OakMonster’s Den

I woke up on my birthday morning to Bond, James Bond.  First thing on the agenda this morning, even before getting any food into our systems, Brandon and I headed out to the theater for Quantum of Solace.

My car, and everything else, was covered in ashes.  Norther sky is but orange brown smoke while it’s bright blue out South, toward the beaches.  As we headed up the 605 North, it felt like we were driving INTO the fire.

We weren’t close to action, but we just got literally only a sniff of what folks are experiencing out there.

The afternoon went on with a little shopping, laundry, and more work on the Big Gala.  All while alternating humming the new James Bond them “Another Way to Die” (I must admit, it’s quite catchy. I hated it at first, coupled with the music video. But now that I’ve heard it a few more times, I actually like this song!) and the classic James Bond theme.  No martini here, however.  Too much to do and not a lot of time to do it.

I packed my bag and laid out things to pack for Thailand trip while Brandon went out chasing the sunset.  He came home empty handed as this time of year the sun doesn’t set where he thinks it was.

Topping off the evening, we went to dinner at Joe’s Sushi in Lakewood.  All you can eat, baby!  14 of us ate and ordered and ate and ordered and ate.  Beer and sake was flowing all around.  At some point we were so stuffed and food was still coming, we had to ask them to stop.  Also, the entire restaurant sang me happy birthday over complimentary fried green tea ice cream.  I shared the loot with my friends and went back to a few more bites of sushi and swigs of sake.

With belly full of food, blood nicely infused with alcohol, and a big, warm heart from good time spent with friends, I came home to a phone call from my dad and brother Onk to wish me a happy birthday.  Here I was, having gone all day thinking they’ve forgotten about me.

Even the small mountain of laundry waiting for me to put away couldn’t dampen my spirit.

The Oak-pocalypse it may be out there, but in here, it’s been a great day.

I had a dream a few nights ago that I was back in school at Mater Dei.  Having heard Aurora talked about burning her hand on chemistry set back in high school at dinner time, in the dream, I ended up back in a chemistry lab.  My lab partner is one of my school friends but she is for some reason in a wheel chair and for that I have to help her with her lab stuff.

We were supposed to be measuring water into this beaker.  She kept telling me I was doing it wrong, that was too much water, that wasn’t enough water, it wasn’t supposed to drip like that, etc.

Why don’t you just do it, I asked.  You can’t use your legs but your hands are free. I’ll hold the beaker for you, even.

I can’t, she said. I’m sick, can’t you see?  Now, try it again with the dropper.

So I did.  Once again, she said I was doing it wrong.

I grabbed the beaker and poured the water on her head.

Naturally, she started screaming.  What the hell is wrong with you?  Why would you do that?

The teacher came over.  What is going on here, she asked.  Oakley poured water all over me, my lab partner whined.  The teacher looked at me for an answer.

Because she’s being a little bitch, I pointed out.

The room fell silent.

I see America has changed you, the teacher said.  Now, get out of my lab and go pack your bag too. This school no longer welcomes you.  (Apparently, in this dream, my school becomes a boarding school.)

Fine, I said.  And I left.

A bit of foreshadowing perhaps of my trip to come?  Hell, I already got a request to take down my Princess Leia zombie picture on my Facebook because it was “embarassing.”

Just for that, I’m going to upload a whole bunch of pics to my Facebook gallery.

I am turning 32 tomorrow.  Given, I had a pretty good idea of who I was when I came to the U.S. at 16.  However, I have struggled to find my place in the world for years–and I’ve compromised plenty.  Now that I’ve finally embraced my weirdness and quirks and the shape of my body, I refuse to have someone take that away from me again.

Muck like my geek manifesto and declaration of war against “Normal”, I am declaring war against people who want me to be something else I am not.

The only person I would take that kind of criticism from is my mother, and she is no more.  I will no longer compromise when it comes to my identity.

I will not back down to keep the peace just because I make you uncomfortable.  I refuse to be an easy target for you to feel better about yourself.  I refuse to be the scapegoat for your own low self esteem.  I refuse to be responsible for your feelings because you can’t accept me for who I am.

If you need an excuse from me so I am acceptable enough to you, then clearly, you can’t stand me at all.

I am who I am.  Take it or leave it.

