So after Thanksgiving, I headed south for some R&R with my galpal P. It was just for a short weekend, but boy, we crammed a shitload into three days!

On Saturday, we went to the salsa dance club in LA– The Mayan. Damn, people wear some SHORT, TIGHT shit!! The club was monster and there were themed rooms with different music… I saw some really awesome salsa in the main room which had a live Latin band. Also witnessed lots of bumping and grinding in the hip hop room. At times I had to cover my eyes! But overall, it was pretty fascinating just watching P light up the room. She was mesmerizing! Shit, dudes were coming up to her left and right asking to dance! Really. ALL NIGHT LONG. We were there 10-2, and she must have been asked to dance like 15-20 times!! She’s just one of those head turners… she doesn’t intend to, but she makes all the women around her seem really dumpy. 🙁

But the CRAZY story is… well there are two stories: I nabbed a thief who took something off our table and dashed off. I was watching our table where everyone had put their purses and phones and wallets… then all of the sudden, while I was looking at my phone, a guy came over, grabbed a phone off the table and darted onto the dance floor. I was a little confused about what the hell just happened but then I chased after him through the crowd, grabbed his arm, swung him around, he opened his hand and it was empty, then without thinking/speaking, I patted down his front pocket!! He just stood there stunned. And then, I shoved my hand down his pocket and fished out an iphone!! All without saying a word!! Turns out, the phone belonged to the woman at the table next to us!!! Yeah man, I’m a vigilante even at the club!!

And the other huge news was that I danced with a dude– and he was really good looking??!! WTF?? It was the strangest thing: at the end of the night, after I’d been feeling like a real ugly duckling, I was literally standing along the wall waiting for P to be done dancing already (I think I had even started a new Words with Friends game), and a really handsome dude all decked out in a suit came up and asked how things were going. I kinda just assumed he was talking me to ask about P, who was dancing ten feet away. Then he took my hand and asked me to dance. Say what???? I did a double take and being the nerd that I am, I was all like, “Are you sure? You don’t want to dance with me– I can’t dance. Let me introduce you to P: she’s an awesome dancer.” I know, I’m a dumbass. I did end up dancing with him but shit, I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I tried to remember the basic steps, but then I couldn’t feel the beat and several times I just stopped, stood there, and watched his footwork. It was fucking stressful! But he was super sweet, and after the song was over (it felt like an eternity), he kept wanting to dance more… dude was crazy!! At some point, I even stumbled on my own fucking feet!! Ridiculous… I’m such a cheese. But heck, check it off the bucket list: danced with a random cute guy. Hehe.

On Sunday, we went to Disneyland and rode the rides at CA Adventures. I did a looped rollercoaster for the first time ever (I know, apparently I’m getting all bold and gutsy in my old age). We also hit a tattoo shop in downtown LGB– I had wanted to look through some of their books to get ideas. Damn, that shop had THE trashiest portfolio. Ugh. I’m traumatized just thinking about it. The shit people get inked on their bodies… Seriously, can they at least TRY to keep this classy? Btw, tats cost like $150/hr!! Who do these tat artists think they are, freaking entry level lawyers?? Absurd.

All and all, another grand time with my bud. Til our next outing!!

The other day, I was reflecting on how this past year has gone. For the most part, I rate myself a 7 out of 10 but in the last four days, since returning to Taiwan, I’ve dipped to a 5 or 6. The thing I’ve come to realize is this: there are few things worse than being misunderstood. And boy has this year been chock full of people misunderstanding me.

It’s been another rough year for John and me. Feels like it’s probably been a rough COUPLE of years, actually. At some point in the last several months, we even considered a trial separation. We somehow managed to dodge that bullet, and we started therapy again. And what I learned from therapy turned out to be so disappointing. All this time, as I have scrambled desperately for ways to help him out of depression, he has only come to see me as someone who is judgmental and who enjoys tearing him down by highlighting his shortcomings.

