Moving on

It's been a year since I've last posted something and a lot of things have happened since then. To recap: I've graduated from Nursing school (finally, to my mom's delight), passed the NCLEX (even better), got accepted as a new graduate nurse and almost off orientation, was unfortunate not to attend my sister's wedding in Canada or my brother's in the Philippines, met a guy at a friend's wedding, went to Disneyland, celebrated some, cried some, argued some, laughed a lot, learning a lot, dating above mentioned guy, breathing and actually happy.

I still can't believe that I am done with Nursing school. I still wake up on odd days thinking that I have to go to school or turn in an assignment or that I don't have an RN license yet. And since I started working there are days when I ask myself why am I a nurse, especially during times when I feel dumb, or overwhelmed, or when I suddenly feel young in front of patients much more older and weathered by life. But there are more days of exhilaration that yes, I am a nurse, and that I am a competent, mature, and professional. Sometimes. I am learning a lot about Nursing, about myself, about life, about people, about relationships, and how to be patient with myself. I'm moving on.

I had a friend ask me years ago of what came first: moving on or letting go? I remember answering that we let go and then move on, but I think it's a process of moving on and letting go and letting go and moving on. I think we can't ever stay stagnant as people, we'd be too bitter or too bored. I've had people tell me I grew up too fast but growing up is never over. I still have all these questions, notions, concepts, abstract ideas, and emotions trying to settle down like bones, like how people grow into their bodies, gangling qualities turning into grace. And sometimes lessons are painful and seeing my flaws out in the open make me want to burrow deeper but I want to be better and so I choose to be better.

I stopped writing partly because I was busy, partly because I was mourning, and mostly because I wanted to live out my life outside of written words, beyond computer screens. I wrote for myself as therapy and I like writing but I was starting to write more than I was living, even if that doesn't make sense, so I stopped. Just like I stopped drawing because it hurt to remember my grandmother, only to start baking more to remember another. I stopped writing to my family because it's easier to shut away feelings than be emotional and hurt. I have all these ineffective coping mechanisms and as I examine myself, I feel discontent. I feel like I have all these rooms that I shut off and only sequestered myself in a corner, wasteful really, and disappointing.

I want to move on, let go of myself, and grow up and settle into my body. I want to be all these marvelous things and I am slowly changing and it's process but I'll get there. I can't wait.

I do it for love

I do believe that I'm two months into my vacation, or what I usually call/shout for joy in my head as "Freeeedddooooommmm". Yes, exactly like that.

I've spent time in San Francisco to see relatives, and Yosemite, and well, a place other than Arizona. I've spent time in hospitals that had nothing to do with my clinicals but with people I personally know being there, and oh for an interview, followed by medical appointment to see if I'm TB-free or something, and an orientation for the volunteer work I applied for. I've been in other places, like the library fifteen minutes away by car, and restaurants and shops, and movie theaters, and other places, like the post office and the FedEx store, sometimes to apply for work and more often to simply be a patron. I've read books, some new, some old, some borrowed, and some bought. And then there were the days when I slept for hours and hours, and didn't the next day, and then took naps. I guess I've been having fun, no, no. I am having fun.

I'd have been in Canada to see my sister and my cousins, and their babies, but that wasn't what happened. Instead I'm currently in California, though not in daisy dukes or bikini tops. I don't have those in my luggage. And I'm not really here for vacation. I'm here to help my aunt around the house since she had a fracture on her leg and it's less painful to stay on the bed than on her feet. Although currently I'm more house-sitting than anything since she hasn't left the hospital since she got injured while working there.

Solitude wasn't really a problem until I ran out of books, could not get a decent Wi-Fi signal that didn't require a password, and couldn't use her car since I needed a remote for the community's gate to get back in. For days it was wake up, fix bed, bathroom, open computer, cook/eat, wash dishes, computer, cook/eat/dishes, throw trash out, and bathroom breaks in between. The first time I tried watching TV I just got sore, teary eyes. I wasn't used to watching TV for long hours since I started school. The radio was okay to tune into until it wasn't anymore. Oh, and the telephone rang all the time. Fun. My cellphone ran out of battery and the parentals brought my charger home since they thought it was their charger. This whole thing felt like being dumped in the Wonderland, but a silent and solitary type of Wonderland.

If I sound like I'm complaining, I'm not. Honestly, I'm more amused than any other emotion. I was reminded of being a high school student and alone in a house in a middle of a farm with a lone wooden bridge connecting it to the town that was in the middle of other small towns up north continents away from where I am now. I had no internet, no functioning computer, no telephone, barely a flicker of a cellphone signal, and barely a signal from the TV's satellite dish. I called it the Land of Nothingness. And it was fun. I could be alone with my books with no one to bother me whether I did the dishes or cooked a full meal.

