From the monthly archives:

May 2010

Weekends are sacred even though there are errands to run and housework chores to do.

Weekends are sacred despite gymnastic practices, Taekwondo lessons, religious education and Chinese school.

.

.

Weekends are sacred because we didn’t realize how much fun it is to fly a kite.

Now we know.

.

.


Weekends are sacred because we ended the perfect day with a broken kite and a kite gone missing after it broke away and flew off into the clouds.

We are going to get more.

.

.

Weekends are sacred even though sometimes daddy is flying out to yet another foreign country on Saturdays or coming home on Sundays.

Weekends are sacred exactly because he travels so much that we need to use our weekends wisely, not squandering.

Weekends are sacred even though sometimes mommy has to fly out on Sunday night (or the night of Memorial Day) to be in another city by a certain time for some meeting that she would rather not be part of because she starts missing you when she is printing out her boarding pass.

Weekends are sacred even though because the city we live in only has two seasons: Winter and Construction.

Weekends are sacred because we only have one month of spring and one month of fall that are ripe to make perfect days with.

Weekends are sacred because the reward of pedaling uphills inside the woods of Morten Arboretum is a series of downhill turns with the sound of the wind and the clack clack clack of the coasting bicycle wheels accompanied by your screaming

WWWeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

.

Weekends are sacred because our tree is just big enough now to support a hammock.

.

.

Weekends are sacred because we are a family of lazy souls living a packed life.

.

.

Weekends are sacred because when it comes down to it what we really want to do, after all this…

.

.

Is nothing at all.

.

.

Nothing is better than doing nothing.

Weekends are sacred.

.

.

Unknown Mami

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

I recently remembered that I have kept my computer files from the last century somewhere on the hard drive and went looking.  I came upon a Letter to Nobody that I wrote in 1997 documenting an interesting encounter that I have since forgotten.

What surprises and delights me is that I sounded just as sarcastic, bitchy and “stabby” thirteen years ago. I have not changed one bit!

.

Yet another excuse for me to use my favorite sign from The Bloggess

.

Another just as delightful realization dawned on me: A letter to nobody yet with an imagined audience somewhere out there?  An innate, almost pathological need to (over) share, to tell my stories?  I guess I am destined to be a blogger all along. Or perhaps it’s the other way around: I should be grateful that blogging came along and saved me from a life in the joint from having stabbed someone. It was bound to happen if not for this.

.

.

My Stories
June 25, 1997

As you all know, I have had several “interesting” experiences as an Asian woman in this country. But tonight I hit the jackpot. . . I thought I might share it with you all. I hope you “appreciate” this story as I do.

I went to Brookstone in the mall with my husband this evening. We were looking at different things and I wandered away from him. (My first mistake?) I was looking at a finger blood pressure measurement machine when the salesperson sneaked up from behind.

“I see, you are taking your own blood pressure,” he said.

I wasn’t interested in the gadget, so I didn’t respond to him.

“Do you not understand English? Are you with the man over there?” he said loudly and slowly.

So before he even heard me speak, he assumed that I did not understand English.

“Oh, man, I can’t believe this is happening.” I thought.

I tried to give him a good comeback. So I took a deep breath, sighed, without looking at him,

“No, I do NOT understand English.”

He laughed. Ha ha.

Now, most normal human beings would just take the hint and leave me alone, but not my salesperson. He continued,

“Oh, you do NOT understand English VERY WELL. Not only do you understand me fine, you also got the joke.”

I was wondering which part of his remarks could be the joke. I was also frustrated because he did not get MY “joke”.

“Are you looking at the electric toothbrush also?”

He took down one of the electric toothbrushes displayed on top of the blood pressure taker I was looking at and started explaining how the thing works. Again, I wasn’t really interested.

“Are you not understanding me? Do you understand enough English? Are you following me here?” he out of nowhere drew this conclusion about me.

I asked myself, “Is it because how I look? Is it because how I dress?”

I have to admit that he caught me offguard. I couldn’t believe that someone would say something like this out right to me. I was so surprised that I forgot to get offended.

Silence.

He kept on saying something else. I wasn’t listening. I was laughing. I turned to him with a smile,

“You know, right now I really feel like grabbing something and hitting you with it.”

I ended my line with more laughter.

“I’d better leave here now,” I said, not moving.

At this moment, my husband approached us and asked me what happened.

