Weaknesses. We all have them. And very often, we don't want the world to see them. So we try - sometimes in vain - to hide them. We are scared to show those weaknesses. What sweet irony that is. That fear often becomes our greatest weakness and more, it's a weakness we don't hide as well as like to think we do.
One weakness that seems to register high on the "fear of showing" category is the notion of regret. It's a pep talk run amok. As children, that fear of failure is present especially when pitted against our peers. So our teachers and elders show us how to accept setbacks and short-comings and learn from them and move on.
As we grow, we often retain those mantras taught to us as children. We tell ourselves that this is learning experience and the next time we find ourselves in a similar position, we will have the mistakes of our past and the lessons learned to guide us. That does not mean, however, that anyone should be fearful of regret. It does not mean that we need to live without it in order to move on.
As adults, it is our responsibility to define the world we are in. It is also our responsibility to understand what certain words and ideas mean. It is our responsibility to know what "regret" is. It is also probably our responsibility to teach our children exactly what "regret" means. They have a book to serve that purpose. The real mantra we should retain is, "look it up".
The fact is that regret is a big part of moving on, something many of people fail to understand or acknowledge. To regret is to feel sorry, to feel remorse. Regret is knowing you did something wrong. Regret is understanding the gravity of your actions and knowing that you don't want to repeat those same mistakes.
Without regret, it means if given the chance, you'd do all those things all over again. You'd say the same things you often wished you could take back. You'd hurt the same people. You'd take yourself, your loved ones and your experiences for granted. Without regret, you cannot and have not learned.
Regret is normal and healthy and nothing to fear. We regret daily. We regret on small scales and on larger ones. Anytime we do something for which we feel bad about, we regret. Anytime we look at what we've done and say, "I shouldn't have done that.", we regret. You can move on and still have regrets. In fact, regret is the first part of moving on and it is the most important part of learning from your mistakes.
We all have regrets. I have many. It's another way of saying, "I'm sorry."
Aren't you sorry? For something? Anything? That, my friend, is exactly what regret is.
16.4.10
10.4.10
today's lesson: knowing what you're talking about
Do I talk smack? Of course I do. But let's come right back down to earth. So. Do. You.
We all do. And we all have our reasons. We all have trends that suggest what we are most likely to talk about. Personally, the one thing that tends to push my buttons and yank me right into loose-lip territory is the tendency of others to be opinionated and judgmental. Left alone, I tend to be a "let it be" kind of person. Start spewing your strong and baseless opinions in a loud manner in some open forum, especially when it's about a person or group of people, I throw all of that right out the window. Two wrongs don't make a right, I know this. But if you're not going to care, neither am I.
Aside from the internet and the loud-mouths who use it as their playground - self included - one of the most open forums for such opinions is a good old-fashioned newspaper. Alleged un-biased news aside (I'm looking at you Marianas Variety, heavy with irony), the newspaper also relates editorials and opinions written by the lay-person or free-lance writer. I have, on occasion, contributed to such columns.
And that brings me to one particular writer who is seen in the Pacific Daily News every Sunday. This writer has shared short articles containing gems of wisdom such as her belief that women don't belong in the military, pregnant women should be ashamed of their growing bellies and appropriately cover it up with the tent-like shirts she bragged about donning fashionably when she was pregnant very many years ago and that, on the other end of the spectrum, women who have a slimmer figure who don't have people incubating inside of them should not wear clothes that hide their figures. Yeah, I don't know either.
Her latest was a passive-aggressive address of a person whose comments about our island have gone viral. (Yes, I know I'm being passive-aggressive, as well.) Specifically, she called in question this person's claims that his comments were a metaphor. She did this by recollecting her childhood under a mother who was, for all intents and purposes, a grammar nazi. She used this as a resume of sorts, to cite her credentials before she decided to school the readers about what a metaphor is and isn't.
Funny thing is, for all those years being corrected by her mother and the years she's spent since seemingly considering herself well-schooled in proper speech, she was absolutely, undeniably and verifiably wrong.
The gist of her claim was that in order for a metaphor to be properly executed, its context should be obvious and instant. The reader should know what is being compared to what.
Sorry, professor. You're talking about the most basic form of metaphor, one used to hammer in what a simple metaphor is when teaching children. You probably should have learned that there are different types of metaphors. One of those types is allegory. Allegory is an extended metaphor and while what is actually said is rather obvious, what it's being compared to isn't always so. Whether it's a good allegory or not is up to the reader.
A classic example of an allegory is the poem "she being brand new" by e.e. cummings. The words may describe something of an automotive nature. What cummings was really talking about, however, was the act of sex. And while counting lines is difficult in any cummings work, rest assured it's longer than a mere sentence that compares two things without use of the words 'like', 'as', etc.
Yes, in that case the context was rather obvious. Take a gander at it some time. There is no missing what cummings was referring to. But in his case, we're talking about a well-crafted allegory. A good metaphor. Sometimes people miss the boat with allegory. Sometimes it's just not well done.
So while the original speaker in question might not have made a good metaphor/allegory, he did in fact make one.
I won't be taking that test, thanks. Not when the instructor clearly knows less than those she is trying to instruct.
We all do. And we all have our reasons. We all have trends that suggest what we are most likely to talk about. Personally, the one thing that tends to push my buttons and yank me right into loose-lip territory is the tendency of others to be opinionated and judgmental. Left alone, I tend to be a "let it be" kind of person. Start spewing your strong and baseless opinions in a loud manner in some open forum, especially when it's about a person or group of people, I throw all of that right out the window. Two wrongs don't make a right, I know this. But if you're not going to care, neither am I.
