Rediscovering NY: New York Style

Seriously? I just spent way too many hours of my life catching up on entries in The Sartorialist and then following the blogger, Scott Schuman's love life with partner Garance Dore. Did I really just do that? Ah, whatever.

Now that I'm done judging myself...reading both blogs made me think a lot about personal style, where it comes from, how to carry it out, etc. It makes me remember times in Boston when I looked in the mirror and changed my outfit because it was just too much for New England. These folks can't handle this, yet here in NY, I'm quite the tame fashion plate. I guess that means I'm not really a plate -maybe a saucer.

But seriously, here one can do so many things with their personal fashion. In so many ways, it's possible to be many things and still belong. What a gift.

For this, I am grateful.

RIP Troy Davis

As I watched Democracy Now's live stream of the Troy Davis execution, I couldn't help but feel sick. It was a huge reminder of why I've been pro-life for so long and the passion I felt for this issue so many years ago. No one should have the power to say who stays and who goes.

In a place where the unborn are protected from abortion laws, shouldn't the same go for men and women who have already lived?

After the execution, I felt his spirit pass over me in peace -comforting me as he comforted millions yesterday with his words, "I can’t wait to Stand with you, no matter if that is in physical or spiritual form, I will one day be announcing, 'I AM TROY DAVIS, and I AM FREE!'" Yet I had vivid dreams of another world and in that dream, dreamt that I helped kill an innocent person. That was no dream. For all of my lifelong passion on this issue, my hands are still not clean. We are all complicit in this act. We must all continue to fight and pray. This battle isn't over.

Happy Anniversary, Ophelio!

Today is my little sister’s 21^st birthday. I wish her nothing but health, happiness and growth. But today’s story is not about my baby sis.

Today, I also want to wish Ophelio, my new tow truck driving go to a Happy Anniversary. Today is his 15^th anniversary of being in remission from Hodgekin’s Lymphoma. Last week, while he was helping me with my organization’s exploded rat in car engine debacle, he told me his story…

~

Before driving a tow truck, Ophelio was an architect working hard on jobs and not treating himself so well –not enough rest, not eating right, etc. Every night, he would have a fever and break out into terrible night sweats. In the early, early morning hours, he’d be awake and still sweating, he’d shower, feel all right and go to work again.

One day, he had another feverish sweat, but still took a shower and went to work. As he was sitting in front of his computer, all of a sudden, he blacked out. By the time 911 came, his temperature was so high that they had to put him in a bathtub of ice at the hospital, just like in the movies! When I asked him if he was conscious and scared in the tub, he said, “No, I was scared when they told me I had 3 months to live!”

He began chemo at Columbia Presbyterian but the chemo, the hospital environment and the back and forth to just his hospital room began to depress him and he asked his doctor if his insurance would pay for outpatient treatment. They wouldn’t. “I’m tellin’ you. Insurance is there to kill you, not save you!”

His doctor wrote him a letter recommending him for Medicaid. They wouldn’t take him because he made too much money. It wasn’t enough for treatment, though. Ophelio decided to go to the NY Cancer Society for help. They accepted his request and paid for his outpatient treatment. Meanwhile, his mother taught him natural treatments and he began to eat healthier. He told me all about the seeds and drinks that he imbibed that he believes made him better.

When his last check for $13,000 from the Cancer Society came, he returned it. He didn’t need it anymore. “You sent it back?!!?” I exclaimed.

He grinned at himself broadly. “I sent it back! I knew the same way I needed that money, somebody else needed that money, too, so I sent it back, even though everybody told me I was stupid for doing it! Money is nothing. It comes and goes,” he shrugged.

~

Though that day was an awful and unproductive day, I’m kind of thankful that little rata exploded in our car. Otherwise, I would never have been able to meet Ophelio, listen to his story, learn from him and smile with him. It was one of those interactions with a stranger that’s just pure human connection and love.

So, Happy Anniversary, Ophelio. Here’s to 15 years more!

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian

I was finally able to read Sherman Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian. It was fantastic -so fantastic it sometimes made my chest hurt. Arnold "Junior" Spirit tells the sometimes poignant, often funny, most times painful story of his journey through high school as a "Part Time Indian." He lives on the rez but decides to go to school in a nearby all white town -at times he finds himself to be too "Indian" and other times too white.

