Phantom of the Opera

Dyshidrotic Eczema. Just diagnosed myself. Forget the fact that my hands look ugly... if it gets any worse, I won't be able to write. I'm so scared that it is going to get worse--and then what do I do? I never type my notes... it's distracting and I never learned how to work WordArt fast enough to draw diagrams if needed. Professors here don't like laptops on during class, either.  So, what do I do? Am I supposed to get a note from my doctor stating that my hands are too disfigured to write? Sheesh... just writing about the possibility of it makes me wanna cry.

The first thing the websites have said to do is relieve stress. I'm in school. It's practically an oxymoron. The second thing was the avoid extreme cold weather. Ahem. Being where I go to school, it's impossible. My hands are chilled to the bone even with gloves on (and not the cheap Target gloves, mind you, the nice Macy's high quality ones). Third thing... sleep. HA!

I hope that once I get home, I can really start a moisturizing regimen. I have 3 weeks to turn my skin around or it will get worse when the dead of winter (and negative degree weather) is upon me. I'm hoping to stop by the school clinic today--I hope they can tell me what I can do to relieve this pain (oh my GOSH... the pain of eczema... it really does hurt.)

Yeah... I've been having a really shitty week. Will keep the positivity, though... 'cause there's nowhere else to go but up.

I'm So Excited

It's been so long since I've cried about a grade point average. I don't know how I'm supposed to do well when it feels like everyone in class is quant-heavy. I'm just a liberal arts major.

No matter where I go, I always feel like I'm way behind the curve. I feel like such a failure.

I really am scared. =*[

3am

“I think the most common cause of insomnia is simple; it’s loneliness.”

— Heath Ledger 

 

I don't know if it's a real quote (I can't find a reference for it), but I've been seeing it quite frequently lately. With the 2+ weeks of insomnia currently wrecking havoc in my life, I wonder if it's true. 

I just watched an episode of Frasier and it scares me how similar we are. The past few episodes have been about him just being tired of fixing everyone's problems and feeling responsible for the people around him. This in turn doesn't give him time for himself and he wonders if there's anyone out there for him.

I don't know... ambition is a funny thing. I know it's one of my drivers... but I'm just so tired. It's what I want, but necessarily what I need. I just feel like I'm running and I have no where to run to. I might've had some messed up people in my life who affected me, but there's no reason for the self-proliferation of their theories and bad juju around me. I wonder if I'm beyond the point of ever being happy.

In the moments I find myself happy. In the great scheme of things I feel isolated and sad. I feel like if I died no one would care. And that scares me.

In This Skin

Two years. I've spent two years clearing my face of the toxicities, years abolishing the stress on my skin... and in 4 months all that work has reversed itself. The sadness that covers this face, the loathing of this place so far away from home has run its course.

I don't know what to do. I feel stupid here, where the bottom line believes in BAMN philosophy and the idea of benefiting the human race is non-existent. Where are the people who care?! The Occupy protests at Berkeley make me homesick. The now cold nights make me fear of what's to come in the dead of winter.

All I am left with is the manifestation of what I think this place represents--annoying white flecks of eczema and the pimples on the path of progress. And the creme de la creme: a 4-week old cough rearing its ugly head. 5 more weeks. I just need 5 more weeks.

P.S. I apologize for my writing style. I just watched an episode of Frasier and I just noticed that my writing reflects his bizarre and sometimes elitist speech patterns.

Grenade

First off, click on the video. I know you want to. It's a great rendition of the song--I like this version better than the original. Don't get me wrong, I am well-suited for the angsty version... but I can also complain in doo-wop form.

Yesterday I wrote about being under-appreciated. Today I went to a lecture on Negotiations, particularly women and negotiations. So, yeah, I get it--if I want something, I need to be upfront about it. I shouldn't assume that people have manners or commonsense, because we all know that's far from the truth. I need to follow the lead of my male counterparts and just f*ck it. It's just business, and apparently, everything is an arm's length deal--no alliances, no cooperations--just straight up business.

I should protect my greatest asset, because I shouldn't feel like sh*t when I have pure intentions (and in all seriousness, who will stand up for me?!).

So enough of this. Arm's length. Nothing more. Nothing less. TINSTAAFL. Straight up.

Yeah, selfish you say? Shut up. If you want an altruistic feel: I can't save the world if I'm too emotionally broken to care.

So there. Boo-yah.

