing no harm to myself, to any living being. How to love. Really and truly and deeply love. Love is the absence of ill-will. Love is the natural state of being. To love is to exist without suffering.

I learned about presence. Now. How precious and rare and new each moment is. LIke now, and now. And now, renewing itself with each inhalation of my breath. I learned that I already know all of this, but when we don't practice, we forget. When I do remember, the safe refuge of my heart is there for me. It's always been there.

I learned about karma. It's not just a superstition like I have previously seen it, "what goes around comes around." It's about the grooves we make in our mind - the individual and collective mind - how every action, every intention has an effect on ourselves, on the world. I learned how to to stop one groove and start another. But how much courage it takes, to climb out of a deep canyon, and with a small butter knife start to scratch the surface of a ground...(this is a metaphor that I can explain later) Watering seeds of worry results in worry. We make choices of what trees will grow in the forest of our minds. I guess it's like "the secret" but that's why I hate that name. It's not a secret, it's common sense.

I learned about being gentle. Loving acceptance of my shortcomings, failures, negative behaviors and feelings. Rather than rejecting them I turn completely towards the pain and say, "I'm here for you." I hold myself in that tender open space of my heart.

I learned patience - a lesson that never ends. Being happy in my place. The willingness to sit with unpleasant thoughts. Yes, even in such a beautiful and serene landscape, I found myself impatient for the sit to be over, unpatient for mealtime to arrive, unpatient while walking. But ultimately, that unpatience didn't last long. I always returned to the present moment, the state where I want to be in the first place.

I just have so much appreciation right now. I came home to an empty, slightly messy house, an IRS letter charging me for taxes I owe, a letter from unemployment stating that I was denied my check, a months work of grad school homework, and a cavity in my back molar. And it's alright. I'll take care of those things. I choose to know that everything will work itself out.

I feel awake, reeling from the momentum of mindfulness. I want to carefully tread these next few days, continuing my practice both in meditation and also just being mindful in my everyday life. A good thing has begun. A seed has sprouted, and now must be nurtured and grown and soon, if I'm patient, it will blossom.

Things to Remember:
God is my co-pilot. Until the plane crashed and I had to eat him.
All is Love.
All that matters is now.
Replace clinging with gratitude
The mind does not grasp desire, desire grasps the mind
What if I died tomorrow.

Silence starts tomorrow

2009-11-08T23:56:00.000-08:00

Later today I'm letting my inner woo woo come out in full gear; I'm heading to Spirit Rock Meditation Center tomorrow for a 6 day silent meditation retreat. There's a little bit of unease around telling people I'm going on a meditation retreat. It instantly conjures up a corny TV image in my head, of rich white people in robes, smiling at each other, reveling over their comfortable, privileged lives. This is the world we live in, when going out in nature to sit in silence is considered a luxury.

But, my judgments aside, I know I need this time for myself, to listen to the pulse of life within myself without distraction, and to refocus and train my mind to be more aware, more present, more open. I'll be getting good rest, eating good food, just like my body should be treated on a regular basis. Observe my thoughts come and go, reflect on everything that my mind is made of. Wait why am I creating expectations already? Whatever it ends up being, that's what it will be.

I randomly saw my cousin Chris at a bar tonight; or rather, he randomly saw me at his bar, since he has been going to this same bar for like 10 years or something. Cousin chris is a funny, talented and smart relative who somehow won blacksheep status in the family - i think it was that he dropped out of college, a huge no no. (But I think my gayness would beat that, if I came out about it that is) Anyway it's always a little awkward running into Chris. He's in his 40's, I'm in my 20's. We roll in entirely diferent scenes in san francisco- he can be found drinking alone in mission dive bars, me in gay dance clubs. But I just happened to go to his local bar toight after seeing a friend's performance nearby, and we had a fine conversation. I think I felt close to him simply because we have the same last name. I suppose this is how it feels to have a sibling? Later Chris gave me an "early christmas gift"- a fake tattoo of a piercing sword. I appreciated the random little gesture, when I looked closely and realized that the image beared remarkable symbolic resemblance to my tattoo, the piercing arrow! I just thought that was a really nice connection between two strangers who share little else than blood. it feels like he gets me, and i like that.

Happy Halloween

2009-11-01T19:14:00.000-08:00

My Inspiration: Dexter's victims

I forgot to add that someone at the halloween party I went to for all of half an hour asked me if I was a Japanese Zombie.

Collaging goes 3D

2009-10-25T17:25:00.001-07:00

Here's a latest collage creation that I made in a class at SOMARTS yesterday :

thoughts about health insurance

2009-10-17T17:21:00.001-07:00

My mom thinks about money too little.
My dad thinks about money too much.
They both hate it. They would prefer to live in a socialist society where money wasn't scarce and everybody had enough of everything.

Yet they both care greatly about security and survival, like most human beings. last time i saw my Mom she told me, "you must buy health insurance. we don't want to lose our house." ah, yes. realization settles in that my lack of health insurance affects my parents too. i'm a grown up by all standards and definitions, but they nevertheless still own me. My dad's left a couple messages on my cell about needing to "talk."

So, this is why I'm a bit reluctant to buy into the health insurance thing. I never went to the hospital once this year when i DID have benefits - not once. i'm grateful, to be so lucky, healthy, alive. possibly one day, i won't be. currently insurance-less, i guess i've just been riding on that luck.

LUCK. no one trusts it. that's why it is in my best interest to buy insurance. we never want to see the worst case scenario happen. all the what if's, and there are so many. i don't want to be throwing future fundraisers to pay my outrageously high medical bills, and certainly i don't want my parents to remortgage their house. that would be quite selfish of me.

ok worst worst scenario: what if i died. then my parents would be grieving AND still have debts to pay, not to mention that as they age, they will be burdened with their own healthcare costs.

that's a painful enough thought. i should just get health insurance for some peace of mind. maybe look into "healthy san francisco" program or kaiser's cheapest rate that barely covers anything.

i suppose life's not supposed to be a gambling game, though i wish it was sometimes. just a series of wins and losses.

Hi.

2009-10-12T20:14:00.001-07:00

It's been a while since I last posted. I got my desk over a month ago, and sad to say, I actually prefer to do my homework in either the living room (because it's near the food) or a coffee shop. School weekend number 2 has passed, and next month will be midterms already.

Life has gotten quite simple. I don't have a job, I don't have a relationship. Summer is over. This is a time for quiet self reflection. I get up at a decent hour, I run - yup, been running about a mile and a half every day, then sit myself at a cafe and study/fuck around online till the evening, go home, cook and eat something, watch an episode of my current addiction Dexter, go to sleep at a decent hour. This routine is for the most part happily mundane and somewhat productive.

In these solitary activities, I'm finding myself with too much time to think about..myself. Lost in a familiar world where I've spent lots of time in but never quite know where I am: my head. I'm reading about psychology while simultaneously analyzing myself through my amateur therapy student lens. Lately I've been trying to recall memories of my childhood from scattered, disordered flashbacks that made it into the permanent collection. I search for truth, so I can "figure myself out," as if my memory was objective. But now I'm learning that emotions are what construct memory; that several distinct emotionally charged, unforgettable events all together form my autobiographical narrative. I am only how I feel I am. But wait, feelings are impermanent. At any given time, I could be anyone. Stories about who I am, then, are just stories, and not the objective truth that I seek. And I I tell stories all the time. Romantic stories, tragic stories, disturbing and glamorous stories. About the hero, the victim, the only child, the misunderstood, the unloved, the main character, and the extra.

To be all of these wonderful characters at once is the greatest joy of all. There's so many more stories to tell.

I'm sitting at my desk...

2009-09-07T22:41:00.000-07:00

To inaugurate my official status as a graduate student, my parents gave me this extremely cute vintage desk where I can write all of my papers and read in the comfy chair next to it. This is the life of a student, a room with a desk. It was here where I completed my first paper - a measly 2 page paper that I spent wayyyy too many hours obsessing over. I think I have unresolved trauma from writing papers when I was at Wesleyan where I'd get so stressed out because I waited till midnight to start the 10 pager, getting bottles and bottles of vitamin water and redbull and sitting in a fluorescent lit computer lab till the break of dawn. I got so stressed that the skin on my hands started to peel off and crazy sores appeared on my lips and tongue. That's what college was.

CIIS isn't like Wesleyan. In fact, I don't think any kind of education can match what I just went through, which was 7 9-hour days of psychotherapy training with 24 other classmates in my cohort, which all took place at the Best Western hotel in Pacifica! And it was an amazing, intense, and beautiful and incredibly gratifying experience. I like the cohort- we're a truly diverse bunch of committed, compassionate people. There's not a single person where I suspect that counseling probably shouldn't be their career path. And how smart to make us experience 7 days of group therapy together, to immediately immerse us in self exploration and genuine connections with one another. I can't believe that after 7 days of honesty, how close I feel to each and every one of them. And while I was there I spontaneously took my lip piercing out. Don't know how that connects, but somehow it does.

My week in pacifica opened me up in amazing, scary ways. I was thrown into the deep end where intense processing took the place of "normal" social interactions. Everyday I would tell someone in my cohort, "I'm not used to this. I'm not used to being so open vulnerable in a group of people. I don't know how to trust people completely." I came home feeling rather raw as I reentered the world and had to relearn the social norms again. Extremely sensitive to people, I've been holing up a bit and reorganizing my room to be conducive to solid alone time to sit and reflect. Amazing what some slight adjustments, bedmaking, and sweeping can do for the psyche. It's so important to feel comfortable in my room.

So crazy to think that tomorrow I'll wake up without having to go to work in the morning. And the day after that and the day after that for 7 days per week. My days will consist of some coffee and reading at a nearby cafe, maybe squeeze in a crossword puzzle and journaling.

2009-08-30T22:19:00.000-07:00

i know i'm overdue for a blog post and according to Irvin Yalom, there must be reflection in order to make an experience have meaning. that is...if i don't talk about things, its as if they never happened.

and so many things have happened that i never want to forget.

i travelled to berlin and prague with my best friend and best former art teacher now current friend. spent 3 weeks where every day i woke up and felt like i could do whatever i wanted. i attended the wedding of a college friend and to my surprise realized my ability to be moved by commitment rituals.

i returned home, dreading work the next day.

like an answer to my prayers, i got laid off from work on my first day back. then when i was offered to stay on part time, I respectfully declined. this allows me to choose to discontinue working there, while at the same time being eligible for unemployment!

4 days later, I packed my bags and was driven by a new classmate to the Best Western Lighthouse Hotel in Pacifica, only 20 minutes away. The hotel is right on the beach, pracitically on the sand. Upon arrival I embarked on my journey into the exciting, intense world of therapy school with 24 strangers + Emily. We take 3 3-hour classes per day, with one of them including a 1.5 hr group procession session per day. Hotel rooms are dorm rooms, Emily is my roommate. It's day 3 and I'm feeling amazingly natural among such unnatural surroundings . We just came back from the hot tub and now I'm procrastinating on my homework and want to watch an episode of Lost and process the group dynamics happening in it. This is my life. Until Friday when I will "reenter" the real world in which not all people are therapists in training.

reflection at the moment: i feel like the luckiest person in the world.

So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good night

2009-08-03T01:19:00.001-07:00

Remember that song from Sound of Music? When all the vontrap kids are going to sleep like the good children that they are, and sing that ridiculously cute song to all the grownups at the party? Well when I sang along, I never got the "auf wiedersehen" part. I used to understand it as "So long, farewell, we need to say good night...", always knowing that it didn't sound right. but, now that I'm preparing to spend time in Germany, I've finally learned that auf wiedersehen means goodbye in German and then instantly I knew it was part of that song.

