Crossings 1

I first learned about the name of Greta Lee from the show Russian Doll.

The stunning facial features of hers strikes me possibly as the most beautiful Korean American face in my own database.

“I dug her; her look and disposition is so my cup of tea,” so I told him. 

The concept of “crossings” that Nayong mentioned to her Jewish American husband was the first thing that pull the string to my heart.

The first crossing to Nayong was from Korea to Canada; the second crossing from Canada to U.S.

For me, the first crossing was by all means involuntary, from Taiwan to States, for the sake of someone’s American dream, under the influence of certain family glory from relatives.  Words of mouth, illegal crossing that eventually became legitimate and a family saga.  I always have a hard time understanding why such law-breaking story can be glorified and passed on as a heroic struggle in the mundane world.  Oh well.

I survived only one year for the first crossing.  Then I succumbed to reality and the pressure of something, I couldn’t name it.  Perhaps it was the familial responsibility that I was bestowed on me.  They didn’t say, but I know it.  Because I am the elder sister; because I was the benevolent and possibly manipulatable young lady that’d do things simply that’s kind.

“It is important to be a kind person.  A good hearted person.  That’s a virtue.”  They said.

After the failure of the first crossing, the family conflict was intensified.  The failure itself is the elephant in the room for the family.  Everybody knows about it; nobody talks about it.  But you saw those resentment in the eyes, you heard the complaint, explicitly or sullenly.  I always felt like a person living just right at the foot of a volcano, waiting for the sleeping volcano to be awaken by another earthquake.

Maybe deep down, I had been waiting to be devoured by the lava, the heat that I had stored all these years in me.  I can’t tell whether they are accumulative sum of frustration or disappointment, from my family or from myself.

Four years after the fail of first crossing, I deliberately applied for the the farthest college to attend.  I found every excuse to stay away from home.

Another decade past, the second crossing took place when I was at the diverged roads in the woods.  I took the less travelled and went on the journey.  From the southeast to the midwest, and now to the west.  When the second crossing was completed, I felt like a brand new person.  There were times I didn’t quite recognize myself in the mirror.  I did not know who I was anymore.  I got lost in tenses, in those intense cultural shocks.

And now, the counter cultural shock.

Lost

I lost my mom to cancer on the seventh day of the new year.

Her pain took her and made her break the promise to me, to wait for my return to tend to her last days.

Everything went on and on, I tagged along with everyone back home, from across the Pacific.

Virtually.  Post Covid era, why haven't I got used to it, I wonder.

Everything happened so fast, my vision went blurred the whole time.

Within seven days, she's buried.

S57, that's her tree.  

I've got the coordinate. I plan to have it tattooed to my left arm.

I will never forget her last embrace with me, wailing while refraining herself from asking me to stay.

That's probably why after she passed, every once in a while, the sight of every silver-white hair short hair old lady becomes the trigger of a breakdown.  

Got me big time.

Let loose

Eight thirty.
It's five minutes after the first bell.  We were late and I was upset.
I was upset because you confused me by acting weird with the hand gestures as your stimming coping strategy and by telling us that your stomach was funny but still you insisted of attending school.
I am very easily confused these days.

What can I do to help you express yourself better?  what do I do to let loose of myself and let you be, let everybody be who they are, what they are?  Yet, by letting you be, I am not being myself because I will and should always be in the role of a protector before you are old enough.

How old is old enough?

Dance

My dancing feet wouldn’t stop au lieu de fatigue and sadness. The whole morning, I played the song over and over again. I asked you to copy my moves and tried to synchronize our moves. We danced.

Late at night, when you fell asleep, Louane kept singing, and my feet kept fidgeting. I found myself choked with tears as I listened to Cooper’s tribute with the long list of names of victims. Most victims were young; young with a bright future with various professions. Their lives cut short as a result of hate (and) crime. Amongst the victims, a mother was there to support her son. She survived cancer once, but was now survived by her son.

As an introvert, I didn’t do clubbing when young. One of the bad things I’ve done in preteen years was being a mean girl in a clique. I constantly thought of the girl I chipped in taunting behind her back, with remorse. I am always happy to learn she’s doing so well despite all those years of being the target of unwanted attention even after I moved on, out of the old circle of friends and my comfort zone. After the transfer, I then became the taunted; not even my outstanding academic performance could save me from being bullied. That’s when I understood what “karma” meant. That was the worst part of my early life.