While some brown folks look back into their childhood, trying to identify specific moments where their double consciousness was most palpable. Junior brings us through his double consciousness, flipping open and shut the veil of his identity(ies), showing us that it's everyday. He reminds us how much it matters and how much it doesn't while highlighting life on the rez with his astute observations.

This is a definite must read for brown people of all ages.

Rediscovering New York: Palisades Parkway Sunocos

Everybody who takes the Palisades Parkway to and from the city stops at the Sunocos right next to the GW Bridge. This evening when I stopped for gas, I saw the most bittersweet sight at the gas station -all these older brown men pumping gas for folks while laughing and joking with one another in their neon yellow Sunoco jackets. Lots of them were Latino, West Indian or West African and while it was somewhat sad to see these older men pumping gas in the cold weather, it was just a heartwarming sight to see their laughing and joyful camaraderie. The folks always make something out of nothing. Always.

Rediscovering New York

Despite the inhumane weather conditions, there are moments when it strikes me hard that I am home in NY and I become immensely grateful. Whether it be seeing two brown men chatting on 174th, watching some fly women walking down Stanton in leather jackets and 4 inch heels, getting stressed about because there are too many shows and too many events to see, riding the subway next to a gorgeous baby, or driving by the Sprain Brook everyday to work, it all makes me smile.

In some ways, it all seems so familiar while being brand new. After nine years away from my hometown, I'm rediscovering New York, so look out for the new posts about another semester in the Re-Education of Ms. Fu-Daddy.

PI Day 48 - Sights and Sounds: Male Headbands

It seems I see them in every city in the Philippines that I visit -the male headband. Now why is this such a big deal? Dudes wear headbands for sports all the time! But no, Reader, not these headbands. You're wondering what makes them different or amusing. To me they are one of the most amusing sights I see while I'm here. The headbands come in all different shapes, colors, and sizes. They might have some floral or sparkly pattern -I mean the girliest of the girly headbands (if we stick to conventional gender stereotypes).

In case you can't see, our homie from Cotabato City's tshirt says, "Insert Beer," and he's hella smoking.

I find these headbands are usually worn by the toughest, thuggiest, male in a group with seemingly complete obliviousness that the pink floral headband kind of clashes with the basketball jersey and baggy ass shorts they are wearing. You'll see them on the street on a young cat working some type of heavy duty, laborious job like delivery, stocking, truck driving, or driving a tricycle. I hella love the sight. It never fails to make me smile.

I'm just sayin' fellas, it's the new thing.

A young man from Cotabato sports a particularly bright and beauteous plastic, heart shaped headband.

Commas, Late Mornin', and Favela Gyal

This entry contains three completely different points of topic.

1. I use way too many commas in my writing. I've had a feeling that's the way I was, but as I read and re-read my writing I'm like, "Really Biba? All those commas?"

2. Late Mornin' by Q-Tip -mmmmm, feels good.

3. Favela Gyal by 7 Samurai feat. McCoppa is a PRRRRROOOBBLEEM.

PI Day 54 -The Best Way to End 2010: Sagada and Banaue

If you’ve read past entries, you’ll know I’ve been feeling like a freshman lately –hella brand new. But it seems I’ve fastforwarded to senior year as my time in the PI comes to a close. It’s been harder and harder for me to write my thoughts down, though they still constantly race through at a mile a minute (yeah, no worries, I’ve not gone brain dead). The weight of everything is heavy. No, not too heavy, but enough that I’m at a point where I just want to absorb everything. I worry, though, that if I don’t document something, those thoughts and memories will be lost somewhere in my cerebral rapid firing over time.