In approximately 16 hours I'll board an airplane destined to Munich, which will then transfer me to Berlin, Germany. Joy, my German friend whom I met when she lived in the United States, will pick me up at the airport. I wonder what my first impressions will be, like how the air will smell when I first exit the terminal. what will be absolutely foreign, and what will be familiar? Me and marta and several other wesleyan women will convene there for "women of color real world season 1: berlin" as my friend ada cleverly named it. add to that is that we're all mostly queer, self aware, artistic types. it is a collage of elements that is bound to come together in a beautiful way.

after berlin, marta and i head to prague where our high school art teacher woff awaits us. another amazing, surreal scenario. i imagine i won't be able to stop saying to marta, "we're in prague. we're with ms wofford, in prague." i love that revelatory feeling, like this couldn't be possible, but it is because we're here.

its clear i'm mostly looking forward to the people I will grow and bond with as a result of being with them in a foreign country. but of course, I can't wait to be there to take it all in. to wake up early in the morning and take a walk or hopefully ride a bike around town, wander and get lost, eat new foods, take public transportation, sketch the architecture, and read Kafka on the train to Prague.

Return to Berlin for our flight to NY and Chinatown bus to Philly for a friend's wedding. The jetlag and culture shock may cause an insanity that no drug can rival. We'll drink with old school friends, but not too much because we need to flee in the middle of the night back to NY for a flight to SF at 7 in the morning. Then I'll go to work the next day, and get back to reality's continuum. As if this whole trip was a dream, a wrinkle in time.

This is the outline of the next three weeks. I can't wait to fill in the details.

this blog entry is also to say, I am planning to spend very little time on the internet during my trip. If my thoughts could transfer directly to facebook status updates in real time, that'd be cool. but until we get that technology, ya'll will just have to wait 3 weeks!

auf wiedersehen!

Committing to the First Arrow

2009-07-29T00:45:00.000-07:00

I'm getting my first tattoo soon, and its based on the second arrow concept in buddhism, in which the first arrow is a painful feeling and the second is the negative reactions to that feeling. the second arrow leads to suffering. while we may believe that the second arrow is a natural, it is indeed a choice. the second arrow is completely unnecessary. fuck the second arrow.

So what is my tattoo? It's simply an arrow, pierced in my skin to remind me to pay attention to the first arrow. to take the arrow in, rather than reject it. to notice and experience all feelings whether bad or good. and that's it. rather than grasp at the feelings, I recognize what they are. they are just feelings, feelings that are always changing, that will come and go, intensify and fade. And feelings without the fear and shame attached to them no longer have the power to hurt me. it is a tattoo of impermanence. i know how that sounds- very ironic. i'm not doing it to be clever - i really feel that the only permanent image that makes sense is one that symbolizes a constant state of flux. and that's all represented in the first arrow, my awareness of the true nature of existence. This tattoo will be no more than 2 inches long, residing on the inside of my wrist. I imagine a lot of people will ask me what it's about and I'll try to make the explanation as concise as possible. But, I really don't want a lot of attention to this tattoo. Which is kind of funny to say since it is a tattoo, a public expression of identity. It's not one bit creative, or beautiful, or detailed, or impressive in any way. It's a small gesture with great meaning. I'm doing this completely for myself and my spiritual path. I'm quite shy when it comes to talking about my spiritual path. I'm better at just being the person I want to be, rather than talking about being. But here I am doing just that, through this tiny tattoo. It says everything so I don't have to.

Here's a better explanation of the second arrow, taken from: http://www.insightmeditationcenter.org/book/14.html
(i encourage you to read the whole article)

The Buddha once asked a student, "If a person is struck by an arrow is it painful?" The student replied, "It is." The Buddha then asked, "If the person is struck by a second arrow, is that even more painful?" The student replied again, "It is." The Buddha then explained, "In life, we cannot always control the first arrow. However, the second arrow is our reaction to the first. This second arrow is optional."

UPDATE: I got the tattoo today! Check it out:

bike love

2009-07-22T22:40:00.001-07:00

On Sunday I biked across the Golden Gate Bridge, through a layer of fog so thick I couldn't see anyone in front of me; it was just me biking in whiteness. The gusty winds blew into my eardrums and froze the sweat off my skin. When I emerged, I saw the bridge's shadow cast against bright blue bay water. My eyes started to squint from the sun's surprising brightness. I had just come out of the cloud. We continued biking, to Sausalito, then back to the Bridge, back through the cloud, to Bakers Beach and Lands End.

My relationship with my bike has grown from seeing it as a form a of transportation to an extension of my body. Me and my bike, we move together. I didn't buy a fast pass in the last two months in order to train my body to rely on my bike more. In most areas of the city it is much more convenient to ride my bike, taking half the time it would take to wait for the bus, and then endure the bus stopping every block for passengers. Yeah no more waiting for transportation. Whether walking or biking, my body is always moving towards its destination. I usually commute downtown or to the Mission district, and with a bike its a smooth, sunny ride. My morning commute is actually my favorite part of the day (although does that say how much I love riding or how much I hate my job?). I also listen to my Ipod while riding. A little MJ while riding makes me smile uncontrollably and ride just a little bit faster than usual.

I learned how to talk at age 2, and walk at age 2 and a half- that's really late as a child. But when I walked, I did it well. And when I talked, I spoke in full sentences and also could recite Dr. Seuss outloud. i learned how to ride a bike pretty late in life. I was 8. or 9. maybe even 10. (But that's because in the city we don't ride bikes to get to school and our friends houses like they do on TV. We pretty much ride on the sidewalk to the corner store to get candy but thats pretty much it) Bike riding didn't come easy to me. My dad took me out for a couple weekends in a row where he'd push me and as soon as he let go, I'd lose control immediately and fall. It was so frustrating, I had fits of anger directed at my dad where i'd say tearfully "i told you'd fall". Then one day he let go and I don't know, it's not like I did anything different- I just "got it," with no explanation that my rational mind could understand. It was amazing. I was doing something I thought I was incapable of, like flying. I think as soon as I trusted my body to learn how to bike ride without the meddling of my mind, I got it. I stopped thinking about falling, and just like that, I didn't. Now I watch Teresa's 6 year old son Darius amaze me with his 2 wheel skills. That boy, with his Spider Man helmet, is fearless, weaving in and out on the Panhandle wiggle, racing anyone he passed by. He didnt' understand why I wouldn't let him ride with the cars. I honestly believe he was totally ready to!

I'm also learning how to care for my bike at the bike kitchen, this amazing volunteer run shop where people teach you how to do stuff like take off your chain, adjust your cables, fix your brakes, and if i wanted, i could build an entire bike from scratch! i may consider doing that, just to say "i made my bike" - how cool would that be?

pictures

2009-07-19T12:38:00.000-07:00

This is D and me playing on the amazingly fun photobooth. It might have been more for my own entertainment to capture the joy of spending a day playing with a 6 year old sweet, rambunctious, hilarious kid. He's the adopted foster son of my friend Teresa.

It was a hot sunny day at Dolores Park yesterday, where we celebrated Blyth's Birthday. Marta did headstands. I did a backwards summersault, and then got dizzy and laid down again.

These are the celebrity couples in my friend group: blyth + amy, animal + emily, and mariana+ melanie.

Look how beautiful the sky was. Me and marta had a cloud drawing contest and Marta won. (But I wasn't upset). Animal gave her 5 bucks for winning, and we bought popsicles with it.

She bought a pineapple popsicle and a coconut popsicle. When you eat them together they taste like a delicious pina colada in your mouth.

empty wallet

2009-07-12T23:37:00.000-07:00

today i started with about 20 bucks in my wallet plus some change. I spent it entirely on several things.

My mom had a garage "boutique" sale fundraiser for the org she works for where everything was priced for $5 or less. Through the course of 4 hours that I was helping her I got suckered into buying:

1) $2: A classic black digital wristwatch. Absolutely no frills or attention grabbing details, displays the time in plain digital numbers, includes an internal light and a timer.

2) $2: A toucan pin that used to be my moms but I couldn't bare to part with a token of my past. It promptly broke after I pinned it to the shirt I was wearing! sad.

3) $10: A bright orange Chinese-y scarf that used to be my mom's . I find it amusing the most of the things I bought at the garage sale were my mom's that she could have given me for free.

4) $1: A book on how to be a better writer. Also my mom's. I feel cheesy buying this - kinda like those "how to draw" books that show you step by step how to draw something like a cat or a superhero. but i don't care. "how to" books can also tell you how not to.

5) $5: A "Victorian PHoto Album" - this is a riot. It's a photo album with all oval slots for putting pictures of your loved ones surrounded by kitchy drawings of flora and fauna and angels and shit.

6) 35 cents: A chapbook by a poet I met at a poetry potluck, my new favorite social event where people get together to read poetry - either their own or someone else's! This poet deserved way more than 35 cents for her chapbook but it's all I had in my wallet, and she took it.

There you go. $20.35 went a long way today.

The insanity of pride part IV: Queer Beer Camping Fest

2009-07-10T13:18:00.000-07:00

I fought post-pride depression by going camping at Cache Creek, well known for its Indian Casino of the same name. No one knows for sure if its pronounced "Cash" or "Cashay." It was hot- like 90' and our campground was not protected by tall redwoods like I'm used to. In fact, it wasn't even a campground but just land - no faucet water, no benches, fire pits, bathrooms. I learned how to pee standing up and bury my shit in a hole with a shovel. The heat was dry and oppressive, and the land we camped on was a wide expanse of dry brush and rocks. Pointy plants that scratched my bare legs and left burs in my shoes. No fires permitted. Our oasis was the river and the tree shade where we could find it.

We drank beer like water - always a bunch of Tecates and Busch Lites chilling in the river. God bless the person that brought a hammock, which fit perfectly between two trees next to our tent site.

Our group multiplied as more cars filled with people I didn't know arrived to join our colony. I wavered in and out of social awkwardness- feeling like I didn't belong, my self-conscious anxiety starting to cloud my vision...and then i let it go. we're out here in the the middle of no where with hot sun, no concept of time and not a care in the world!

The river had a strong current that could sweep you away if you didn't use your strength and willpower to walk against it. We walked across it to a wall of rock that when wet, turned into clay. The clay acted as a natural sunblock and exfoliant as we painted our bodies gray, which within minutes dried hard and cracked. We became the rock. What's funny is that I had a dream of this exact scene a few months ago. An inner tube floated by and we grabbed it and used it to float down the river over and over; it never got old.

and that's how it went for 3 days. i could do anything i wanted at anytime. No structure to the day, no agendas. Take a nap in the hammock, swim around in the river, take a nap under the trees. Repeat repeat. Oh and did I mention I did all these things either topless or naked? Yeah, everyone did it and it was suddenly very abnormal to wear clothes. I was happy to have an evenly browned body. at night we had guitar sing alongs - i especially enjoyed Beyonce's "Halo" and Whitney's "I will always love you". Also we had an old school game of truth or dare, which will never be quite as fun as it was when we were adolescents- we're way too awkward now to be kissing our friends.

It took way too many hours to clean up our shit- melted food (such as a whole fucking bag of creamed marshmallows and liquified chocolate bars), beer cans, cigarette butts, and it all had to go back with us. As with all camping trips, no weekend is complete without a final group meal at a random chain restaurant before dropping everyone off at home. We already had a destination in mind when we were leaving, and that was Fresh Choice in Santa Rosa (how very gay of us). The thought of a salad bar buffet motivated us to get our asses moving. We arrived with beautiful timing- 10 minutes before closing - and engorged ourselves in an epic meal.

The Insanity of Pride part III: Sunday hangover

2009-07-08T21:50:00.001-07:00

Due to those damn 5 hour energy shots, I got barely 2 hours of sleep. Blyth woke up and emerged from her bedroom to find me on our new (used, free) comfy red couch, reading a book. She was getting ready for church- she goes to Glide every Sunday. For some reason, church sounded like a great idea, so I went with her.
Being Glide, everyone was getting ready to march in the parade and the entire service was dedicated to gay pride. It moved me. Then we all held hands and sang "We shall overcome," and with no hands to wipe my face, the tears came streaming down. All weekend I had been celebrating Pride with pride, yet it was this service that reconnected me with the true meaning of it all, which is Love, for self, community, justice, and what not.