Aside from the internet and the loud-mouths who use it as their playground - self included - one of the most open forums for such opinions is a good old-fashioned newspaper. Alleged un-biased news aside (I'm looking at you Marianas Variety, heavy with irony), the newspaper also relates editorials and opinions written by the lay-person or free-lance writer. I have, on occasion, contributed to such columns.
And that brings me to one particular writer who is seen in the Pacific Daily News every Sunday. This writer has shared short articles containing gems of wisdom such as her belief that women don't belong in the military, pregnant women should be ashamed of their growing bellies and appropriately cover it up with the tent-like shirts she bragged about donning fashionably when she was pregnant very many years ago and that, on the other end of the spectrum, women who have a slimmer figure who don't have people incubating inside of them should not wear clothes that hide their figures. Yeah, I don't know either.
Her latest was a passive-aggressive address of a person whose comments about our island have gone viral. (Yes, I know I'm being passive-aggressive, as well.) Specifically, she called in question this person's claims that his comments were a metaphor. She did this by recollecting her childhood under a mother who was, for all intents and purposes, a grammar nazi. She used this as a resume of sorts, to cite her credentials before she decided to school the readers about what a metaphor is and isn't.
Funny thing is, for all those years being corrected by her mother and the years she's spent since seemingly considering herself well-schooled in proper speech, she was absolutely, undeniably and verifiably wrong.
The gist of her claim was that in order for a metaphor to be properly executed, its context should be obvious and instant. The reader should know what is being compared to what.
Sorry, professor. You're talking about the most basic form of metaphor, one used to hammer in what a simple metaphor is when teaching children. You probably should have learned that there are different types of metaphors. One of those types is allegory. Allegory is an extended metaphor and while what is actually said is rather obvious, what it's being compared to isn't always so. Whether it's a good allegory or not is up to the reader.
A classic example of an allegory is the poem "she being brand new" by e.e. cummings. The words may describe something of an automotive nature. What cummings was really talking about, however, was the act of sex. And while counting lines is difficult in any cummings work, rest assured it's longer than a mere sentence that compares two things without use of the words 'like', 'as', etc.
Yes, in that case the context was rather obvious. Take a gander at it some time. There is no missing what cummings was referring to. But in his case, we're talking about a well-crafted allegory. A good metaphor. Sometimes people miss the boat with allegory. Sometimes it's just not well done.
So while the original speaker in question might not have made a good metaphor/allegory, he did in fact make one.
I won't be taking that test, thanks. Not when the instructor clearly knows less than those she is trying to instruct.
4.4.10
the fine line between pride and ludicrous hyper-sensitivity
Ai adai, my fellow Guamaniacs. We are a proud race. A proud race and, it has to be said, a very sensitive one at that.
We are. You all know it. And it's perfectly understandable, too. Think about the different ethnicities in this world and the regions in which they live. Consider minority relations and the laws that govern their lands. By now, we all know that the rules don't apply on Guam. Thanks to the signing of a document many years ago that sold us out, we are not a territory of sovereign people who have the ability to decide how our own home is built or how it functions. While many we know take their rights and liberties for granted, we are stuck stewing on an island wondering what kind of liberties we've been given.
But enough about that. The point is that there is a reason for our sensitivity. But sometimes we take it too far and in doing so, we don't think about what we're saying and who we're saying it to. We don't consider the weight of our words and what they truly mean. We don't care that we are being hypocritical and silly.
The reality is that it is, in fact, silly to think that people who know little to nothing about Guam are ignorant and uneducated.
Ask yourself: If you weren't from Guam, if you didn't know anyone from here, what would YOU know about Guam?
Take away your prejudices and really think about this island, objectively, without your attachment to it. Think about its size, population and location. Ask yourself what kind of place Guam has on a global scale in a world that has roughly 200 countries and a population of six-billion people.
Perhaps we should have a lot more of a presence in certain circles and topics. Guam should be known for its role in WWII. Americans should know that the US does not just include its 50 states but its territories, as well. People in the US armed forces should probably know about Guam more than the civilian. But let's be realistic. We had the same textbooks as the ones they had in the mainland. Do you remember what kind of mention there was in our books? It was a small one. Is there really any wonder that Americans don't know much about us? Where are they supposed to learn? Do we expect them to wake up one day inspired with the need to look us up and figure out all there is to know about us? Do we expect them to observe a mention of us in a movie or viral video about some stupid senator and immediately want to know exactly what this Guam place is all about?
Now, there's no crime in wanting Guam to be noticed. It's natural to want people to know about us, what we have to offer and what kind of affect we have on this world. Because we do have many, many things to offer. And we absolutely have an affect.
But, really now, is calling anyone stupid going to change that? This attitude that people who don't know about Guam are all ignorant, is that helping our cause at all? Why don't we take a step back and actually tell people what we're all about?
For those who insist that people are stupid for not knowing much - or anything - about our beautiful island, I'd like to know what can you tell me about Ceuta. Is it a country? An island? A sovereign nation? Where is it located? To what country do Ceuta's inhabitants pay their allegiance to?
Don't know? Well, ask yourself this: Does that make you an idiot?
I didn't think so.