The Little Things

All I ask for is a little validation. I understand that I am nowhere near important on your list of social circles. I understand that I am a worthless dot in your web of networks. But I do expect a little common decency. When I go out of my way to do research for you and help you out, I do expect some recognition. Hell, just confirm you got the damn email/comment/text... acknowledgement goes a long way, especially for a person who is forced to work the backstage because of some preconceived notion of not being worthy enough of being in the spotlight.

You get more manners from a stranger than you get from someone you know. One day you're going to have to leverage my support, and in all seriousness, I don't think I'll give it so freely. In the words of Janet Jackson, what have you done for me lately?

People are mean. Never care for them. Never.

Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay

It must've been the heat that reminded me of the typical San Francisco October weather... or my need to go back home or possibly a need to hit things hard (get your mind out of the gutter), but I had a dream about an SF Giants baseball player yesterday.

Carlos is berating me in Spanish (which I somehow fully understand). He refuses to have his little sister, a natural talent like himself, who cannot switch-hit with consistent numbers from both sides. We're at the batting cages--public batting cages--and here he is, practically flogging me, using his bat as a cane, other hand on hip, declaring that if I can't hit--that I should change my last name. Two hours, he locks me in these cages. Only after the skin on my palms starts blistering (because I shouldn't wear gloves until I understand the reverberations of my bat when I do hit the ball well) does he let me out. While we walk to the parking lot he tells me that he's satisfied with my progress, that I can keep our surname, and then makes me some bomb-ass homemade lechon back at his house.

Yeah... I really don't know what this is about. I really don't. But that lechon was awesome. The dream was so vivid--the brown/orange dirt at the batting cages, the vibration of a hit going up your arm, the loud yelling... the blue sky, light breeze with an ocean scent. It was like a freakin' movie and I was Girl Friday.

...Yeah... I believe I'm pretty close to losing my marbles. 0_o

Gotta listen to this version... the sadness and pain in Sara Bareilles' voice... oh man... (at least the first verse and chorus...)

Sitting on the dock of the Bay...

Wasting time.

Hold On

...No one can change your life except for you...

...Just open your heart and your mind...

I loved this song when I was a kid. And I don't know... I've been feeling a little nostalgic for my childhood. Psychoanalyzing it now, I see why I liked this song... 3 girls singing in a group... 2 skinny girls, one big girl who happens to sing alto--but that's never here nor there.

...You got yourself into your own mess...

I just wonder, you know... it's just amazing, the human spirit. How a song, a person, a thought could facilitate perseverance even though everything around you seems to crumble. I've been away for 2 months now and I found that new things seem to inspire me--adding to the collection of hope that I now possess. As my friend, PhD to be, stated, "Wherever you are, you have a right to have a place called home." This place will never replace HOME, but the posted pictures of my friends and family on my walls, the weird and often inefficient meetings with my core team, and the idea that I can make a difference with the information I'm learning makes it easier to swallow the distance.

It gets easier. It really does. But only if you continue to hold on.

...If you hold on for one more day... can you hold on? Can you hold on?

Please Forgive Me

It's almost 1am, Central Time. I'm a day and 7 hours away from my first midterm. I am 200 pages deep in my readings for Wednesday's classes and still not done, but this has been gnawing at me for the past 2 weeks. 

I kind of wanted to talk about forgiveness for the longest time. Two weeks ago, the gospel (and therefore the homily) was on Forgiveness. God forgives everybody, but yet, we as humans don't. Are we saying that we're better than God? The Deacon goes on to say that, "It doesn't matter if the other person is sorry." Recite the Lord's Prayer... remember the words... "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us." The other person caused you hurt, does he not cause you more hurt if you don't forgive? Our job is to save ourselves, not the other person. How can you fly to heaven if there is so much heaviness in your soul? 

But I dismissed the whole forgiveness thing. I am bitter. I don't want to forget. 

Today, during my dinner ritual--eating dinner while watching an old episode of X-Men (I'm going through the old cartoons), I almost choked when I saw the title: Bloodlines. It first starts out by some anti-mutant vigilante finding out that not only does he have a mutant father (who he knows about), BUT he has a mutant mother and half-brother as well. He goes to destroy his new-found family to regain his mutant-hating status. The second half of the plot line was that Nightcrawler finally gets to confront the mother who abandoned him. At the moment of truth he says something like, "I pray to God that He will give me the strength to forgive you, then I will pray to God that He give you the strength to forgive yourself."

How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours.  ~Wayne Dyer

I wonder if all the negativity that happens around/to me is because I refuse to let go of the negativity of my past. It has made me who I am. Can I accept the past without condoning the distasteful way that I was treated? Can I release the negative energy and still keep the strength that it gave me? I don't know... but I'm going to try.