It says here in “Death Benefits”:

“The death of a parent — any parent — can set us free. It offers us our last, best chance to become our truest, deepest selves…”

Does it?

I woke up this morning thinking about my mom, or more like how I haven’t been thinking about my mom.

I was questioning myself as to why I don’t seem to be missing her as much as I should.

And then I was reminded of the reason why I wasn’t missing her.

First was a documentary on TLC called “The Woman with Giant Legs” about a woman with a condition so rare that doctors have no idea what caused her legs and feet to grow to more than 210 pounds.  Just her legs and feet.

The show brought back a memory of one point during my tween years.  A few years after I quit ballet, I started to have leg cramps in the middle of the night.  At the doctor’s office, after I was prescribed some calcium and potassium tablets, my mom asked the doctor, “Are her calves normal? I mean, they are so big I’m afraid she might have a disease or some kind of disorder.”

The answer was an obvious no, but the question seared into my brains.

My “giant calves” as it were, were once muscular from ballet.  At the awkward age of growth, apparently they were quite disproportionate to my build.  I was already aware of my not-typically-skinny-like-other-girls legs, but never thought I was disfigured or anything.

I acknowledged at that point that I don’t have supermodel long skinny legs. Not even a normal person skinny legs. I had bowling pins for calves.

My mom made sure I was VERY aware of that fact. With every outfit I picked out. With every picture that showed my legs.

My calves, and later on my hips which are also bigger than the typical butt-on-back-order Thai girls, were constant point of criticism with my mom.  I have since learned to live with them and embraced my shapes.  She wanted me to cover them up.

When I saw that TLC show, not only I thought of that day at the doctor’s office, but I wished she was still around so I can tell her, “See? Now THAT’s a disorder.  My calves are normal, thank you very much.”

Later on in the evening, something came up in a telephone conversation.

“I saw your Thrill the World video.  What an outfit you have on there! If your mom was around to see that, she would’ve had a heart attack.”

Definitely, she would have.  And I would still have done it with her alive and well, knowing she wouldn’t have approved.

It’s not her daughter dancing in front of people in a bikini and shorts but her “fat” daughter with a big ass and giant calves dancing in front of people in a bikini and shorts.

Oh yeah. At 5 ft. and 100 lbs., she told me I was fat.  Actually, one of my brothers had told me same thing not many years ago.

Now that I’m 105 lbs., I think someone is going to send me a hint that I should join WeightWatcher anyday now.

/checks her email box.

I just wasn’t built the way my mom would’ve liked.  I wasn’t built tall, fair, leggy and/or skinny.  I also wasn’t equipped with the girlishness she desired.  I wasn’t soft spoken, mild manner, obedient or prim.

I wasn’t a lot of thing she wanted in a daughter after I turned 12.

I found myself and my voice and I became a daughter from hell.  Somebody with big calves and an even bigger opinion.

I’m sure it has hurt her as much as it has pained me, the war between her ideal of me and who I really am.  I have accepted myself to be a failure in my mother’s eyes.  There is nothing I can do for her now.

Occasionally, I couldn’t help hearing her voice.

Every time I look in the mirror.

Every time I get on a scale.

Every time I choose to go on some offbeat adventure.

But I am going to live the rest of my days without regrets.  Without guilt? That, I can’t guarantee.

Going to bed when I’m supremely tired has been working three nights so far.  It works better on the weekend, I’m sure.  Man, trying to get up to wash the Korean BBQ smoke out of my hair this morning was tough. It’s starting to cool at night in California a little bit.  Cool when I left the house and when I got home.  It makes it really hard to get out of bed in the morning.

When I got work, I gave my dad a call.  Of course, I caught him watching his nightly news and he filled me in on Thailand’s current madness.  He recommends the recent article in Time Magazine.

“Somebody’s funneling money into the PAD,” he said.  “Someone’s paying daily stipends for people to not be earning a living but to sit in at the Parliament House.  And it’s a pretty good bet around here that it’s the old-money elites.  They want the Democrats to be government and Abhisit as PM.”

“But I want Khun Mark [Abhisit] to be the PM…” I whined.

“I know. But not like this,” dad replied.  And I agreed 200%.

“Brandon said if this shit is still going on by the end of October, he’s not coming home with me,” I told him.