Then Blyth and I watched the parade down Market St, or in other words one corporate ad after another, with fake-ass politicians riding in fancy cars in between. Even the cops had a contingent - and there are a surprisingly/disturbingly large amount of dyke cops. Activists staged a die-in in front of Gavin Newsom so that he had to walk over them...check out this video:

THAT makes me proud!!

After the parade I went home, met up with Marta was who non chalantly leading Alex around on a leash and spiked collar (I seriously didn't even bat an eye). Once home I couldn't tell if I should just go to sleep at long last (because I was finally dead tired), or go out. I decided to take a quick nap and then bike to the Lexington, thinking it would be a chill given that it was a Sunday night. The Lex was so packed and crowded, that the dance floor was literally shaking. I gave in and drank a Sparks. Made out and went home with someone. Pride weekend went out with a bang!

Insanity of Pride Part II: Dyke March

2009-07-08T21:35:00.000-07:00

Substances consumed: 2 5 hour energy shots, champagne, beer, vodka, and marijuana.

Make outs: 1, with a friend of a friend who I didn't care to make out with but did nonetheless. They then proceeded to follow me and cockblock me from the person I actually did want to make out with. Lesson learned.

Highlights: 1)My sexy little dress 2) Topless sunbathing in Dolores Park filled with thousands of hot queer people, 3) Those 5 hour energy shots made me feel insanely happy 3) Late night swinging in the playground

Lowlight: 1)Emotions run high at the dyke march, causing expectations to supersede reality. It's like Gay New Years - you want to be in the right place at the right time but somehow you never are. Instead you spend most of your time trying to meet up with people, calling, texting, waiting, repeat repeat. You try so hard to accomodate everyone, and your friends still get mad because you ditched them. 2)Coming down from the energy shots in the middle of the chaotic Castro street block party, going into a typical Nicole emotional breakdown existential crisis mode in which I am overcome with The Sadness. Buzzkill.

Conclusion: Leave your cell phone at home next year. Drink 5 hour energy shots with caution.

the insanity of pride part 1: International Michael Jackson Day

2009-07-01T10:06:00.000-07:00

The sun chose pride weekend to shine down on San Francisco, because clearly, God is gay!

Pride began with Michael Jackson's tragic passing on Thursday, June 25. Like many things that we love in this world, it all began with Michael Jackson. I received the news via facebook. At around 1pm, I saw posts that read "Michael's in a coma" and then "Did Michael die?" and then "MIchael's dead!" followed by hundreds of outpouring of emotional release via status messages. I'm in my sterile, lifeless office staring at the screen in disbelief and wanting to cry and play "Man in the Mirror" over and over again. Gchatting all my friends to break the news/share the pain with my friends. My co-workers could care less and that's when I decided "I hate you and this job forever"

After I got off work, I biked to Dolores Park with Marta to an MJ commemorative flash dance we heard was happening there. We met up with about 5 others who had also heard of the dance but no sound system was in sight. But 5 strangers was enough. We embraced and shared our favorite MJ songs, which played faintly on someone's cell phone while we danced on the grass. We made an M and a J with our bodies and took a picture.

Finally, the party showed up! It turned out to be an amazing man who rides a bike that carries a cart with two loud speakers in the back! He would lead the contingent critical-mass style throughout San Francisco while blasting MJ. About 25 bikers followed his lead down the bumpy grass, across the park, and off we went up, slowly making our way towards the Castro. Everyone we passed instantly stopped to dance in place and cheer us on. I was posessed by the spirit of collective unity through song and dance. Because that's what MJ, as the founding father of pop music, gave to the world. I think people were relieved at the public acknowledgement of MJ's death- we reassured everyone that they were not alone in their grief. Homeless people danced, little kids, and suit and tie-wearers from the financial district danced. If the world became a musical, this was certainly it. Our parade concluded at the Ferry Building for a big dance party for the people. The sound speakers kept us alive with celebration. There was enough MJ music to dance to through the night.

Marta and I then saw a really cool movie called Objectified about design and I concluded that design=everything.

to be continued.

Little Michael

2009-06-30T22:42:00.001-07:00

And, quite possibly the most bizarre tribute to michael jackson i've ever seen, performed by prisoners in the Philippines. Proof that MJ changed the world.

absurdity is the rule of life

2009-06-16T22:57:00.001-07:00

i love absurdity, or anything that subverts logical thinking and destroys the boundary of what does and doesn't make "sense". we assign meaning to things as a survival mechanism, like all other animals. then capitalism came along, replaced the means of survival with money and capital, and absurdity was born. Picking a vegetable in order to eat it, makes sense. Working in order to buy a vegetable to eat it...makes sense. Selling vegetables also makes sense. stealing a vegetable to eat it, makes sense.

working at a job that i hate makes sense.
feeling angry at the world makes sense
feeling depressed and hopeless makes sense
addictions and obsessions make sense

all this goes to say, that to have compassion for ourselves and others we must accept and embrace equally the absurd things we do to survive. i'm trying...

breaking the silence

2009-06-11T23:26:00.000-07:00

so, some of the people (probably the only people) who read my blog have been reminding me to post a blog entry, since my last one was two months ago. they have desk jobs and the only thing that keeps one sane at a desk job are interesting blogs. alright. i'll take one for the team.

i should write about....oh there's so many things that if I don't post daily i get overwhelmed with how many different things in my life that I could write about. but, this is an entry, whether it's about something or not because i am typing letters for all to see. I know! I'll make a list.

1. gay june. so, i've experienced a few prides now, but this year feels different. it amazes me how I continue to come into (outto?) myself as I grow older, and that this process will possibly never stop. rather than lonely, not being in a relationship feels very independent and liberating. i've been exploring my desires and different forms of expressing them. coming out is rapidly growing, thanks to facebook coming out for me to everyone from my past lives and to different generations of the family tree.

2. my job. i'm glad i have one, for sure, but i'm very disappointed with it. what can i say, it's the epitome of the non profit industrial complex. i would say my previous jobs worked within its periphery, and now i'm in the eye of the storm. we're a government funded institution made to "manage" the people (in my case low income youth and their families in Chinatown), keeping the problems off their backs and onto ours. ever since i started working here, the organization has been attacked by financial crisis and subsequent budget cuts. then people were laid off. then people quit. then nasty letters went around. no one came to staff appreciation dinner at Chevy's - not even for the fajita buffet. without the money, the people fall apart. it's, as emily would say, a "shit storm", and it's fucking sad the way the system pits people against one another, creating absurd political games designed to distract us from focusing on the root causes of societal inequity and injustice. so, basically all of these thoughts are swimming aroud in my head as Im answering phones, writing emails, typing up notes from meetings, and eating lunch by myself. early on, i wouldn't say i hated my job. i decided to detach myself and feel as little connection to the work as possible, to which my boss strangely commended as good self-care. Sigh. But then I had lunch at McDonalds with my coworker and it all came rushing out and then my ambivalence quickly turned into passionate hatred. I loathe my insignificant existence at work. If I wasn't going to school in the fall, I wouldn't be able to handle it as long as I have.

3. EUROPE. I still can't believe it. Marta and I and like 4 other wesleyan heads are all going to berlin in august, and then we're heading further east to Prague, where we'll visit our high school art teacher Wofford - she is the reason for this spontaneous trip in the first place. Besides Canada, I've only been to China, which is my ancestral country and thus culturally familiar. Europe, on the otherhand, besides being the birthplace of colonialism, capitalism, and all that good stuff, is far more foreign to me. Berlin even more so. All that comes to mind are stereotypical images: Blonde, blue eyed Nazis. The wall that fell. sausage. What's more, a group of Asian, Black and Latina women in Eastern Europe already seems like a snapshot of the post modern world. I look forward to this fascinating, exotic if you will, out of context, out of reality experience!

4. intensity. let me get abstract for a second. life is intense, heavy - i forget that sometimes, knowingly and not. the pain and suffering that is always present in the experience of living. I tend to turn away as we all tend to turn away from unpleasant sensations. but it's there. and then when i turn towards it finally, i'm completely overwhelmed with sadness. working on finding the proper outlet for my emotions.

packing for a trip

2009-04-01T00:59:00.000-07:00

it takes me 10 minutes to throw some clothes and toiletries into a suitcase.

the hardest part is choosing which book to read on the plane...

Fruit Fly!

2009-03-17T22:13:00.001-07:00

The highlight of the Asian American Film Festival has clearly been the premier of "Fruit Fly"at the Castro Theatre on Sunday night. Fruit Fly is the second musical film that pays homage to the Bay Area by native San Franciscan HP Mendoza. His first, Colma, was an amazing tribute to an overlooked town that is kind of like the New Jersey of the West coast. Now Fruit Fly takes on San Francisco - not North Beach Golden Gate Bridge yuppie San Francisco, but the Dolores Park, Valencia Stret, Gay Club San Francisco. In other words, my San Francisco that I know, experience, get annoyed at but overall love because it's home. The first song "public transit" introduces the audience with a scene that is all too familiar: Bart and Muni. Public transit is not only a way to find your way from one place to another, but an integral part of living in the city. The rest of the film takes us on a wonderful trip through a beautiful, colorful and green San Francisco, from the murals of Clarion alley to the setting sun over Ocean Beach. We're able to watch ourselves on screen, laugh and embrace the absurd culture of San Francisco. Cute, simple keyboard tunes match cute simple singing, sung by real people (I'm pretty sure almost everyone in the film lives in San Francisco) It doesn't reek of "they tried too hard"- in fact, it's low budget, campy, simplistic, with awkward moments galore. It just looks like the film was really fun to make and be a part of. I like that.

here's a song from Colma: The Musical. Like Fruit Fly, the opening scene is BART...

2009-01-25T17:39:00.000-08:00

From the "walk for life" yesterday.

If protestors can say "I regret my abortion"...can we say "I regret having my baby"?

2009-01-20T21:45:00.000-08:00

This street normally says "End Bush"

the best e-card...

2009-01-18T11:33:00.000-08:00

Thoughts on the "violent" protests

2009-01-12T23:18:00.001-08:00

The SF Chronicle has hyped up the "violent protests" that have erupted around the murder of Oscar Grant. Cars are burning,windows are breaking. What does that mean? The people are taking matters into their own hands, using the only means of agency that they have. What happened the day after the protests? An immediate press conference with BART where directors tearfully apologized and admitted their mistakes, insisting that a thourough investigation of the cop that killed Grant happen ASAP.

Marching peacefully through the streets has become everyday in the Bay. Status quo. A San Francisco tradition. When marches block off Market Street, I see the tourists gawk with intrigue on their way to the Gap. I call the annual anti-war protest the annual anti-war parade now. What happened to nonviolent resistance being effective?

I don't condone the use of "violence" but I understand it. I understand that when a black man is murdered by a white cop, immediate justice isn't exactly served on a silver platter. Lets be real: these days, we have to break shit in order to be HEARD.

The angry reactions of the protestors was not the fault of the protestors. If Oscar Grant was still alive, I think people would have much better things to do with their time.

update: just heard about this new year's shooting in new orleans where a 22 year old man was shot 14 times. Do I need to change this blog name to "disturbing"?

update: i ought to have something hopeful to counteract the feelings of despair. When I have it I'll post it. For the mean time though, this might be comforting.

In Mourning

2009-01-06T22:54:00.001-08:00

Across the world....
Israel is bombing Palestinians in Gaza by the hundreds, using "peace" and "self defense" to justify their heinous massacre. When a rocket kills one Israeli, it is enough to justify bombing and tanking more than 400 Palestinian civilians. There is no where Gazans can go to find refuge. And no one with the power to stop this senseless killing is doing anything. Certainly not our precious Obama.