I moved on and it got better. Because of the persistent guilt and sense of obligation, I kept my distance from any group, clique and openly advocated of It Gets Better project.

“Mama, but why do we dance?”

“Today, let’s dance for them, babe,” For those innocent, for those who are brave to embrace themselves for what they really are despite that they are disapproved of by some “worlds”, for those who fought and have been fighting for equality, for those who enjoy life when they were forced to exit the stage of life, of this world involuntarily and abruptly, and for those who are secretly feeling stifled and strained in the closet.

“Why are there different worlds? Aren’t we all human?” You asked.

Then I paused. Yes, I wanna ask the same question, my dear. I too, want to know why can’t love be love and why can’t we acknowledge and appreciate, and coexist peacefully with our differences? All those crimes in the name of religion, political struggles, hatred and whatever the FUCK. But I cannot tell you everything will be alright; I can’t even provide a political correct answer to your question. Instead, I have to look up, take a deep breath and mind my moves and language for you, telling you: let’s dance!

We danced, I picked you up and kissed you. I am so fortunate to be living this life, to be able to tell you that I love you no matter what, and to dance with you with the music. With the question in mind, my child, we dance on and do not back off. We may never be party animals, nor dancing queens, but let’s dance on, move on, with our hope to carry on the legacy and make our best effort to make this world a better place, shall we?

Homey

Morning commute, there was this radio show we tuned in every morning.  This topic has been on and off for discussion.  We see it everywhere in our lives and it's been affecting us, more or less.

There are reasons for homelessness.  Different reasons.  Just like there are various coping strategies with all the homeys when they walk up to you.

I used to put change for spare in the pocket, but not any more.  I asked C why would there be so many young people opting for living on the street and becoming panhandling.  C sighed.  In her point of views, the most common reasons are mental illness, psychological problems that obstruct their way going back to the mainstream.

To see the problem simply as most homey's "laid-back" attitude or substance abuse is over-simplifying the whole train of problems.  Multiple reasons might be contributing to homelessness.  Gentrification, substance abuse, domestic violence, and mental illness can be all related.  And amongst all, surrounding response to homelessness can be another effect.  

Out-of-control housing prices and uprising living expense further push the imbalance of social order and polarize inequality.  Young people run away from home due to domestic violence and later problems of intoxication appear as a result of temporary relief from the reality.  The demand and abuse of substance becomes intense and push them further away from the mainstream pathway.  In addition, the youth and the senior homeys are the groups particularly oppose to the idea of being controlled and contained.  

There were days that I kept my pocket with change to spare for all those who hold up signs of help.  But then some day I realized the food that we offered to help have been dumped on the exact panhandling site, causing public disorder and health concern.  I felt that our compassion and little help have been taken advantage of.  All those years, friends have been persuading me from handing out little gesture to help.  "You are helping them to get further intoxicated and abuse themselves with substance," they said.  I simply ignore them and kept doing it.  Nonetheless, it was right there, I saw my food scattered on the ground where that homey sat.  The muffin was intact, dumped at where he sat.  The news had another man angrily protested for helping a panhandler constantly, only to find it later that that homey he's been helping was actually driving a new car, far better than his old oldsmobile.  There were even a whole family standing at the intersection, with a mom holding onto one infant and the rest of the two or three children squatting beside whilst the dad holding up the sign for help.  I found my heart pounding hard and I hate to see kids as a prop, begging for my sympathy.  

So manipulative.

So there I stopped helping any.  I drove by, still feeling kind of guilty and uncomfortable.

Mon ange

"Meet Cixous."  She said.  Holding out a baby to me.

It's not a real baby; it's one of the most updated technology, which they incorporated 3D printing to "print out" the look of the fetus, based on the 4D ultrasound.

She was unearthly gorgeous.  She looks incredulously alert with her googly eyes as if they were actually wondering around, being curious.  So unlike a real baby.  (Well, to be more exact, she's just a couple month fetus.)

They first found her when I was five month pregnant.  I was not at all aware of it, until a visit to the clinic in order to get consultation on the irregularity of my menstrual cycle.

Then months later, she held out this printing.  Not merely a flat printing; it's a solid, three dimensional one.

