bossypants

i've been rediscovering the joys of reading—oh, orlando!—that pasttime where it's ok to let your body be a vegetable and have your mind's adventures count as activity (a shocking revelation to a compulsive go-getter).

there's this part in tina fey's book, where she writes about how most women come to realize they are a woman, by the sexual harassment they receive. i beg to differ. sexual harassment sends me careening backwards to being a girl and just discovering these awkward lumps on my body, whose strange formations would be used as a weapon against my sense of self. being a girl means having your life at the mercy of others, subject to their sneering battering at any moment and not having the tools to defend yourself. this is the quintessential feeling of shame and helplessness that street harassers try to elicit.

conversely, i first crossed the threshold into woman-ness maybe one, two years ago, when i was able to step back, look at my life, and realize that i had my shit together. and i realized something more, that no matter what pits of misery life would throw me into, i would never lose my ability to get my shit together, and that no one, no one catcalling from the street, could take that away from me. it took a lot of fucking up and emotional immaturity before i reached this state of zen-like enlightenment. i always thought being a woman connoted being someone with shoulder pads and no sense of humor, but actually, it's pretty awesome to be out of the girl phase of my life. i am woman, hear me roar!

amalgam

life lately has been so amazing at times that i have had to pinch myself to confirm that, yes, indeed, my wildest dreams are coming true and i am becoming every day, the person i am meant to be. at the same time, because karma likes to exact a payment to keep the balance of the universe at a precarious zero, life has been incredibly trying.

ruben's mother was diagnosed with lung cancer last fall, and had her final surgery a week ago. we've spent the days watching her in the icu, confronting for the first time the meaning of death. before i used to always imagine death in its abortive forms - car crash, heart attack, not waking up in the morning. but death, or maybe life, has proved itself to be slow, soft, and cruel. when they say that there is no cure for cancer, they're not referring to a gap in the medical field, but rather, a gap in the human spirit. there are doctors, and hospital beds, and radiation, and nurses, and machines that go beep and artificial hearts, artificial any part of a body one may desire. science is so advanced now that it can beat cancer. it just takes so long that the human spirit often collapses before the body reaches the finish line.

she cries out sometimes in the night, trying to pull out her breathing tube and denying she can hold on much longer, even though we tell her she is getting more beautiful and healthier every day. given the emotional valleys into which we fall every time we visit, i can only imagine the abyss that grips her every moment she lies in that hospital bed, and whose darkness flashes through the cracks of her narcotics-fueled nightmares.

it is the hardest feeling to watch her bruised body curled up in the hospital bed, shaking every time she feels a jolt of pain, and knowing that there is nothing to do but wait, wait. watch and see how she is tightly nestled in a fetal position, her skin trembling with the fragility of a newborn. we are back where we started, with what we always knew—that life is fragile, but the threat of loss unravels us every time.

please send her your love and encouragement.

a friend recently inspired me to start making lists of my favorite songs again. if only i could choose. last night after a particularly cathartic crit session i spent the night driving around los angeles playing 'pictures of you' on repeat. here's what i've been spinning a lot:

1. friday i'm in love - the cure
2. i like fucking - bikini kill
3. maps - yeah yeah yeahs (of course, and yes, i did start crying the last time i listened to it)
4. april skies - the jesus and mary chain THEME SONG
5. lilac wine - nina simone/wild is the wind - nina simone TIE
7. anna and the buffalo - sunset rubdown
8. california - joni mitchell
9. call your girlfriend - robyn/dancing on my own - robyn TIE

 it gets difficult after nina. i think it's easier for there to be a list of honorary mentions. but, a beginning?

speaking as a person who, as a child, always scrounged under the grocery vending machines for candy that had fallen to the floor because sugar was decidedly not in the family meal budget, cory booker, you may be my new favorite politician.

on stakes

life can be read as an accumulation of many things - wrinkles, embarrassments, wisdom. it is also an accumulation of stakes. we lay out our lives brick by brick, and as the house we build grows higher, the more we have to lose becomes palpable. if ever the foundation gives way, we are one earthquake away from becoming the next cardboard prophet on the streets. and it's not just ourselves - it's the family, children, and loved ones that we've invited to stay with us over time. that is what is meant by stakes. stakes are the pieces of wood that we use to secure our fluttering tent in the wilderness, tying us to the place beneath our feet however temporarily. if we're not careful, they may also drive us into the ground.

abre los ojos

ever since i came home to my mother being carted off in an ambulance that one night, i've been preparing for the sudden and tragic demise of the people close to me. a car crash, cancer, flash flood, suicide - all sorts of improbable scenarios cycle through my head when certain people don't call when they say they will.

this weekend ruben went out to the desert to shoot a film, and we thought nothing of it. the night before he went i had a dream about my parents going out to the desert. they showed me pictures of cheetahs that lived 20 feet away from where they were going to be staying. i begged them to not go, i could see their limbs being torn apart by a stealth large cat attack, but they went anyway. i looked at the map, and tried to squeeze all my feelings into one small suitcase which struggled to close.

the day ruben was supposed to come home, he didn't answer any of the messages i sent him. no doubt he was driving back, or entertaining his tired crew, or his phone battery had run out. but logic gave way to possibility, and i went to bed in an empty apartment, images of broken cars and dehydrated bodies flashing through my head.

i woke up with a start at 2am. he was still not home. i moved over to his side of the bed, so that if he finally came home, he would have to wake me to move over. falling asleep again was like taking a terrible gamble. i wanted nothing more than to escape my thoughts through sleep, but they would only disappear upon waking.

he came home half an hour later.

the place within our hearts

lone pine, california was one of those small towns with one main street and visible burros 2 hours away from death valley national park. we stayed there the night before we entered the desert, and caught breakfast on our way out.

i stepped in the diner, and it became painfully acute how out of place i looked. there i was, a triple threat ethnic amalgam of chinese heritage, indian tunic, and swedish footwear, tattoos and piercings on full display, an oh-so-artistic camera bag slung over my shoulder. fuck. i'm such a city slicker asshole. fuck. how did this happen to me when i grew up among the weeds of backwoods texas, wandering through hayfields that stretched for distances?

later, after we finished in the park, we stopped in adjoining nevada and stopped at a saloon for dinner. the locals neglected to mention that this was a true saloon, with upwards of two mustachioed cowboys decked out in ten gallon hats, studded vests, and mother-of-pearl revolver handles peeking out of their belt holster. it was the first time i had seen someone carry a gun. they swaggered in, harassed some swedish tourists (who were getting a fine introduction to america), drew guns on each other, and then retreated to the bar behind the restaurant. we heard loud popping sounds midway through our meal. fireworks, tonight? no, just some cowboys shooting at each other behind the saloon, the waitress reassured us, they do this often.

we paid our bill and left. a man with an emblemed jacket was revving up his motorcycle next to our car. we made it home in 6 hours. i was happy to see the city.