Over the next month I’ll be doing a ton of travelling. Before I head out and experience more newness, I want to make sure that I do justice to my Sagada and Banaue trip since it was such an amazing journey! This entry probably won’t be as eloquent as I’d like, but maybe its simplicity will indicate the magnitude of this trip and this experience. I know the photos speak for themselves, especially since most of them are from Jodi-Ann who did an incredible job documenting our travels together. *If you like her stuff, hit her at jaebeephotography@gmail.com

~

New Year’s celebrations are lovely in my family, but there’s nothing really that new or exciting about New Year’s. For me, it is what it is. Another day, another year, another moment to live, to choose, to act –like every other beautiful minute of the life I’ve been given. This year was different, though…

For years I’ve been wanting to go to Banaue in the Ifugao Province of Northern Luzon where they have the world famous, centuries old Banaue Rice Terraces. If you’ve ever gotten a postcard from the Philippines with rice terraces on it, most likely the image is from Banaue.Even in pictures, the terraces look surreal and important –huge manmade planes carved into the mountains of the Cordilleras in order to grow rice for life. I was determined to see them this trip, since I’d be here so long.

I harangued my cousin into going with me and after getting different recommendations, we decided to combine our view of the terraces with a trip to Sagada, a city in the Mountain Province of Northern Luzon known for its indigenous hanging coffins, caves, rice terraces, mountains (obvi), waterfalls, and other such naturey things. Piks (my cousin) looked up travel and places for us to stay. The bus ride, we learned, would be 12 hours or more. That was already reason to get nervous. We decided to take the midnight bus to Baguio so that we could sleep for about 6 hours and then jump onto the next available bus to Sagada.

If you’ve ever travelled by bus in the Philippines, you know it is a completely different set up than travelling the bus in the States. The organization of the bus station(s) and bus rides lies in its complete and utter disorganization. It’s just one of those things. After a healthy breakfast at McDo’s (as they call McDonald’s here) we pushed onto a rickety bus with open windows; faded blue, tore up seats with plastic covering a la 1974. Throwback. Here, they have what you call a center seat. In older buses, it’s a seat the folds down from another seat and has a back that only goes up to mid-spine. Every time you stop for a pit stop, every person in the middle aisle has to get up and fold up their seat so the rest of the bus can get off to do their biz. In the newer busses, the center seat is a plastic lawn seat. I’m not joking. People choose to endure that painful seat for six hours or more up a mountain. Gangster.

For all the discomfort though, the bus ride up North is one of the most beautiful rides you could ever ask for. The furthest North I’d ever been was to my mother’s province of Tarlac, which is only about two hours north of Metro Manila and the rice paddies alone are enough to make me drool in admiration. But the view of the mountains once you pass Baguio and start climbing the Cordilleras is indescribably beautiful. Though we were tired from the bumpy and freezing cold six hours to Baguio, it was hard to keep your eyes closed to nap on the mountains because the view was breathtaking –unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I mean, I’d seen some gorgeous mountains in Haiti, but the Cordilleras straight floss as you climb up and down their curves.

As our bus wove through winding, cliff dangling mountain roads, I found myself thinking that I never would have though I’d have the opportunity to see anything like this in my whole life in the Philippines. I was familiar with the beaches of the Philippines and even the bukid (the farms), but not with the mountains. Sitting in the side seats, we were able to see into the depths of the pure green ravines and the blue green heights of other mountain tops with the beautifully precise punctuations of rice terraces. I was wide eyed. Being that deep in the mountains makes you want to touch the bark and roots of trees and just listen to all the stories they have to tell. I imagined it’s what Middle Earth would have looked like if Middle Earth was a real place.

The Filipinos there are also different from many Filipinos I had seen before. Many were really of a native stock that I hadn’t seen all that often before. Their cheekbones were miles high making their eyes prominent. Many had dark skin but wore very warm woven clothing or cowboy-ish clothing similar to people in the Andes of Peru. I knew Baguio and the surrounding areas were cold, but I didn’t realize how much until I saw the wool caps and sweaters people were wearing. I had always thought the island to be sweltering, but not here.

~

When we got to Sagada, it was late afternoon, but gray and cold. I think all of us were initially disappointed by the bleak day and its shadow over the small town. We made our way through the small town very quickly and made plans to wake early in order to take two trips –the long spelunking tour and the small falls tour. The long caving tour would take us to see a large set of ancient Igorot coffins, through the Lumiang Cave, and finish outside of the Sumaging Cave. All in all, the trip would take us 3-4 hours with our guide Errol who was AWESOME!

