In transition

Only connect

This is my family.

As much as I cry out about my sacrificial duties, these are the three people in my life who remind me everyday that life is worth living. They keep me grounded on earth despite my hidden desires to fly away and disappear into the thin air.

Only connect…

I can’t be exactly sure what connection meant for E.M Forster but for me, the most important connection is between my fascade and desire.

As I pressed the shutter to capture this moment, my heart was aching to fly away into the pale distance.

RIP J.D. Salinger

Trying to write a teaching philosophy after years of changing dirty diapers is no easy task. I’m forced to jump from theory to tantrum, from philosophical inquiry to two-minute time outs.

Both teaching and writing are like going to the gym. They require a significant amount of patience and efforts to gain momentum, just to get right back to where you left off-right before you gave it up to live for someone else.

I don’t have a problem with sacrificing my dreams for my family. But my body and energy slowly deteriorate as my brain remains idle. And let’s not even get started about the stiff neck, the achy shoulders. Thank God my husband was just prescribed vicodin.

My daughter is crying out for me in her sleep, it’s 1:36 in the morning. She’s been acting out, throwing horrible tantrums in ways I’ve never seen before. My maternal instincts tell me this is her little way of telling me how sad she was that I left last weekend and that she missed me painfully.

So how exactly do I tell her I can’t wait to leave this life, that I want to go back to pursuing my selfish dreams? As a mom I probably never can. But as a woman, I must.

One day I must.

I think too much, therefore I am.

When do I become truly ME? When do I stop playing the role of a daughter, wife, mother, sister and friend and start being just ME? Nowadays, the answer seems to be never. At this point, someone always tells me that I ‘think too much.’ So at what point does a healthy dose of thinking become ‘too much’? Just like Descartes, ‘I think therefore I am.’ Maybe for me, it’s more like ‘I think too much, therefore I am.’ Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’ve always been an introverted wanna-be philosopher/thinker/writer pretending to be a happy-go-lucky extrovert.

Ok. So I’m a little weird. I like to read things that people usually hate, like Derrida. And I think Aristotle is totally overrated. There. I FINALLY said it. and now I feel a thousand times lighter. So I’m still in the process of finding myself. I’ve sketched several versions of blueprints until now, delineating what I want to do and have accomplished by the time I’m 30, 40, then 60, but like everything else in the world, none of these so-called plans are set in stone- especially since past years have been filled with detours and roadblocks than anything else. Of course, this is not to say that I lived long enough to truly understand and be prepared for life. All I know at this point is that life is difficult, has a mind and plan of its own, and that one minute it can be our friend and next, our worst enemy. So knowing the frailty of human nature, the limits of our knowledge and reason, it’s difficult to complain to anyone, really. Who am I to blame when everything I’ve worked for in the past 20-something years turns out to hold much less significance then I had hoped –when it was I who made these choices and I who came up with the original draft thinking life’s plan coincides with my own?

This is how a medical intern must feel when he realizes only after 10+ years of schooling (along with thousands of dollars in debt) that he’s in the wrong field. Or a successful female executive who, after years of hard work and dedication, gets replaced by another male colleague when she FINALLY decides to have a child and takes the long dreaded maternity leave. As I wake up every morning to dedicate another day to my children, I can’t help but to wonder where my dream will lie when it’s time for me to leave this role.

When that day comes, what will remain? Would it be fragments of my childhood dreams or something entirely different?

Means of self-pampering

This week has been a tough one.

This intense California heat with no time to rest really took a toll on me and made me very ‘on edge.’ I wish I can be more frank on this blog and pour my heart out but until I decide exactly what I want to do with this one, I’ll just hold it in and replace the silence with a smile.

Planning to head out to Vegas tomorrow. We already have a room booked at Wynn hotel and have done research into the best venues for fine dining and shows, but we’ll see how it goes..since this week made me realize, ONCE MORE, that things rarely go as planned.