For months, maybe even years, I tried to hide my frustrations with his inability to cope with the stresses and pressures of his work; I tried to be patient as he tried to figure out a way out of the darkness. I tried method A, method B, method C. I felt like I had tried everything, even if it meant re-training myself or even denying my own person… When the internalization grew so overwhelming, I found myself voicing my displeasure to him. I found myself verbalizing what I saw as inconsistencies between what he said and what he did. Instead of him acknowledging my pain, instead of him appreciating my concern, instead of him apologizing for anything, he only reacted defensively, and our distance and disconnect grew larger. When we returned to therapy a few months ago, all kinds of disturbing secrets surfaced. He accused me of name calling; he said I was a bully. I suppose he was only being honest about his perspective, but words matter to me. I only say what I mean and mean what I say. His words hurt me. How was it that all my good intentions and heartfelt efforts had been received in this manner? I had done so much out of love, and in the moments when the frustration finally made me crack, I was criticized for being unsupportive and unloving.

I had been trying to explain my loneliness and sadness at feeling neglected and un-treasured. And suddenly, all of this had been misinterpreted. This drama has since passed, but I still feel sad just thinking about being misunderstood by the one person in the world whom I had thought knew me best.

Every time I see my mother, we get into some kind of fight or argument. She presses my buttons by trying to guilt trip me about this whole child-free choice. I then try to explain that witnessing the situation between my brother and my parents is a large reason why I don’t want the baggage of raising kids. She then turns it into some fucked up interpretation of me being jealous that he’s the first born and that they are still spoiling him and supporting his ridiculous lifestyle and not doing the same for me. Seriously, how many times do I have to explain that I don’t care about material things. I don’t need or want their financial support; it’s not about feeling financially cheated as the other child. I really don’t give a fuck. But she always twists it into some version of that. And it drives me insane.

The thing is, if he were a considerate person, if he actually demonstrated some selflessness and sincerity in loving my parents, I couldn’t give a shit if they spent their entire savings on him. But he’s a selfish, self-absorbed asshole, and they want me to stand by and support this obscene scenario where they just keep giving without receiving anything in return? I won’t do it. I won’t be quiet about the matter. So this bullshit just goes on and on unchanged. Ten years ago, I had to cut him from my life. At the time, he had been living with us in Virginia. The hubs and I were slated to move overseas to Shanghai in three months. My brother went on “vacation” in Taiwan and then never fucking came back. Who had to move all his crap out of our house on top of handling our own overseas move? Yes, exactly. And that is just one example of his long history of inconsiderate behavior. After that, I had to extract him from my life, because I was done with all the fits of rage and blowouts this person caused. So we are estranged, and you know what? I have not had any more fits of rage since. This is what I had to do to obtain some peace of mind. And instead of understanding and recognizing that, my parents and relatives to this day still say that I have a hard heart, that I don’t understand the concept of “blood is thicker than water.” Somehow, I’m now the villain.

It’s all a pretty frustrating state of affairs. The thing is, I spend a tremendous amount of time cultivating relationships– friendships, my marriage, my parents… I do a lot of thinking, planning, communicating… it is downright exhausting, but I do it because I actually give a shit. So when all this effort and thought gets warped into some fucked up misinterpretation, it’s really upsetting. It makes me want to just become a hermit. It makes me sad that I take classes and read books and watch lectures on communications and social intelligence and somewhere, somehow, people just think the worst. If my spouse and parents– people who have known me forever can’t see the good intentions, what’s the point? Is it really that difficult to “get” me?

So I’m back in Taiwan this week… I have to say, the entire week prior to my trip, I always feel a sense of dread. Friends and people at work never seem to get it: they always say, “Oh, that’s so wonderful you get to see your family. You’ll have a great time!” How weird it is for other people to just assume that family relationships are awesome. (This is why you can’t support abortion legislation that requires parental notification: you just can’t assume every daughter has a functional relationship with her parents!! I digress.) Anyway, I always feel anxious before I’m about to see my family, because the whole meet up just triggers a ton of bad habits.

I’m traveling solo again this trip– same as last year. I scored some flyer points and managed a freebie round trip ticket. But cost isn’t the reason I’m here solo. Bubs is still swamped at work, and he has only two weeks of vacay per year, so he gets pretty stingy with it. Anyway, I traveled for almost 24 hrs. via Seoul, arrived in TPE, and then took a bus/metro to finally arrive at my parents’ house late Sunday night. On Monday morning, my parents and I hopped on the high speed rail and headed south for my grandfather’s house. Seriously, just like clockwork, less than 24 hrs. after landing, my relatives began their usual harassment campaign. It didn’t help that my cousin, who just had a son 18 months ago also popped out a second one two weeks ago. Look, I’m not opposed to other people choosing to become parents; I just don’t want to be one myself. Blah, blah, three aunts later, I’m still getting a talking to. Details in a bit.