The walk down to the starting point brought me closer to the trees and ferns that had fascinated me on the drive up. After walking on the main road for a while, Errol started leading us down a super long set of stairs that would lead to the first set of coffins and caves. The stairs were along the side of a cliff and on the climb down, you could look down deep into the gully below. Trees and other green stuff surround you and it’s amazing to be in the middle of it all.When we arrived at the entrance an equally powerful sight greeted us -a wall full of what looked like rough, sedimentary rock. Upon closer investigation and further explanation from Errol, we learned that the rocks were actually small, wooden coffins that were over 200 years old. Errol explained to us that the coffins were so small because the Igorots are buried in fetal position. They believe that since it is the position that we are in within our mother’s womb, that’s the position in which we should leave the world. We also learned that before interment, the body actually is seated on a wooden chair over coals. The orifices of the individual are stuffed with leaves and the liquid and smell is smoked from the person for a few days. Some people even “buried” the chairs near more recent coffins. Some of the coffins’ covers were a bit warped and you could see bones peeking out at you. It was unreal and in that moment of realization I wondered if the spirits were there watching, not haunting, just around…chilling.

~

After getting a good look at the coffins, Errol took us further down closer to the lower entrance of the cave. There we sat while he proceeded to light the lantern using a crystal pack or something, a little bit of gasoline, and his bare hands. Umm, helloo? Coolest guide ever, even though they all have to do that. Haha. After a few minutes, the lantern was properly lit and we were ready to go in. From the minute we started climbing down, I was struck by the utter darkness in the caves. Without the lantern and our cool P150 headlights, you can’t see a thing.We had to be very careful throughout the whole experience. Rocks were jutting everywhere, the limestone was extremely slippery, and some rocks led to huge falls deeper into the cave.

The trek was physically challenging, really fun, and exhilarating. I was comforted with my ability to keep up. I joked with Jodi that this is why I work out. While I was able to keep up pretty well, I wasn’t able to perform the way Errol did. He’s 26 and has been guiding for four years. In portions of the cave where we were roaming on all fours or had to sit and slide, that dude was walking around in tsinelas, one hand carrying the hot lantern the WHOLE TIME. Dude was crazy with it. There are some really tough spots in the caves where you have to climb ropes pretty high up or repel down ropes and need his guidance. There were moments where he even let us step on his shoulders or thighs in order to get up or down particularly gigantic rocks. If I had a bucket list, my one item would be to spelunk through the Sumaging and Lumiang Caves, upright, with one hand holding a darned lantern, in tsinelas. I kept saying that I was suuupper jealous of him while we were trekking. I’m sure he was thinking, “Get over it,” in his dialect. Hehe.

The depth and quiet of the caves are amazing. You’d look behind you and be shocked that you just travelled through such huge and high rocks. It’s another world. I imagined just sitting in the dark in those caves and wondered how long I’d last alone. The air is cool and the only sounds aside from your own steps are the dripping of water and the occasional whistle of a breeze. In larger caverns you can hear the bats above or in the next cave. To look into all of the crevices, the designs on the rocks created by water, the rock formations is really fascinating. How many years did it take to create such a place? What will it look like one hundred years from now?

In one cavern, there was a huge pool of water about 8ft. deep. Errol told us if we wanted to swim, this is where we could do it! By that time, I had a cold and did not feel like swimming in the frigid water. Then Jodi asked, “When are you ever going to go swimming in a cave in Sagada again?!” I peeled off my clothes and jumped in. The water was the coldest water I’ve ever felt in my whole life! But I did it and I’m probably going to do it again, next chance I get! It really was unbelievably cold, though –like minor onset of hypothermia cold.

Soon after swimming, we reached another set of gorgeous caves. This set had more water flowing through it, which created beautiful pools of water and cool rock formations. We had to do a lot of up and down climbing in this portion of the cave, which was lots of fun.