On a lighter note, I got lash extensions, mani/pedicure, waxing services in areas needed (ouch) and got pampered head to toe.  Ended up spending much more money than planned and in the end, realized how expensive it is to be a woman, a grown woman who truly understands the need to take care of herself both externally and internally. Externally, I’m getting better because I’m now making more conscious efforts to eat and look healthier. My internal and emotional health, well, that’s a whole another story.

Now I just need a full body massage to relieve the knots and pains in my neck/shoulders and find a cute bathing suit for this weekend. I have a few cute bikinis that are like-new but were put away for being too skimpy and strappy. Maybe I’ll wear them for Vegas one last time and hand them down to a younger, more youthful chick in her early 20’s with a beautiful body.  As for me, I’m stocking up on plenty of sunscreen and pepcid AC to prevent irritated skin and acid indigestion which often leads to that yucky hangover feeling.

I may still be young  (well, kind of), but I’m old enough to abhor the state of being hungover. Ugh.

Love Affair with Jean Rhys (Part I)

I recently came across an old copy of Jean Rhys: The Complete Novels on Amazon.com and couldn’t resist purchasing it. It arrived today in good condition and I’m so excited to start reading it.   Well, perhaps ecstatic is a better word because her raw language and brutally honest observations do something funny to me, like imagining her as my distant lover. I connect with her on a level that I never knew existed in a profound and very female way.  She brings me pleasure that no male language can bring, and embraces my soul like no man ever can. I’ve read countless books in my lifetime and no one can touch and move my soul the way Jean Rhys does. If Virginia Woolf can be considered as the Mother of English modern sensibility, Jean Rhys is like her broken child who gleams so brightly despite her madness.

This book contains four novels: Voyage in the Dark, Quartet, After Leaving Mr. Mackenzie, Good Morning, Midnight and Wide Sargasso Sea. Its funny, because I’m so excited to jump into the reading, yet a part of me wishes to keep this book in my hands forever, just anticipating and imagining all the beauty, darkness and passionate chaos it contains.

If I can be born again in any place at any time, I’d choose to be born at the turn of 20th century in England, just so I can relive the passion, pain and madness of this troubled, yet beautiful era.

I usually like my things brand new (comes from my OCD inclinations), but this gently used book is surprisingly nice to have. It has a distant smell that is so intriguing and comforting that I can’t stop sniffing its pages.

The passing of Michael Jackson

RIP Michael Jackson

(August 29, 1958 – June 25, 2009)

So Michael Jackson died today at the age of 50. I’m many years his junior so I don’t yet know how it feels to be 50, but I do know 50 indicates an age that’s still premature to face death.  Even though I was never a die-hard fan of Michael Jackson, I always regarded him to be one of the greatest and most influential musician and artist in history, and his sudden death is truly disheartening.

I know his entire life was full of controversy and hidden secrets including child molestation charges, but a part of me always felt sympathetic rather than angry towards the guy. Perhaps it became easier to understand his troubles and emotional ills after learning about his traumatic childhood filled with all kinds of physical, sexual and emotional abuse by his own family members. I never saw him as a child molester but rather a distraught boy who never got to fully live out a normal childhood, who as a result became trapped in an adult’s body without fond memories to keep him grounded.

To this day, I don’t know how much of his REAL self we- the public- got to see. But considering his unprecedented talent and gift as musician, artist, performer and songwriter, I can’t help but to imagine there was much more depth to him than what was shown on the surface. As a devout follower of art and music, I know that musical genius doesn’t exist in empty and shallow souls. Whatever Michael’s inner demons were and whatever it is that was haunting his short-lived life, my prayers and thoughts go out to his family, children and his passing soul–because he was truly a remarkable man whose music and vision were way beyond his time.

A family member remarked that she felt sorry for Michael because he always seemed so sad and troubled. While I understand such reaction, I take a slightly different approach. Whether he was truly happy or not we would never know, but what I do know is that it takes a very special person to leave the kind of magnificence and influence as Michael Jackson did.