"Oh, she's perfect!"  I exclaimed.  I was choked with my own tears.  But there's no one beside me to share my joy.

I went home and showed the printing to BD.  He was overjoyed.  I wondered whether he knew that he's gonna be a big brother, but he seemed to be overwhelmed.  After all, we were still working on handing excitement in a more appropriately way.

Then a lot of things happened.  I didn't know why because the following scenarios were all dashing through in a blur.

One moment we were crying in each other's arms, with me blurting out with tears of joy.  "Oh, it's perfect; it's perfect!!  Now it's all complete.  Our family.  With one son and one daughter, it's totally a realization of the character 'hao' (Good)."  

And then the next, I was taking the public transportation and suddenly I felt a big light headed, but such tremendous pressure.  My eyes alighted on my belly and I was astonished to find my bulge was gone.  I collapsed.

Then I woke up.

It was the first day of the lunar new year.  And she came back to me, like the couple of times she had been visiting me from time to time in the past years.

year three

It's time to come back.

Turning point of my life

I was in shock.

I felt like dashing out of the door and rushed into the restroom to scream.

But my head told me no such mood can be tolerated for the sake of the nature of the main existence of such medical program and building.  There were psychiatric wards below where I was.

If there was time that I wish there is a God, that would be then.  I would like to challenge him and ask him:

"Where the hack are you when I need you the most?"

"Hell."

That might be his punishment for me, for being an atheist.

This is the pint of rupture.  I might be breaking off from here at this point.

Now there's something more important for me to tend to, other than my random and unhealthy vents.

Adieu.

Imagine Dragons "It's Time"

Years ago, I had a die-hard fan who used to wait hours for me to be off from my classes.  Classes that I taught and classes that I sat in, he was there, sitting on his old scooter or simply under the old banyan at the entrance of the foreign college.

We fought and he was the one that always stepped back and conceded all the disputes we had.  I was obtuse, stubborn and rarely admitted my own faults.  For those genuine mistakes that I made, it usually took me a while to conceded my bad because of my mixed personality of self-pride and sense of inferiority.

"I am who I am.  You either take me or leave me be.  Take it or leave it."

As if he had got no choice, but that was mostly what I said to him in those intense moments of heated argument.

Years later, we grew older.  Perhaps a bit wiser.  But other than the bystanders standing right at the verge of the orbit of our life and those old ghosts, nobody can tell whether we change who we were.  Sometimes not even we ourselves can tell, given it the stances that we did not really pause to reflect.

The power dynamic might have changed.  How we feel for each other might have changed.  Time turned, we might not be people think what we were.  Or there might be times that we questioned the meaning of life, the existence and what we dreamed of.

Yet it was not until we stopped marching on and started to take a moment to calm down and take a quiet and close look did we realize we were probably not too far from what we thought we would be, simply because we never change who we are.

Beyond explanation

Things you can't explain:

• people you just do not feel the connection with.  you don't know why but you can't seem to like the very person; there's no connection at all.  you cannot see eye to eye to most things; you are often times on different pages.  you wonder why or even blame yourself for not being open-minded enough to like that very person.  Or, you thought you'd like him/her on the first sight but it turns out you are singing different tunes and those idiosyncrasies simply keep you away from him/her.  at times, what he/she says seem to be pointing fingers at you OR what you have said he/she takes it as you are aiming at him/her//his/her deeds, but actually it is just not the case.  you let it go without explanation or saying anything because you think life is too short to be little on those trivial and only those who can't let it go suffer from what they hold on to.
• the thing you know you should do something about it, but you didn't.  you know you might find the right reason (or excuse) to cut yourself some slack or explain your way to others, but you don't even bother to do that.  you know you can find "(no) time" an issue (or excuse) to evade the blame, but you didn't because you know you wanna do what you wanna do; there's no one or anything that could have stopped you but yourself.  if you really care, you'd go and get it done; if you don't, you are simply not that into (getting) it.  maybe it's about interest, maybe it's about determination, or perhaps about self-agency.  the sense of agency makes you go for what motivates you and the degree of self-agency and self-awareness executes how well it goes.
• words you take so serious and people that string you along.  you know what they are doing to you and you know you shouldn't read into the words, but your instinct tells you there's something else in what they say and do. (To be continue...)

Week.end

Or is it?

For me, the week never ends.