We are. You all know it. And it's perfectly understandable, too. Think about the different ethnicities in this world and the regions in which they live. Consider minority relations and the laws that govern their lands. By now, we all know that the rules don't apply on Guam. Thanks to the signing of a document many years ago that sold us out, we are not a territory of sovereign people who have the ability to decide how our own home is built or how it functions. While many we know take their rights and liberties for granted, we are stuck stewing on an island wondering what kind of liberties we've been given.
But enough about that. The point is that there is a reason for our sensitivity. But sometimes we take it too far and in doing so, we don't think about what we're saying and who we're saying it to. We don't consider the weight of our words and what they truly mean. We don't care that we are being hypocritical and silly.
The reality is that it is, in fact, silly to think that people who know little to nothing about Guam are ignorant and uneducated.
Ask yourself: If you weren't from Guam, if you didn't know anyone from here, what would YOU know about Guam?
Take away your prejudices and really think about this island, objectively, without your attachment to it. Think about its size, population and location. Ask yourself what kind of place Guam has on a global scale in a world that has roughly 200 countries and a population of six-billion people.
Perhaps we should have a lot more of a presence in certain circles and topics. Guam should be known for its role in WWII. Americans should know that the US does not just include its 50 states but its territories, as well. People in the US armed forces should probably know about Guam more than the civilian. But let's be realistic. We had the same textbooks as the ones they had in the mainland. Do you remember what kind of mention there was in our books? It was a small one. Is there really any wonder that Americans don't know much about us? Where are they supposed to learn? Do we expect them to wake up one day inspired with the need to look us up and figure out all there is to know about us? Do we expect them to observe a mention of us in a movie or viral video about some stupid senator and immediately want to know exactly what this Guam place is all about?
Now, there's no crime in wanting Guam to be noticed. It's natural to want people to know about us, what we have to offer and what kind of affect we have on this world. Because we do have many, many things to offer. And we absolutely have an affect.
But, really now, is calling anyone stupid going to change that? This attitude that people who don't know about Guam are all ignorant, is that helping our cause at all? Why don't we take a step back and actually tell people what we're all about?
For those who insist that people are stupid for not knowing much - or anything - about our beautiful island, I'd like to know what can you tell me about Ceuta. Is it a country? An island? A sovereign nation? Where is it located? To what country do Ceuta's inhabitants pay their allegiance to?
Don't know? Well, ask yourself this: Does that make you an idiot?
I didn't think so.
the long exhale: a prelude
And what a long, sweet exhale it (usually) is.
No. You don't understand. It really does feel that good. You may think we're all crazy. And we are. You may think it's disgusting. And it really, really is. But there's a reason we all do it. And there's a reason it's so damn hard to stop.
Let me describe it to you.
First is the trigger. The stressor, if you will. There are so many of them, too. A long day, a heated argument, a satisfying meal, a tangle in bed or just the sight of someone else doing it: All of these create a desperate urge. Your fingers rub together. You lick your lips. And before you even get it between your lips you are breathing a bit harder. Whether it's the act of sucking or blowing pretend smoke or the anticipation of labored breathing associated with lungs full of smoke, there is a bit more than the effortless breath of a person who does not smoke.
There is also, of course, the fact that the desire doesn't need to come from outside. That is what an addiction is, after all. It's a need that comes from inside.
So then it's time to spark. The cigarette is in your mouth and if you smoke menthol, the sensation is immediate. Before you even light it, there's the cooling, mint sensation. And even if you aren't smoking a menthol cigarette, there is a slight taste, the slight aroma like that of a subtle, sweet, minty herb. There is the CHHHK of the lighter and sizzle of the flame kissing the other end of the cigarette. As you inhale, the cherry glows with a bright orange that Crayola has yet to duplicate and it fades as you pull your lips apart. Naturally, you inhale again, sucking the smoke further into your body from your mouth to your lungs.
At this point it still doesn't sound that appealing. You are essentially breathing in smoke, something you were probably taught not to do as a child. It goes against nature to breathe in something so foul. But although a smoker develops a taste for such an act, it's the last part that feels the best.
You may want to hold it in for a while, you may expel it immediately. Either way, the expulsion is what creates the desire. This is where it becomes natural. This is when you push the offending smoke from your lungs with a deep, full breath out. It's the release of a full stomach, unpleasant encounter, stressful experience in one breath.
Imagine that, alone. Imagine the ability to physically gather all that is bothering in you into your body through your mouth, hold it in for a moment and exhale. Whhhhhhhhhhhheeeewwwww. All of it gone.
But not quite.
So you inhale. Exhale. Clearer. Inhale. Exhale. Even more. Inhale. Exhale. It's almost gone. Inhale. Exhale. And there it goes.
Were it not so bad for you, so nauseous. Had it a better smell and taste, we'd all be doing it. Don't kid yourself. If the act were far more pleasant and easy in the beginning, far more people would be hooked.
But it is nauseous. It is putrid and disgusting and any reasonable person, smoker or not, understands completely how bad it is. This is the reason I don't fully understand or believe the claim of our forefathers, those who told us about how, "Back in the day, we just didn't know." Oh, they knew alright. Probably not to the extent we are all now educated about. I'm sure they didn't realize, once upon a time, that many people would be suffering and dying horrible deaths from several different diseases associate with tobacco products. But again, if the act of inhaling smoke is unnatural, well, we shouldn't have ever done it in the first place, no matter how good people say it feels once the addiction grabs a hold of us and slowly robs us of our lives.
Coulda, shoulda, woulda. Just as we all know about the many reasons we shouldn't smoke, we also know the many reasons why we do. All that's left is the decision: Do we continue to do this or do we find a way to stop?