Just few days ago, a friend asked which is more important- my happiness or name? I immediately said Name because to me, making a positive impact in this world and leaving a notable ‘mark’ is more important than simply being happy. This is not to say happiness is unimportant. But if my entire life was driven by happiness and my lifelong goal was simply to be ‘happy,’ I would have a tougher time enduring not-so-happy moments, which as we all know, occur inevitably as a normal part of life. If I lived simply to be happy, I wouldn’t be without a reason to live every time I become unhappy.

Michael Jackson may not have led the most happy life (although we can never be quite sure), but he DID leave something greater than his own happiness- that is, his legacy, name and influence on something as beautiful, timeless and implicative as music….and for that alone, I cannot revere him enough.

Intermission

I’ve been out of writing juices for some time now. 

I guess a part of me was deprived but another part of me was frantically running towards that next goal. In the end, I just wish my internal and external desires weren’t so paradoxical so I can obtain some peace and balance in my life.

I’m done with the easier half of my objectives. My dream hovers above faintly enabling me to vaguely observe, but all I can do is look down and let out a timid sigh.

Yet, tomorrow is another day.

Tomorrow, I will begin another journey into the interior castle- wherever that may be.

Dare to think different

In case you don’t recognize the above advertisement (although I’m almost certain you do), ‘Think Different’ is a brilliant advertisement slogan created by Apple in 1997. They’ve come a long way since then, and Apple is now arguably a more popular and sought-after platform than PC. Even if you’re a PC user, it is likely that you use at least one product or software from this company- an ipod, iphone, itunes or Quicktime.

Before I mislead you any further, this entry isn’t about Apple products (although I’m a heavy user and passionate advocate of macs).  Rather, it is about their revolutionary slogan, ‘Think Different’ as it sits at the core of who I am.

Most people find this difficult to believe- probably because I don’t quite fit the mold of an ‘academic’- but I’m a graduate student and teacher of writing.  I have a BA in English literature with emphasis in film/media studies and am a month away from receiving a M.A. in literature, rhetoric and composition. I don’t usually foreground my education in the public sphere because I hate to come off as arrogant and self-absorbed (I’m really not. In fact, this is why I loathe some of the most well-educated), but I feel that it is necessary to address this part of my identity because it largely defines and impacts the person that I am today.

Like most ’successful’ students and teachers, I’m tolerant, open-minded and assertive when needed to be, but I’m an outsider in that I don’t believe learning or teaching to be a one-way street. For me, TRUE education is not defined by memorization, regurgitation and standardized testing but rather shaped by one’s innate ability to understand and view the world from a larger perspective. I believe that each and every one of us carries the potential of being a ‘critical thinker’ who can ‘think different’ or ‘outside the box’-the box of the status quo, norms, stereotypes and other normalcies of life- with the right kind of thought process that stimulates, provokes and engages our minds rather than keeping them bottled up within the rules of the institution.

As one delves deeper into the theoretical foundation of education in general, one usually finds that traditional models that are rigid and static rarely succeed in serving our needs.  More problematically, various schools of thought that are widely established and still used in today’s generation are based on a dichotomous model where meaning is fixed in and around its boundaries.

For example, this is right and that is wrong.  This is true and that is false.  This is just and that is unjust.  This is acceptable and that is not. In short, the world is black, white, or gray (meaning the absence or convergence of black or white).

If we think about this model a bit deeper, it is highly problematic because it overlooks the social, political, cultural, and historical aspect of human interactions.  For example, this is right and that is wrong to ME, but what is wrong to me can be right for someone else.  Moreover, what is just today can be unjust tomorrow and what is NOT acceptable today can be acceptable years down the road.  These other influences are usually brought on by social, cultural and political changes that are INEVITABLE, so how can we EVER create a static model that works for every single situation in every context?

I know topics like this bore the hell out of most people and many would rather read blogs about dogs and watch mindless YouTube clips. I understand this as I too, enjoy this kind of mindless activities from time to time. But it’s really a shame when people stop thinking about their own thought process and its origins (a result of suppression in critical thinking), and feel much more comfortable to follow the lead of the blind leader, whoever that might be. Were we born this way? Definitely not — because early Greeks and Romans (at the beginning of western civilization) didn’t think this way. So are we CONDITIONED to live this way? Unfortunately, that seems to be the case.