I wake up at around six.  If I get lucky, that'll be I get seven straight hours of sleep.  These days, with a psyched toddler who can't wait to talk, to walk, to climb, to be fed, to explore and to be free from the cage, sometimes I wake up every hour or every other at night, consoling him and trying to persuade him to go back to sleep till dawn.

Ball games?  Sitcoms?  Movies?  Readings?  Blogs?  Writings?  Simply jotting down ideas?  All have to line up after the kiddo finally gets in position to nap or sleep.  Only then I'd stop hearing my own voice of nagging, as well.

I live a life without privacy.  I take quick showers, a "combat shower" every night (or every other) that's what they call it.  My number one and number two are done within five minutes and with the door open.  Slowly he falls asleep beside me, and all the while I lie there staring at the ceiling.  There is not even any wall paper for me to exercise my imagination of liberating that woman crawling out of the yellow flood or sea or prison.  Just immense white paint that probably cements her forever in that wall, in a straight jacket or any measures of physical or spiritual constrait.  No matter.

Cup of coffee or tea?  Not while breast feeding.  You have to provide the best for your kid.  Silence is gold?  Not while you are encouraging your kid to talk.  You have to model, mind his echolalia.  Not too strict with him, will you let him be?  You don't want to spoil him and raise a brat.  Peace.  Or is there?

The week is not over.  You have to find the bargain and look for the coupon for a whole week's grocery shopping.  Count every penny spent and check and double check whether this week's expense is still within your budget plan.  That's right, pinching pennies for some more takeouts and possibly that downpayment fifty years later.  Or maybe that'll probably relieve your cooking duty and cut down some housechores so that you may also save some time.  Time for you to finish that article, that movie.  Pinch and scrape, you'll get by, whether it be time or money.  That's right.

That morning I drove overboard, went right straight ahead into the ocean.  In my dream, with Sarah Brightman's singing La Califfa.  Other mornings, I thought I heard baby crying, one feeble sobbing was all I need to flip me off my side of the bed.  One morning I woke up wailing "bring him back to me," for I dearmt of losing sight of him in a blink.  Then I opened my eyes and found him grinning ear to ear at me.  I held him tight.  So tight that he started to cry.

First yoga class of the year, I fell behind, finding myself breathing heavily and skipping all those twisting postures.  I was never flexible.  I could never be a pretzel.  Lying on the mat, the instructor came up to check on me.  An hour and a half later, all the breathing, twisting and bending-overs triggered the blood surge; my heat spike.  My stubborn pores clench; no sweat at all, thus boiling body temperature.  I was as red as an ebi, shrimp, that is.  I looked burning and I felt hot.  In the mirror I looked like someone with sunburn.  Now he realized why I always stay all the way back, looking pale in the beginning then all red, breathless in the end of class.  He was worried that I might pass out by the door.

That was the only me time in a week.  That probably was the only alone time in two months.  

Being sick is the worst.  Mask is a necessity; chapped hands followed by OCD, constantly cleaning and sanitizing for the fear of giving your beloved ones the sickness; more than one spot of thrush as a result of lack of sleep and rest and of your low immune system  And all this time, you feel like fainting but you hang on to whatever at hand to revive your spirit because you know you can't fall and you can't afford the fall.  You must stand still, hold it strong, get this machine of yours to work, chin-up and nod and smile back at your little one, assuring him that mommy is still here, standing tall like a pillar and loving him as always.

Then he'd reach out his chubby arms, asking you to pick him up, read him stories with your animated elaboration and expression.  He has to make sure you read him about that growing little gorilla, that hungry catepillar, that assidious petit lapin blanc au jardin; he will make sure you love him by that strong squeeze and hearty smacks on his cheek, even though sometimes he gets confused staring at you, who's in that unfamiliar, nose-down-coverage mask, as if you are a sicko or an alien.

Late at night, I read and I reflect, on how I parent.  More and more, I have doubts; deeper and deeper, I am buried in thoughts, constantly questioning whether I am a good mum, a loving one and a fit one.  Did I spend enough time with him?  Why is he not taking my cues and following my instructions?  Am I being too harsh?  Should I let go of him when we are out in the park and let him take the fall maybe just a bit more?  Are tamtrums normal at this stage?  Am I too paranoid?  Can he detect my anxiety and overflowing concerns?