I survived that and I'm surviving this because I find it fun to figure out ways to be resourceful, and in getting lost when I take walks, and figuring out how much weight I can carry when I walk back from the grocery store, and enjoying how much better cook I am, and how much obsessive I can be when I clean, and how vigilant I can be against spiders (HATE THEM), and ants (Admire them from outside the house), and just learning how to be okay with just being with myself again. I'm finding that I've grown so much more compared to when I was a high schooler, and that makes me smile. I hope five years from now, I can look back and still smile at the fact that I've grown wiser and better than when I was twenty-one.

神は、私により多くの時間を与える

Observer,
We are fragile vessels;
Our hearts burst with no sound.
Our spirits are crushed by tragedy,
The young and the elderly
All of us are stained and bound,
Scarred and rife with irrational fears.
Keep your grudges,
I have plenty of my own.
And they will all be buried with me,
In time they will fester along inside.
Observer, travel well,
The walk from here is not far.
The rest of us already went ahead,
But they do not wait forever.
Observer, have care,
Do not be crushed by fate,
We are not governed by fickle tripe.
This lesson is not hard to understand
But it is not easy to accept
Your choices are your own
Your path unique to you
You know what is best for you,
I hope. Soon you will account for them,
Be prepared to kneel; bow down.
No one escapes with minor bruising,
To be polished, we are cut down,
Stripped down, layered,
Immersed in the oppressive heat
Plunged in choking cold.
Observer, you are precious.
You may never know that.
Take heart, you only pass by here
Once, and no more.
Another fire awaits, one that burns
With no relief, but leaves you wishing
That existence ceased.
The other fire, the bright gaze that is
As eternal, and as ardent;
A fire that burns with pride and love,
That of a Father who welcomes
A weary observer and traveler, both.
Godspeed, good traveler. Observe well.

The problem with love is that it's not blind.

Or... La la lala la lala la... I can't hear you.

At this moment, pardon my childishness. It's my way, kind of, to cope. The other thing that was bugging me (read: taken over my brain when I refuse to entertain it) keeps bugging me. Aside from the emotional slash vague slash sudden crazy post I made previously, there is this other less emotional slash less vague slash crazier stuff that has been going on in my dull life.

So, I'm single. And I am totally cool with the fact that I have no boyfriend, that I am unattached, and the fact that it's easier that way with less drama. I am at the point of my short life span where I don't particularly think I need a boyfriend, because first of all, Hello Nursing School (defined as Hello, I have no life). The other reasons are, there is still a loyalty for the last person I dated that abounds, and that I'm a selfish brat that just doesn't want the hassle of dating. Yeah, I went there.

The ironic thing about my being single is everyone else seems to have a problem with my being a single, dateless loser. Not that they said it in those terms, but one friend remarked "Are you gonna wait til you're thirty, is that your game plan?", and another said, "Not that I'm rushing you, but when are you gonna have a boyfriend?" My response "I don't know...I haven't really spent much time on thinking about it". Honestly, close friends are fine with the harping but when my clinical group and my clinical instructor start trying to set me up, that's when my spidey-sense tingle and get my hackles rising.

All I can think of is "Why?". I mean, what is the issue? I clearly don't have an issue with my being single, so shouldn't my desire to not have a boyfriend for the foreseeable future be their deciding factor? Sheesh, they're like bored fairies trying to match make me into misery. I have no problem with people who are happy in their relationships, their marriages, their "mutual understandings" (whatever that means), etc. I am happy for all of you. It's great that you are with the person you love. But seriously, just because you are all sparkly like a vampire in love, doesn't mean the rest of us non-sparkling humans want to catch the spring fever you're exuding. In fact, I am actively dodging love-mones and sparkle.

Ok, I'll stop with the hostile sarcasm now. So, yeah, I went and did another soap box. Maybe it's the fact that a classmate of mine is setting me up with someone and making promises in my name and being giggly about it. If you know me at all you know that the more someone is pushing me to do something (that I do not appreciate) the more I dig my heels in. I appreciate that you guys are looking out for me, but seriously don't ask the guy for his number and expect me to call him. Sometimes, being a friend means respecting your friend's decisions even when you don't agree with it.

So, be a love, okay, and don't keep trying to maneuver me into a love life. It ain't happening now so just wait for it. Don't jump the gun on MY love life. The moment it happens then you'll be the third to know. Until then, just be a friend. That's what I need more of right now anyway.

how deceptive that their apathy eludes us.