And this is where I find myself. After growing up in a cloud of smoke - sorry, fam, you should have seen this coming - and, for whatever reason, deciding that smoking just fits who I am, I am addicted to a stick that costs me my money and my health. It costs me my ability to smell and to breathe well. It has stained my teeth and made food unappetizing at times. And hell, I stink. Smoke is not a nice smell no matter which way you look at it. Even as a smoker, I don't like the smell of it on me or others. More, I've made decisions that have taken away my independence and I am no longer in a position of complete self-service. What I do to myself affects others. Thus, it's not as simple as claiming a victimless act.
I am not too proud to admit that being selfless was not enough to make me quit. The bottom line is that I just don't have the funds to support the habit anymore. Truthfully, I never really did. But whatever.
I'm turning in my notice to the R.J. Reynolds Tobacco and Philip Morris companies and thanking them for their assistance during some rather stressful times, hoping that I have not done irreparable damage to a body that needs to live some years to make sure the offspring are doing alright and looking forward to the extra dough I'll have as I drop what is roughly a $4-a-day habit.
There is less than a pack of Marlboro Mediums left between me and the man. And then it's smoke-free for us. Yes, my partner-in-crime plans to take this journey with me but there's a good chance we'll both falter. I guess we'll see who does so first if we don't manage to stick to it till the end. We should put some money on it. Or make some kind of wager. I function better if it's a competition.
It's not going to be fun or pleasant for me or any of the people around me. I'm a pretty moody person, naturally. I don't have a low-maintenance life and I have more than enough on my plate to send me to the brink of insanity even with my release-in-a-stick. I might have to stop talking to people altogether until the twitching ends, the cold sweats stop and I no longer feel in danger of becoming She-Hulk.
Because I really, really do like my cigarettes. I'm going to miss them so.
T-minus-17 cigarettes and counting.
No. You don't understand. It really does feel that good. You may think we're all crazy. And we are. You may think it's disgusting. And it really, really is. But there's a reason we all do it. And there's a reason it's so damn hard to stop.
Let me describe it to you.
First is the trigger. The stressor, if you will. There are so many of them, too. A long day, a heated argument, a satisfying meal, a tangle in bed or just the sight of someone else doing it: All of these create a desperate urge. Your fingers rub together. You lick your lips. And before you even get it between your lips you are breathing a bit harder. Whether it's the act of sucking or blowing pretend smoke or the anticipation of labored breathing associated with lungs full of smoke, there is a bit more than the effortless breath of a person who does not smoke.
There is also, of course, the fact that the desire doesn't need to come from outside. That is what an addiction is, after all. It's a need that comes from inside.
So then it's time to spark. The cigarette is in your mouth and if you smoke menthol, the sensation is immediate. Before you even light it, there's the cooling, mint sensation. And even if you aren't smoking a menthol cigarette, there is a slight taste, the slight aroma like that of a subtle, sweet, minty herb. There is the CHHHK of the lighter and sizzle of the flame kissing the other end of the cigarette. As you inhale, the cherry glows with a bright orange that Crayola has yet to duplicate and it fades as you pull your lips apart. Naturally, you inhale again, sucking the smoke further into your body from your mouth to your lungs.
At this point it still doesn't sound that appealing. You are essentially breathing in smoke, something you were probably taught not to do as a child. It goes against nature to breathe in something so foul. But although a smoker develops a taste for such an act, it's the last part that feels the best.
You may want to hold it in for a while, you may expel it immediately. Either way, the expulsion is what creates the desire. This is where it becomes natural. This is when you push the offending smoke from your lungs with a deep, full breath out. It's the release of a full stomach, unpleasant encounter, stressful experience in one breath.
Imagine that, alone. Imagine the ability to physically gather all that is bothering in you into your body through your mouth, hold it in for a moment and exhale. Whhhhhhhhhhhheeeewwwww. All of it gone.
But not quite.
So you inhale. Exhale. Clearer. Inhale. Exhale. Even more. Inhale. Exhale. It's almost gone. Inhale. Exhale. And there it goes.
Were it not so bad for you, so nauseous. Had it a better smell and taste, we'd all be doing it. Don't kid yourself. If the act were far more pleasant and easy in the beginning, far more people would be hooked.
But it is nauseous. It is putrid and disgusting and any reasonable person, smoker or not, understands completely how bad it is. This is the reason I don't fully understand or believe the claim of our forefathers, those who told us about how, "Back in the day, we just didn't know." Oh, they knew alright. Probably not to the extent we are all now educated about. I'm sure they didn't realize, once upon a time, that many people would be suffering and dying horrible deaths from several different diseases associate with tobacco products. But again, if the act of inhaling smoke is unnatural, well, we shouldn't have ever done it in the first place, no matter how good people say it feels once the addiction grabs a hold of us and slowly robs us of our lives.
Coulda, shoulda, woulda. Just as we all know about the many reasons we shouldn't smoke, we also know the many reasons why we do. All that's left is the decision: Do we continue to do this or do we find a way to stop?
And this is where I find myself. After growing up in a cloud of smoke - sorry, fam, you should have seen this coming - and, for whatever reason, deciding that smoking just fits who I am, I am addicted to a stick that costs me my money and my health. It costs me my ability to smell and to breathe well. It has stained my teeth and made food unappetizing at times. And hell, I stink. Smoke is not a nice smell no matter which way you look at it. Even as a smoker, I don't like the smell of it on me or others. More, I've made decisions that have taken away my independence and I am no longer in a position of complete self-service. What I do to myself affects others. Thus, it's not as simple as claiming a victimless act.