So on Sunday, my brother gave me a book: The Power of Habit. I’m reading about the habit loop– and how there’s a cue, a routine, and a reward; and I’m realizing that my interactions with my family are part of this habit loop. Every visit involves some kind of discussion surrounding expectation, potential, happiness, and disappointment. Yeah, I spoke with Bubs this morning via Skype, and I was relaying my conversation I had with my eldest aunt last night. He agreed that shit always gets heavy when I see my family. So my body and mind just can’t help but feel stressed from these visits. And yet, I HAVE to visit. Grandfather is 91; my parents and aunts are getting older… I want to see them while I can, and yet I don’t. Do you see the conflict? Every time, John just tries to chock it up to different cultures and different generations. All of that is true, but do you know how hard it is to be asked:

Do you know how happy your parents would be to have a grandchild? How can you deny your parents’ happiness? Do you know that in Taiwan, if a child were told how important this is to the parents, she would never deny them this opportunity?

And apparently, my grandfather is beside himself over just how American my brother and I are. I mean, there’s my father– Mr. Perfect Son– and in just one generation, there are two freak kids: one doesn’t believe in marriage (committing to one person the rest of his life) and the other one doesn’t want kids.

Sure, it’s easy to say I adopt the “American” ideal of living my own, independent life. But at the end of the day, I’m grateful for all that my parents have done for me and I want them to be proud and happy with who I am. Already, I have issues about where I am on the “life success” scale, so to just feel like they don’t understand or respect or honor my choice to nix parenthood and furthermore, they hinge their happiness supposedly on this one thing alone, it’s a tremendous amount of pressure and stress.

I constantly grapple with feeling inadequate and feeling not good enough. I try to live my life with principle; I try to be a good daughter, a good friend, a good wife, a good citizen. But there are demons that I can never seem to escape– when I travel alone, I suddenly grow overwhelmed thinking of all the dreams I had for myself to become a certain person. And then sadly, I realize that I still haven’t become that hope for myself; I still have so many places where I am lacking and now, I’m 36.

Life doesn’t stop for anyone, and what am I doing? I swear, this is like some self-destructive crisis I go through over and over again. And it certainly gets triggered every time I see my family.

I feel unsettled and anxious. And I just keep chasing something with a sense of urgency… I don’t know exactly what it is that I’m chasing, but I just feel like I still haven’t found it yet.

Austin was a blast! 48 hrs in and out. My college bud J, whom I hadn’t seen in like 4 years, looked exactly the same… just like he did in college, except for the new eyeglasses!! The three of us partied it up on Sixth St., caught some live music (Ben Cina??), played lots of pinball (I suck, but he’s a master), played monster Jenga, witnessed some crazy raunchy shit at the Trophy Room (where they have a mechanical bull…), scouted out Lady Bird Lake (why’s it called a lake when it’s a river?), and ate TONS of BBQ.

Halloween is the ONLY day of the year where I actually like pictures of myself. Yeah, all other times, I look like a tard in photos.

Unfortunately, I didn’t win the costume contest (again) this year, but shit, I had such a blast!! If only I were this badass in real life, right?

J3 and I were in Albuquerque for the International Balloon Fiesta! Who knew such a wondrous event would take place in such an odd place. Anyway, we lucked out with the weather, and my oh my, the fields and sky were utterly magical! Highly recommend!

My coworker/friend R and I headed to Nevada City, CA for the Draft Horse Classic. Another grand adventure indeed!

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about life. The last time I wrote, my friend C was in the hospital, expected to die within a few days. Miraculously, he battled his way out of there in two weeks and returned home. Days later, he was back in the hospital and then out again. I think this is what Stage IV cancer looks like– lots of ups and downs, things really are just day by day. In these moments, when death feels so real, I find myself particularly susceptible to quotes and self-help sites. I feel somber and yet more certain of perspective, like I’m able to better categorize the “small stuff” vs. the important stuff.