One of the feelings I dislike is the feeling of loss, or being lost. My primary example would be related to my father's job when he was still active as an officer. I remember traveling with him as a child; one time more vivid than the rest because I almost boarded the wrong bus and was almost spirited away if not for him being there behind me as I turned around in panic. Being five years old and lost was not a pleasant feeling, and although older I am still directionally-challenged, apt to being lost. I also remember the time I was with him in his quarters that was more of a prison cell really, than anything else. It had the tall, vertical iron bars, the drab gray cement walls and the lack of privacy. But it was homey and fun, our neighbors were officers as well, and their loved ones. What I remembered there though was the one time I woke up with him gone and the door locked. You couldn't blame me for crying my lungs out, distressing the young wife in the cell beside ours, when I found myself locked in by myself. I finally stopped bawling when I figured there wasn't anything that tears could do, I was too tired to care. I stopped wanting to go with him then, a change that my mother noticed, and he had to explain that he left me to go to the bank while I slept, he only locked the door to keep me safe, to keep me in, and keep others out. After awhile it was the same routine, me going with him to work for a week and coming home for the weekends, riding the bus, playing in his office, but he never let me out of his sight. It must have been terrifying for him too.

But enough about childhood, let's move on to a whole 'nother side of distraction. Right now there's a niggling sense of loss that just makes me slightly nauseous. Not of being lost directionally or of being lost because someone left me. I am just lost. Emotionally, perhaps. Or more like I lost myself. Sorry, I am confused at the moment too. So I ramble now. I was an art student. Now I am a nursing student, after three years of prerequisites, you know that by now. I have been taking science classes longer than I have been an art student but I have loved art far longer than science has challenged me. It is a bit convoluted but bear with me. Maybe I feel I haven't let go, I guess I sometimes feel that I am an art student playing at being a nursing student. That still I am not smart enough, or serious enough, or just enough to be a nursing student. But I know I come from people of intelligence and smarts, able to be dedicated to one or more things. Yet I can't help but wish sometimes that yeah I am artist and not a nerd. My freaking fortune cookie today said: "The thing you do is the one you love." Is it? Don't take me wrong, I find no fault in nursing, it is great, it is a wonderful, wonderful profession. But at times my hear just clenches at the sight of pencils, sketchpads, and paint. I want to cry because I resent having to be half-hearted. My mom wants me to do great in nursing school for a lot of reasons, but she also wants me to keep drawing and all that artsy stuff. Sometimes I just want to sneer and say, "just pick one and stick with it will you?", because it still stings to be reminded that I chose nursing over art. I feel that I betrayed a part of me and no matter what I do it won't come back to me.

Maybe subconsciously I resented my mom for having me change my major because when I did, I stopped drawing for two years and when I started again my art went to everyone else but my family. Maybe it's petty but I don't really care. I grimace when she tells people that I am an artist because in my mind that is a lie. So maybe you say, Kat you do not need to be an art major to be an artist. You don't need to be, but I wanted to. I wanted to be the cliched art student that wasn't really cliched because she had her own style and was great and all that. I am so annoyed right now at making such a fuss over this non-issue. It is a non-issue because no matter how much I rant about it I will still be a nursing student because I already committed to nursing. No, I am not changing majors, and no, hindi ako magshi-shift sa Fine Arts (No, I am not shifting to Fine Arts). It's not about "kung san ako masaya susuportahan kita" ("I'll support you if that's where you are happy"). I just noticed myself getting half-hearted on my nursing classes and coveting art, is the reason why I'm having a fit. I feel lost because I am getting coerced by the side that seems to have a more gooey chocolate cookies. I feel because I feel I lost a part of myself and I now realize that I want it back.

Why can't you keep doing art while you study nursing? Because I am an extreme kind of person, I either do it or not do it. This post does not even make sense. It's all pouty and tantrum-ish. Okay, so I guess the fact that it doesn't make sense means that my thought process also cannot make sense of it. I know that it's not nursing versus art. I also know that no one is holding me at gun point and forcing me to choose one over the other. And I also know that I feel strongly about both, enough to warrant me to write it out and subject you with the torment of reading this insanity of a post. Gulo, you are a labo (Mess, you are a convolution). Maybe in a month we can get back to this and iron things out. UGH. Spare me.

Default to bland

I suppose this one is long overdue. I've been so busy lately that I don't even remember the last time I blogged. The last months have been devoted to studying, studying, and catching up on sleep. If you've read my previous posts you know that I've been whining about my desire to be part of a nursing program. Well, I got my wish. And you know what they say about wishing, being careful and all that. I was just so happy to finally be in the program, done with prerequisites, free from community colleges, that I got so caught up and eventually crashed down without me even noticing it.

I suppose it started with the fact that the first week was greatly exciting and overwhelming. It was like gulping down ice cream too quickly, your teeth tingle, your mouth bursts with cold and sugar, and your poor brain protests with a painful jolt. But by then I was already way into my third week. I was driving home, listening to the white noise of the radio, when I just started crying. I was tired, frustrated, miserable, and I was just done. I've met all my weekly requirements, I've gotten high 80s and 90s, I've never been late for a class, and I diligently brought all my notes and books every time. All good and great, except for the fact that I only ate once a day, forgot to pee, woke up at 5 in the morning and slept at 3 in the morning, did not know what I was doing half of the time, nor did I know how my mom was despite the fact we lived in the same house.

