hiatus over. Now just need some motivation.

She had the advantage,

I’d go back in time to be my own coach… my own parent, if you will. I’ve already realized my mistakes, my misconceptions, and my strays from proper goals; and if I were to go back to the times where each of the former has happened, I wouldn’t fix them, but I would tell my past-self to properly stay on the right track:

Be productive. Have fun. Hone your talents. Cling to friends. Dwell on what will get you there, instead of what will hold you back.

I realize that it is impossible to have that as a reality. But the reality that comes in the future will be the next best thing. I can’t be my own parent, but I will be a parent in the future. I really want to have kids running around; and if I’m able to coach my kids with the lessons above, my skewed past will be all but worth it.

Catindigmajig

I’m in the middle of midterms and essays and coffee is barely keeping me awake. I’ll post again once I’m free from the chains of college =(.

“Be careful” my mother said to me as I was helping her put away the glass cups. I felt insulted that she had to clarify such an obvious statement, so I sent back no response or expression. I felt I had done my share of domestic duties for the day and so I went to prep myself to go to the gym. Gym clothes, water bottle, gloves, shoes, car keys, ipod and headphones…check, check, and check.

I went back to the kitchen to inform my mom of where I was going and she responded,

“The gym? Why do you have to go? You’re already fit, you’re already beautiful, what more do you need?”

This question caught me off guard; what kind of answer was she instigating for?

“Why else? I want to be more fit; I want more strength”.

And then she did something unexpected; she chuckled. Her nonchalant expression changed to disbelief and she picked up one of the glass cups she had been polishing,

“Let me tell you something young daughter, this glass cup here, do you see how it sparkles and shines? Do you see delicacy and elegance of this glass? Do you also realize the standards it embodies? It is expected to be clean, spotless, and fragile. You are a woman and being a woman you are similar to this glass cup. The world has expectations and standards they expect you to uphold; strength is not one of them. You are expected to be elegant, transparent, and fragile just like this glass. Aspire too high and you might lose your head in the clouds”.

I’ve always known she was traditional and ignorant to the new world; but I never expected her mind to be so closed. I couldn’t look in this woman’s eyes because in that moment I felt shame; shame from being her daughter.

Why was I born a woman? My entire life I have been judged on how feminine I was based on my preferences and lifestyle. Why is it such taboo for me to have an androgynous personality? That always perplexed me and it still does.

Why am I expected to wear flowy dresses that reveal the contour of my body? Why do I have to wear shoes that tower three inches off the floor when I’d rather much wear my comfortable sneakers?

Porcelain skin, tamed yet simultaneously vivacious hair, slimmed yet voluptuous figures, the manners of the royalty, simple minded yet virtuous; where do these standards end? None of it appealed to me; we’re expected to be kept tamed and groomed like domestic pets? I was not such a delicate creature that I needed to be handled like glass nor was I going to be a caged bird. And so I decided to revolt,

“If that’s what it means to be a woman, then I refuse. I’d rather choose to be human”.

Just around the corner past the Victorian lamppost was Tustin plaza; where the rich plutocrats frolic in herds on newly paved roads and renovated walkways. Any high end store or restaurant that exists, you can find it here. I made my way to my destination in a brisk pace. In a place like this only two classes of society frequent this place daily: the rich and of course, the poor who serve the rich. It wasn’t hard to figure out which group I belonged to, my name tag and apron were clearly conspicuous.

As I opened the entrance doors to The Gilded Lily, the restaurant I served as a waitress, I went with haste to clock in. Although this job is lacking in pay, it will have to do for the present time. The economy has done a number on my family’s income and me being a grad student certainly didn’t help anything. This temporary service job will have to hold me off in the meanwhile.

The workload was bearable; as long as I kept my head down and did work diligently I can get out of this unscuffed. Don’t get me wrong, as courteous of a waitress I am I still have no tolerance for these high class scumbags. But if I keep my voice down, my pride can boil silently and discreetly.

During our slow hours I often get a chance to eavesdrop on the patron’s conversations to pass the time. Today, as we just ended our midday waves, a group of female socialites came in; no doubt taking a break from shopping. As I seated the women I caught a whiff of potent perfumes, the luxurious kind that I can only imagine costs my whole paycheck. As the aroma lingered in my nostrils, I took their orders and as I did two of them talked amongst themselves.

“I’ll have the lobster carbonara”
“Oh wow this place is actually cheaper than our usual”
“Oh well, going from store to store we already walked miles…unless you feel like walking further”
“Okay nevermind, I guess I’ll just get the linguini di mare”

As I continued taking orders for the rest I also simultaneously eavesdropped as they spoke on their expenses on makeup, apparel, accessories and prices I found unfathomable yet they said so casually. They had to be living off their parents; they couldn’t have been any older than I was. As I continued to eavesdrop on their conversation I continued to get more annoyed…

“So your dad wouldn’t buy it for you?”
“No! He said that my laptop was good enough already; I told him it wasn’t because it wasn’t a MacBook”
“Just tell him you’ll use it for school, that’s what I said to get my car”
“He won’t believe that, he snooped through my laptop once and didn’t find anything school related; like I even use it for school, I barely go to class anymore”
“Damn, your life fucking sucks”
“Seriously, maybe I’ll just go get a virus in it so he has no choice haha”