I am not too proud to admit that being selfless was not enough to make me quit. The bottom line is that I just don't have the funds to support the habit anymore. Truthfully, I never really did. But whatever.
I'm turning in my notice to the R.J. Reynolds Tobacco and Philip Morris companies and thanking them for their assistance during some rather stressful times, hoping that I have not done irreparable damage to a body that needs to live some years to make sure the offspring are doing alright and looking forward to the extra dough I'll have as I drop what is roughly a $4-a-day habit.
There is less than a pack of Marlboro Mediums left between me and the man. And then it's smoke-free for us. Yes, my partner-in-crime plans to take this journey with me but there's a good chance we'll both falter. I guess we'll see who does so first if we don't manage to stick to it till the end. We should put some money on it. Or make some kind of wager. I function better if it's a competition.
It's not going to be fun or pleasant for me or any of the people around me. I'm a pretty moody person, naturally. I don't have a low-maintenance life and I have more than enough on my plate to send me to the brink of insanity even with my release-in-a-stick. I might have to stop talking to people altogether until the twitching ends, the cold sweats stop and I no longer feel in danger of becoming She-Hulk.
Because I really, really do like my cigarettes. I'm going to miss them so.
T-minus-17 cigarettes and counting.
11.1.10
it's easy: re. the military build-up on guam
Note: This is not a reaction to the build-up, itself, but to those who are ignorant to the plight of the Chamoru people and all of Guam's residents as we fight for one simple cause: Life. There are those who do not understand all the ins and outs of this build-up and will quote facts and figures that have nothing to do with the build-up at all. More, while there are many willing to listen to the real facts and consider how these things affect an island of over 175,000 people, there are those who brush such things aside as though they were trivial situations that have no affect on anyone of significance. And the reality of this matter is that while most of the world is oblivious to our existence, let alone how our lives and home are being threatened, those who know just a little bit about us often believe that our fight is both fruitless and unsubstantiated, that we should actually feel differently, that they know more about what's best for a place that they will never see, even more than those of us who live here, who love this island, who want to fight to protect it so we have a place for our children to grow in, knowing that we did everything we could to make their lives better.
It's easy to ignore, to know that there is an entire world out there that you know nothing about and never make the effort to see that world; when you will not even imagine that world; when it does not exist as long as you cannot see it; when you live in a world that you believe you've struggled and toiled for in order to find your place in it despite never having to worry about how you will feed your children, pay your bills, keep your house, protect your environment, provide for your family and contribute to your country; when you live in a world with people who look like you, think like you, speak like you and you never venture far enough from that world to see how different it can be just a few short miles away.
It's easy to not care, to know what's happening in the world and believe that as long as it does not happen in your backyard, it does not matter; when it clearly does not affect you and it will not determine how you live your life; when you live on and reap the benefits of stolen land; when you believe that your tax payers' dollars pay for your rights in a country that uses that money to take the same rights away from others; when your ancestors were not pushed out of their homes in order to provide a playground, a strategic position in military defense, a nuclear dumping ground and yet another symbol of global dominance for the ruling majority; when you do not have words like "unincorporated territory" qualifying your citizenship and what few rights you have.
It's easy to be selfish, to continue living your life believing that your experiences and your observations are the standard; when your rules are everyone's rules and your reality is the only one that exists; when how you see the world is the way others do; when you believe that everyone in the world should see it the same way you do; when you are blind to the fact that the same rules in the exact same country do not apply; when you believe you deserve your freedom and rights simply because you were born in the right place to the right people; when you think your rights are universal, not just on a global scale but a national one; when you blame the natives of your land for the worst society has to offer after the institution that you love and believe in so much is the very institution that created those problems; when you cannot see that that same institution that elevates you and gives you the benefits you feel you deserve more than others denies those same rights to the people who are born of the first occupants of that land.
It's easy to mock, to ridicule the actions of others who take a stance against something that mirrors a cliche' you've heard too many times but never had the misfortune to live; when you've never stood up against those who feel it is within their rights to steal from you, to poison you, to liberate you only to force you into a life of servitude that you believe only exists in books and blockbuster movies; when you've never struggled under the yoke of an institution that considers you less than human, that refuses to honor the rights it swears to grant its citizens; when you've never had your citizenship questioned, denied, created with limits or given for a price; when you've always had a vote but have chosen not to cast it; when you've always had a voice but have chosen not to use it; when you've never had to fight with fists, with arms, with words or with heart; when you've never believed in anything that was worth your pain and inconvenience, or more, your life.
It's easy to feel indebted, to demand the thanks of a people you say your ancestors fought and died for; when you believe that you represent the armed forces that liberated an island you know or care nothing about; when you have never taken up arms to fight for the rights of others; when you have not walked into a room filled with pictures of faces you know, dozens of men in uniform that once lived in your homes who now live in boxes in the earth and in crypts; when you can count the number of brothers and sisters you've lost to war on one hand; when you are sending your sons and daughters to die under a flag that upholds your rights and not a flag that enslaves you; when you do not realize that you live in a state that cannot boast the highest number of enlisted soldiers per capita in your nation because that honor belongs to the very people you believe owe you allegiance and thanks, the very people who cannot say they have the same rights as you, the very people who have no say-so as to how their lives are run or the rules that govern them.