I suppose it was such a revelation that I just drove home with mascara blurring my eyes and my unchecked sobs choking me. I had the same problems before, pricy tuition rates, demanding (psycho) professors, simultaneous assignment due dates, not sleeping, not eating, and all that jazz when I was taking prerequisites. So what was different, if I got through all those, why was I so desperate this time? I know that nursing isn't easy, but I was just ready to tear my hair off. And I hated it. The irony of being in a Christian University was the fact that I left God the moment I got in the program. "Thanks, I can handle it from here," was basically what I said. I didn't get really far though. I was so lost and broken down without Him. I felt the desperation in my bones, but still I felt His comfort when I stayed up to 3AM typing my papers, I saw Him making me smile as I drove to school watching the silly antics of clever birds and fluffy bunny clouds, and I felt His embrace as I tiredly crept under the cover of my blankets.

The first three weeks in nursing were the most difficult for me. Not because of the overwhelming material or the lack of sleep, but because I was alone and apart from God. My prayers were half uttered, half meant. And I missed how I was before, how I was excited to go to school to learn new things, how I would say "Yay, two more exams to go", and I missed how I actually enjoyed getting high grades. I suppose it totally sucks when your life is on default to bland. Not excited by anything, always trying to catch up with time and due dates, and just being caught up in yourself. But it's easy to be stuck in that situation, it's so easy to just coast along passively. But I know better, and I refuse to live mediocrely when I have experienced an all-consuming, passion-filled life.

This isn't about being angsty or emo, or "woe is me, my life is hard", whatever you call it. It's about choosing to live more, being more, growing more. And it hurts to move forward, but it's worse to stubbornly lock yourself in corner, gathering dust like a piece of furniture. I know I'll probably get hurt more, break down, bleed, get my heart broken, get pushed to my knees, and fall down that pit once more in the future, but that's life. We don't get to live life safely in a bubble and pretend that all's good and dandy. There is no easy way. I can fully say now that I am once again back to my upbeat, perky, optimistic self and as long as I push my self to live then it's okay. And I would like to stay that way. What about you? What's keeping you defaulted to bland? What's stopping you from life?

I think this video conveys how I feel perfectly.

Still Looking For A Dream

Of the things that scare me, I can name three: I am afraid of losing my family, just the thought of them dying makes me cry. I am afraid of loving, the thought of surrendering myself to someone who can break me is unfathomable. And third, I am afraid of dreaming, the thought of wanting something so much only to be disappointed is too much.

Next month, I will be 20. I don't particularly mind getting older. It is just an increase in number, a birthday is just a means of measuring your time on earth. Age does not equate to maturity or intelligence. I could be forty and have a maturity of a thirteen year old, and be as smart as a physicist. Age does not mean a lot to me. The only thing I am really happy about turning twenty is the feeling of triumph I might get. Finally, I caught up to my older siblings. Maybe I'll have more common ground with them since I will no longer be a teenager.

The nursing advisor from the university I am applying to called me last Friday to inquire if I was still serious about my application. Of course. Presently, the desire to enter Nursing school is the only thing I am being driven by. I don't care if I don't get any vacation, if I'll study to the pain, I don't care. As long as I get accepted into their program then that's all that matters. And that scares me the most. I've always felt that if I wanted something so much then the world will conspire against me. I'm not afraid of failure, I am afraid of disappointment.

When I was younger I wanted so much for my family to be a family. A family that would be together, seeing each other off as the day started, going home and sharing stories during dinner, playing, having picnics and outings together, being there for each other happily ever after. Of course, that never happened seeing as my two older siblings were in college, my older brother disliked me, my parents were in their own world, and I was the youngest daughter still in grade school. Move over kiddie, we have lives to handle. By the time I was in high school, I no longer cared if we were in the same house or not and whether my parents would be home on the weekend. My life isn't as melodramatic in reality, but that was because I didn't care. I've learned to be content that they're alive.

When I was in fifth grade, I remember being called to the Principal's office because they wanted me to compete for a scholastic writing contest. I remembering protesting that I knew nothing about writing but they assured me that it didn't matter. All I had to do was write in Filipino and it would be fine. Oh. So I did as I was told and went off with other students to the competition. I was scared to death that day with all the unfamiliarity and anxiousness. Even today I cannot remember what the topic was, all I can remember was berating myself for not learning cursive and not knowing how to count 2500 words. Tough luck, kid. At the end, when they were announcing the top nine winners, I could remember sitting stiffly and thinking how happy I would be if I won the ninth position. I dared not hope higher when I knew nothing about writing. I was so disappointed when I never heard my name that I stopped listening at the sixth placer. But I remembering tensing further when my classmate, who was also in the competition for illustration, started shaking me and shrieking, "You won! You won!" I stared at her perplexedly and asked her what I won, to which she replied, "They called your name! You won the first place!" Imagine that. I was thankful that I made in to the stage without passing out.