Leaving the caves is a crazy experience unto itself. When you look up at the opening in the cave, it’s a different place full of color and light. It completely contrasts with the darkness and stillness of the caves. When I was leaving, it made me think of the Allegory of the Cave, imagining what it would be like to see for the first time. Being away from light and trees for three hours made the sight that much richer. The colors and shapes were sharp, the sun brighter. Seeing both the darkness and the light in such close proximity to one another made me appreciate both. All in all, it was one of the best experiences of my life. I felt so comfortable crawling through the caves (maybe I’m related to Golom) and thought to myself, “This is why I’m short and flat footed. I was made to move through these caves!” I know, I have a ridiculous imagination but feeling so wonderful in those caves made me want to go back every time I come to the Philippines.

~

A few hours after we finished caving, we went on our second tour. A very short one compared to the caving tour and easier at that, but we were so tired from the first tour that the second one proved to be physically challenging as well. This tour took us through Echo Valley to see more hanging coffins, through the Underground River, and to the small waterfalls for a swim.The valley was beautiful. To get there, you have to walk through the big Catholic cemetery, which is very beautiful. There were piles of ashes everywhere and I asked Errol why that was.He reminded me that it had just been All Soul’s Day and instead of candles that get blown out easily on the mountain, people just burn small pyres in front of the graves.

Once we reached the end of the cemetery, we began walking down a steep set of makeshift stairs that would lead us lower and lower into the Valley. We curved through paths going further down. As we descended into the valley, I was struck by all the green around me. The mountains are truly wonderful bodies. They have so much character and so much history.

Some of the trail that we used was extremely narrow or slippery. We had to be very careful when hiking down. Of course, Errol was hiking at 30mph. I was determined to keep up with him. At one point, though, Piks was too close to the edge of a ledge and partially slid off. I was too intent on keeping with Errol that I barely caught the sight of him slipping off the ledge.

After getting to the very bottom of the valley, we walked in upon two caribao pleasantly resting at the entrance of the underground river. We crossed a small stream to get to the mouth of another cave, and walked through. Errol was right, though. After seeing the caves, the underground river was small compared to that. It was still cool to see, though and beautifully formed. From there, we had to climb up the mountain again in order to get to the road that would take us to the small falls. The walk to the small falls includes a beautiful view of some of Sagada’s rice terraces. They are breathtaking, like all rice terraces in general. We were able to see some people at work in the terraces on our way to the falls.

At the falls, with Jodi’s, “When are you going to do this again?” in my head I peeled off my clothes again and jumped in. The current was strong even though the falls were small. We paddled against the current and when we got tired hopped on a rock ledge and just chilled. I was so happy after that swim –super chipper for no reason. I cheerfully grinned at every person that walked by and was literally bouncing on the walk back to town. Clearly, the waterfall swim was a great way to end the day and our visit to Sagada.

~

Our time in Sagada ended too quickly but we still had one more stop before heading back to Manila. We woke up at 5am in order to catch a one hour jeepney to Bontoc in order to make a day trip to Banaue in the Ifugao Province. The jeepney was painfully bumpy and I was afraid Jodi was going to throw up. Not only were we swerving on rocky, curvy mountain roads, we were also packed into a jeepney way passed capacity. Of course, there were folks sitting on the roof and hanging of the back. Piks and I sat with market fruits in huge baskets squeezed uncomfortably between our legs.

After some of the local folks kindly directed us to the nearest bus stop and carefully helped us get off the packed jeepney, we were able to catch the bus down to Banaue. We thought the bus to Sagada was rough, this was even worse. Again, it was an open air bus, but this time most of the windows were broken. They couldn’t stay up on their own, so there was string tied on the racks above at almost every window. The strings were used to hold the windows up around their latches. It turned out to be okay, minus the few times the window got a little loose and almost dropped on my head.

~

Up and down we wove again. The whole ride, I was fascinated by how close we were to the clouds. We were actually driving through them! And the closer we got to Banaue, the more rice terraces we saw. The terraces were so amazing and beautiful I had to take a video. I couldn’t believe I was finally seeing the legendary rice terraces. Mind you, these were not even “THE Banaue terraces,” and yet they were still breathtaking. I found myself like a young child, head pressed to the window, eyes in awe of the sight before me.

~

When we got to Banaue, we hopped off at a messy landing point full of tricycles and jeepneys.About five men came up to us asking us where we were going, where we were staying, what we were doing.