Across the bay....
A police officer in Fruitvale BART station shot and murdered a restrained, unarmed 22 year old black man named Oscar Grant on New Years day. On the ground, Oscar was pleading with the cops to let him go unharmed so he could continue being the father of his 4 year old little girl. And then the cop shot him dead. The killing was caught by dozens of cameras and live witnesses, and still, "no conclusions" have been made about what happened.

A lesbian woman was brutally gang raped by 4 men in Richmond just before Christmas. May she find healing from this vicious trauma. The perps, the youngest of which is 15 years old, have been apprehended and will spend many years in jail, including the teenager who is being tried as an adult. Is this justice? Do I feel safer? Not really.

And right here at home....
My friend's father passed away unexpectedly yesterday evening.

I've been called, texted, and facebooked to protest. To stand up for Palestine, for Oscar Grant, for Jane Doe of Richmond. But those actions require hope for change, and I'm ashamed to admit that right now, I have no hope. As loud as I yelled free free palestine! on Monday, it didn't prevent a school from being bombed today, killing 30 more human beings.

Right now, I sit still and mourn. I mourn the deaths occurring at the hands of evil, injustice, and no reason at all. And I wait for good ol' reliable time to heal my heart and restore my hope again. Death, Life, goes on.

My New Job

2009-01-06T21:59:00.000-08:00

In one picture, this is my new job:Waylon Smithers: Executive Assistant to Montgomery Burns

08-09

2009-01-01T12:20:00.000-08:00

2008 Reflections:

-I quit my jobs and got a new one
-I did the Master Cleanse for 4 days
-I started seeing a therapist
-I bought a new computer
-I took two queer studies classes at City College
-I started collaging again.
-I got really good at online Scrabble
-I joined a writing group
-I travelled to Florida (and a bunch of states in between), LA, Seattle and New York
-I had the longest relationship I've had since my first boyfriend in highschool/college..with a girl.
-I learned how to meditate and read a lot of self help books
-I decided to apply to grad school to be a counselor!
-I decided I want to have children someday
-I came out to more people in my life.

2009 Goals:
-Go on a silent meditation retreat
-Consistency: journaling, blogging, meditating, art-making, exercising on a regular basis. Routines are helpful, not boring.
-Start really saving my money for grad school
-Keep a clean room
-Keep an organized, simplified life
-Write letters to friends far away
-Get into grad schoool!
-Wake up at the alarm, eat breakfast in the morning, get to work on time
-I think it's time for a new bicycle!
-Travel somewhere out of the country
-Build up the courage to ask people out on dates
-Knit a sweater
-Learn how to be a good arguer.

knitting

2008-12-18T00:18:00.000-08:00

Whose great idea was it to knit all of my Christmas presents?

Oh yeah, mine.

My fingers fucking hurt, down to my wrists, arms, and up towards my shoulders and neck. From knitting, which has been my addiction lately. It might be the winter time that brings it out of me, this need to create warm things to wear, like socks and scarves. Knitting is my meditation. It forces me to count stitches and push yarn through loops repetitively, endlessly. now, after that description, why do i like it so much? It's not fun and it's not boring...it's neither, it's both, it's simply what I do to keep me, and my mind, occupied. It is particularly meaningful if I'm thinking of the person I'm knitting for, working for, spending hours, days for.... And in the end I have a useful, beautiful, and lovingly made piece of cloth to wear.

Knitting is an amazing activity beause it is productive yet mindless at the same time. Except when it starts to hurt...

welcome to the younger me

2008-12-04T17:30:00.001-08:00

Over thanksgiving weekend I took home all 10 of my old journals and read them, which to this day is painfully embarassing. to counteract the shame, I've decided to post some of the entries on this blog...

=

Elephant painting!!!

2008-12-03T23:04:00.000-08:00

Now, this elephant probably doesn't even know what he/she is painting, and it took months of work with a trainer to do this just to impress us humans. but this is awesome!

I'm in love...

2008-11-25T02:13:00.000-08:00

With my new ipod touch. I'm using it to write this blog entry right now even though my laptop is right in front of me. Its simply too fun to type letters by poking my index finger against the smooth surface of a hand held screen. Granted Im not yet able to type an essay on this thing or really know what the hell I am trying to say. All in time. I heart technology.
Typing this is driving me crazy actually. I will need to learn how to write more concisely. My birthday was fucking awesome. Being drunk just multiplied my happiness by 10. Karaoked and danced my heart out, got a massage and ate fancy expensive food the next day. Being a quarter century is off to a great start!

Synecdoche

2008-11-11T02:04:00.000-08:00

I didn't even know what a synecdoche was. Morgan who knows all the big words explained that it's like a literary device where one part of something is used to describe a whole.

Then I saw Synecdoche New York. It's about life and death, essentially. Life and death are very confusing topics, and Charlie Kaufman does his best to portray the truth as he sees it and experiences it rather than explaining it. and it's not pretty. it's a jumbled multilayered mess of of a play within a film within a set within a world within another set within a mind within a dream within a fantasy within a thought bubble. Somewhere within all of that is real life. And the main character named Caden played by Phillip Seymour Hoffman is aging at an ever rapid pace throughout it all, dying of unknown diseases while he directs, acts in, and ultimately becomes his life's masterpiece work of theater in which everyone is an actor; there is no audience. The set is a growing replica of New York City, and soon there's no difference between what's on "stage" and real life, for they become one. What we have here is an existential crisis, looking and feeling very much like a chicken with its head cut off, frantically running around in circles until its dead. This movie's so crazy it's impossible to explain or make sense of anything in it. It was like a 2 hour mushroom trip and now that I'm back to reality, I am quickly jotting down my experience of it so I don't forget.

What did it all really mean? is what I'm left with at the end of the film. Fragments of images and words linger in my mind. A lot of stuff happened, and you know it's all meaningful in some way, but meaning what exactly, is the question. like the house perpetually in the state of burning down, or the chaotic apocalyptic scene at the end. I'll just have to see it again.

Marriage has been protected! (Phew!)

2008-11-06T01:49:00.000-08:00

As I walked home from work today, I see No on 8 posters in unlit store windows, stickers plastered to the ground. Meaningless paper that had given life to hope only a day ago. It's over, the "people" have spoken. The people of California have rewritten the constitution to make same sex marriage illegal.

They proclaim "Marriage has been protected." Congratulations, straight people. Your exclusive rights to adultery, marital abuse, divorce, unloved children, nuptial fraud, and sadly for some a lifetime of misery and bad sex, have been protected. "Sacred" my ass.

This is also a case of the San Francisco white, wealthy gay Castro bubble bursting in my face. Beyond our 7X7 square land of rainbow flags, is a great expanse of rural poor Christians, Black people, Latino and Asian immigrants, who when they looked at the no on prop 8 ads and thought, oh that's ridiculous, these pottery barn shopping white gay men who live in million dollar mansions in the castro want "civil rights." The No on 8 campaign severely lacked diversity and unity along the lines of class and race. And now it pays the consequences.

Vote Yes on Prop K

2008-10-31T12:16:00.001-07:00

Hopefully, Obama will win. McCain, you're hella old and out of date, just retire already! And Sarah Palin can just go back to Alaska and impact a few hundred people rather than a few million. Sorry Alaskan wildlife.

Hopefully, Prop 8 will die, die die. Please, vote no on a proposition that incorporates discrimination into the constitution. Don't let the god-fearing Christians, repressed closeted gay people, and all self righteous haters get away with their hate. Our children SHOULD be learning about same sex couples and families, for many of whom it is their family! What's so wrong with that?

Currently I am most concerned about Prop K, a San Francisco prop which remains "controversial" to this supposedly liberal city- even the league of pissed off voters, which I thought was a very leftist organization, has decided to take a neutral stance on K. K is not neutral. Community activists have worked hard to get a proposition on the bill that will finally address the rampant violence to sex workers by the criminal justice system. Sex workers are mostly women and trans women, as well as majority rape survivors.

Sex workers deserve all the same human rights as any othe worker. Because their occupation is illegal, they are currently unable to receive social services, health care and get tested for HIV. They are unable to get legal representation or advocacy if their clients fail to pay them or sexually assault them. Those who are forced into prostitution are unable to get help because they fear getting arrested or deported.

Opponents of Prop K victimize sex workers, saying that it will decrease prosecution of pimps and traffickers. However, pimps are rarely prosecuted- this year, the number has been 0. That means that Prop K would have no effect on decreasing that number. Whether it passes or not, sex workers will continue to work.

Prop K takes the focus of sex work out of criminal justice and into an issue of human rights, where it should be. It won't turn SF into a brothel, but a more inclusive, sex-workers positive city where safety and human rights is ensured to all. YES ON PROP K!

Halloween Idea

2008-10-23T11:54:00.000-07:00

...and it happened:

Using disabilities as a metaphor is offensive

2008-10-13T00:44:00.000-07:00

"An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind" was taken literally in the film, "Blindness," in which a strange, unexplained but highly contagious virus that causes instant blindness takes over an anonymous, morally bankrupt city.

To keep them from infecting the rest of the metropolis, the growing population of blind people are quarantined by force into a prison containing the bare minimum: beds, a mess hall and a group shower. For some reason, no guidedogs, no canes, no audio aids, and any technology invented to support accessibility for blind people are provided. Everyone must fend for themselves. And within minutes it's chaos. People are peeing on the ground, stumbling on their own feces, and standing around naked because they can. I guess when you go blind you lose all decency and common sense?

Another aspect, is no one has names. You can tell this is intentional, as the people introduce themselves by their occupation. You'd think that when you're blind, the names of people would be important, but no, there's seems to be no need for clothes, a toilet, or names. There's no attempt to organize or adapt to the circumstances they've been put into, but rather to continue it's dissent into blind hell.

There is however, one saving grace: a woman who can see and is blessed with magical immunity from catching the virus because she's a Good Person, so good that she followed her blind husband into the prison. She's the Chosen One. She leads the group around and feeds everyone their dinners, and ultimately leading the liberation front. She's so good, that when she sees her husband fucking another girl, she insists she understands and forgives them both.

The blind victims represent a microcosm of the city- you got your asian, latino, black and white people, working together in harmony because they're BLIND to their differences. GET it?

The armed guards that watch over the prison kill anyone who try to escape.

The trouble really begins when a group within the imprisoned gets greedy...Gael Garcia Bernal plays a power hungry crazy guy with a gun. His other secret weapon, is his partner in crime, a "real" blind person, or someone who has been blind his whole life and therefore has super hearing ability, can write in braile, and walks with a stick. Together, they take control of the food rations and make everyone else "pay" for their food, first with their valuables. After the valuables are gone, the women come next. Yes, the women. This is the part that infuriates me: with the fact that they outnumber the bad guys and have a leader that can fucking see, why can't they come up with some type of plan that will take the little handgun out of their blind enemy's hand? Instead, the nobler thing to do is for the women to sacrifice themselves for the food. What follows is a horrendous group rape scene. I think all movies should be mandated to show warnings when they feature sexual violence in a scene. The rapes represent the epitome of evil that has resulted from such desperate circumstances. At this point, you'd rather die than continue this existence.

Finally the good guys come up with a plan: burn the place down and escape from prison, which is surprisingly easy since the guards have mysteriously disappeared. And it turns out the entire city is in utter chaos because every single person has caught the blind disease, and thus has lost all common sense and decency. Instantly, I'm watching a zombie movie, as people viciously fight one another for food, as dogs chew up the flesh of the dead, as children lie around the street rolling around in garbage, and naked women of various body types (again, why the nakedness?) drink up the falling rain.

Vision woman leads her perfect united colors of benniton family and newfound dog friend through a looting expedition in a grocery store, and then back to her and her husband's perfect home that has been untouched by the blind.