Later that week the winners from my school were told that we were going to another competition. I was ecstatic that I dared to hope. I wanted to win again. I've never been good at anything before that when I got my first trophy, I thought I could do it again. Of course, I wasn't able to win again and I wasn't able to go to the competition. I wanted so badly to cry but it hurt so much to even try, so I just pushed to bitter experience to the back of my mind. Pain burns so much like acid and disappointment is like a crushing blow. I never attempted to write again after that. It was too painful and raw.

And now, I am back to dreaming. I'm back to hoping that this time I'll be accepted into that program and I'll be graduating as a nurse in two years. I wish. Do I dare to put my heart on a platter and hope that it won't be crushed? The only reason I've stopped wanting things is because disappointment requires too much emotion. And that is why this blog's header is Bombeck's quote. I've stopped dreaming long ago, the moment I knew that apathy was safer was the moment I stopped caring. I no longer desired for my family to be together, I no longer dreamed of greatness, and I no longer wanted. I stopped being a child and went off into the world of adult skepticism and pessimism. But once more, I will hope. I will hope for my future that I will be accepted to their program and finally start my way to nursing. Just once more, I will dream and not be tainted by the doubt of disappointment.

Holding On to the Dead

Forgiveness is the act of releasing or letting go of what you hold against someone. It reminds me of the anime Cardcaptor Sakura, when Sakura chants a spell, swings her wand forward, and shouts "Release," and the Clow Card would become effective in its natural state of power. I guess. So here I am, ready to exorcise you from my scarred soul into your natural state.

I forgive you for how you laughed at me at the wrong times: when you hit my head hard with that golf club, accidentally, when I fell down the stairs chasing after you, and when you again, accidentally, closed the car door while I was getting out behind you. That really hurt, by the way.

I forgive you for locking me out of the apartment because you just felt like it, and how you chased me in the room with a belt when I refused to obey you. I was so scared of you that time that I took hours staying in the bathroom. I forgive you for refusing to give me my allowance and having me starve. I was really angry and mad at that. I hated you for that.

I forgive you for using me as an experiment in your sadistic games. For when you nightly pricked my finger with a blood sugar testing kit because you thought it was fun. It was probably for you, but you made me cry myself to sleep every night. And that time you deliberately electrocuted me when I said no. That really wasn't funny.

I forgive you for gambling away the Ipod I gave you. Again, that stung. I felt like you didn't really care about me, that I was disposable to you. I forgive you for always asking me to buy you stuff, and you conveniently never asking me back what I wanted. It's not that a big of a deal, but I know you're a nice guy, maybe not just to me.

I forgive you for when you forgot that you have a temper and had me on the receiving end even when none of it was my fault. I forgive you for never apologizing on your own, you always had to be prodded by Mama and Papa. I forgive you for breaking my heart. I forgive you for being such a sucky big brother. I forgive you for even having me do this, for making me hate you unwittingly. I forgive you for making me hate guys, I just looked up to you for so long and then realized you didn't love me.

I really hated you, do you know that? You made my childhood miserable. You made me feel so small, defenseless, and you laughed instead of apologizing. I don't care that Mama likes you more, I understand that, but I dislike the fact that you got away on tormenting me. Disillusionment sucks so much.

I'm sorry if I became the baby in the family, I know you liked that spot. But you see, you're our only favorite brother, that's your role. I'm sorry if I screamed at you when you teased me many times before. Believe me, you're the only one who riles me to the point of anger management mandate. I'm sorry if I made fun of you unknowingly, or when I hurt your feelings. I'm sorry if I cramped your style, when you had to go with me when you wanted to go with your friends. I'm sorry for only having time for good times and forgetting to ask you how you were, we don't really know each other.

I'm sorry for clinging to you like a leech, I wanted a friend because I was alone. Maybe you needed a friend too, but I was so busy being selfish. I'm sorry for not being a good younger sister, I know I can be a pain. I'm sorry for the times I wasn't there for you, I'm here if you need someone. And I'm sorry for not loving you as I should. I do love you, I just forgot underneath all my hatred. You're still my favorite brother.

A Break From the Pity Party

My pity party is finally in conclusion. After weeks of tears, hair pulling, and sequestering myself in my room, I am now salvaging my pride and resurfacing as a human being. Maybe I should leave it at this. I should just exercise my facial muscles and smile again. But I need to write or I'll forever hold it and drag it with me to my last breath.