It's easy when you do not come from what is considered to be the longest occupied region in a world that should be evolving and protecting the inherent freedom and rights of its citizens. It's easy to believe that an increased population equals a stimulated economy when you have never lived in a place that is over-populated simply because miles of untouched land has been seized to sit and rot instead of house and protect people who desperately need it. It's easy to call for peaceful negotiations when you do not know that the same things that started the wars you believe gave you the freedom you feel you deserve are the very things happening in your own country right now, to your fellow citizens, to people who've worked harder and sacrificed more. It's easy to accept the institution's claims that immigration is the bane of your existence as a free citizen of a great nation when you cannot see that you are a product of immigration. It's easy to catalog the reasons you deserve the land you've built your life upon even if none of those reasons marks you as an indigenous person of that land. It's easy to be ignorant and see all functions as dollar signs and not ever consider that the cost of such transactions are human lives.
It's easy to be complacent. It's easy to reach the end of your life never knowing what your descendants will live or suffer through. It's easy to surrender when you have nothing to fight for. It's easy to abandon dreams of a world that will never be better than the one you already live because you have liberties others cannot even imagine. It's easy to protest how your first amendment rights are being violated when you cannot hear the voices of people who have no rights. It's easy to argue religion when someone asks you to remove the crucifix from around your neck instead of someone demanding that you wear that crucifix or die. It's easy to say that you have worked hard for your position when your work includes things that can be found in books for a monetary fee rather than work that involves people and a currency of blood, sweat and tears. It's easy to be happy when you cannot hear people cry. It's easy to be content when you cannot see people suffer.
It's easy to live the life that your nation was founded on.
It's not easy to fight for a life your nation has always denied.
It's easy to ignore, to know that there is an entire world out there that you know nothing about and never make the effort to see that world; when you will not even imagine that world; when it does not exist as long as you cannot see it; when you live in a world that you believe you've struggled and toiled for in order to find your place in it despite never having to worry about how you will feed your children, pay your bills, keep your house, protect your environment, provide for your family and contribute to your country; when you live in a world with people who look like you, think like you, speak like you and you never venture far enough from that world to see how different it can be just a few short miles away.
It's easy to not care, to know what's happening in the world and believe that as long as it does not happen in your backyard, it does not matter; when it clearly does not affect you and it will not determine how you live your life; when you live on and reap the benefits of stolen land; when you believe that your tax payers' dollars pay for your rights in a country that uses that money to take the same rights away from others; when your ancestors were not pushed out of their homes in order to provide a playground, a strategic position in military defense, a nuclear dumping ground and yet another symbol of global dominance for the ruling majority; when you do not have words like "unincorporated territory" qualifying your citizenship and what few rights you have.
It's easy to be selfish, to continue living your life believing that your experiences and your observations are the standard; when your rules are everyone's rules and your reality is the only one that exists; when how you see the world is the way others do; when you believe that everyone in the world should see it the same way you do; when you are blind to the fact that the same rules in the exact same country do not apply; when you believe you deserve your freedom and rights simply because you were born in the right place to the right people; when you think your rights are universal, not just on a global scale but a national one; when you blame the natives of your land for the worst society has to offer after the institution that you love and believe in so much is the very institution that created those problems; when you cannot see that that same institution that elevates you and gives you the benefits you feel you deserve more than others denies those same rights to the people who are born of the first occupants of that land.
It's easy to mock, to ridicule the actions of others who take a stance against something that mirrors a cliche' you've heard too many times but never had the misfortune to live; when you've never stood up against those who feel it is within their rights to steal from you, to poison you, to liberate you only to force you into a life of servitude that you believe only exists in books and blockbuster movies; when you've never struggled under the yoke of an institution that considers you less than human, that refuses to honor the rights it swears to grant its citizens; when you've never had your citizenship questioned, denied, created with limits or given for a price; when you've always had a vote but have chosen not to cast it; when you've always had a voice but have chosen not to use it; when you've never had to fight with fists, with arms, with words or with heart; when you've never believed in anything that was worth your pain and inconvenience, or more, your life.
It's easy to feel indebted, to demand the thanks of a people you say your ancestors fought and died for; when you believe that you represent the armed forces that liberated an island you know or care nothing about; when you have never taken up arms to fight for the rights of others; when you have not walked into a room filled with pictures of faces you know, dozens of men in uniform that once lived in your homes who now live in boxes in the earth and in crypts; when you can count the number of brothers and sisters you've lost to war on one hand; when you are sending your sons and daughters to die under a flag that upholds your rights and not a flag that enslaves you; when you do not realize that you live in a state that cannot boast the highest number of enlisted soldiers per capita in your nation because that honor belongs to the very people you believe owe you allegiance and thanks, the very people who cannot say they have the same rights as you, the very people who have no say-so as to how their lives are run or the rules that govern them.
It's easy when you do not come from what is considered to be the longest occupied region in a world that should be evolving and protecting the inherent freedom and rights of its citizens. It's easy to believe that an increased population equals a stimulated economy when you have never lived in a place that is over-populated simply because miles of untouched land has been seized to sit and rot instead of house and protect people who desperately need it. It's easy to call for peaceful negotiations when you do not know that the same things that started the wars you believe gave you the freedom you feel you deserve are the very things happening in your own country right now, to your fellow citizens, to people who've worked harder and sacrificed more. It's easy to accept the institution's claims that immigration is the bane of your existence as a free citizen of a great nation when you cannot see that you are a product of immigration. It's easy to catalog the reasons you deserve the land you've built your life upon even if none of those reasons marks you as an indigenous person of that land. It's easy to be ignorant and see all functions as dollar signs and not ever consider that the cost of such transactions are human lives.