The most particularly annoying parts: during a love scene the man touches his wife's face and whispers "I see you." Seriously? How cliche can you get. Another scene is in a group shower for the women - (again, just because your blind doesn't mean you don't want privacy when you shower) the women are talking about being self conscious about their bodies and laugh, "Well they say blindness is a gift to the ugly"

I'll leave it at that, as if I didn't spoil it enough for you all! I am so disturbed, and perturbed, at the way Hollywood exaggerates blindness to represent the worst possible fate of man. I had to let go of my rational logic in order to get through the movie, or else just say "WHAT?!" over and over. After I let my logic go, I wondered what the whole point of the film was, and accepted the simplistic and cliche'd message that blindness was symbolism for the alienation and metaphoric moral "blindness" of the human race. If I was a blind person, I'd want to use my walking cane to gouge the director's eyes out.

And now I present this video of a blind football player. Heartwarming or ridiculous?

White Privilege- no it's not written by me.

2008-10-09T23:24:00.000-07:00

Way back when I was a wee little 20 year old, I took a semester off in Hawaii. Somewhere between going to the beach and smoking a lot of weed, I wrote an article for the school newspaper about white privilege. Racism 101-nothing too extreme, I thought. It followed with so much hate mail and backlash, and not a single sign of support... alone on a tiny island where no one understood me, I turned bitter and resentful and didn't write for that newspaper again. Sad but true. In fact, if you google my name I think you can still find the article with all the associated comments still attached.

At least there's now a good number of white dudes like Tim Wise who have made a reputation out of talking about white privilege and being anti-racist. I figure I'll just leave it up to them now. White people listen to white people. It's a trust thing.

Anyway, all this leads up to say is that I just read a Tim Wise article pointing out the racism in the presidential election. Read it. Seriously, this election is ridiculous. The McCain campaign's desperate attempts to attack Obama (or "that one") as a terrorist is way out of line- and frighteningly tolerated.

Love to hate her

2008-10-03T11:05:00.001-07:00

Bottom line facts about Biden and Palin:
They both support the continuation of the war in Iraq.
They are both against same sex marriage (but don't get that confused with intolerance!)
They both protect and support Israel's occupation of Palestine

It's always about choosing the lesser evil isn't it?

Miracle Fruit: "My mouth is hallucinating"

2008-10-02T12:33:00.000-07:00

Last night, I did Miracle Fruit. You can read more about it online, but Miracle Fruit is a native plant to Ghana, that contains a protein (called Miraculum!) that attaches receptors to your taste buds so that all sour flavors are sweet.

The host of the party had ordered her miracle fruit from the website that sells them over 3 months ago. She paid $90 for about oh, 10 berries or so. Expectations were high around this hyped up berry. I expected it to make me hallucinate or something. You know how it's impossible to describe a taste? I had no idea what was to come.

She told us to bring 3 sour foods- we brought pickles, salt and vinegar chips, and sour altoids that were not sour at all. When we came, the table was covered with the oddest spread of foods I've ever seen at a party- obviously not made for sober tongues. Vinegars, lemon and lime slices, bitter chocolate, tomatoes, Sriracha sauce, beer.

Here's how to get the miracle: you place the little berry in your mouth and suck it until only the seed is left. Leave it in for a minute or two; longer to increase potency. Spit the seed out, and then taste away.

The first thing was the lemon slice, which tasted like a lemon candy. Incredibly sweet and refreshing; the lemon would become my gauge for seeing if I was still "feeling it." Then a lime. Then grapefruit, delicious. Everything tastes like a table spoon of sugar was added to it. Straight up lemon juice drank from a cup was AMAZING. A tomato also tasted extremely sweet. Bitter chocolate was less bitter, salt and vinegar chips tasted more like sweetened, salty potato chips. The "trip" was basically that everything tasted different than it normally did. I took a sip of vinegar like it was a strong, sweet juice.

One weird thing was that regular water actually tasted a little bitter...?

Half an hour later we all "came down". The lemon juice got sour and it was over. And that was that.

It's a pretty cool fruit in its pure entertainment value...I mean, people claim that its medicinal purpose is for patients who need to take a lot of bitter medicines. But other than that it seems that the only purpose for the fruit so far is to having parties like this, also known as "flavor tripping." And this genius man from Africa is making a killing from it.

I already loved this song before I saw this.

2008-09-30T12:02:00.000-07:00

and this one:

THE WEDDING

2008-09-29T17:57:00.000-07:00

The long anticipated day had finally arrived- my debut as a bridesmaid in my middle school best friend Ellen's wedding. Ellen and I aren't very close, but she randomly called me out of the blue a month ago to ask if I would be her bridesmaid. Thinking it was an honor for anyone to ask that of me and also this could be my first and last time playing this role, I accepted. I will explain the wedding in as much detail as possible, and so doing I will describe a contemporary traditional Chinese wedding. and the general hilarity and campiness that makes them so fun to be a part of. (Fun and other adjectives as well)

2:30 AM: A phone call from a frantic bride-to-be wakes me up. My half unconscious brain can barely understand the message: the limo will pick me up at 8:20 am sharp, instead of the previous plan of 9:30. Don't be late.

I wake up about every hour through the night, missing my much needed REM time.

7:00 AM: Wake up, put the shiny blue strapless dress on, lacing it up tight like a corset. or a shoe. My back can't bend. 10 minutes making up the face and I'm ready to go.

8:20 AM: A Limo pulls up and I can't believe it's here for me- when was the last time I rode a limousine? Can't remember. The driver's name is Hani, and he asks me for my credit card. Um, excuse me? It hasn't been paid for? Hani says no, he has no idea who is paying for it. I explain to him that Ellen will pay for the limo once we arrive at her house. I pull out the text message on my phone that says the name and address of the next bridesmaid to pick up. He has no idea how to get there and seems to blame me for not having clear instructions. Hani hands me the map and I look up the address.

9:00 AM: Hani and I have reached the Excelsior for picking up the next bridesmaid at 36 Cordova Street. A shirtless white man answers the door. I have the wrong address.
I call the bridesmaid- her name is Ivy- and it's the wrong number as well. Ellen gives me the right number, but Ivy's not picking up. I have to turn back to the limousine and tell Hani I have no idea what to do.

9:30 AM: Hani is getting impatient.

9:36 AM: Hani and I decide to leave Ivy and go for the next bridesmaid. 5 minutes later Ivy calls me with her correct address and we go back to pick her up.

10:00 AM: We've picked up 3 more bridesmaids, and I'm nautious from riding backwards in the limo. We have little to talk about as none of us know each other very well. Instead we pull out our digicams and take cute pictures together

10:15 AM: We arrive at Ellen's house where her whole side of the family is there. A familiar sound of loud Cantonese women talking over one another about who knows what. Everyone else understands except for me. This is a total flashback to all the times I spent at Ellen's house more than 10 years ago. Her house looks pretty much exactly the same, cleaned up for guests. The TV is playing Chinese pop karaoke videos. Ellen emerges. She looks like a wedding cake topper bride, a ruffly dress that poofs out wearing a slip with hoops that circle around her. Her hair is curled, complete with a veil piece that sticks out the top of her hair. She wears blue eye contacts for this momentous ocassion. And long, fake eyelashes.

I worked hard to interrupt Ellen to get her credit card to pay Hani, and I took cash from my wallet to tip him. When he took the tip, Hani thanked me. He said, "Nicole, the reason why this wedding will happen is because of you. God will repay you for this."

10:30 AM: The Groom and Groomsmen have arrived! As is the tradition, they try to get into the Brides house, but we bridesmaids won't let them in without paying for it. First, they have to sing a song. They all sing together in Cantonese. Hilarious. Still, we won't let them in. What's a song worth? We want hard cash! A red envelope slides underneath the door. $200. Nope, that won't do. We demand each groomsmen to do 25 push ups each. We giggle through the window as the young boys take off off their suit jackets and put their hands on the cement, as we count each one. And damn, we STILL won't let them in! They finally resorted to using force, pushing the door open while all of us girls are leaning against the door to keep it closed. And then it's over, and we need to keep to the schedule so we let the boys in. The Groomsmen meets his bride, and we pose for pictures.

11:00 AM: The bridal party leaves the Brides house in the Mission district and caravans over to the Groom's house, where the Groom's family awaits with a feast of dim sum. I couldn't be happier about this- I haven't eaten all day! There's more picture taking in the living room, and the tea ceremony ,where the Bride and Groom must serve tea in front of the family alter to all of the relatives of the Groom. They return the gift with gold and red envelopes. And he has a hell of a lot of relatives so this process takes about 2 hours. Ellen has changed from her white gown to a traditional red pantsuit, adorned with gold-stiched patterns. The karaoke video playing in the background is of a happy young couple doing exactly the same thing.

2:00 PM: Back to the Brides house. By this time the novelty of the limo has worn off. It's stuffy, I hate sitting sideways, and I get car sick. However, we did break open the champagne...
For some reason when we arrived at the Bride's, we had the option of staying the limo like the groomsment have been doing this entire time. Thee bridesmaids went up anyway, and three of us stayed in the car. I got a nice 15 minute nap in.

3:00 PM: Back to the limousines, the destination is the Palace of Fine Arts for some classic wedding photos. When we get there, there's 2 Chinese wedding photo shoots going on already and we practically have to wait in line! The photographer is incredibly cheesy. One shot is of all the bridesmaids in a line hugging the shoulders of the girl in front of us. The next is we have to kick one legg out and flail an arm back. The next is with the groom, where we pretend to fawn over him. The one following that is all of us posed like we are about to beat him up. There are dozens of bystanders watching this curious spectacle. The white people are amused, and take pictures of us.

4:30 PM: Final destination, the Chinese restaurant to prepare for the banquet. While the bridesmaids hustle to decorate the restaurant with ribbons, balloons, heart shaped confetti, the groom and groomsmen are taking shots and watching the football game on the flat screen.

6:00 PM Guests arrive and the bride and groom have to take a gazillion pictures with every combination of relatives and friends possible.

7:00 PM Dinner commences with a Lion Dance.
MC of the night, the groom's brother, introduces the bride, groom, and their respective parents to take their seats at the esteemed table of royalty. Then the program begins. Unlike weddings where there is music and dancing, this wedding has a complete show for the guests.

The groom's mother sings a song in Chinese. The karaoke video for the song is projected onto mini TV screens for all to sing along. I try my best.

The groom's father also sings a heartfelt song.

A slide show of the bride with family, the bride with friends, the groom with family, the groom with friends, and the bride and groom together. In that order, to the song, "Endless Love".

The groom's brother sings the song"I Can't Help Falling In Love With You". He's actually really good.

Testamonial to the bride- by me, despite the fact that I know Ellen the least out of everyone. I talked about the time when I knew Ellen best- middle school.

Testamonial to the groom- a drunken, slurred joke of a speech by his buddy in college. "You know she's marrying him for love because it's sure as hell not the money!"

Lots and lots of plate drumming with chopsticks to encourage the couple to kiss. Seriously every 5 minutes, and it never got old.

The hand game. All the bridesmaids and bride stick out their hand for the groom to feel, blindfolded. He must find his wife. He fails because his bride took off her wedding ring and he was looking for that. We're much smarter than that!

The egg game. The bride most roll a "raw" (it's actual hardboiled) egg up one pant leg of the groom and out the other. This proves to be much harder than it looks. The egg got caught in the groom's crotch- of course- saying something about there being an inner lining to his pants. hilarious.

The throwing of the bouquet. All eligible bachelorettes come to the floor! Absolutely no one came. No one. Because this activity is stupid and embarassing to women! They pulled out some little girls from the crowd and the bridesmaids good naturedly stepped up so that the game could be played. A guy catches it, provoking a gay joke.

The throwing of the garter. Groom takes off the garter with his teeth and throws it to his now-really drunk groomsmen. With his teeth.