I am in awe.  I am in tears.  I am afraid I am not good at what I do.  I resent myself sounded like a wimp.  Or deep down, I am indeed one.  What if that gene or blood of weakling has passed on to him?  So unfair for him, isn't it?  That poor, innocent soul.

....

.... ....

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

But you know, you need to pull it together, wipe away your tears and smudge your fears before he wakes up.  You need to manage your time better.  You need a plan.  Collect your thoughts and keep it together.  Keep breathing and pinching and scraping, and you'll live.

Drained

Still managing to find my space in this new year, in this not-so-new role.
Having been deprived of time, space, energy, spirit and good vibe.  Extremely.
In the message box, I wrote:

"If comparing academic life or professional work life to coffee-drinking, this glass of plain water is like everlasting.  Water, though flavorless, is essential for life; but I happen to be a coffee person."

Nowadays, finishing a book, an episode of drama/comedy/sitcom, or even a post, seem to be luxurious.

The worst of all, what I thought I was doing right, I still don't see any affirmation.  I thought I was determined enough to carry on with what I believe in for my project, but then seeing little changes or progress frustrates me.  That frustration is now nibbling away my belief and resolution.

I feel like my life is imbued with unseen evaluations.  Yet I know the most trenchant critique and examiner is no one else but me.

wimpy.negation

In the dim moonlight, I found myself trembling.  In bad shape, mentally and spiritually.

"Stop.  If you are trying to say something to lighten me up..."

There, you shied me away.  A big blow.

How long has it been? Since my first impression that we were actually starting to walk astray from where we were.

Estranged, that's how they describe what we are now.

Negations and imperatives never follow tranquility.  Repudiation and aggression may be the result of repulsion, frustration and condemnation.

"Don't.  I simply don't care."

There you shy away from my hands, when I intended to embrace you.

It was my fault, and there I tried to squeeze you in as a gesture of apology.

Then my condition got worse, kept waking up coughing, for months.  I decided to leave where I was.

That very night, lying in the cold room, I tasted bitter.  The more severe my situation got to be, the more often I found fragmentary images reflecting on where we were fifteen years ago.

I tasted blood in my throat.  Tears made it worse.  I had nothing now, but I can't go anywhere.  I doubted there's anyone feel me.  I felt alone.  Particularly in that freezing room.  There was nothing left.  I left everyone I know years ago, and the only one I know best is leaving me.  I felt like banishing myself.  But now with that extension, I simply have to carry on no matter what.

For year, I have been careful with words.  Pleasantries are must and politeness is considered a necessity, even among relatives or immediate blood.

In any way, nonetheless, not only familiarity breeds contempt, but modesty does as well.  I am tired of being the only one that cares about rhetorics and speech manner, in terms of every single way of communication: electronic correspondence or social networking.

Just tired.  very.

Funny.Finally

how you contradict with what you once promised;
how you pretend to be who you are not;
how you keep telling yourself that everything's gonna be alright yet in fact, everything gets rotten inside out, it's you who's been blind to see how bad it really is.

For the past year, I gradually moved the center of my focus on something else because of a huge change in my life.  I have been tolerant and staying really cool and mellow, according to the medical staff and everyone around me, but I thought I could be more, than that.  As a matter of fact, I don't wanna be like that, anymore.

For so many nights, I wanted to write about something and bitch about someone, my hand and my brain somehow lost their coordination that they used to be pretty darn good at, being/working each other.  When I finally spare the time to jot down something, I lost that once huge train of thought and drop brain dead right in front of the screen.

I became quieter and quieter, grumpier and grouchier.  Due to the lack of time to read and write and to reflect, and for the sake of fulfilling the role that everyone expects me to be good at, I nonetheless became dumber and dumber.  My fingers are number, my brain functions slower, my speech is most of the time out of consistency and thoughts appear to be bits and pieces that jump here and there.  huge jumps, huge gaps.  I abhor the look in the mirror and occasionally find myself gasp in horror at the sight of what I see:  who the heck is this woman that wears abominable bloody red lip and nail lacquer?

There is no way I am gonna let myself rot like that.  I have to speak out, step out.  I've gotta have my say and say something meaningful.

Where to begin?  It's been almost a year.

Here.  You encourage.