It's easy to be complacent. It's easy to reach the end of your life never knowing what your descendants will live or suffer through. It's easy to surrender when you have nothing to fight for. It's easy to abandon dreams of a world that will never be better than the one you already live because you have liberties others cannot even imagine. It's easy to protest how your first amendment rights are being violated when you cannot hear the voices of people who have no rights. It's easy to argue religion when someone asks you to remove the crucifix from around your neck instead of someone demanding that you wear that crucifix or die. It's easy to say that you have worked hard for your position when your work includes things that can be found in books for a monetary fee rather than work that involves people and a currency of blood, sweat and tears. It's easy to be happy when you cannot hear people cry. It's easy to be content when you cannot see people suffer.
It's easy to live the life that your nation was founded on.
It's not easy to fight for a life your nation has always denied.
1.1.10
a throwback: the genes i wish he didn't get from me
My son, Kane, has the same shape eyes as I do, which I got from my mom. His tiny pointed chin that juts out a bit is also mine and I got that from my dad. His nose, one that has developed from completely flat to rather round and back to flat is mine as well. That one skipped a generation from my grandmother, right past my father's narrow bridge and pointy nose, and down to me. Kane smiles with his whole face; also mine. That is something I take the most credit for. The sum of all my parts, with this trait from this side and that trait from the other, has translated almost completely accurately to my son. The extra spice added by his dad is rather limited though extremely noticeable. Altogether, though, that boy looks like his mama.
And then there's the other stuff. I'm not talking about my clutziness or tendency to bite the insides of my mouth (both of which he does, as well). I'm still on the physical traits that cannot be controlled or helped. But rather than being a sign that parent and child are, in fact, parents and child, some of them start beneath the skin and explode to the surface. Despite the obviousness of such superficial ailments, they can be the worst of the non-fatal chronic disorders. They are sometimes more inconvenient rather than painful. People seldom feel the need to worry, only show concern or simplify. And then sometimes no one really understands the cause. There's apparently no name for what I have. Words like "general" and "idiopathic" hint at its dubious nature. Other words like "hives" and "urticaria" don't really answer any questions. What happens is, for seemingly no reason, sometimes, my body breaks out in hives. Sometimes the cause is known. I am aware of a handful of allergies I have. I've understood the validity of psychosomatic hives for a while now (extreme fear has been known to manifest itself on my skin) and I know my skin is rather sensitive. Most of the time, it's very minor. I get a few bumps on the inside of my arm, it itches, it goes away as quickly as it appeared. Sometimes a scratch or burn never goes beneath the surface and there's only a red mark in the shape of whatever it is that offended my skin. If a cardboard box sits on my bare lap for a while, my skin will be irritated.
And then it's not so common and much worse than simply inconvenient. The worst outbreak I ever had was when I was in the beginning stages of my first pregnancy. Even after having lived with this tendency towards hives for a long time, I was worried that this sudden outbreak was a sign of something associated with my pregnancy. And it was. It just wasn't that serious. The simplest means of describing this reaction is that I am sensitive to any change to and within my body. My white blood cells sometimes attack something they don't need to attack and they do so in an unrelenting and most unwelcome fashion. So when another life was growing inside me, those cells when nuts a bit and, thankfully, instead of attacking the real foreigner (the dude in the belly) they had a few skirmishes on my skin. My entire body erupted in painful hives so large and growing so quickly that my body became one huge red mass with white spots here and there. My eyes and lips were swollen. I had hives on the bottom of my feet and on my palms. It was misery that lasted nearly a week. I was given diphenhydramine to block the histamines and a steroid to help with the inflammation.
And then nearly five years later, I watched helpless to the misery of that very child I was pregnant with as he fought to breathe through another coughing fit. It seemed to go away and then come back and when it did, it brought along a bunch of little friends: Those damn white blood cells. A few spots were on his chest and a doctor visit was arranged. They confirmed what I already knew, that these were just hives as a reaction to his cold. Well, they confirmed it when they learned that mommy had a little problem with hives, as well. Though I know I cannot control these things and I should feel damn lucky that hives are the most of our worries right now, I also cannot control the guilt I feel for damning my child with this horrendous affliction.
More than 24 hours had passed and we finally fell asleep, only the second time he'd managed to only after sheer exhaustion. I failed to remind my family ahead of time that, "Hey, knowing what it is doesn't help us that much. Brace yourself, it's about to get MUCH worse." And it did. His cough first, which was painful enough. But as soon as his cold started to go away, his hives completely took over. He was not particularly swollen but he was almost completely red. He was horribly itchy and he hated his medicine. He would wake up for a few seconds, remember he was itchy and have a hard time going back to sleep.
And though I know he'll get better soon and that this may just be the worst bout of hives he'll ever have to experience, I can barely deal to see him suffer through this. Nothing is nearly as crushing as seeing a child you love so much in pain and not being able to take the pain away. I'd happily go through the pains of labor every day for the rest of my life if it meant that I would never have to see my children hurt or get sick.