I really wish I could be a groomsman. I would have had so much more fun. The bridesmaids had too much responsibility to care for the bride's falling hairpiece, help her into her total of 4 dress changes, and look pretty in all of the pictures. Everything she says and does is with sweet feminine grace. Oh Ellen. She always was and will be the epitome of girliness.

10:30 PM: The bridesmaids clean the restaurant pass out the party favors. I'm fucking exhaused and every inch of my body aches from being in this crazy ass dress.

We ladies still have a patient smile on our face at the end of the night. I don't know we do it.

Food is love

2008-09-15T00:02:00.000-07:00

I decided to make dinner for my girlfriend's birthday. Yes I sometimes like to get domestic like that. I got a cookbook - the San Francisco Farmer's Market cookbook, went to the farmer's market, got home by 1 pm and was non-stop cooking until 6:30 PM. The house quickly filled with the hot, savory aromas of butter, garlic, onion, thyme and rosemary- although after being in it for so long, I couldn't smell it anymore, as the food became my whole existence. While waiting for things to boil or bake, I washed dishes, cleaned the house, never finding time to take a shower myself. But the results was a delicious meal and major kitchen pride- like if I was a girlscout I'd earn the cooking patch for sure.

This is a blurry picture of the bruschetta- plum tomatoes, basil, garlic, s+p, balsamic vinegar

Beet salad with bluecheese, arugula and candied walnuts. Beets are the most beautiful vegetables. Peeling the skin to expose it's dark red, bloody flesh was the most sensual experience.

The main plate: Paprika rubbed chicken- now, I live with vegetarians so I never cook meat and I was scared that I would fail at this. However, I have to say that I make some damn good chicken! The chicken is accompanied by rosemary potatoes and broccolini. Question: how do you roast potatoes so that they are actually crispy? Haven't mastered that yet.

Oh the lemon tart. I'm baffled by the recipe of this one because the crust didn't come out the way it's supposed to, and I followed it perfectly. If you ever try it (Rasperry lemon tart in the SF Farmers Market cookbook), I suggest using way less butter. 2 cups of butter to one cup of flour did make the whole thing extremely decadent and rich, but the crust completely fell apart into a crumbly mess. But my roommates assured me that with the raspberries covering everything up, it will all be fine. And even if it's ugly it tastes delicious anyway because of all the butter and sugar. and it did.

dinner's done, I can stop cooking and start eating, and my guest of honor is very grateful.

Please don't vote this woman as our VP

2008-09-08T11:32:00.001-07:00

Her father shot that bear.

Hella Stingrays

2008-09-04T11:21:00.000-07:00

Collaging madness

2008-08-26T12:35:00.000-07:00

My neighbor Rob and I have started a collage postcard project. It's a wonderful way to de-stress. When we're done we will hang them up to display.

"white beauty"

2008-08-26T11:43:00.001-07:00

Check out this commercial for a Ponds "whitening cream" (vomit):

When I was China, I was sad to see women wearing long sleeves in the dead heat of summer, or draping a towel over the entire length of their body at the beach, just to avoid getting tanned, and "whitening creams" by oil of olay and ponds, with all of the models you see in huge billboard ads having fair, translucently white skin (that were probably digitally enhanced). I was explained that having tanned, brown skin was associated with the tanned skin of farm workers and peasants who are working under the sun all day. I'm Chinese, but no one thinks I am because I'm tan, and therefore I must be Filipino (which is also racist). I love the brown color of my skin- as a person of color, I proudly reject racist, colonialist notions that whiteness=beauty. And laugh how backwards it is- I mean, seriously, think about it. White people turning into a bright red tomato when they hang out under the sun is not cute! People of color can pull off bright colors- even yellow.

Just for fun though, I just took a picture of myself and then made one darker and one lighter. What do you think?

The Passion of Yuri Kochiyama

2008-08-12T13:28:00.001-07:00

Yuri Kochiyama is a famous Japanese American activist, well known for her tireless energy working and organizing in the movement for self determination in the Black and Asian American and Third World communities, in particular her support for political prisoners, and of course her close relationship to Malcolm X. In her biography, "Heartbeat of Struggle: The Revolutionary Life of Yuri Kochiyama," professor Diane Fujino documents Yuri's life with amazing detail. Everything about Yuri is too unique for anyone's imagination to make up such a person like her - A Japanese American (Nisei), highly devoted Christian with a passion for sports and doing community service, was imprisoned in a Japanese internment camp for 3 years, after which she moved to a housing project in Harlem, New York, had 6 kids and became a hardcore, dedicated nationalist revolutionary activist for the Black Liberation movement, Puerto Rican independence movement, and mother to the Asian American movement. She was well into her 40's by the time she met Malcolm and developed such radical politics. The family's little house in Harlem was open to all, sometimes having hundred of people at a time, for days, weeks, and months. She raised her children to become active in the Movement- one her sons organized the first ever anti-war rally in junior high! Family vacations were Freedom Rides through the South, and later, she would bring her grandchildren to 5-10 activist meetings per week. Her paid job was being a waitress at a restaurant. She is best known for remembering the names of every single person she's ever met and acknowleding them personaly in her speeches and articles.

Even as an outspoken believer in controversial issues like armed resistance, Yuri never seeked to denounce people who advocated less radical views , but instead engaged them in further dialogue about where they were coming from. This is the characterisic I most admire in her- that her love of humanity allowed her to connect with all people across the political spectrum. Her passive nature may come off as naive, but clearly since she does have strong beliefs, her inclusivity exemplifies her genuine dedication to building the Movement without alienating people. She was courageous enough to disagree with Malcolm X about his stance against integration..and later humble enough to change her mind and support it.

Growing up with activist parents who like many other Asian Americans have seen Yuri as their mentor, I'm increasingly grateful to this day that I've known Yuri personally my whole life. My parents took me to numerous parties at the Oakland house of her daughter Audee and her husband Herb's house. Raucous laughter, impromptu guitar playing, and endless amounts of food characterized these lively gatherings of both Asian American and Black people. Us kids played basketball in the back, or video games downstairs, trying our best to get along and be patient while our parents partied until the wee hours of the night. I learned to carry a fat book and a deck of cards wherever I went. I had no knowledge of activism or the Asian American movement, and thus no appreciation. Often times, Yuri would be the guest of honor at the parties, as she traveled from New York to visit her daughter. And my parents would excitedly tell me to talk to Yuri, and early on I understood that she was an important person to know. She also shared my love for teady bears. I have a picture with Yuri where it's the two of us surrounded by her collection of bears. I thought she was a sweet old lady, and admired that hundreds of people would come to a party just to meet her.

In college I started to get involved with Asian American activism- and once her name came up, I'd say something like, oh i know her, she's a friend of the family and everyone in the room would gasp. "YOU KNOW YURI KOCHIYAMA?" I shrugged, well yeah, kind of...she's kind of like family. And the room would gasp again. Then my parent's artwork appeared in books like The Movement and the Moment, or casually name dropped in essays written by prominent AA professors. Especially on the east coast at an elite private white dominated college, it was frustrating to be among few Asian Americans with even a remote political conscience and identity, and realizing how rare it was, for the first time I became proud of my family's unique history as activists. Every Thanksgiving and holiday season I make sure that I say hi to Yuri, who not only remembers my name, but always kisses my cheek, holds my hand and asks me what I'm doing. In her old age, she has a hard time hearing but she's as present as ever, political stickers completely covering her metal walking device.

What is so amazing about Yuri, is that she would probably insist she's an ordinary woman, no different from any other. Even though she is like God to the relatively small political Asian American community, Yuri is not as famous as say, Martin Luther King, because of her behind-the-scenes work and habit of never taking credit for her contributions, or even a picture of herself. And her complete selflessness is exactly what makes her so extraordinary.

Just another blog about the Master Cleanse

2008-08-05T16:38:00.000-07:00

I did the master cleanse, and even though there are like a bazillion blogs detailing a day by day account of this arduous, bizarre act of eating nothing but an elixir of lemon juice, maple syrup and cayenne paper for 5-30 days or more, there's room for one more.

I did the master cleanse because I like quick fixes, the more extreme the better. What was I fixing? Oh, just about everything and nothing. Boredom, anxiety, depression, to name a few. Knowing that I'm an emotional eater who tosses back cheeseburgers and shit into my mouth just because it tastes good in the moment. I wanted to learn and investigate my psychological relationship to food.

The thought of not eating became as challenging as it was an enticing endeavor, a spiritual one at that. Empty of food, of both the need and desire for food, I envisioned myself becoming some kind of enlightened, superhuman spirit-creature, content in nothingness.

As I read the other blogs and articles about the cleanse, I started reading about how we pile up all this shit (literally speaking) in our systems. We carry in us "20 pounds of fecal matter", toxin-heavy bile that lines our intestines, inhibiting the ability for our bodies to take in the nutrients from the food we eat. Although I'm not a nutritionist nor a healthy food freak, I'm a visual person. So, in my head I pictured my digestive system, my intestinal tubing, coated with poop. The thought of using a lemon juice mixture to clean it out and make them sparkly see-thru-clean - and I don't need actual biologists telling me that's not how it works - gave me the inspiration to try the MC. It was time to clean up the house, metaphorically speaking.

My roommate and I planned to fast for 10 days, which somehow got shortened down to 4 when we realized that we were going camping this weekend and surely wanted to be eating by then. We got used to a routine of buying a bag of 20 lemons, squeezing them mercilessly (each drop probably cost 10 cents), and combining the with syrup and pepper, and funneling it into orange juice bottles. Our sustenance.

Thursday, Day 1 was difficult because I had to adjust to the whole not eating concept. At noon I was obsessing over the fact that I wasn't eating lunch. Just drank the juice, chewing the bits of pulp like it was steak. Didn't even take a lunch break, I distracted myself by working. Later in the evening Morgan and I submitted ourselves to self-torture by going to Japantown for karaoke, and inhaled the delicious scents of sushi and teriyaki walking up Post Street. I never appreciated the smell of food so much.

Friday, Day 2 I tried the SWF (saltwater flush for those not in the know), salty warm water that Morgan accurately said was "like drinking a cup of blood." This is where I really regretted that I don't have chugging skills. Even with my dainty sips I still had a gag reflex. But I finished it. And promptly shitted it all out in the bathroom. I felt light and energetic and happy enough to bike ride downtown to see Marta and Morgan for "lunch." Marta's poppyseed bagel layered with avocado, hummus, cucumber, tomato and sprouts was making me salivate and take envious gulps of my lemonade. Morgan said my face was pale and my lips were turning purple. On the bike ride back home, something happened. All of a sudden I felt a squirt of warm liquid gush from my ass. Did I fart? Panicked and mortified and afraid to look to see if I had a stain. I was warned by a good friend that this could happen and just assumed that it wouldn't happen to me. As calmly as possible, I decided not to stop at the cable stop to buy a fast pass, hopped on the bike and rode home. I also realized that my crappy army nalgene didn't close right and the juice spilled all over my backpack. Stayed home the rest of the day, changed into a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt, reading the book, The Namesake, during which I took several trips to the bathroom. Opted not to go to a party in Berkeley and instead drew portraits, drank tea and played Scattergories with friends.

Saturday, Day 3
I woke up late for work and get chastised by my very anal boss. I was already feeling light headed and slow, very slow. This was basically the longest weekend of my life and it was only Saturday. Glad to come home in the afternoon, I sat back on the couch reading The Namesake, finishing in time for Morgan to receive the movie she rented from Netflix. The movie was a big letdown, and it contained a graphic depiction of samosas being made, which lingered in our minds and mouths after it ended. I walked into Morgan's room and I let the words slip out of my mouth, "I'm hungry. I want a samosa." I described the samosa, a triangular package of curried potatoes and peas, deep fried and draped with bright green cilantro sauce. The thought was too much, too overwhelming. I missed food so much, the taste, the feeling. And suddenly what we were doing to ourselves was simply absurd, crazy, stupid. We were a milimeter close to breaking the fast and making a reservation at Cafe Grattitude, our plan for Monday. But willpower won out in the end. We rationalized that the main goal was to not eat until Sunday. Nothing more was expected than that. No matter how crazy it was, not eating for 4 days is an accomplishment in itself. The feeling of defeat passed, and we went on a walk to Buena Vista. It was crisp and cold and the sun was just starting to set.