“Tell him this is the BEST time to be in Thailand,” dad replied.

“I told him the protest doesn’t bleed over to the tourists so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not just that,” dad added.  “All the other tourists would’ve canceled.  Hotels would be empty, and then we could get any room at any hotel we want in Phuket on the cheap!”

My dad.  There could only be one.

*

And there could also be only one Brandon.

A text message this afternoon sent me into a giggle.

“Hahah. The cats attacked [The traveling Couch] Monkey!  Jumper walked by  with Monkey in his mouth then the little ones [Brandon’s folks’ new cats as oppose to Jumper, the elder statesman] ran by and stole him from Jump.”

My poor traveling Couch Monkey, covered in kitty drool!  Later on tonight, as Brandon was reading before bed with the cats, again, Monkey was taken.  Brandon had to chase the cats down to get him back.

And my poor husband, for him to be on his cell phone to text me these things, Brandon had to step outside and down the driveway of their house in the mountains of New Mexico.  It was 27F when he called me an hour earlier

Now THAT’S love.

*

The day of much love and laughter ended well at my first Lyrical Jazz class with Sizzle at Moondance Studios tonight.

I LOVE Sizzle!  She’s totally awesome.  Not only does she have lessons planned for the next 6 weeks, she also taught us the history of each week’s style.  Today, we learned the basics of Fosse style and did the routine from the first 2 verses of Chicago’s All That Jazz.

Jazz hands. Fosse’s port de bras. Hip pops. And other signature Fosse moves.

Aw, my quads. And my back.

The zombie moves I was going to practice before I go to bed should look awesome now that my back is a little bit stiff…

The first anniversary of my mom’s passing is here.

My heart is heavy.

I picked up red roses, her favorite, at the Farmer’s market yesterday. Looking at them in the elevator, tears welled up.

But I didn’t cry.

Brandon held me this morning before he left for work.

I didn’t want to wake up this morning. I just want to stay asleep.

But I did wake up. I had to.

Somebody has to put the roses in a vase for mom.

I talked to my dad a while ago. The entire crew of aunties and the family went to the temple.

I thought about going to the temple too. But it was hard going by myself last time. I felt that I should be with my family for this. I didn’t wan to go there alone again.

Instead, I just stayed home and arranged those roses into a vase.

And I thought of mom.

Her laughs. Her pouts. Her walk.

How she ran her fingers through my hair the last time we talked and told me my head stink.

How it felt to hold her hands while we watched Meerkat Manor the last time I was there.

I will be thinking of her all day today.

I will try not to cry in class this afternoon.

I will try not to cry when I make lasagna for dinner tonight.

It was one of her favorites.

God.

I miss her.

The Christian God has been vying for my soul a bit heavily these past few weeks.

Observe the long list of Catholic and Christian coincidences.

#1

August 6 was the day of the dinner party with people on my last bus home. The bus was so unusually full in the morning that Tony who always sit in the back ended up in the front. Next to him was Robert, a gentleman who used to ride the bus when I started. We work in the same building. Since then he had stopped taking the bus, only popping up on the bus a few times a year.

The last time he was on the bus, he asked me to pray for him as he was going in for a lung biopsy. After that few bits and pieces of news were passed around on the bus that it was cancer, but he was okay. No one on the bus had seen him until that day.

Tony, being a friendly man, went ahead and invited Robert to our cliquey little bus party after the last bus. So I gave him my card so I could call me later.

Robert didn’t make it to the party. However, he asked if I would like to be his carpool buddy the following day on the way home. Of course, I said yes.

On our ride home that day, Robert told me about his cancer and the surgery. His case was eerily similar to my mom’s. About the same size, about the same spot, but I’m not sure if it was the same type. He currently is not doing chemo, again, similar to my mom’s case.

Not wanting to scare the man, I didn’t want to tell him about my mom. But the inevitable question of “Are your parents still in Thailand?” led to “If you dad and your brothers are there, where’s your mom?” And I had to tell him.

Robert was very grateful that I shared my mom’s story with him, and he was sorry that he asked so many questions. Then he mentioned something along the line that his view of religion has changed since his surgery.

And then he mentioned that he is Catholic.