And for those of you who ask WHY BOTHER TO THINK DIFFERENT?– may I remind you that keeping its citizens uniform, dull and uncritical is the best form of mind control? If people actually used their brains and discernment for themselves and DARED TO THINK DIFFERENTLY, a ‘blind’ leader like Hitler wouldn’t have been able to brainwash millions of people to follow his crazy theories about race and human life.

I doubt Hitler-esque mindset will fly in today’s society but hey, it does exist in milder forms.  For one, constrictive ideas about what it means to be a woman and mother (gender divisions). Two, racial stereotypes. Third, class divisions based on location. Fourth, emphasis of ‘individualism’ without appropriately addressing the dominance of social, political and cultural influences. I can go on forever.

We spend our entire lives teaching our children about historical figures like Newton, Edison, Einstein, Aristotle, Socrates, Gandhi, Martin Luther Jr. and Abraham Lincoln but fail to teach them how to think like them.  We tell them these were the world’s greatest inventors, thinkers and leaders yet fail to provide the right type of training to encourage them to THINK DIFFERENT.  Kids don’t learn to be like them by writing book reports or doing presentations in class, but by gaining the courage to break out of traditional boundaries and explore new realms of thought. In other words, by being encouraged to THINK DIFFERENT, which of course isn’t quite possible until WE dare to think different ourselves.

We must shut out that little voice that whispers ‘why bother?’ because failure to do so will make us live and pass away like dust in the wind.

I can’t change the way you think but today, I ask you to THINK ABOUT WHY YOU THINK A CERTAIN WAY.  Why do you believe the things you do? Chances are, many of your own thoughts are products of someone else’s.

You still think you can’t make a difference? Think again.

Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.

Dare to BE different.

Why I can’t be a ‘mommy blogger’

I think I FINALLY found a theme I wholeheartedly like.  It’s fresh, clean, crisp and minimalist yet not overly stripped. I guess some things really never change because just as I dress my blog over and over again (as much as up to 3X a day) until I find that PERFECT fit, my mom tells me I used to change my clothes up to 5 times a day as a little girl. For some odd reason, my biggest fear was (and still is) being ‘ordinary’ or ‘average’ so I used to do crazy things like wearing yellow Easter dress on a freezing snowy day or showing up to my kindergarten class with red puffy eyes after kicking and screaming to wear a down winter vest over my tank top and shorts on a hot CA day.

I always thought these stories were hilarious until of course, I had daughters of my own.  Now my girls are doing the same thing, sometimes wearing as many as two shirts, two pants and four different colored socks at one time.  My younger daughter refuses to wear same colored socks and already sports the unbalanced, eclectic look on an hourly basis.

Here are two from this afternoon. It’s most likely that you won’t see many pictures of my girls on my blog because both myself and my husband (yes, I have a husband too) believe they are too young to be shared on the web. We’re overprotective when it comes to them and until they can understand what I’m doing, I would like to keep certain things private–unless of course, I come across something that I absolutely must share. Anyhow, this is my baby T sporting her eclectic look.

My baby nonconformist.

Anyway, I’m sharing this short anecdote to emphasize my (and now my offsprings’) inability to conform and assimilate to dominant ideologies regardless of how ‘universal’ it may seem to others.  Just a little over a month into re-blogging, I’ve come to re-prioritize and re-envision my entire blogging process and overall objective.  There are many facets of life that I can’t conform to because of my unique, eccentric or downright weird tendencies, one of them being my inability to classify myself as ‘just a mommy.’

When I decided to start blogging again, I knew I had to start somewhere to gain visibility and obtain ideas.  The first place I reached out to of course, were the mommy networks, because I’ve come back to the blogging world after a 5-year hiatus as none other than a ‘mommy.’  Naturally, I considered my new Writing Self to be a ‘mommy blogger’ who rants and raves about vaccinations, diapers, color of baby’s poop and organic cotton tees.  However, it didn’t take long for me to realize that something was different about me and the way I write when compared to other moms.