Sunday, Day 4. Last day. Morgan and I looked at pornographic cookbooks is the morning. Then I went on a date to the MOMA and a movie, The Dark Knight. My date ate a large buttered popcorn next to me. I told her it was okay, that resisting such a temptation only made me a stronger person. She noticed that my stomach was flatter, and my tongue had turned white. I felt no hunger that day.

Monday, Day 5. Finally the day has come to eat again. Now, I know you cleansers will lecture me about needing to ease out of the fast with a day of blended juices, but who cares? Started the day with fresh squeed orange juice, and later when Morgan presented me with a bowl of fresh homemade blended carrot ginger soup, I almost cried. As soon as the clock hit 5, I raced out of work and waited for Morgan to pick me up on the bus. It's like as soon as I knew I was going to eat again, that it was a part of my reality again, I became ravenous. The bus dropped us off at Cafe Grattitude, where we shared a bowl of quinoa topped with raw veggies and coconut sauce. Heaven. And it felt so good to chew! Each kernel of corn, shred of kale, grain of quinoa. So many different textures! We savored each bite. I was full at the end of our meal, and of course, we continued to indulge ourselves with not one but two desserts (had we learned anything from the fast?)

Now I'm back to the normal, eating world, back from the spirit world of the foodless. My tummy is protruding over my jeans like usual, stuffed with delicious food. I kinda miss it, a little, not eating. I have never been so concious of my body before, of everything I was not eating. If I went longer, would I no longer know what I've been missing, and would I reach that enlightened, liberated state? But food is delicious! Food is joy! To make and to consume. Even if lemonade could sustain me, or a pill containing all my needed nutrients, what kind of life is that?

see this movie

2008-07-10T02:14:00.001-07:00

this documentary about crime and corruption in Sao Paolo Brazil just about blew me away. it covers political corruption, the rich protecting themselves (and their mansions, country homes, private beaches etc.) from the epidemic of kidnapping with bullet proof cars, security microchips embedded into their skin, and new innovations in ear reconstructive surgery.

several different people are interviewed: the wealthy people who live with the fear of being kidnapped, a corrupt politician responsible for stealing billions of dollars that could have been used to even out the huge wealth disparities between the classes, a doctor who reconstruct's people's lost ears from when kidnappers cut them off and sent it to their families in a box, a kidnapper who uses the money he makes to help the poor people in his community who can't make a living decent wage any other way. Includes actual footage of a kidnapper holding a victim hostage.

It's fascinating, shocking, and ultimately depressing, despite the upbeat Brazillian music that plays throughout it all, giving the film a very humorous and cynical lightheartedness that makes you feel like you're watching a thriller blockbuster movie instead of a documentary.

Read this book.

2008-07-08T23:01:00.000-07:00

I'm currently reading The Scar of David, a fictional novel based on true events and experiences of the author, who is Palestinian. Everyone should read this book. But especially: those whose blood doesn't boil when thinking of the Palestinian people's struggle, those who aren't against Zionism, and those who don't care.

I'm constantly amazed at the power of creative writing as a tool of truth telling, to illustrate history through the subjective perspective of human experience. No textbook, news article or academic historian could convey oppression and suffering like the following paragraph:

"They tried to return the next day, but the guns behind them made their march a one way trek. Up and down unforgiving hills, under the sun's absolute reign. The weak fell and died. Women miscarried and the dehydrated bodies of babies went limp in their mother's arms."

That's page 37. I have 300 pages more to go, and I hope I don't lose my mind from grief and rage by the end of it. It's the kind of horror you wish were just a figment of someone's sick imagination, like a ghost story meant to thrill and scare you for the sheer hell of it. And when you realize that you're not dreaming, that all of it is true- and is happening right now, it's like waking up to a living nightmare.

mountain biking

2008-07-07T19:49:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I agree to do things I've never done before- experiencing the unknown is a great hobby of mine. This is why I've eaten many foods, interacted with many people, and tried a lot of drugs. Well this latest time, I gave mountain biking a go, although slightly incredulous that it would be enjoyable - my idea of bliss is of biking down smooth pavement on a Sunday afternoon in Golden Gate Park. Whoever came up with the absurd idea of biking up a mountain anyway? Humans were hardly meant to be able to walk with them, how did someone think, let's bike up that? I had my two hardcore biker friends take me along. They are both adrenaline junkies- they are the crazy bikers you see biking up the steep hills in San Francisco, and love it. I really don't get it. But I took their challenge and decided to test my city centered self and get my tires a little dirty.

We loaded all three of our bikes up on the car and drove up on a hot and sunny day to China Camp in San Rafael right after crossing the Golden Gate Bridge into the land of green mountains, big homes and the rich white people that live in them.

It started out decently- I got used to the bumpity bump bump of the rocky trail and the perpetual dust cloud settling into the open pores of my sweat-soaked face as we zig zagged through the forest, gratefully shielded from the sun by the shade of tall trees. Exhilarating. Intense, but manageable.

Gradually however, my endurance decreased, my Gatorade was gone, the hills got steeper, the rocks in my way bigger, and the drop below higher. Imagine biking up a staircase of uneven cobbly stones, and were you to fall, you'd fall down, down down.... I tried my hardest to focus on the trail in front of me anticipating each twist and turn, a branch in the way or a larger than usual rock. Talk about stressful and scary. The higher we went, the worse my focus became, and I started slipping, each fall I took accompanying a high pitched shriek. Suj and Ramses were way ahead of me, I was dying of thirst and exhaustion and general misery. I finally accepted my defeat, got off the bike and found myself bursting into tears at my frustration. Like I completely broke down (and insisted I could still continue biking because I wanted my friends to think between hyperventillations I was "fine"). I walked the bike the rest of the way with bitter, resentful thoughts at each Marin biker that zoomed past me on their $5,000 mountain bike in their stupid brightly colored spandex suits. Get me back to San Francisco, the streets, the pavement, as soon as fucking possible.

And that was my hardcore, extreme mountain biking adventure for ya. Next on my list of sports to try: Hang gliding, snowboarding, rock climbing, surfing...

Robot Story

2008-07-02T23:05:00.000-07:00

I just saw Wall E. Robot love is pretty damn cute. However, why do even robots have to be assigned a gender? Wall E, clunky, dirty but loveable next to his shiny, smooth white plastic egg-shaped partner "Eve" (curious about why they picked that name) with a feminine voice, who looks like the latest thing invented by Mac. Together, they help to bring the humans back to the earth, a process that is interestingly called, "recolonization." For a minute I did wonder what happened to all the people of color, but realized that of course, they were destroyed along with everything else that was natural to the world, like the grass, trees and ocean.

Besides being artistically amazing, I loved the geeky references, like the familiar Apple start up sound whenever Wall E is waking up, aka solar-powering up, the bizarre world of the future where everyone's fat from sitting all the time staring at screens in front of them, every meal is drank from a slurpie cup, and a Walmart-esque company rules every aspect of their lives. Funny how Pixar films keep becoming more and more aimed at the adults rather than the kids. I keep thinking about how decades later, Wall-E will become just another vintage vision of the future like the Jetsons (seriously, WHEN are we going to have flying cars?) or 2001: a space odyssey.

The message of the movie overall followed our country's current liberal fixation on the whole "green" movement; how we need to save the earth by making and using sustainable resources, cutting down our waste and save our humanity and intelligence from the dangerously increasing power of technology. This is just a sign of the times, I guess- apocalypse is on everyone's mind.

Macbook, you're not a living creature. You have no name, no soul, no gender identity, no desires. you are merely a very useful tool. and i love you for all that you do for me.

Personality Quiz

2008-06-30T18:49:00.000-07:00

What are your reactions to this photograph?

2008-06-27T23:08:00.000-07:00

this was the sunset last night. the last time I saw the sun looking like so neon orange in a smoke filled sky was in China while climbing the great wall.

yesterday and today, the city of san francisco is advising all people with breathing-related conditions like asthma or bronchitis to stay home because the sky has been polluted by the smoke from 5 different fires occurring throught the state!

all day the sky has been this ugly shade of opaque gray, a thick haze that casts no shadows. the air is moist and heavy, and my skin feels cold, clammy and disgusting.

it does make me a little nostalgic for China.

thoughts

2008-06-25T21:13:00.001-07:00

thoughts of the day:

when you have leftovers, never throw them away! wasting food is a sin. SOMEONE will eat what you don't want.
i'm kinda ho-hum been there done that about pride this weekend. but I might dress up in something scandalous to counteract that feeling.
my goal lately is to write more poetry, to write in my blog more, to write more! I went to a queer women's poetry group meeting yesterday. I was nervous about going, as I haven't written poety since high school, but it turned out to be a totally supportive, intimate space to express whatever you got in you and receive positive and constructive feedback. I'm inspired to continue writing, in whatever form, just to keep the momentum going because I know for me I can lose it fast.
the mice problem is out of control. We hear them scurry in the walls, across the floors, on top of the refridgerators...smart enough to avoid the glue boards, they've grown quite accustomed to their new digs, they've already driven one of us to move out for godsakes. i've had it!!!
blogs are awesome. everyone go start one now! Perfect way to procrastinate at work, keep up with people's busy and fascinating lives, be wowed, humored and in awe of the sheer brilliance of your peers.

Chinese is the new Black?

2008-06-23T16:00:00.000-07:00

Ok apparently like always I'm hella late, but here's more proof about race being a social construct: Read this

It's interesting how adaptable we Chinese are. We'll move and live wherever work is available, from Peru to Australia to Saudi Arabia to... South Africa. You name it. I'm sure we got some representatives in Antartica. Everywhere on the world, I can find comfort in the fact that I can just ask where the nearest Chinatown is. We're creating all different kinds of Chinese sub-identities. (Not to mention the food - have you ever had jerk chicken fried rice? it's hella good!)

Our place in the racial spectrum is debatable. It's somewhere between white and black, gray if you will. The increase of upwardly mobile doctors and engineers and other professionals occupying rich sprawling suburban communities, and the Chinese dominance of UC Berkeley suggest success in finding the American Dream. I'll just say it: a lot of Chinese people want to be the new white. I have to have a lot of patience with them, as I hear comments like "I'm proud to be a twinkie!" and "I mostly date white people- I don't know why, I just do!" and "Isn't [event for people of color] racist to white people?"

and a special prize to my uncle who once said some years ago, "The Blacks and Spanish (I think he meant Latinos) are ruining our education system." Oh you make me so proud.

I finally have my new macbook!!!!

2008-06-18T23:26:00.000-07:00

And I have a photobooth picture to prove it!!!

Yippeee!!!!!!!!

This whole marriage thing.

2008-06-18T21:57:00.000-07:00

Do you see me in this picture? Try to find me... So it's like such a big deal now: Gay people can legally marry in California. Yay! I didn't really see what the big deal was because I don't have anyone I want to marry and I'm not sure if I ever will, but I suppose it's a good thing that anyone who wanted to get married now can. The couple in this photo are now married for the 3rd time- once was their own commitment ceremony, the second was in 2004 when we thought we had gotten the right, and now....hopefully this will be the last time and the crazy Christians won't get away with banning it in the constitution.