The situation with John is good– better than before. We are doing things together, but still, I feel a loss, an emptiness. Honestly I feel alone. I read a quote recently explaining that loneliness isn’t a lack of company but a lack of connection. He works a lot (still). In the past, I had so many people available and ready to fill the void of not having my best friend around. Now, people are busy with their own lives, their own projects, their own developments. And who can fault them? Life is complicated; people have their own BFFs. What void are they looking to fill?

When C was in the hospital, F was there the whole time. This is a woman who loves fashion and shopping and cooking and being at home with their two cats. But for two weeks, she never left the hospital. She didn’t care what she was wearing. She didn’t care what she was eating. I’ve commented before that she’s ridiculously co-dependent, and clearly, there are things about their relationship that I don’t envy. But there was something almost Notebook-esque about how she had to be there with him the whole time. He was cranky and irritable and she oftentimes didn’t understand medically what all was going on, but she would have it no other way than to be there at his bedside.

I see these snapshots of life– whether they are real life or in Hollywood movies– and they make me think of my marriage. If I were in the hospital, would he be there by my side? This seems like a simple enough question, and years ago, I would never have given it more than a second’s thought. I would have responded, almost instinctively (with a hint of incredulousness even), “of course! Duh!” Now, I’m not so sure. I think if I were dying, then yes, probably. If I weren’t dying but just hospitalized, yes, likely. How could I think such things? How could there be any doubt?

Relationships are about the big things, of course. In those big moments of life and death, who can you truly rely on? That list of people feels like it should be obvious, practically second nature. But beyond those big happenings, life is also, surprisingly, about the little things. Sure, people say don’t sweat the small stuff, but what if the small stuff are really indicators of big stuff?

What is important to him? What is important to me, and how do we honor those values for each other? I don’t like feeling pensive, because more often than not, it causes me to feel sad and down. The way I counteract my overthinking is to focus on keeping it together, outwardly in hopes of overriding the inward anxiety. Specifically, my tactics for coping include obsessing over things that only involve me– they way I dress (clothing), the way I look (skincare, makeup, exercise), the way I feel (eating, exercise), the way I think (classes)…

For example, every week I turn to Pinterest seeking style inspiration. Yes, it’s fun and it’s a hobby, but really? Spending HOURS a week trying on different outfits and concocting new combos in my mind? Is this too much? Oftentimes I think, well, what else would I do with my free time?

Maybe it’s a way to develop a skill, to be good at something. I should consider it a celebration following all those years I spent hiding. I would never complain about putting effort into looking and feeling nice… it is a luxury I feel so blessed to have now… but sometimes I wonder: is this purely a celebration, or is it some warped attempt to distract? Am I controlling myself to compensate for my lack of control in other realms of my life?

I read an article recently about perfectionism. I don’t think I’m a perfectionist (maybe about just a couple things), but there was a quote that resonated with me: The worse I feel about me, the more I need to be perfect. Lately, I have been feeling a stronger pull to change myself.

For example, I felt like I was eating a bunch of junk and getting bloated, so I went on a quasi-diet of sorts (10 days? 2 weeks) and lost 3 lbs. I’ve noticed that recently, I’ve been feeling more dissatisfied too with what I see in the mirror– it’s always something: the hair, the freckles, the scars, the Dumbo ears, the bulgy shoulders… I have to actively remind myself of how far I’ve come to overcome the scrutiny. Then there are all these psychoanalytical questions. Do I have a confidence issue? Am I starving for attention? Why do I call myself a latch-key kid? How do these feelings of loneliness fit in with my ideals of feminism, of independence, of self-sufficiency? See why I have to distract myself with activities?

Today, I feel fine about myself. The pimple on my nose and freckles on my ears aren’t bothering me today. I’m feeling ok about my relationship. We have good moments– the weekend in SLO, the chocolate dipping party this weekend, breakfast/dinner at home yesterday. But I want Noah and Allie. It doesn’t have to be all consuming, but the relationship should be more than it is. He’ll argue this, but he’s stingy with his time. He doesn’t even admit to “working a lot” until he clocks in 70+ hrs/week. But it’s not even about the quantity. Whatever, he never gets it. And then he just pulls out examples where supposedly I neglect him, because I have a shitload of household chores to get done. Maybe I should just clump housework with my regular job, and then we are both workaholics. In the end, I just want acknowledgement that work gets top billing. Just come clean by admitting that much. Don’t make me demonstrate/prove the case.