Ah, drama, how you fill my life with angst and profound melancholic monologues. I went to church yesterday with my Dad. I didn't want to since I had cramps and all that lovely time of the month joys of being a woman. But I knew he would be disappointed and I would feel guilty, so there we were. The guest preacher was funny, self-deprecating, and honestly confessed to a family case of inherited depression and self-medication. My kind of person. His message was aptly entitled "I Am Not A Victim." Huh. And there I was enraptured as he talked of his granddaughter's weepy soccer game, Jesus' miserable time on earth, his mom's seemingly pointless death, a parents' brutally murdered son, the elevator of choice: up for heaven and down for hell, and of why God doesn't answer our most esoteric question: Why?

"Because He's God, and He's right, and you don't get to ask that question." He was kidding, of course, but yeah, it feels that way sometimes. When my uncle passed away, I asked God why; Why did He allow my uncle to die when He could just have healed him? So I was angry and hurt, and it hurt more that I was angry at God when I've loved Him since I've known Him. Add to the fact that I was stressed out over my classes, and being bombarded by blasphemous statements by my World Religions professor, having no time to clean the house, piling papers needed to be started, and having someone tailgate me to the point of hitting my car's rear end. Ah, hell. Wonderful.

I used to think that asking God why would result in being struck by lightning and damnation to a voidless, dark, pit. But I learned recently that if you're honest with God, He'll be equally honest with you. It didn't matter what God's answer was, in hindsight, I just wanted the assurance that He would answer. The preacher said that asking God why should not were we should exert our effort, but in searching for God's plan for us. Pain happens, and you could either choose being a victim, or believing that God has a plan. Jesus suffered on earth too, but have you ever felt that he was a victim in all that you've read of him? I'm sure he didn't enjoy some or most of the experiences he's had on earth, similarly, we don't either.

Sometimes life is hell. But hell, as I learned yesterday, is just the absence of God. When we choose to be victims, we take God out of the equation and instead believe that life is just random and out of control. I don't want to be a victim, I want God there with me. As my Patho prof says, "there are no victims, only volunteers." I certainly don't want to volunteer for hell. So I'll start by pressing the Up button; it's tempting to stay wallowing in hell but no thanks.

We're made of sterner stuff.

I know how belated this new year message is, but I hope that everyone is starting their new year right. Whether you have a resolution or not, or whether you do have a resolution and forgot already, I hope your year is still starting out better than last year.

My family's Christmas and New Year's celebration was quieter this year. Not because of the recession or because their were fewer relatives here in Arizona. I think it's because this year it wasn't because of the presents we gave and received, but because of the blessings we've received the previous year.

The previous year, I had an uncle who was diagnosed with liver cancer during the Christmas of 2007. Despite the prognosis that he only had six months left and despite how the tumor has progressed to his lungs, he is still with us this year. In 2008, I had an aunt who suffered a stroke, but despite the paralysis on some of her body, or how she can't use her hands, or her feet, or speak 'normally,' she is alive and undergoing rehabilitation currently. My sister's mother in law, was diagnosed with cancer in the colon. But with successful surgery, she is still able to enjoy her children and grandchildren. We have undergone a tumultuous year filled with people we love experiencing pain and disease, siblings going through demanding situations, and then there is the uncertainty of finances and future, and the nightmare of how everything is going wrong.

It may seem to us that there is no hope, that nothing else matters, that this is it. But life is suffered by everyone. No matter how it feels and seems that you're alone in your pain, and that no one else in the world understands what you're going through, despite breaking down in defeat and utter desperation, it's not the end, not yet. It's not through if you don't give up. Everyone of us has our crappy days, when all our demons rush in to devour us, when everything we do is wrong. It's okay to angst, and cry, and break down. But afterwards, get up, dry your face, and take a big breath. Exhale.

I'm not trying to belittle the problems, or the feelings of those who are facing problems. No, all I'm trying to say is, you're not alone, that no matter how life sucks for you, you are stronger, and braver, and smarter, but you'll never know unless you try and do something. I know that despite how I angst and huff and puff over my studies or my worries, as long as I don't give up, I'll be fine. There's nothing wrong with psyching your self up, there's nothing wrong in hoping for the better if hope is all you have left in your pockets. Hope is infectious.

If all else fails, if you only remember one thing from this post, I hope it's this: You can't get everything right. But you can't get everything wrong.

It's okay to make mistakes. Mistakes, problems, angst, and incurable diseases, are part of our lives that reveal who we truly are, what we're capable of, and what we're shaping to become. There's no shame in breaking down, but there is strength in getting up, brushing your knees, and moving forward.

Time Capsule

I'm currently studying for my Food & Nutrition finals for Monday. As much as I'm trying to concentrate for our comprehensive exam, I can't help but be distracted by thoughts of what I'm going to do after this semester ends. Just last week I heard from my friend that the Nursing program I was planning to apply to is being frozen due to having budget issues and having way more people apply than they can accommodate. Of course, I'm now one of those people who are part of the 'Cannot be Accommodated' group. This just depresses me to the point of developing frown lines overnight.