The three of us just looked at one another.

Again, one of the young men asked, “Saan ka papunta?” (Where are you going?)

We responded, “Dito lang.” (Just here.)

They looked at each other and then at us as if they were thinking, “Sira ulo sila.” (Literally, They are broken head à They’re crazy.) We hadn’t made any plans for being in Banaue besides just being in Banaue and seeing the rice terraces. We hadn’t thought about a guide, a taxi, anything.

Eventually, we got specific with them and said that we were just making a day trip but needed to go back to Manila in the evening. With that, they quickly and helpfully directed us to the bus office and even told us the times of the busses. A red-mouthed tricycle driver with longish hair and short stature named Oliver assured us that he could take us to the bus station and we could buy our tickets there. When we got there we found out that the busses back to Manila were fully booked. After a moment’s panic, we were directed back to our original landing point in order to reserve tickets back to Manila with a different company. When we got there, we found out that the direct routes to MNL were also booked with this company but that we could stop in another city and then take the MNL bus from there.

“Okay,” we thought, “Anything to get us home!”

The next day would be New Year’s Eve and Lola would have our heads if we weren’t back home.

~

We decided to hire Oliver as our driver for the day. His little tricycle chugged up the mountain under the weight of three big kids.

“Kawawa naman ang tricycle mo!” (Your sorry tricycle [has to carry the three of us.])

“Okay lang yan, maam,” he answered cheerfully.

He took us to the major viewpoints where we were able to see the panoramic views of the terraces. The photos speak for themselves.

One point had a rather large viewing deck and even had stairs leading to the terrace itself where you could walk on the terrace. Good thing this viewing point allowed us enough to do so we could stay there longer. Turns out that though Oliver didn’t mind taking all three of us in his tricycle, his tricycle minded. While we went down to the terrace, Oliver had to fix his wheel.

Jodi and I climbed down the stairs in order to actually be on the terrace. I was so excited to be so close, to see how the terraces were formed and irrigated. It was truly awesome. The terraces are SUPER high though, and the ledges around the actual watery rice paddy are extremely narrow. I had to be extremely careful while trying to videotape the view.

~

While we were gallivanting on the rice terrace, Phillip stayed on the viewing deck and talked to the old man we had seen sitting on one of the steps on our way down to the rice paddy. Originally, I had thought him just a worker. It turns out the short, 76 year old man in tshirt, sweats, and rubber shovel in hand, was the owner of the whole terrace and was actually still working on the terrace at his age.

Through their conversation, Phillip was able to learn that each terrace was actually owned by a family. The terraces are passed down to generations. This one particular terrace had been in the family for two thousand years. If a family didn’t have kids, which rarely happened, there was almost always an adopted child who would inherit the rice paddy. I wondered how they sold the rice and to whom. The man explained that most of the rice actually just went straight to the family for subsistence purposes. He talked about his daughter who was a nurse abroad and we learned that a lot of the terrace owners are quite well to do even though it doesn’t necessarily look it. Some sent their kids to the most prestigious universities and had well to do children. I’m glad that Phillip struck up the conversation with him. We learned a lot.

~

It began to rain and we ended up staying at the terrace side restaurant where we had eaten in order to avoid the downfall. As we sat, clouds began to descend, completely covering the mountains around us and giving us zero visibility. It was amazing how quickly and how thickly the mountains were covered with clouds.

The afternoon waned and we left to grab our tickets. On our drive, we passed by houses and people. All around us, men were chewing something and spat red juices onto the street –betel nut. I had only read about it in books. Both men and women would chew betel nut, which produces a sticky red cud that one had to spit out. Women used it to color their lips for aesthetic purposes. While I didn’t see women using it as lip color, the streets were lined with red spittle and it was the men’s mouths that were tainted red. The sight made me smile.

~

When we got to the bus office, we found out that the seats that had been reserved for us had been given away and a full-blown panic took over. The women at the office were apologetic and tried to help us figure out a way to get home. They suggested that we still take the bus, but take the center seats. We had watched people’s heads loll as they tried to sleep or squirm as they tried to find a suitable sitting position in these center seats so of course we hesitated. This time though, we wouldn’t even have the benefit of the low backed seats. The women told us that on their bus the center seats were plastic stools WITHOUT backs. Jodi was shocked by the prospect and went into hysterics –laughing so hard she cried. The cashiers laughed cautiously with us as we bent over laughing at the ridiculous situation we were in.