They -Carol and Rachel- decided to get married not so much as a expression of their commitment to one another, but as a political statement. Years later into the future, it won't be so political anymore, but just a normal part of everyday life. It kind of annoys me that now I don't have an excuse when my family asks when am I going to get married? Settling down with one person as soon as possible was always a straight people thing to do- you know, with a house and kids and stuff. I hope queer people don't follow down that path simply because we're "accepted" by the sacred institution of marriage...it's as if the Bible was rewritten to say that Jesus was a gay man or something- doesn't mean I'm gonna start believing in it! Once I saw a protester hold a potted plant, saying that if gay marriage passed, he should be allowed to marry the plant. Of course this is a beyond ridiculous comparison. But would I step in between he and the plant's right to marry in the courts? No, because I wouldn't care, to be honest. I'd actually find it quite funny. Ridicule marriage all you want! It's a hilarious concept, if not quite a trivial matter. To the courts, marriage is a piece of paper with some tax benefits and a means to becoming a legal citizen. Other than that, it can be: a joke, a political statement, a mistake, a performance, a contract, a business arrangement...the list goes on.

But I did get teary at the sight of Rachel and Carol exchanging their vows yesterday. What can I say, I'm a romantic at heart.

#1 reason

2008-05-27T19:17:00.000-07:00

I just have to say: Having sex with another (bio)woman is great for several reasons, but the #1 reason, I realize, is the whole no pregnancy thing. Because I'm two weeks late, and unless she snuck a turkey baster up there, I can rest assured there is no way that I can be pregnant! It also means that I can text her, "you got me pregnant" and have her write back: "I wish". (As if that was possible, to have sex and become pregnant as a result. Ha ha! who does that?) It's the most effective form of birth control- how come it was never recommended along with abstinence?

And if I had sex with a penis owner, let's just say I wouldn't be writing such a lighthearted blog about being two weeks late.

Square Watermelons!

2008-05-11T22:03:00.000-07:00

“The master's tools will never dismantle the master's house”

2008-04-01T15:29:00.000-07:00

by Nicole Hsiang

Working as a fundraiser for a non-profit, I spend just as much time thinking about money as a small business owner does. Thinking about how to attract donors to our work. How to network with our constituency. How to brand ourselves and establish a niche. How to partner with wealthy foundations and corporations. As we fundraisers struggle to raise money from every angle possible, I am fearful that non-profits are adapting to a corporate mindset, where values are compromised for financial growth and power. After all, we live in a society where capitalist greed has contributed to the very problems we are working so hard to solve. How is it possible to package and sell social justice? As I sit and reflect on my work as a non-profit fundraiser, Audre Lorde’s famous words haunt me.

The non-profit industry continues to strengthen in size and number, with reports of more individuals, corporations and foundations giving their money away each year. Charity has become so popular, that more and more celebrities and companies are now attaching themselves to a cause, instantly making social change “trendy”. We all know about Angelina Jolie’s crusade to save refugee children and Bono’s fight against the AIDS epidemic and genocide in Africa.

While appearing generous and compassionate, corporations practice charity as a new business model and branding strategy, where popular social issues are exploited for their own profitable interests. This is the way charity is reduced to a commodity. I first noticed this phenomenon when PG&E went “green”. That’s ironic, I thought. I don’t recall PG&E ever caring about environmental wellness before, when their power plant in Bay View Hunter’s Point was once the single largest stationary source of air pollution in San Francisco.
Following that was the Red campaign championed by Gap, and Credo Mobile’s bus stop billboard ads that boasted, “Make a difference every time you talk” – because they donate 1% of their proceeds to a variety of non profit organizations. As the funds pour in, it’s hard to complain about it – after all, money is money. 1% of a corporation’s earnings is more than 100% of the average amount a typical American makes in a year. To a fundraiser, that means less work and more money. But along with it comes a bunch of moral and ethical questions that is impossible to ignore. Is it wrong for an environmental justice organization to accept a $100,000 check from Chevron?

Meanwhile, we still have a war going on, an overheating planet, a soaring increase in the prison population, a widening gap between the poor and the wealthy, and inequality along the lines of class, race, gender, and sexuality remains. It is clear that something’s wrong with this picture. If non-profits are building, and more people are giving, we should be making more change and progress, not less. Can I take accept corporate money while staying true to my beliefs?

As I struggled to understand my own work and its place in the movement for social justice, I talked to my peers and read The Revolution Will Not Be Funded: Beyond the Nonprofit Industrial Complex, an inspiring anthology that I believe all of our comrades in the struggle would benefit from reading. I was reminded of all the different creative ways that successful organizations have been able succeed without selling out their core beliefs. These ways include grassroots fundraising, staying true to your vision and mission, prioritizing the leadership of the community your work affects most, participatory consensus-based decision-making, and avoiding top down hierarchies. It’s about practicing what you preach, essentially. Audre was right. We have to build a new house with new tools.

Yes, I know it is possible for grassroots organizations to avoid the commoditization of our struggles, be accountable to the communities we work with, and still be financially sustainable. It’s undoubtedly a challenging process, but beautiful as well.

stuff asian people like!

2008-03-07T13:00:00.000-08:00

Inspired by the ingenious blog "stuff white people like", and then my friend''s response on "stuff black people like", I just had to follow suit and think about, stuff asian people like!

first a disclaimer: "asian" is a ridiculously huge category- what it does and doesn't include i'm not going to bother going into. yes, what i say will be based on stereotypes and sweeping generalizations. this isn't an academic thesis, it's pure entertainment. okay with that said..

1) Returning to the Motherland. Asian people born or raised in the U.S. grew up constantly split between their Asian identity and their American identity. We who are too "whitewashed" can't understand what our parents sacrificed to make our lives possible. That's why we take language classes in college and then make the BIG TRIP back to the countries we came from, to meet relatives and find our roots, coming home as whole people at last. Read the Joy Luck Club or The Namesake.

2) The internet. I say this because currently, every single person on my gchat buddylist, is Asian. I honestly dont know how we interacted with each other before the invention of AOL instant messenger! Remember your screenname with the letters aZn in it? We also love blogs, internet social networks like facebook and myspace...

3) Taking pictures. Everywhere we go, we bring our digital cameras. And we mostly take group photos. Absolutely no candids, but the intentionally cute poses, with the peace signs, making a pyramid, mocking a statue, anything that's funny. Also, we love to take pictures of our food at restaurants.

4) Higher education. Collecting degrees, especially in business, law and science. Just walk around the UC Berkeley campus to see what I mean.

5) Food. When Asian people have parties, we don't serve cheese and crackers-that's not food. We usually prepare enough to feed 100 for a party of 10. And then they take the leftovers with them afterwards.

6) Indie films. Because usually the only (good) films that star Asian Americans, are indie.
And along with that I'll add emo music and graphic novels.

7) Karaoke. The purpose of a song is so you can sing along to it.

8) Shopping Malls. Almost forgot this one. Why do you think the Serramonte foodcourt has so many Asian restaurants?

To be updated as I think of them because I'm there is more, much more.

Thoughts while paying my student loan bill

2008-03-06T16:17:00.000-08:00

Paying bills are painful, paying taxes even worse because they are meaningless, you never see the effects of your money, you throw money away into the air and it evaporates like dew. But nothing is worse than paying my student loans. As I hastily write a check made payable to “Wesleyan University”, I cringe with the thought that I’ll be paying until I’m 40, at least. To have lifetime debt to my college I sit and think, was it worth it?

There are plenty of “Wes heads” that absolutely loved it and will return at every reunion, and on top of paying full tuition, will donate a gift to the alumni fund. I don’t see Wesleyan like that. When people ask me how it was I say, hesitantly, that it was an interesting experience. Or, like an expensive summer camp, with a lot of snow. Then they ask, how the hell did I end up going there? There was a presentation at my school about it and I wanted to move as far away from San Francisco as possible- it’s true, I actually wanted to leave the Bay Area. I was an ungrateful teenager back then.

My parents are too nice. Fully knowing there’s no way they can afford to send me to private elite college, they encouraged me to go where I wanted, don’t think about the cost, just worry about getting in. If I got in, I was indeed special for being a part of the <15% acceptance rate-it would be crazy not to go! I am now ashamed to admit it, but I thought I was too good for SF State. I also got a lot of financial aid- making Wesleyan the same cost to attend a UC school. I never visited, I never researched the professors or talked to alumni. Picking Wesleyan was completely arbitrary.

So, what did $45,000 per year/4 years buy me? Let’s remember college:

Housing- I shared a tiny cinder block prison with an atrocious fluorescent light. Group bath/shower room where I waited in line in my towel, wearing my keys around my neck- god forbid I forget to take them with me. The next year I was smarter and pimped my race to get into the “Asian and Asian American House”, where we actually had a dishwasher, maid/garbage service, and there my room was connected to an extra sunroom that I used as a drawing studio.

Food- Ah, I do miss the days of no cooking, when “points” was our currency, our ID was our debit card, which I spent liberally on Vitamin water and redbull to help me survive the night to write a 5 page paper due the next day. At the cafeteria, I piled my plate high with greasy grilled cheese sandwiches, an unknown meat served in an unknown sauce, iceberg lettuce salad bars, and the occasional attempt at “Chinese food” served in the cafeteria. I did enjoy Sunday Sundaes though. When I grew out of cafeteria food, my meals alternated between chicken fingers and packaged sushi. Midnight snacks were mozzarella sticks, cream pie, or more chicken fingers.

People- The admissions officer who presented at my school stressed a) the diversity of Wesleyan- 30% people of color!!! And I guess that sounded better than 15%. B)Wesleyan students are known to be interesting, artsy, eccentric, liberal, and also, they’re ACTIVISTS! Yeah! Finally a place for people like me, who are different.
I did partake in plenty of social bonding, mostly in the form of drunken nights of partying, watching movies stoned.
I learned what a hipster was, the meaning of the word pretentious, students of color, and queer. Hating the institution and seeing the good side of nothing made you cool, critical, conscious. If you mingled with the administration you were a fucking tool. Identity based groups were not political, and political groups were unconscious of identity. Your experience matters when you’re not white and rich- in fact, that’s the only thing that matters.

Education- Don’t you like how education goes last?
I didn’t work too hard- getting a C on a paper my first year deflated my ego and demoted my overachiever reputation to lazy and careless. I learned the arbitrariness of grades based on how much the professor likes you. I learned how to pick professors based on that criteria. I measured my papers by pages, double spacing to make them longer. I found all of my classes and classmates hypocritical, except for drawing and Chinese. I learned that SF State had an entire ethnic studies department while we were struggling to get a single class. I rarely spoke in class, never met with a professor during office hours. And by senior year, I realized it was too late to start kissing their asses to get a letter of recommendation.

To make a long story short, I graduated in 4 years. Got my BA degree, a piece of paper that no one has yet asked to see evidence of. I don’t know where I put it, it’s somewhere in my plastic storage bins that remain at my parent’s house.

So was it worth it? I think I've decided no, that money could have been spent in better ways- a new car or house perhaps. Some of my friends are moving past me, onto even higher education, collecting law degrees and PHd's. I'm staying right here for now.

Blog!

2008-03-03T20:54:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my new blog! I decided to start a new blog because I like to write sometimes, if I have an audience and it gives me an excuse to be online.

The big question is, what to blog about? Rants, pop culture, politics, social commentary, literature, race/class/gender/sexuality, food, sex, relationships? For some they pick one. For me, the sky's the limit.

Here are the topics I'm thinking about:

Racism. Because it's so hot these days, everyone loves to talk about race! Especially in a mocking tone of voice. And I want to spark controversy and garner 100+ comments per day.

San Francisco - my pride for being a rare native of SF. Good food, gentrification, hippies, hipsters, the queers and being queer, BART and MUNI and more, from Excelsior to the Lower Haight.

People. Individuals and groups. No, not you. Strangers, or nameless people in my life who are NOT you.

Books and Film Reviews

Scrabble- I love scrabble, the word game. In fact, this blog's name was going to be called scrabble. Believe it or not there is a lot to say about that game.