Since I've changed my major from 'Undecided' to 'Fine Arts & Humanities', and finally to 'Nursing', I've been pushing myself to complete my prerequisites, enter the Nursing program, graduate with sparkly rainbow colors, and join the work as a Nurse. I snort as I type this since the only thing I seemed to have accomplished was finish my prerequisites. And those prerequisites were just for the Maricopa Community College Nursing requirements to enter their program. Of course I have submitted my application and now in the wait list. The fact that the wait could take years though is just a minor detail. So now I am again going to finish my prerequisites for the University Nursing program. I'm guessing that would take a year at the most, and there's that minor detail again that they're extremely competitive and only accept straight As from your transcripts. Minor detail that out of 300 people they only accept 100 on a good day. And the most minor of all the details, their program is now "temporarily frozen". That takes the cake. I roll my eyes at the thought that maybe, I'm just guessing, I'm wasting time.

So now on my break, I'm inquiring other universities on their Nursing program, and if, hopefully begging, they can let me graduate in the very near coming soon in your local theaters future. The first in the least is a private university that advertises the fact that they have room for nursing students, in response to the crisis of all wait-listed students probably. My response to their response is: Please accept me in your university, I am willing to study my slacker butt off for you, and lay you golden eggs in the form of straight As. Seriously, my inner nerd is crying for a school that will let me graduate, or at least give me assurance that by the time I'm twenty-one I am already working. For crying out loud, I'm turning twenty in four months or so.

The only reason I'm harping and griping on this desperation to graduate is the fact the I want to end being a burden to my parents. I want them to retire and enjoy their lives somewhere they want to, where they won't have an obsessive compulsive, perfectionist for a boss. I know I should be looking for a part time job at least, and I am. The minor detail getting in my way is the fact that this state is in major recession, and more people are losing job rather than gaining promotion. My desire to immediately graduate makes me seem like a child wanting to be an adult Right Now. Laughable to some, I know, but for me it's really Srs Bzns. (Text speak for Serious Business). I guess it's more a frustration right now where I seem to just be running in circles and then straight to a wall. I feel like this is some demented game of Snakes & Ladders where there's more snakes than ladders, more manholes than highways.

Lord God, I just close my eyes in prayer. I need a miracle.

with these hands

When I look at my hands I always remember what my eldest sister said, "Artist hands." Long, thin fingers, unmanicured. Scars on on finger, two moles on another. I like my hands. We used to have a family friend visit us on the Farm when I was younger. I remember her teaching me how to color. That is my earliest memory of liking art. When I grew up I always asked my parents to buy me coloring books and crayons. Crayolas and coloring books were there in place of dolls and dresses.

I was never a girly girl to begin with. So dolls still scare me to this day. Another cousin of mine, Kuya Steve, is a great artist. I remember when we visited in Manila I would go to his room just to look at the paintings on his walls and even on his ceiling. He made me draw a vase of flowers once but the Crayola coloring me just looked at the pencil and blank piece of paper like it was alien. I attempted to draw but it ended up looking like an abstract piece. It still makes me laugh when I think of that.

Highschool crept up and my parents no longer thought coloring books were appropriate for me. I got distracted by computer games but I still liked pastels and watercolors. One time though, a teacher wanted the whole class to draw him a horse. A horse. Not everyone in our class has seen a horse, they were all city kids. And even if I knew how a horse looked like I couldn't draw one to save my soul. A stick figure horse was unacceptable. But lo and behold, this one guy was an artist. So our classmates commissioned him to draw a horse for every one of us. He saved us all, with his artist hands and his horse.

I became really envious of him. Not that I wanted to save the class with horses. No, what I wanted was to have his artist hands so I wouldn't need someone to save me because they can conjure a horse on paper. So I started drawing again, and asked my parents to buy me sketchpads and pencils. My sister Darlene also encouraged me to draw since she was really good at drawing, coloring, painting...okay, she was good at all kinds of art. And I wanted to be an artist too, innate talent or no.

Fast forward years later, I have artist hands, after all. What I lacked was practice. And now that I stopped drawing, my art looks like stick figures again. I look at my hands now and know what they are capable of doing. I look at my hands and wish I can draw every single day. I seem to have lost my muse. I know that is not true, what I lost is my first love. Art is and will always be my first love. So now that I'm back to rank Amateur, all I can do is draw and draw and draw until art comes back to me. You accept art in whatever form because art will come to you however it wishes.

Tough Love

My head hurts. After mulling over the happenings the past few days, I can certainly say that my head hurts. This, of course, does not imply insult to my intelligence. I'm not that dumb. My thoughts just refused to let go of me, perhaps like a cow and her cud, just refusing to go down effortlessly. I digress. Cows and cud aside, my thoughts are just too bold in wearing out their stay in the confines of my brain. And I wish I could just forget about thinking and thoughts all together like every other time but no, this one time it has to regurgitate itself over and over. Just me and my pathetic luck. Or lack of pathetic luck, even.