Being accountable for myself and my actions and reactions, I can only change me. I can't change the past. I can't change the FUCKED UP people who chose to bully a shy kid. I can't change who I'm related to. But I sure as hell can make sure that the kid in the shadowy corner of my soul gets a little light, she deserves at least that much. 

Do I dare give myself a Forgiveness challenge? Maybe. This time in my life is all about transformation... I guess I should transform the mind as well as the heart.

Wake Me Up When September Ends

Constant vigilance. Be aware. Be safe.

******

It has been 10 years. It feels so distant. It feels like a lifetime ago, and yet, I almost remember that day in its entirety. 9/11 flipped the world around, especially for the high school graduating class of 2002. I don't say that because it was my senior year, or to make us sound more important than we really are. But we were the first adolescents to turn into adults post-9/11. Our academic futures, our careers and our political stances were all shaped by what happened on 10am Eastern Time that morning.

My creative writing teacher told us, a few months afterwards, that he thought that this event would be our Vietnam. We were silent in our thoughts; politically correct, I supposed. But while our voices were nonexistent, our actions said everything. A year later the United States entered into enemy turf preemptively. I wonder, had it not been for the attack on American soil, would we have had enough troops to enter a foreign territory? 

Yes, our world has changed dramatically since it happened. Do you remember what it was like before this? Sadly, I cannot. All I can remember are reds, oranges and yellows. No working bathrooms in underground subways. System-wide "emergency" drills in college. The randomly parked bomb squad van near the school's stadium. The paranoia of going to beloved landmarks. The fear of losing family and friends to a Lo-Fi massacre.

Are we safer now than we were before? Will we ever get that sense of security back? All I know is that I'm hoping nothing happens tomorrow or ever again. Both sides cannot continue to devolve. No God would want this for any of His people. No economy can financially support the hate. But human nature innately forces us to defend our rights and privileges. Everyone loses, no one wins.

Clockwatching

It must be the recluse in me... an actual complete poem.

Behind the Times
I am two hours ahead of everyone that I care about.
And it's starting to wear on me.
I know that time is only an illusion,
I know that it is everything but linear,
But I am lost in the smoke and mirrors that it created.
I am separated by four dimensions instead of three.
Blinded by the reality of empty space between home and me
And it's starting to show.
But I know that time is only an illusion.
It is nothing if I want it to be nothing.
It can be everything but linear.
I can be lost in the smoke and mirrors that it created,
The reality of what I've created.
Blinded by the four dimensions instead of three,
Empty space between two hours ahead.
But always looking back to everyone that I care about.

Home

Couldn't help it... gotta use the Buble version. It's been a week of orientation. It's been 3 weeks of being away. Three weeks of homesickness.

I got a chance to have dinner with my friend and we had a good heart to heart. She didn't sugarcoat it. This is going to be hard. Being transplanted into the region of the country where you're the only one of your kind is hard. Being away from everything that feels like home is hard. Knowing that you're being selfish is hard.

Some crazy stats: out of 99 students, I am the only Californian transplant. There are 31% women and 21% international students. I am the only woman of color that doesn't have an accent. I am 1 of 3 American-born Asians. Just the makeup of the class alone segregates me.

You don't have to play superwoman all the time. Sometimes you just need to cry. Sometimes you just need to cleanse the soul. And wherever you are, you deserve to have a place called home. 

I will try to make my place more home-like. Makeshift isn't working right now. I know that this isn't permanent, but it is for 2 years. However strong you are, you do need people and friends that understand what it's like to be in your situation or workload. This probably has been the hardest thing for me--I have great friends at home... I thought that I didn't need anyone but them... but they have their own lives and their own situations, and sometimes it is best to find people who can relate to you in an instant/superficial level than use your lifelines at home.

And it's okay to admit that you want to fold the hand that you've been given. Once you admit that, there's no place to go but up. 

This will get better. It has to.

Home

Is this home?
Is this where I should learn to be happy?

I promised my friend that I wouldn't play Michael Buble's "Home." But I did play "Home" from the musical version of Beauty and the Beast. I am a bit homesick today, more than usual. I know... it's only been 2 weeks and 2 days since I've been away. I know... it's only been 2 days of orientation... But I don't know. While we were getting lectures about targeting your career--finding your path... I started thinking of home... And how I hope that my path leads back to the West Coast. 

Everyone here seems to have sooooo much confidence and my classmates are so outgoing... I just feel really lost... in every aspect.

I call home everyday, but even that doesn't help. It makes me even more sad. If you have any words of wisdom on, maybe not even conquering this, but just minimizing the effect, please let me know.