“Oh, I was just being too helpful and she said she wants to hit me with something,” the salesperson said with a laugh.

Then he turned to me and said, “I know how you feel.”

Do you really? I was thinking.

“I feel the same way whenever I go shopping,” he added.

So isn’t that curious? He feels like an Asian when he goes shopping!

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Waiting

May 25, 2010

in therapy in session

Let's go. We can't. Why not? We are waiting for Godot.

.

I have been thinking about this exchange in Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot a lot lately.

ESTRAGON: Let’s go.
VLADIMIR: We can’t.
ESTRAGON: Why not?
VLADIMIR: We are waiting for Godot.

.

End of Act I. They do not move

.

This exchange recurs throughout the play. No progress is made. Nothing is changed.  Both acts end on the same verbal promise for action that is never carried out:

VLADIMIR: Well? Shall we go?
ESTRAGON: Yes, let’s go.
They do not move.

.

It depressed the hack out of me when the lights dimmed on the two figures in the center of the stage: the same way they started; the same way they ended Act II.  Immobile.  Engulfed by the darkness, the unknown, eternity. The image and the thought haunts me.

They do not move.

.

A lot have been written, theorizing the allegorical meaning of Beckett’s tragicomedy. The meaning of Godot.

To me, I’ve always thought that Beckett made a mistake; he should have turned the label the other way around – a comictragedy. This is a tragedy about Didi and Gogo who are the prisoners of their own misplaced hope. This whole waiting thing causes the inaction. It would have been better if they have come to the conclusion that no one is coming.  Things are not going to be better.  Nothing is going to change their situations for them.  But themselves.

.

I didn’t even realize I have been waiting.  Waiting for something, for what I have no idea yet.

What are you waiting for? If you knew what you are waiting for, perchance an event, a sign, the other shoe, will it make everything more tolerable?

I compartmentalize.  By spouting random nonsense here I am able to continue to not think.  To forestall the unraveling.  To keep it together.  To carry on with no resolution in sight.  To wait.  Not remembering that I have been waiting.

For what I know not yet.

.

Let’s go.

We can’t.

Why not?

We are waiting for Godot.

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Rule No.1: Always log off your account when you step away

May 18, 2010 no manual for parenting

… even when you are in the safe confines of your home. Actually, now come to think of it, especially when you are at home… . . . .

30 comments

Teaching Kids Simple Words: Bees

May 17, 2010 no manual for parenting

. Here is a translation if you have trouble reading the handwriting… The question was: If you were a bee, would you be a worker, a drone or a queen? Why? My 7 year-old child’s answer: If I were a bee, I would be a worker because I get to collect pollen and nectar. He […]

41 comments

WTF Wednesday: There, I fixed it (A Pictogram)

May 12, 2010 a picture is worth a thousand words

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

22 comments

Heartbreaking

May 12, 2010 imho is just a polite way to say I know you don't give a hoot what I think but I'm going to say it anyway

. . . . . . . . Our trip to St. Pete Beach, and especially North Beach at Fort De Soto was filled with moments of wonders: . . . . White sandy beaches, calm and clear water, massive expanse of azure that makes one understand what it means to not be able to […]

20 comments

Mother’s Day Double Feature: Why I don’t deserve a holiday in my name

May 9, 2010 no manual for parenting

This is the second part of a rare Double Feature, in celebration of Mother’s Day. No, my dear readers, Chef Ping’s was sadly not on my itinerary… Not that I haven’t tried though. I decided at around 4 pm that yes, we are going to go to Chef Ping’s because It’s my party and I’ll […]

16 comments

What’s the point if I have to clean on the Monday AFTER Mother’s Day?

May 9, 2010 no manual for parenting

Sure I can take a rest today. Sure I can go out and have fun and enjoy myself. (Well, I actually can’t since my husband left for Canada this morning… So I am single-parenting for the next ten days…) But really, if things are not taken care of at home TODAY, I know I have […]

19 comments

WTF Wednesday: A great week to be a misanthrope

May 5, 2010 imho is just a polite way to say I know you don't give a hoot what I think but I'm going to say it anyway

I am having a hard time with this post: I cannot decide which WTF moment to lead with. Too many blazing instances of human stupidity, greed and bigotry circulating the Interweb and I am at a loss. But forge on I must since if I don’t write a WTF Wednesday post this week, it would […]

16 comments