So maybe now this has turned into a case of having to be right. A big no-no for relationships. I dunno. Things are the way they are. I eat dinner alone, because I eat light during the day and get too hungry to wait for him to get home 7p or later. I go to the bboy dance-off alone, because he’s not interested and because he has to work. I go to the spa alone, because he doesn’t want to go and has to work. I go horseback riding alone, because he already went last week (the first time in several months) and took photos and he has to work. I’m going to be taking a harmonica class alone, because he’s not interested. I’m taking a financial investment class alone, because he is not interested.

I’m not saying he should accompany me on every activity, but let’s just list out the activities that I do and see which are done alone and which are done with him:

– walk the dogs in the p.m.
– yoga class
– Bay Area Geek Girl dinner or any other tech related talk
– shopping
– horseback riding
– watching tv before he gets home (movies, WNTW, SATC)
– crafts
– household chores
– biking with Benny/Tina (1x/week)
– class during the week

He does these things alone:
– walk the dogs in a.m.
– grocery shop
– cooking 3x/week
– gym
– watching tv before bed

Yeah, he invites me to go with on some of these but 1) I sleep in because I have insomnia and I wake up around 6 a.m. to feed the dogs 2) Grocery shopping is a chore to me– I’m not about to add yet another chore to my list. 3) I don’t like Tosh 2.0 and whatever other crap he watches.

We do these things together:
– activities with friends (3x/month)
– concert/show/open mic (2x/month)
– biking (3x/month)
– movie (1-2x/month)
– meals (4x/week)
– weekend travel (1x/month)

Does this seem balanced? I dunno. Now my head hurts thinking about all this shit. And my friend is coming over this afternoon. She looks dangerously skinny to me and well, I’m planning to talk to her about it. I didn’t think I was stressed, but I had a dream about the talk the other night. Hope she is receptive.

Life goes on.

Maybe we’re just getting to that age now… that age when death becomes a very plausible reality. I’ve mentioned our friends C & F before. John used to work with the hubby– they are about 20 years older than we. The four of us used to live about 15 minutes away, and they frequently invited us over for dinner. While we didn’t exactly connect the same way we do with our peers, they were always very warm and generous and kind.

Four years ago, C was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer. Every year prior to that, he’d gone in for his yearly colonoscopy. The results always came back clean. Then, all of the sudden he started having aches and pains. After running tests, doctors learned that cancer had spread all over the body– to his lungs, his kidneys… The colon cancer had gone undetected for so long, because it had developed on the outside of the colon. Back then, doctors gave him two years to live. Since then, he continued to work while also seeking experimental treatment all over the world.

We lost touch in the years following. Chemo and radiation took its toll on C. He no longer had the energy to cook and entertain and host parties. Without him leading the charge and with us moving farther away, the interactions grew sparse. I thought of them often, but I was too lazy to reach out.

Then last Friday afternoon, we received word from another ex-coworker that C had been in the hospital since Tuesday. There were perforations in his intestines; toxic fluids leaked throughout his abdominal cavity causing severe infection. Surgery was not an option as doctors feared he would die on the operating table. The prognosis was 24-48 hours.

When we arrived at his hospital room, he looked surprisingly well. He was completely coherent and lucid. He had lots of tubes, but he was fully aware. I always remembered C as a vibrant and gregarious person. Like I said, he was always hosting parties, cooking up some fancy Michelin-level meal from scratch, listening to music, watching movies on his projection screen in his living room. Even though at work, John said he was oftentimes grouchy and sometimes difficult, outside of the office, he was clearly someone who loved to be around people. And he was a kind and generous man. They didn’t have kids, but I always saw stacks of donation mailings on the dining room table.

By contrast, his hospital room was so sterile and cold and white. The sunlight in his room was strong and oddly unforgiving. C said he was ill-rested and visibly, we could see he was very uncomfortable. He knew doctors were predicting the end. A lot of visitors came to see him, but the tone was solemn and silent. No chatter, no music, no tv playing in the background. I struggled with what to say. Frequently, we would all just sit there in silence.

The last few nights, I’ve been thinking, “What would someone else do under such circumstances.” He’s not ready to die, but doctors say nothing can be done. Limited time and yet, zero mobility. He misses his cats. He’s scared. Call after call, he explains the news. What must that be like?