Home should be where the heart is
Never where words so true!
My heart's far, far away
Home is too.

Big Yellow Taxi

Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone...

Weekends make me feel the worse kinds of homesickness. It's only been a week. So... random thoughts of the cerebrum.

****

What is it about bullies (even self-denying or indirect ones) that makes them feel overly injured when one of their torments actually steps up to them? How come when the bullied soul gives exactly what the bully deserves it is deemed as something worse than what the bully dished out to begin with?! Does the bully, with his/her sociopathic tendencies, know how to play to their torment's conscience? And why, for that instance, do people feel for the bully?

Karma's a bitch. But she's also a lady if you treat her right.

I don't get it. I feel like the tortured souls never come out as winners. It's their faults that they were bullied and they're horrible people for wanting and executing a small taste of revenge.

****

This song has been stuck in my head for a week now. My high school creative writing teacher (and probably one of the biggest influences of my writing) posted about the school's trees--they chopped them down! So naturally... I thought of "they took all the trees and put them in a tree museum..."

Those trees used to be our refuge... it used to be where all the buses lined up. And now they're gone!

****

Force of habit. I believe that no one in my extended family cares about me. It's a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I would change my thought processes, but they seem to be true. I know that this is something that I need to overcome. But the anger won't let me. I wonder if there's an "Anger's Anonymous" group out there. Maybe I should watch "Anger Management" once again.

I know that this has shaped me for the better. My brothers and I are closer because of it. I know that my struggles with the relatives almost insures that I won't do this to my nieces and nephews. But I wished that I would feel included once in a while. I wished that the paranoia would go away.

The paranoia of people using me is what makes it difficult to make new friends. The Aunt Petunias and Uncle Vernons and cousin Dudleys of my life have influenced me more than I have ever wanted them to. 

****

The road to self discover is a windy one. Sometimes I wish I could gain some of my ignorance back. 

****

Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone.

Hello Goodbye

I said my piece

To make my peace

I tried to say it right

The anger deep inside me 

Just makes me want to fight

AHahaAHA. Can you tell that's been a hell of a long time since I've written any rhyming poetry?! (Try 05/05/05... actually, it may be more recently than that... possibly 11/26/05.) These few lines have been stuck in my head for about 2 weeks now and decided to write it out--sounds a lot better when you think of it as a slam piece (slam piece... oh, you.). Who am I kidding?! *Rolls eyes at self* Slam piece. It's a bit contradictory, but oh well... I am a walking contradiction at times--okay, most of the time. 

Won't have much time to dwell on the anger, so expect to see the splashes of red here when necessary. I'll leave the sob stories for personal correspondence. 

Good day. Don't let the thunder scare you. Don't let the lightning strike you.

You Are Mine

I will come to you in the silence, 
I will lift you from all your fear. 
You will hear my voice, 
I claim you as my choice,
Be still and know I am here. 


Do not be afraid, I am with you. 
I have called you each by name.
Come and follow me
I will bring you home;
I love you and you are mine. 


I am hope for all who are hopeless,
I am eyes for all who long to see.
In the shadows of the night,
I will be your light, 
Come and rest in me. 


Do not be afraid I am with you.
I have called you each by name.
Come and follow me
I will bring you home;
I love you and you are mine. 


I am strength for all the despairing,
Healing for the ones who dwell in shame
All the blind will see,
The lame will all run free,
And all will know my name.
-"You Are Mine", D. Haas

I went to mass yesterday and broke down (shaking shoulders and all) when this song played. I know that Jesus is with me. I know I'll need His help. But I'm scared that I won't think it's enough. I'm scared that in the moment of weakness I'll give up everything that I worked so hard to attain. Not everyone gets this chance. Not everyone has the balls to put all their chips in. I know that I'm lucky to have my parents (they could've not given me their blessing)... but the guilt that I feel for causing my parents this much sadness (of me being away) is almost unbearable. And the fact that I won't be helping the family financially is causing me so much grief. I can't believe that I am this selfish.

Being from such a big family, you take people for granted. You take the criticisms and comparisons from family members for granted. You take the random friend conversations for granted. You take the jam sessions with the brothers for granted. You take the little nephew for granted. You take the cousins for granted. I didn't know there was a difference between wanting your own time and space, and being absolutely alone. I think I learned the difference too late. 

I know that this will make me a better person. I already have a deeper appreciation for all the things and people I love in California. I just need the strength to make it through. 

Please keep me, and especially my family, in your thoughts and/or prayers. 

...Three more months until Thanksgiving break...

Do I Know You?

We interrupt your daily programming with a little nonsensical food for thought...