Ok. I’m going to take a deep breath here because this is something I’ve been secretly ashamed of and felt guilty about for the past few months.  This realization took over 4 years to become solidified and once it became clear, I wondered if it was a sickness like a mom’s addiction to adderall or binge eating. Either way, I’m not your ordinary soul so I will come out and declare that…

I’m a proud mother, but MUCH more than ‘just a mommy.’

When a woman first becomes a mom, her entire world becomes absorbed in her new baby’s.  Her needs, wants, and dreams are shoved in the backseat as her baby, and the baby’s health, well-being and dreams become the most important.  This is natural as every woman is equipped with an amazingly powerful and spiritual intuition called maternal instincts. I too, experienced this upon my daughter’s birth and continue to be amazed at the amount of patience, strength and courage I have stored deep down inside.  For me, the catch is that I find it difficult to be this loving, nurturing, patient and thoughtful to any other being, not even my husband and parents.  But for some reason, I can be everything- a cook, cleaner, nurse, hair/wardrobe stylist, personal shopper, event planner, coach, teacher, chauffeur, guide, discipliner and much more- for my two young daughters.

In all honesty, I absolutely love being a mom and wouldn’t trade my life for anything else in the world. I know I’ve grown a lot as an individual and woman by learning to sacrifice my needs and wants for another life that is much more precious than my own.  If my previous life was guided by pride, ego and materialistic wants, my life now is guided by patience, love, modesty and prayers.  I’ve given up trying to control every aspect of my life because motherhood has taught me (as it will continue to teach me) that life is much larger, much more profound than the small space my body occupies.  I’m now able to laugh through difficult moments and feel love in midst of uncontrollable crying tantrums. Most importantly, I now have a reason to love myself aside from my outward achievements.

With this said, I have to reiterate: Yes, I love motherhood, yet refuse to be pigeon-holed into another ‘mommy’ whose life revolves around her children and her children only.  I greatly admire mothers who spend their entire lives for their children because I know being a stay-at-home-mom is the most difficult (yes MOST DIFFICULT) job in the entire world.  On the other hand, I’ve seen the same selfless mothers become unhappy and bitter as they reach their later years because they feel they have sacrificed their entire lives to be left with very little.

Growing up in a culture where women are expected to become mothers and ONLY mothers upon marriage and children, I’ve seen many mothers abandon all motherly responsibilities including their own children, by claiming their lives are now theirs and THEIRS only. It’s as if they desperately run away from all maternal duties as soon as their children turn eighteen. It’s as if deep down inside, they secretly blame their children for taking away ‘their’ lives without returning all their merits and efforts.

For me, motherhood doesn’t have to consume a mother’s entire being.  For me, being a ‘mother’ and ‘woman’ is not dichotomous, meaning that the two can co-exist peacefully without being against each other.  All mothers are women and most women become mothers one day.  And these two entities are so precious and valuable that one should not replace the other completely at any moment (well, except maybe the baby’s first year or so).  Motherhood and womanhood can co-exist peacefully as long as we shift the way we view motherhood.  I know I’m now a mother for the rest of my life and yes, being a mother does restrict me from certain things—well many things. But because I don’t forget to be both a mom AND woman, I know I can be a happy and fulfilled mother, not only until my daughters go off to college, but for many years beyond as we grow old together as WOMEN.

Knowing myself, my capabilities and dreams, being ‘just a mom’ will not leave me fulfilled for the rest of my life.  In fact, I don’t think there is any woman in this world who only deserves to be ‘just a mom’ her entire life.  To me, this is what it means to be a female in the 21st century.  This is the post-postmodern female identity that we should all embrace and try to achieve.

So if I go an entire month without ever mentioning my daughters or motherhood on here or twitter, it’s not because I’m not a proud mommy or because I loathe motherhood. Far from it.  In fact, I’ve been my daughters’ primary caretaker since their birth and will continue to be so until I feel they are ready to spend more hours away from me.  Rather, it is because I’m in the process of reaching a healthy balance between motherhood/womanhood, trying hard not to let motherhood consume every part of my body and soul.