"After all, you are what you are.  Nobody's gonna change you unless you let them and nothing's gonna change unless you do something.  We are simply nobody and people nowadays pay attention to those Somebodies, so you wouldn't be in the center of spotlight.  It's safe here.  Set your thoughts free and reposition yourself, starting from where you are.  Live the moment and let it begin, all over again."  Thus you said.

Day by day, you watch the passersby walk away, run away, and you do not do anything about it because they are not related to you.  But your thought.  Your mindset, your attitude and inner voice, those are what set you apart from all the others.  You've got nothing to lose now.

So what you do say?  You are now standing right on your mark.

Ready?

Get set.

Go!

Au revoir

Here it comes, the end of this blog.

I am not updating any new entry here.

You know how to find me and where to find me.

If you would like to know my updates and what I bitch about or fuss about,

you know how to reach me.

Otherwise, I am moving on and will be bitching somewhere else about somethin' that I make a fuss 'bout.

So long.  Adieu.

And I will be seeing you on the other side.  if you know what i mean.

I am moving on, my dear.  What about you?

Thank you for

loving me all these years
sorry for this overdue apology

sixteen years

I thought I could simply walk away
I thought you would not even remember

"you have no idea how you have shaken my world, shattered what I believed in..."

no I have the faintest idea
that I would forget
what you said
that once tugged at my heartstrings

yet you would never know that I too
waited for your turnaround as you walked away
broke down
under the coral sky
right at the street corner
where you stepped out of my life
disappeared on my doppler radar
i guess the difference between us is
you chose to take it all within
like the heavy dark cloud enshrouding the city
it only takes a slight lightening to shake off a torrent of
all the unsaid and understated
I chose to write it all down, cry it out
encasing all those memorable
all those proofs of my fall

then I learnt from my mistake and make sure I never make the same one again

you walked on as if you did not care
I waited believing you would turn around to get me back
that's how we missed each other

now i know
what really happened
I thank you for being there, for loving me all along

now you have to move on
forget what we have been through
I apologize for not being able to be with you, for not being able to love you ever more

things that i miss

cooking
strolling around taking pix
dancing ballet
writing something meaningful or fictional
reading a long novel
time of my very own

walking alone, absolutely alone
my pricy clothing
high heels
clubbing
staying up watching drama nonstop
going to the movies
eating in a restaurant without any concerns
window shopping
eating without weight watch
long hair
braid
a good run with ipod on as if there's no other ppl around
French lessons
new musique
traveling alone
café du seul
driving to explore

and

you

extraction

i wrote you a letter, kept it in the drawer, under the postcard you sent me and other stuff that reminds me of you.

at the bottom of the letter, there's slight trace of a line, saying that i miss you.
but i erased it eventually.

that's actually my second attempt to extract you from my memory.

in life, you get some and lose some.  at times, you lose some in order to get some.  other times, you get some, without knowing that the price is to lose some.

if you ever read this, you'd know that the mail shall remain eternally where it's supposed to be.  what we had, i am not even sure you would remember for life.  what we had, i don't even hold the faith in remembering all those good and memorable moments specifically.  nonetheless, i shall always keep my promise to disappear, to stay away and watch you from afar.

all you remember will be how good i look, waving at you and greeting you with smiles.

if only...

if only i had amnesia.

rubbish men1

This is an angry reflection about my beloved sisters, M, A and S who have been undergoing bad romance and unjust treatment from rubbish men.  I hope what MAS have been through would make them stronger and learn to make better judgement later in life.  After all, there's nothing I can do but be there for them, support them as a good listener, their best friend.  I don't see myself as someone that makes better judgement than anyone else; I have absolutely not any confidence of giving out anything that'd be deemed helpful for anyone.  But all I have got is all ears, compassion and care for my beloved ones.  As I do not have many friends, due to some stupid and stubborn principles, I treasure my dear friends.  For all the emotional siding-withs, I asked them not to take me seriously, for I, am a human being that vents and gets emotional, sentimental and occasionally temperamental from time to time.  I am not perfect and I do not care for being a perfectionist or the woman who knows it all, at all.  All I believe is that you side and stay with your dear ones whenever they are fragile and need your support, no matter what;  what happens next is for further consideration.  We are all adults, reasonable and logical; most important of all, we are good people.  But being good people does not mean we take all the craps from unfair treatment.  So I definitely side with them, but as much as I strive to provide objective views, I cannot guarantee that I would be a total fair person to consult with, regarding relationship.