I find it interesting when someone you absolutely don't know bothers the f*ck out of you. Is transference a subconscious thing or a pre-conscious thing? 

I was thinking about this yesterday during the brawl. Victorino bothers me. And it's not even about the brawl or about last year... his face bothers me. He's not overly gorgeous or overly ugly... which is why I don't know why his face irks me. And it bothers me that I can't pinpoint WHY he bothers me. Maybe I'm making too much out of it... Maybe I need to stop asking why.

I don't know. I think I'm trippin'. 

Jessie Spano "I'm so excited" Status at a cool 65%.

Sad Eyes

It's funny. I wanted to stay away from facebook today. It's my cousin birthday, and I rather not see the, "Happy 21st Birthday! Wish you were alive to celebrate it with us!" posts that are rampant within my many cousins' statuses. With every status update I see my aunt's eyes... eyes that will never heal. It's hard to swallow... so I avoid it completely.

It's difficult to see the fairness in life when things are taken away from you... when you give and nothing returns to you, when others take but never give... But over time, there is only one way out of the cave of sadness that the world helped you create...

My friend messaged me today about planning a little dinner/touch-bases before craziness ensues... hence my reason for going onto the time-sucker. But by the time I sent my response, my other cousin had this on her status:

Life is never about proving to people that you are a good person.
Sometimes, the bad things matter.
For in your darkness, you see people who are ready to light the road for you.
It's not how many friends you have, or how many people roam to you,
But it's how few of them accept you.
For in your nothingness, people TRUE to you, find reasons to still love you.

In the past year and a half, we've had to deal with so much loss. Gotta remember not to lose things that have meaning to me. And I have to remember not to lose myself. Gotta remember not to lose sight of what's important.

Here I thought I was avoiding my cousin... forgot that 'Than always had good timing. He was part of the entourage whenever we went out in public back home... figures that he'd still guide me stateside. Happy birthday, cousin.

Free Your Mind

I was cleaning up (at 12:15 am on a work night... no idea why) and stumbled across one of my babies... so to speak. My sophomore year in college was nothing short of amazing (still don't know how I survived)--I was living with 6 other people (5 of whom I'm still friends with, 4 of whom I still see during the holidays), I took 17 units during the fall and 16 units during the spring--14 of those units being organic chem and two semesters' worth of physics, I wrote and directed for PCN, and on top of that, I had this little tiny literary magazine that I edited/managed for.

...She's not your typical anything... if you think you know here, think again... She's "rageful" inside, a pessimistic optimist... but then again, she's not your typical anything... Blacksheep-ness oozes out of her pores--it is who she is... she has no distinct shape... she can go in and out of phases, read your mind--and at instances, predict the future...

--My staff bio from [m] 17: Renaissance?

One of the first Filipino-American literary magazine to hit the nation, Maganda Magazine is student-run and based at UC Berkeley. I laugh now at all the all-nighters we pulled just to have a voice. A separate ethnic voice... something that we could call our own. Different experiences, different stories. But still... it was (and still is) a forum where we could speak our mind and feel safe. There aren't that many safe places left. 

People take for granted the strides that we've made in the our society. Yes, we should all be equal, but is that reality? And if you are the proletariat speaking up against the privileged, are you safe from persecution? How do you explain to the suburban white-collar kid what it's like to know that the sales rep look at you more closely than other patrons when you enter a store? How do you explain to a white kid what it's like to be colored? How do you explain to a golden child what it's like to be in the shadows? The problem is that people who are on the greener pasture refuse to see the other side. You can't push for more equality if you think that everything is already equal. As they say, ignorance is bliss. ...Uh... I had no idea where I was going with this...

I invested a lot into that little lit mag. And I don't invest cheaply. I think finding it was a sign. I think it's time to bring that mindset back into play. Maybe this is the world's way of telling me to stop investing in things with a negative return. Positive things. More positive think.

P.S. I wish that bio wasn't the last thing of mine that's been published. In my defense, I wrote it after a couple of insomnia-filled days. But I totally need to rectify that.

F*ck You

But if you dig deep enough, we all have our sins.

- Derek Morgan, Criminal Minds, Episode: Revelations

You know... just because my feelings are different from yours doesn't mean they're wrong. They're just my own. Motherf*ckin' shit... let me be angry--let me ooze out the crap that has been left by the so-called relatives... it's bound to come out somehow... You a**holes always want your feelings validated but when I need mine to be validated, you refuse. So, fuck you. Take your self-centered-what-about-me bullshit and stuff it. Because, hell, if you can be selfish, I have a right to be, too. 

Jerks.