#2

After the bus party, I came home to discover that Joy’s Mom Mary’s blog was coming to life. I set her up with the blog and am staying on as administrator to guide her (and a few of her children who are helping) through the wonderful world of blogging. However, her 5 posts a day was disconcerting to me. Perhaps :Mommy” didn’t get the idea of one or two entries a day is enough. So I wrote her an email full of tips for new blogger.

“Mommy” wrote back a few days later telling me that she didn’t post the entries. Her younger daughter Jan was working on the blog as a Mother’s Day surprise present, but didn’t know that I would be monitoring the movement. “Mommy”, a devout Catholic, has told me that God must have sent me to help her because I kept popping in at all the right time.

The day after this, Robert from #1 called me for that fateful drive home.

And of course, in true fashion, I passed along Mary’s blog address to Robert.

#3

The auspicious August 8, I was at my friend Katie’s wedding. It was a Catholic one. I needn’t say more, but there was more.

When I attend a mass with Nora, during the Communion, I would always go up for a blessing. At Katie’s wedding mass, when the priest blessed me, I felt something. The religious would say I felt the Spirit. But it was like a cool breeze washes over me and I felt a little shaky.

Brandon said the blessing might be exorcising the demon out of me. After all, I did make a joke in mass. Kind of.

I misheard the lyric in Here I Am, Lord. The actual lyric is “Is it I, Lord?” but what we heard was “Is it time, Lord?”

I leaned over to Brandon and asked, “Did they just sing, Is it…Time Lord?”

What self respecting Dr. Who fan wouldn’t crack up at that!

#4

August 12 was Thai Mother’s Day. So I blogged about waking up humming Que Sera, Sera, one of my mom’s lullabies.

My brother Onk emailed me later on that as he was reading my post, his MP3 collection pulled up Que Sera, Sera! A jazzy-bossa nova version of it that he didn’t know he had.

Okay this is not a Catholic/Christian coincidence, but hey, it was a MAJOR coincidence!

We both missed mom horribly that day, by the way.

#5

That same day, we were at Sony Studios for work. There were two brief studio tours given. Me and 25 people went on the early one. Naturally, when it was announced that the second and last tour was available, the rest of the people rushed for it. They ended up having to split the big group up into 2 smaller groups.

Somewhere in there, half of the first group got lost. They tried to join the second group but the guide told them to go back to their original group. Unable to find the first tour guide, the separated came back to the party. The second group also returned to the party close to closing time.

What we didn’t know was that the first group’s guide, probably thinking the second half went to join the other tour, kept going with the tour with only a handful of people. (They actually got a better tour than the rest AND caught a glimpse of Tom Cruise!) The rest of us, having heard the story of the separated half, thought that everyone had returned to the party which was now being herded out of the premise. So we packed up.

We found the Coworker’s canvas bag but she was nowhere around. Being it a canvas bag, not a purse, we thought that she might have gone home and forgot the bag. Before we left the office, the Coworker and I swapped phone numbers. I gave her a ring, but no answer. (As we found out, the phone was on mute, naturally.)

So we loaded up Celeste’s boss’ car (for easy unloading at the office the next day) with all the stuff including the bag. We didn’t really pry and see what all else was in the bag. We just checked that there was no food container. We didn’t hear any plastic thunking and we saw the bible on top, and that was enough for us.

Celeste and I stayed behind a bit to talk and to discuss my best route home from Culver City. I was following her car around and out of the parking lot when I spotted our guests waving at Celeste. At first I thought they were waving goodbye, but they were actually yelling FOR her. (Later Celeste told me she thought they were waving goodbye as well so she waved back and continued on her way.)

I stopped and asked if something was wrong.

“A girl, your coworker I think, is missing her bag,” he said through my window.

Oh my god.

The Coworker was still on the tour. Her phone was in the bag as that bag WAS her purse! Her wallet, her keys, everything was in the bag. She would’ve been completely abandoned without the bag.

Here’s the freaky part.

Earlier that morning, I went to the flower mart with Celeste. She was driving so she couldn’t call her boss, so I called her from my cell phone. The Boss’ number otherwise wouldn’t be in my contact list.  I would’ve had to call Celeste for the Boss’ number, but she couldn’t really answer because she didn’t have a hands-free device.

I did get in touch with the Boss and to top it all off, she lives in Culver City.  She was not too far away, so she turned right around with the Coworker’s bag in minutes.