Fine, we decided. We’d do it –anything to get us home.

A few hours later, we were boarding the bus and when they pulled out our seats, we were all relieved to see that they were actually plastic lawn chairs with backs. Phillip said he was never so happy to see a plastic chair in his life. Even so, the ride was pretty miserable, especially because by that time I was totally sick with the cold I had caught on the way up to Baguio in the air conditioned bus and all of us were plain exhausted by our trip in general. Despite the awful ride down to Manila, we were still happy. It had been a perfect trip and I am still so thankful that I got the chance to make a trip that I had been dreaming about for years.

Phillip put it best when he said, “This is the best way to end 2010.”

PI Day 74 -All My Ladies Independent

Brief rant. I promise -brief. Earlier in my entries, I talked about how my confidence in myself has waned while I'm here in this new place. Not much has changed, unfortunately, besides me getting more exposure, but I'm still feeling shell shocked at times. Still too slow to respond, still processing my grammar at a snail's pace, still looking around with new eyes -"hella brand new" as my Oaktown dudes would probably tease.

One thing that I miss about the confidence back home was the independence it brought me. I could talk to whoever, greet folks without the fear of a response that I will not know how to appropriately answer, go almost wherever I wanted, and do so much without worrying that I was burdening every family member or friend in the vicinity. Freedom!

What brought this on? Well, I think it's been building up and it blew up tonight when I was trying to figure out a way to get to the Immigration Office of the PI in Intramuros to extend my Visa. Intramuros is the old part of Manila and it's two hours away from our spot in QC with traffic (Without traffic, maybe half an hour, tops). I've NEVER EVER gone to Intramuros by myself and was trying to plot my way over on the map and take the metro down and cab it but it was proving difficult and honestly, a little stressful. My family didn't feel it was all that safe for me to do it by myself the first time. So my poor aunt and uncle are going out of their way to bring me over.

Can you see home (top right) to immigration (middle left)?

Every time something like this happens, which is painfully often, I think on my students who moved to the States and had to renegotiate their lives and their prior knowledge to fit a completely new place. Oh, how it hits me right in the middle of the eyes when I have those moments. The combination of my language struggle and lack of familiarity with the city is trying real hard to get me down. But I won't let it. Bit by bit, I will battle back and regain that confidence and ability by learning and making moves everyday.

But damn, I miss the days where I could jump into the whip and drive 4-8 hours away from home or 5 dang minutes for that matter; hop on the train, the bus, or in a cab and recognize where the heck I am going and not worry about getting so lost that I'll never find my damn way home; or walk into a salon without agonizing over how I'm going to explain what I want without getting my hair jacked up. Hella brand new.

Like I said, it's freshman year all over again. Daaaaag.

Still 27

Was sending a friend some music and started listening to 27 by the Blue Scholars. As I'm still in my 27th year, I thought this was a perfect song for this year!!

"On my 27th round trip around the sun

Counting every blessing, reminiscing on the drum

But not for a second forgetting where I'm from

Others grip the gun, my weapon is my tongue."

Ongoing

At the Re-Education of Ms. Fu-Daddy, we always like to keep it smooth and funky, so here's a lil gift from me to you.

PI Day 113: Time, Space and Tricknology -A Love Letter

Goodbyes and separation have always been weird with me. When the time comes, I ignore it or I try to treat it with huge pomp. This time, I ignored it and in my first week away it has hit me when I'm awake, alone, late at night or in the early morning -the jet lag a physical reminder of the parts of me that I've left at home.

Time, Space and Tricknology: A Love Letter

Fascinating. With this computer, through these pixels, I can see your faces. I can hear your voices. It’s a weird place that I’m in. My spirit grasps onto the family that we built over the past few years by invisible threads spanning oceans.

But I'm in betweening right now -trying to hold on to sisters and brothers in a way that's just not possible anymore. Your faces on the screen talk TO me,

but it isn't the same as your bodies and souls right next to me, seeing, hearing, living with me.