And then there's the other stuff. I'm not talking about my clutziness or tendency to bite the insides of my mouth (both of which he does, as well). I'm still on the physical traits that cannot be controlled or helped. But rather than being a sign that parent and child are, in fact, parents and child, some of them start beneath the skin and explode to the surface. Despite the obviousness of such superficial ailments, they can be the worst of the non-fatal chronic disorders. They are sometimes more inconvenient rather than painful. People seldom feel the need to worry, only show concern or simplify. And then sometimes no one really understands the cause. There's apparently no name for what I have. Words like "general" and "idiopathic" hint at its dubious nature. Other words like "hives" and "urticaria" don't really answer any questions. What happens is, for seemingly no reason, sometimes, my body breaks out in hives. Sometimes the cause is known. I am aware of a handful of allergies I have. I've understood the validity of psychosomatic hives for a while now (extreme fear has been known to manifest itself on my skin) and I know my skin is rather sensitive. Most of the time, it's very minor. I get a few bumps on the inside of my arm, it itches, it goes away as quickly as it appeared. Sometimes a scratch or burn never goes beneath the surface and there's only a red mark in the shape of whatever it is that offended my skin. If a cardboard box sits on my bare lap for a while, my skin will be irritated.
And then it's not so common and much worse than simply inconvenient. The worst outbreak I ever had was when I was in the beginning stages of my first pregnancy. Even after having lived with this tendency towards hives for a long time, I was worried that this sudden outbreak was a sign of something associated with my pregnancy. And it was. It just wasn't that serious. The simplest means of describing this reaction is that I am sensitive to any change to and within my body. My white blood cells sometimes attack something they don't need to attack and they do so in an unrelenting and most unwelcome fashion. So when another life was growing inside me, those cells when nuts a bit and, thankfully, instead of attacking the real foreigner (the dude in the belly) they had a few skirmishes on my skin. My entire body erupted in painful hives so large and growing so quickly that my body became one huge red mass with white spots here and there. My eyes and lips were swollen. I had hives on the bottom of my feet and on my palms. It was misery that lasted nearly a week. I was given diphenhydramine to block the histamines and a steroid to help with the inflammation.
And then nearly five years later, I watched helpless to the misery of that very child I was pregnant with as he fought to breathe through another coughing fit. It seemed to go away and then come back and when it did, it brought along a bunch of little friends: Those damn white blood cells. A few spots were on his chest and a doctor visit was arranged. They confirmed what I already knew, that these were just hives as a reaction to his cold. Well, they confirmed it when they learned that mommy had a little problem with hives, as well. Though I know I cannot control these things and I should feel damn lucky that hives are the most of our worries right now, I also cannot control the guilt I feel for damning my child with this horrendous affliction.
More than 24 hours had passed and we finally fell asleep, only the second time he'd managed to only after sheer exhaustion. I failed to remind my family ahead of time that, "Hey, knowing what it is doesn't help us that much. Brace yourself, it's about to get MUCH worse." And it did. His cough first, which was painful enough. But as soon as his cold started to go away, his hives completely took over. He was not particularly swollen but he was almost completely red. He was horribly itchy and he hated his medicine. He would wake up for a few seconds, remember he was itchy and have a hard time going back to sleep.
And though I know he'll get better soon and that this may just be the worst bout of hives he'll ever have to experience, I can barely deal to see him suffer through this. Nothing is nearly as crushing as seeing a child you love so much in pain and not being able to take the pain away. I'd happily go through the pains of labor every day for the rest of my life if it meant that I would never have to see my children hurt or get sick.
28.12.09
another year, another beer
2009 is about over. Time for another year to screw with my mind and rock my world.
No matter the age or level of wisdom, each moment had is a learning experience. The past year has come with its own lessons, some of them new, some old and some have simply been confirmations of tested and untested theories or addendums to past beliefs.
Over the past year I've learned...
No matter the age or level of wisdom, each moment had is a learning experience. The past year has come with its own lessons, some of them new, some old and some have simply been confirmations of tested and untested theories or addendums to past beliefs.
Over the past year I've learned...
- Accepting change comes with letting go of formerly held beliefs
- Love is not enough
- Indulgences make life easier
- Even teachers and people with advanced degrees cannot figure out the bloody difference between their/there, it's/its, your/you're, etc.
- Sometimes it's accidental
- Addictions are a crutch
- There's a reason we need a crutch
- Weakness is not shameful
- Sometimes I'm not ashamed, even when I really, really should be
- You don't have to be a sociopath to not feel guilty when you've done something wrong
- Or maybe I am a sociopath
- When you are one person all your life, it takes more than a handsome face and loving arms to change you into a different person no matter how badly you both want that change
- Even if you love 99% of one thing, that missing 1% can be just enough to change your mind
- On the other hand, sometimes that 1% is trivial
- Comfort and familiarity aside, there's a reason we fit, a reason we work together even when we don't want to
- I am finally 100% sure that I am totally done for
- Convenience is often a major factor
- Some attachments are actually good
- Independence is the hardest thing to let go of, nothing else even comes close
- I am incapable of turning the other cheek
- Sometimes revenge has a taste other than "sweet"
- It's not 7, it's 6
- None of them mattered
- I love living on Guam
- I hate living on Guam
- If you ask a person with no fingernails to scratch an itch, it won't feel good and you will be left unsatisfied
- I was right from the start, you really are the one
- Everything is better with you
- Sanity = my homeys
- I am not above anything
- You are the only one who is worth it
- You are worth anything
- You are still my home
- I really am ready
Happy New Year, everyone. Make it count. Do what you do. Live your life. Don't take it too seriously. Let what happens happen and figure out where you fit in all of it. Sometimes taking a step back and observing the way the tides move is the most important part of learning and living. Make mistakes, laugh at yourself, remember where you've been, let it go. Move on. And don't be afraid.
"Je ne les crains pas. C'est pour cela que je suis nee." -Jeanne d'Arc
Look it up.
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