The Coworker is a very spiritual Christian.  I’m thinking God was on HER side more than mine on that one.

#6

You might have seen a seemingly angry comment on my Olympics post. Just like any other comments (with return email address), I replied personally. I told Robert I agreed on all counts why China shouldn’t have the rights to host the game. However, I support the Olympics and the original Olympics spirit, just not this year’s host.

Robert wrote me a very touching reply and apologized for his knee jerk reaction to my post. He also offered to light a candle for my mom at church and kept her in his prayer as the anniversary dawns tomorrow.

A Christian friend from the blogosphere I just made today.

*

I’m telling you. God is gunning for me.

What I wrote to my brothers:

I dreamed a lot last night. But one of the last thing was that I was home for Onk’s wedding.

Don’t laugh.

Who am I kidding. Laugh away!

That’s the gist of the dream because it was all quite a bit mumbo jumbo. Something including the fact that dad’s was the only working shower in the house, that Ake still lives in his room and I am in mine, that we have a hot tub in the backyard (where I ended up having to take a bath in because daddy was STILL in the shower).

And that I was setting two seats for the parents, poignantly missing mom.

I didn’t wake up crying, but I did cry promptly after I woke up.

I miss her something fierce today.

I guess I have been missing her for a bit since Mother’s Day a few days ago. Just didn’t have time to process it all. I have been so busy with everything and at some point I was trying not to feel it, occupying my time and my thought with something else.

You can only fight it for so long.

I have cried today. The hollow feeling in my chest is there. And it is just weird how your “heartache” could physically manifest.

Since I mentioned Mother’s Day, the hole in my chest has just been sitting there. That day, the office had that event at the Sony lot so I was preoccupied with a lot of things. Partly, I didn’t want to have time to dwell on the fact that I was missing my mother.

I kept pushing that through the week, busying myself with work and with Celeste’s going away. Losing one of my good friends at the office, although just across the street, is hard too. The dynamic of our little fun corner is already a little off, and now the glue is gone. It’s going to be interesting adjusting next week.

Friday night, I swore I didn’t want to do anything else. I left work on the early bus, feeling completely spent. I didn’t want to ride a bike to get dinner, but I made myself ask Brandon if we could. I didn’t want to sit and watch TV for the rest of the evening, but I couldn’t get myself to do anything else. All the while, I didn’t want to admit that my heart was aching and that there was a gaping hole in there.

Saturday came, as if he knew something was wrong, Brandon plotted out the day full of activities and I, not wanting to acknowledge my feelings, went with it. We got my bike fixed (the back fender was loose when I took a spill last week), bought a new door handle for my car (plastic is so old and brittle it broke off in Brandon’s hand), got pampered (Brandon got a 30-minute massage next door because the kink in his neck wouldn’t go away while I got a pedicure and extra long foot massage), and picked up groceries (made this awesome Spanish garlic chicken thing–will blog on Hmm…Food…Good soon).

But this morning, I wasn’t so lucky. The dream pretty much topped off the “I miss my mom” tank and spilled over.

I cried. Brandon held me for a while. Then he brought all of the stuffed animals in the room over to hang out with me, a “group hug” from my soft and fuzzy friends, not unlike how I used to do when I was a kid. I made me cry more but at the same time very comforting.

Mom’s first anniversary is already a few days away. And I am already a mess.

I was wondering why I woke up singing “Que Sera, Sera.” It’s one of my mom’s lullabies.

Today is Thai Mother’s Day.

The first without mom.

Here’s a red gerbera daisy instead of your favorite red rose, mom. Hope you like it.

I am sad to inform you that my cousin May and her partner Eva lost to the Singaporean team. Eva also lost women’s single earlier, so the US Badminton girls are all out of the running.

ETA: USA Network is now re-broadcasting May’s match with commentators. Of course, I was waiting to hear how badly they would butcher May’s long last name, Mangkalakiri. That’s pronounced Mang-ka-la-kee-ree, folks.

But the commentator went crazy there with. Mang-gala-CARRY.

Carry? Really?  How did the “I” become “A”?

The former USA Badminton president is the one going with the safe way, having known May, calling her May instead of trying the last name.