And on top of that, it’s been days and NO ONE from his family has arrived. His spouse’s sisters have flown in from Singapore and Indonesia. Where are his brothers and sister? No one knows what’s up with that.

Meanwhile, C is hanging on… already doctors are surprised he has lasted til now, but even so, the situation is tenuous at best. This morning his white blood cell counts jumped so high that doctors decided to risk external infection by inserting an abdominal drain to pipe out the infection and pus. The physician reiterated that the drain does not cure/repair the problem, which is his perforated/broken bowels.

John and I have gone to see C & F the last three days. I know we aren’t very close, and the visits are extremely uncomfortable for John. But I just thought of how social C always was… and somehow I just felt like having a lot of people there would comfort him, especially in the absence of his family.

I want to be hopeful, but the reality is that he has been in stage 4 for a long time now. Small measures may buy him more time, but… not much.

I just can’t stop thinking about what it must feel like to not be ready for death. When astronauts go to space, do they spend their time before the launch thinking they might not come back? Do they have some kind of bucket list that they make sure gets done before take off? Do they say goodbye as if it’s their last? Maybe there’s higher likelihood of astronauts returning from space than not. I dunno. For some reason, death makes me think of people who go to space.

Thankfully, F is doing much better than I had expected. Four years ago, she was an utter mess– completely paralyzed by the news. Obsessed and yet completely immobilized by it. Fortunately since then, she has become stronger. She still has difficulty understanding what is happening medically/technically, but she clearly gains strength from the support of her sisters, so I’m very glad they are here. F will be ok. Still, this is someone who has relied very heavily on her husband for nearly two decades. She’s an immigrant from Indonesia with limited English literacy– she has never held a job, and it’s fair to say, she is completely co-dependent. Undoubtedly, the transition will be tough, but she will be ok.

So needless to say, this has been a stressful weekend. I’m still holding out hope.

So I turned 36 earlier this month… it’s the year of the dragon, so my age is a multiple of 12 (for the 12 Chinese zodiac signs). For the most part, my birthday passed blissfully… I mean, I DID struggle with the reality of being closer to 40 than to 30, but what can be done?

The life of Benji Button continued on its usual trajectory. The week before, I went on my long anticipated cattle drive in Parkfield, CA. My four days as a star in City Slickers definitely were an adventure. Temps were in the high 90s, and we clocked in about 6 hours/day of riding. Thankfully, those weekly riding lessons paid off and I eked by with minimal soreness in the butt and legs. Then again, Butt Butt’r might have been my savior! Overall, I was good with nearly all of the cowboy livin’ (the heat was actually nice with the breezes and tree shade)… the only dealbreaker for a repeat? The camping. Well, what I call camping. Yes, staff cooked our meals and we had hot showers and real toilets, but STILL. Anytime I’m not sleeping in my Westin bed (perfected after years of product research), I call it camping. Yes, crappy beds at cheap hotels also count. 🙂 Needless to say, I missed my bed– maybe even more than I missed unlimited internet!! And I should also clarify that this was the FIRST time ever that I traveled without my laptop. Yes, I am THAT ridiculous. Just call me fuckin’ Kim Kardashian, ok?

On a more serious note, the experience really reminded me that there are all sorts of ways people make a living. So often I forget and assume that everyone is college-educated, mid to upper class, and white collar. So NOT true. One person I met– he was the sweetest guy ever. Why do I say this? Uh, the dude was away from his wife for 4 short days, and he bought a subscription to some e-cards service so that he could queue up daily e-cards for the wife. If you’re rolling your eyes, let’s just remember that The Notebook is one of my favorite movies, so f off. Anyway, Andrew and I were talking about our childhood. He was telling me how he was raised by a single mom, and they traveled throughout California doing migrant farm labor starting at the age of 3– he picked cotton in the fields!! Then, he was saying how this cattle drive was on his bucket list, and to do it, he had to forgo all gifts/presents/vacations/splurges for the next two years.

I felt so ridiculous. I mean, truthfully, I found the site, thought about it for a few minutes, and then bam, booked it without further thought. And afterwards, I proceeded to buy myself a riding helmet, riding pants, and fucking expensive cowboy boots…

I know, my father always says “life is unfair.” But Jesus, call it like it is: I am a spoiled white collar brat. My life is cake. I need to do something about this.