Her life sucks? The nerves of these girls are unbelievable. Here I am, a waitress and now the breadwinner of my family serving these hollow minded girls. I work a full time job and juggle going to grad school and to add on I’m also fighting off student loans. I scrimp and save worried everyday that I’ll never have enough in the end, yet these girls can afford to partake in a lavish meal and pamper themselves with money made from us lower class people. At the end of their meal they left me a 20 dollar tip; it was at that point that my pride begin to erupt and steam. If I had the liberty to, I would quit my job. If I had the liberty to, I would tell all these high end socialites to go fuck themselves. If I had the liberty to, I would find those girls and burn the 20 dollar bill to ashes right in front of them. But that liberty was not available for me.

So I took the 20 dollar bill and hid it deep inside my pocket, worked until the end of my shift, and went quietly past the Victorian lamppost and around the corner until I reached the streets where the roads were rugged.

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When the sun sets, I don’t think of the beauty that is portrayed; I think that it is that time of day. Time to go to the spot that I’ve been to many times before to partake in a habit I’ve done many times before. The sunset is just a cue for my thirst to begin, just as many other cues do. The number of cues are endless; coffee has become a cue, songs that are associated have become a cue, even the cold wind has become a cue. A cue that it is time to spark up that stick. 

As I come to my spot, a cliff that overlooks the whole surrounding land, I find myself blissfully alone and I would like it no other way. I’ve come to recognize my traces here; discarded trash I left here in my past visits.  I dig through the secret compartment within my bag to indulge in this discreet habit I have hidden from the world with the help of perfume. Within minutes, I forget my life exists and I live within my own euphoria.

The effects are so intoxicating that everything seems so much more grand. The sunset seemed to burn the sky which seemed infinitely larger while the lakes seem to shimmer like a queen’s jewels. The rolling hills that are untouched by civilization seem to have a mystical overlay that I would not have seen if I was sober. I put on my headphones and find music to set the mood, making this moment even more bittersweet. It’s unbelievable the beauty this drug evokes, even the smoke that sways in the wind is a form of art in itself. I’ve come to associate everything I love with this drug; this drug has become a part of me. 

This stimulant has been the only reliable thing in my life; it’s always there to comfort me. It makes the problems I have a bit easier to endure and it’s available for me when I need it. This drug has been there for me more than any other person has. 

If I knew of the abusive relationship I would have to endure when I started this habit, I wouldn’t have began it in the first place. Even though it is inconvenient for me; I will find time for it. Even if I hit rock bottom financially; I could still spare a few dollars for it. 

I told you the love part of this relationship, now let me tell you the hate part. I’ve began to feel an uncomfortable thirst when my intake is inadequate; a hunger that I feel the need to satiate as soon as possible. Cues for the thirst to begin are all around me left and right and inescapable. The pleasures of sober life seemed incomparable to my fleeting intoxicated moments, how could I ever go back? This stick of death and I often get into fights, but being the submissive person I am…I always give in. It’s become a dispute I can never win.

I took pride in my independence; my ability to handle myself. Ironically, this independence led me to this habit; the same habit that took away my independence. 

Little did I know, I had already given away my life. I inadvertently gave myself permission to disintegrate.

Author’s note: This is a piece I devoted to the affected of the March 11, 2011 natural disaster in eastern Japan. I’m not actually a first person witness of the quake itself; this is a fabricated piece I created off of what I think a survivor would perceive.

Our waters have always been a blessing to us; it is our life, the mother that provides for us, and for fishermen it is home. It is not unheard of for mothers to scold you; our mother is benevolent but at the same time relentless and fearsome. No one would’ve expected today for our mother to strike us so severely, it makes us question what we ever did to wrong her.

Nobody would have expected what was to happen judging by the calm this morning. Sendai, the city of trees, is especially thankful to our caregiver. Because of the clean waters we have trees that seemed to be forged from the hands of the gods themselves while the angels lacquered them with a green varnish. Our city was prized for its green beauty. Just as easily our mother has given us this beauty, she has taken it away from us with even more ease.

Midday, the natural foundation that our feet stood on began to shake; simultaneously herds of people began to stampede as if their stomps were the cause. Mothers searched for their children in haste, merchants disregarded their own goods and scattered, and both stray and domestic animals began to howl.  As we look to the sky, the buildings that tower over us began to falter and sway while our means of transportation have been compromised; where do we run to now? As we look afar, it seems as though Mt. Funagata was our only refuge now.

And then our mother came to take back what was once hers. The trees we once admired were uprooted and swept away along with automobiles and even homes. The lights in buildings began to black out just as the ones within us had. Our mother had no mercy; bridges and highways were engulfed leaving us no escape, even the fields that once fed us were ruined. The rooftops were our only sanctuary, even then there is no guarantee that rescue will come.

Us survivors pray on these rooftops. As we pray, we wave white sheets in the air in hopes for rescue. White sheets or white flags; we wave and we wave and pray for a change of tides.

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