I am also sad to inform you that Thailand’s golden badminton girl also lost her match against China. It was expected that China would mow her over, but she actually won the first match and gave that lady the run for her money before losing.

Also in the news, the two hopes of Thai female weightlifters were quickly squashed. Not to mention that while one of them was competing in Beijing, her apartment in Thailand was gutted, killing her two dogs. Talk about a tough day!

Brandon and I watched the Korean swimmer kid redeemed himself from having disqualified as a 14-year-old. Remember the kid that fell in before the start? Yep, he’s not only back, but won the first ever swimming medal for South Korea. And it’s a gold. I was screaming for that kid.

More fun than watching Michael Phelps actually competing was watching his reaction during his first medal ceremony. The U.S. national anthem came on missing a few notes. At the end of the first verse, there was an awkward skip and it started over again. Brandon thought I was losing my mind, but I was singing along in my head there. I KNEW there was an extra verse in there. That little glitch didn’t register on Phelps’ face.

However, as we approached “o’er the land of the free”, the music suddenly was cut off. The camera was up close on Phelps. One second after that, he burst into laughter, along with the crowd–President Bush and the family included.

That, my friend, was an awesome Olympic moment. He sure as hell is not going to mix that one up with all the other medals he could be winning in this game.

The Olympics had begun, y’all.

I was at Katie’s wedding last night so I missed most of the celebration during the first broadcast.  However, I did catch the US and Thai national teams marched into the stadium.  And I tivo’ed the rerun to watch again this morning.

“Cousin” Nicky is reporting prolifically from Beijing on their adventures so far.  And tonight, May takes the court.  So please tune in on the computer at 9 p.m. PST (California time), Thais and Americans everywhere, to cheer her on.

LA Times Olympics Blog also got to talk to May a bit as she recap Uncle Noi’s harrowing near “great fall down the Great Wall” as well as her experience so far.

Now, back to the opening ceremony.

Holy. Mackerel!  As Brandon summed it up best, “Nobody can out-pomp the Chinese!”

The LED screen on the floor is amazing.  Performers, brilliant and are you sure they’re human?  I mean, that kind of precision for that big a group is INSANE!

This would mark the 2nd Olympics of my life time that I actually would remember how the torch was lit.  There’s the 1992 Barcelona with the archery and then this running up the wall thing in Beijing.

Suddenly, I think I heard the Londoners let out the resounding, “Aw, shit. Now we have to top THIS?”  You poor, poor Brits.

As much as I enjoyed the ceremony and I quietly accepted the delay broadcast, I must say that someone should slap a piece of tape over Bob Costa’s mouth.

The tidbits about each country marching out is great.  Good to know. Thanks, guys.  The cultural commentaries about the ceremony are also helpful.  Again, thanks.  But Bob’s “Hey, I’m a witty sports commentator guy! Hear me make what I think is hilarious injection!” not only wasn’t funny, it was disrespectful.

There were too many moments to count but notably, as the 2,008 Tai-chi masters ran into formation around the stadium, he blurted out something along the line of one misstep and that’s a cranium wreck.  Come on.

And there was more of those little comments that he made that would’ve been funny during an NFL game, but seriously, not here at the Olympics.

Talk about comments, I was also bothered about the politically laden commentaries throughout the broadcast. I understand that there are a lot of controversies. I’m sure everyone see this differently, but I thought all the political analysis and comments from Tom Brokaw before the show started was enough right there.  But not for NBC apparently.

They kept saying that the Olympics opening ceremony is one of those moment when you put everything aside and celebrate the world coming together.  But throughout the show, they kept throwing in the political tidbits.

Oh yes, here’s Sudan.  Oh yes, here’s Thailand where President Bush made that speech the other day (instead of talking about the fact that Thai female athletes won first medals in the country’s history, a fact they pointed out with other countries).  Oh yes, here’s Iran and its nuclear program.

How is this supposed to be a UNITY event when the newscasters keep bringing up the controversies every few minutes?

Oh, whatever.  We’ve all moved on by now.  After all, that was so 12 hours ago.

At this moment, it looked like the Chinese already out-gold-medaled the U.S.  NBC is keeping tabs on the total medal count, but to me, the only medal count that matters is the gold.

Thailand is coming in pretty strong this year with returning champs.  Let’s see if we can beat our records last year!