Why in the name of all that's noble and ignoble am I being tortured by my own brain? Well, first off, my brain just plain sadistically enjoys my discomfort. Self-sabotage, much? Okay, so maybe not that reason. The only reason I can think of is that reason, that which is Tough Love. And I mean that in the most platonic sense. The only sense that is of parent and child, specifically, mother and daughter in perfect discord. Don't you just love oxymorons? At any rate, there is that Tough Love in every mother-daughter tandem that even sitcoms make money off it. In my case though that tough love can be a bit jarring to the point of wounding.

What exactly can I say? First, it was just annoyance that I was watching anime instead of typing my laboratory report (which wasn't due until next week [Yeah, Kat, excuses, excuses]). Then there was the displeasure at the fact that I haven't been resuming my job hunt in two weeks now. And then there was the little incident of overhearing her retell to Papa the earlier scene of annoyance and displeasure she had with me. When I told her that she should say the things she wanted to my face, she did that and more, to my regret. Maybe it hurts a little to hear her talking about me in her vexed voice to Papa and hearing it in the way that sounds as if she enjoyed scolding me. Or the matter-of-fact voice of hers saying, "There is no secret between your papa and me." After that it was just me tearing up and staring at her emotionlessly that made her say, "Don't you dare look at me like that, I know how your mind works. You think I'm just being hysterical. I'm not." And continuing on to say that she does not work herself to the bone to have it all be for nothing, a waste. And that she has provided for me and so I would lack nothing. Again with the remark on me looking at her that way (my emotionless stare mask) which made her say, "You looking at me that way is such a disrespect to me. Your mother." And with that, she left.

So I just stood there for a while. Then I remembered my book and notes in the living room and sat there. I cried. Maybe it was because of monthly hormones that made it hurt more. Or maybe because I was completely blindsided by the whole thing. It was Sunday, it was not supposed to be that way. I didn't come home from church to have everything blow up in my face. I could make excuses for my inaction from job hunting or taking a break from writing the lab report. But no, that's just not working for me. It would all just sound pathetic and false. All the while, I completed my job application online, shut the laptop off and locked myself in my room.

Papa came knocking moments later so I had to open the door. He wanted to talk but what would I say? I didn't want to be in a pissy, vulnerable mood while talking to him. And I'm not a Talk kind of person. So I just told him an excuse and shut the door again. Later I had to go with Papa to help water the plants in my aunt's house across the street. I just seriously really wanted to be alone, by myself, in solitary isolation. I really can't get a break can I?

So there I was exiting my room when she stops mopping the floor and looks at me. "O, ano?*" She not speaking in English anymore, indicating that she was considerably calmer. Oh, goody. I just stared at the floor since I figured that staring at her would just make me appear disrespectful. She starts out by saying that she was not mad at me but frustrated that she was not seeing any effort from me. That I was not doing my best in looking for a job. That she just wants the best for me. That she just wants to see me enjoying my life, seeing me have a passion for something. That she does not see me making any ripples in my life, or in any one's, basically. I guess it went from frustration at my inertness to me being passionless then to me being a waste of space. That remarkably does not do great and passionate things to my ego and self-esteem. If I have any left. Then she asks if I was angry with her or hurt. I could only continue to stare at the floor with my face tracked with tears as I answered silently. "I don't know."

I really did not know how to feel about her. I wanted to be angry at her for having the ability to hurt me when she knew I would not retaliate. I wanted to keep on crying because it just hurt so much. I wanted to punish her by ignoring her and whatever else she would say to me. I just did not know how to feel when I felt like I was betrayed and naked. She and Papa are the only ones who can hurt me so much with their words. To everyone else, I would just emotionlessly stare back and cry privately. But with them, I cry on the spot, where ever the spot maybe. So I continued to cry as she hugged me after being surprised by my answer. She just confidently said that I would understand what she means in time. Maybe.

Maybe it's just me blowing it out of proportion. Maybe I'm overreacting and I shouldn't be. Maybe I just wish that never happened so I can continue on with life, blissfully not trying to avoid her. Maybe I'm trying to desperately keep my apathetic mask back on to prevent myself from shedding more tears. Maybe I shouldn't even be sad right now. Maybe I should just continue to retreat to my shell and stay there indefinitely, until I get my bearings set. Maybe I should never have left that shell and tried how it is to feel again. Maybe. Maybe tomorrow I'll have acquired amnesia and live happily ever after. Not bloody likely. What can I say, we all have our days. I just wish mine were pre-marked in the calendar so there'll be no surprises. Ha. My head still hurts.

*O, ano? -Tagalog for 'So?' or 'What?'