M skyped me.  It was unusual for her to page me that urgently so I took it a serious matter.  She was in the middle of a crisis.  The man she spent the past decade with was actually a cheater, judging from evidences coming in all directions.  She accidentally retrieved the access to his social network account and mail accounts and found all the lies he has been feeding her.  Heart broken, she tried to initiate a talk but that the schmuck refused to provide any time or space to communicate with her.  Pretty typical for someone that does not have any backbones to face the music.  

A was in turmoil, a tug of war between her family and her lover.  Her typical controlling and over-protective mother gave her a notice, warning her to either get married soon or get on the ride of arranged marriage by the family.  The most considerate gal that I know of, A was too sweet to hurt either one side by standing her ground and make her voice heard.  The lover was burnt from the previous marriage; her own family wanted her to live an assured life, a "normal" life.  She cared too much for both parties to let them know what she really thinks.

S stands for smart, shrewish and soft in the head.  She is a beautiful woman with so much strength in her that she did not see it herself.  It appears that she is confident, but in reality, she has no faith in herself and constantly checks in every way to assure that she's got everything that makes her look good, on the outside.  She has a phd title, a dream job and a slender look that would make probably every typical asian anorexic gal envious.  With all that much in her, she couldn't avoid the vanity of collecting everything the best, including the matter of choosing spouse.  Her husband was caught cheating on her three months after the wedding.  Worst of all, she found more indications of lies and cheats prior to their marriage, when they were still dating each other.  All the business trips abroad and inland, he made her believe that not calling her was a way to attest their trust for each other.  But all the while she was bragging about her faith toward her successful businessman husband abroad, he was busy fooling around with his secretaries, fondling his lover(s) with sex moves and showering his mistress(es) with gifts, until she found the messages in his phone and email accounts accidentally, retrieving more evidences such as condoms from various hotels and exotic motels.  Instead of divorcing him, she gave him a second chance but was reluctant to counseling.  She had to save her face.  She thought.  When she realized her relationship has such a huge stain that she cannot avert her attention or reverse all the decision and memory, she consulted religion for a while and then came up with another bad decision: having a baby who she would raise to side with her, to hate the father if that's a necessary measure to take.

My friends are all tough and have strong heads like me.  Sigh.  All three men are intelligent but appear to be irresponsible for me, in one way or another.  M's man tried very hard to evade any communication because he cannot take the situation of a confrontation and being put on the spot to make the decision.  In the one and only email he responded to M, after her consecutive request for explanation via numerous skype calls, landline calls, cellphone calls and mails, the man simply replied: "I am very busy right now; I have no time to deal with this pressure.  I have to figure things out and find time to think through everything.  Just give me some time."  And then two months passed.  Nothing from him, not a single word.  In the meantime, M found out that he was actually very active in the social network and appears to be really intimate with another girl.  In short, he's chinless and indecisive; he failed to man up, talk it over and hesitated to even have a closure with M, who he has been with for the past ten years.  Only pathetic and spineless loser acts like that, M was sad to find out the true face this way.  It is out of the question a hard lesson.  But she took it bravely.  Despite the fact that she could no longer reach the man for a closure, she (wo)maned up herself, wrote him a mail and left him a message to break up with the jerk.  What a waste of time, M said.  I cyber patted and hugged her, knowing that she'll be fine after some time, and reminded her to find mii-time for herself.  After all, all these years, she's been with this guy and the close relationship, though there were two to three years apart by the great Pacific ocearn, she is not used to being alone and spending time with herself.  To numb the pain, she sees to her work for now, no leisure, no hobby and no someone significant to share things/thoughts with.  Hence, some mii time apparently would help her get over the breakup.

attention

copycat
voyeur
brat
leering swollen shitface
and cheesy taste

what else?

agh, the list of the names and adjectives is still running, but somehow I couldn't care less.
it's just fun making the list, knowing that you have no idea what i am talking about or...
you don't even know that i am addressing to you.  HA.

take the lol
in your face
you pathetic obsessive creep

the sun has come out, i am heading for the five guys.  at this point, life is too short for me to pay attention to a snot like you.  so i decide to sway on my feet and hop to my date.

(my dears, if you don't know who I am referring to, check my fb notes.  smooch:)