Like a long distance relationship, we catch up on catching up...the present together not a possibility.

So I wonder what my community will look like here.

It will be small and different from you at home.

You and I, we will speak less and I will live here.

The time and space continuum trips me out. I am the only one awake here. Endless darness meets my eyes out of the window. Everybody is sleeping in the rooms around me. I sit in the shadows, the light of the screen reflecting on my face. The only sounds are my fingers tapping, the wiiirrrr of the fans, and my breath.

I think of you.

You are in the middle of your busy day. The sun is bright and you are one of many people hustling to the next thing -class, meetings, lunch, train, students, account, computer -all things you do in the sunlight.

You drop me a quick line in passing, a quick smile, a quick hello, a hug, a kiss, a silent prayer, while I am here pondering the differences in our lives in this millisecond...

.0...1...2....3...4...5...

In my stillness, I close my eyes and imagine you...

Methods and time change, but

Our love does not.

I miss you.

See you soon.

My Dungeon Shook

"...here you were: to be loved. To be loved, baby, hard at once, and forever, to strengthen you against the loveless world. Remember that: i know how black it looks today, for you. It looked bad that day, too, yes, we were trembling. We have not stopped trembling yet, but if we had not loved each other none of us would have survived.

And now you must survive because we love you, and for the sake of your children and your children's children." -James Baldwin

Freedom in Flight

I do my best thinking and writing when I am literally travelling –on the bus, on a plane, or on a train. I am confined by space, but at the same time I am free to roam the innermost depths of my mind, free from the distractions of tasks, the internet, my phone, or even conversation with friends and family. While I fly over mountains, fields, rivers, and seas; ride tracks, or drive over miles of road, my thoughts travel to places that are difficult to access when I am standing still.

Here’s to the movement.

27 Reminders for My 27th Birthday

I'm beyond grateful to God, family, and friends for bringing me 27 years of joy and life. As my family and I were driving to The Castro-Oleksak Ranch this morning, I thought of how much I have been blessed to learn in my short 27 years. So here are 27 Reminders for My 27th Birthday!

1. Lead by example: Forreal now, girl. Shut your mouth and just do it.
2. Your friends and family are the folks that ride for you, no matter what.
3. You are a well-spring of love. Don't stop giving that energy to the world.
4. Recharge, recharge, recharge. Don't get lost in yourself and in this world. You were made for greater things and supernatural places.
5. The spirits are watching. Don't disappoint them.
6. God is Love. You don't do that. God does.
7. Your Mother is watching and guiding you always. Keep talking to her.
8. Your steps matter. Think carefully before you move.
9. Don't forget. Your history, your life, and the things that got you here.
10. But don't hold on to narratives and portions of your life that are just...over.
11. Make sacrifices. It will keep your soul pure and force you to look and listen to things outside your damned self all the time.
12. Listen. Listen. Listen. More than you speak.
13. Begin and begin again. You're a child of God. Not God. You make mistakes but that doesn't mean you can't get back up again. Falling is a reminder that you need to fix yourself -there's always room for repairs and improvements.
14. Respect people's mystery and hold on to yours. You don't have an all access pass to everybody's life.
15. Life isn't always happy endings. Sometimes, it just is.
16. Your body only uses what you need. So don't put in more than you need.
17. Practice makes permanent. You won't fix it later, you're fixing or faking right now.
18. You have been given much -more than you deserve. Be grateful and use it well.
19. Keep building bridges. Keep making connections. You were made to serve.
20. You can't help everybody, but you can always pray for them.
21. Some people were meant to stay and some were meant to go. Let them go.
22. Read, lest you forget how. Write -exercise the gift you've been given.
23. Timing is everything. Make sure you're ready.
24. Humility. You're important, but small at the same time. Most of the time, it's bigger than you, not about you, so let it go.
25. Don't be fooled by disguises. The worst things can come in the prettiest or even the most subtle packages.
26. People seriously suck sometimes....this includes you. Be hopeful, but don't put all your hopes in humans.
27. It's always your choice. Life doesn't have to be this way!
28. (For luck!) Sing, because you can!