I do this now so I won’t feel the need to run away later.

Shattered glass.

In my previous entry, I declared that my life has reached a plateau of contentment and tranquility. I also noted that my life was sailing smoothly, without much obstacles or mishaps. Well, it now seems that I spoke too soon, because this past week has been one of the most tragic and turbulent one in recent years.

This past Tuesday, I was consumed by this unexplainable feeling of sadness, anxiety and anger. I’m not a stranger to these severe mood swings because like many writers out there, I too, have suffered from depression over the course of my adolescence to adulthood. But this feeling was peculiar, because I couldn’t pinpoint exactly why I felt so bothered and nervous. These negative emotions grew bigger and more monstrous until I realized I just threw something across the room as I was finishing up dishes. I immediately felt ashamed yet it was too late. I found myself standing in a room covered with what seemed to be a million pieces of broken glass.

This wasn’t a pleasant situation to be in, obviously. I was embarrassed for my lack of self-control and regretted falling into my old, destructive habits sprouted by teenage angst. (Oh, it seemed so long ago and now….)

I got up, grabbed a dustpan and started sweeping off the pieces of broken glass. Some large, some small, some so tiny that I can barely pick it up with bare hands. Knowing I couldn’t let anyone find out about the mess I had just made (I was so ashamed I could barely hold up my own head), I swiftly and masterfully swept what seemed to be millions of broken pieces of glass. Some glistened beautifully under the yellow light like diamonds.  Some looked like a murder weapon with its sharp rugged edges, sending shivers down my spine as I tried not to hurt myself.

As my hands were sweeping, my mind was trying to figure out just why I was so uptight and anxious. Nothing was wrong with my life and I really had no reason to feel so overwhelmed. Then it occurred to me that I haven’t exercised for over 4 days. Maybe I should go to yoga tonight, I thought.

I looked at the clock and it read 7:16. The class had already started at 7 pm.

The next day I opened my eyes–and the same sick feeling was still there. Ugh. I groaned and dragged my weary body out of bed despite the fact that what I REALLY wanted to do was stay under the covers all day. It has only been a few minutes since I’ve been awake and for some strange reason, I already knew it was going to be another long depressing day, just like the day before.

At around 11:30 am, a friend sent me a link to a news article through Blackberry messenger. I clicked on the link. And my heart dropped.

A violent shooting had occurred at a retreat center about an hour from my house. The victims were two people I had known since childhood; two people whom I had looked up to much like my own parents. They were my childhood best friend’s parents. Mom was shot in the head and died on the scene; dad was shot in the chest and in critical condition. Two other people were shot at, but fortunately they fought back and survived. According to media reports, the shootings occurred somewhere between 7:10 to 7:20 the night before because simultaneous 9-11 calls were made from 7:23 pm.

Then I realized this was the time when I was solemnly sweeping up the pieces of shattered glass. When I was regretfully sweeping up the floor trying to undo the damage caused by my sudden unexplainable anger, someone less than 100 miles away from me was in middle of a violent shooting rampage, eventually taking away a life that meant the world to my childhood friend.

I know life is full of unexpected tragedies and abrupt deaths but this event completely enveloped me in a state of shock and heartbreak that remain difficult to shake off. I know this world is full of evil and many good people end up as helpless victims, but this recent death really hits too close to home. The funeral takes place two days from now and all I can wonder is, just why do such horrible things happen to good people? And what is God’s explanation for such evil affecting lives of devout Christians?

Just when I feel confident enough to tackle life, a sudden tragedy destroys all my sense of certainty and solidarity, leaving me feeling completely helpless and vulnerable.

Lastly I can’t help but to wonder, were my feelings caused by a premonition of some sort? And if so, does this mean our lives and deaths are intricately linked to a certain degree? I don’t think I can ever find a definitive answer to these floating questions and sadly, all I can do is silently pray and move on as if tragic death is a normal part of any life.

Update: A site has launched in her memory: In Loving memory of Chuneui Yun.

Please keep her and her family in your prayers during this difficult time.