my voting point system

Election time is upon us, thus some pretty important decisions need to be made.

Once upon a time, I was among the non-voting adult public. I don’t buy into this crap about, “If you don’t vote, you can’t complain.” Really, guys. Do you just regurgitate these tired quotes without thought? How about you stop to think about it for the minute and give some non-voters the benefit of the doubt, understand that they might vehemently dislike every single candidate available and disapprove of any of them in a position of power and that some people believe that the lesser of two evils is still, in fact, evil.

But a few years ago, the ballots listed two candidates who topped my list of people who shouldn’t even be walking among us, let alone leading us. So I was compelled to do what other people have been telling me to do since I turned 18. I went with the lesser of evils route. I voted to help whomever their opposition was. For the first time in my life, I actually stayed up to watch the polls. Thankfully, neither made it and I felt vindicated.

And then I was summoned for district court jury duty the next year which really made me regret my decision to register to vote. (Note: If you are thinking that they don’t choose from a pool of registered voters, educate yourself about the differences between District and Superior Court.)

Now I’m left to wonder whether I should vote this year or not. Once again, I don’t fully believe in the qualifications of most candidates. So how do I determine how to cast my vote? I care, but not as much as some people do. And the fact of the matter is that a lot of people who do care are operating under dubious criteria and sketchy opinions, these WTF voters and votes that have me wondering if these people are paying attention and how easily people the most vehement opposition and supporters are swayed.

So screw it. I devised a point system. Admittedly, some of these don’t make much sense. Some are pretty trivial and only placed there for humor despite the fact that I am still absolutely using such points to determine my vote. You’ll notice a lot more negatives than positives but that tends to be my relationship with politics: It’s significantly easier to turn me off than turn me on.

So here it is:

+10 - Perceived genuine kindness:

Kindness is not a factor alone. I’m not a voter who makes her decisions based on who’s nice and who’s related to me. What matters is that your kindness is genuine or, at least, seems genuine. Don’t politic around shaking my hand and kissing my cheek. Isn't it already a long-running joke/game to see how many politicians show up at a celebration or memorial?

+ 5 – The sympathy vote:

My heart cries a bit whenever I see just one person out there waving without any supporters or loved ones to accompany him or her. Well, maybe not “cry”. It…sighs. I’m not that much of a bleeding heart.

+25 – Be nice to my kids:

Unlike the first point, this applies mostly to rookie politicians, neither incumbents or politicians who’ve served prior terms can really be part of this. A personal experience to illustrate: At a child’s birthday party, my son was in the pool with another boy and that boy’s father. This father not only entertained his own son but included my boy in their games. I appreciate that. It’s the other side of the above point. This is also about someone’s genuine nature. At any rate, it seems that a lot of people vote for friends and family, whether they have thought about their ability to serve or not, among half a dozen other bogus reasons. So this one is mine.

-5 – Usage of vuvuzelas.

That’s it. Don’t use them.

-20 – Was I talking to you?:

I once ran into a friend who had just been hired to work for a new senator. I stopped to make some pleasant conversation and asked my friend how things were going. In any other situation, my friend would have given a generic response as a general idea of how life is and the only person responding would be my friend since that was who I was talking to. But boss lady steps in and starts talking about her seat in office. I don’t care. And if I did, I’d address you directly. Every conversation is not a chance to campaign. In fact, it’s often a good way to lose my interest.

-40 – Members of club fed and their affiliates:

So what’s up with the “haves” stealing money from their own island,? We already don’t have money to take care of our basic necessities and now you want to steal more from us? Well, I guess when you can afford private schools, healthcare and you own property, you don’t really care about the rest of us. Speaking of which, if you can afford all these things, why the hell are you stealing money from us in the first place? Nice car, by the way.

+ 15 -The next generation:

I’m getting tired of the same faces screwing us over. We need some young blood in there.

-20 – Copyright infringement:

Stop doing this people! You didn’t get permission from the artists to use their songs in your campaign. So don’t use it.

+15 – That’s a catchy little diddy.

So if you can’t use copyrighted material, create your own. And make it good. Might I point out that not since the 90s when Rufo Lujan was running have I heard a jingle that really got me bopping along with a smile on my face. Go there. Make me sing.

-30 – Common fricking sense:

I mentioned this before on my FB: Don’t talk about someone’s kids, don’t talk about someone’s mama and don’t mention people on their deathbeds. Just don’t go there.

(Note: At the end of this entry you'll notice I say something about a candidate's child. That was a personal experience and I have every right to be pissed off at someone threatening my family (yeah, it actually happened). And guess what. I’m not the one running for office. I’m not held to the same standards. That’s common sense, too.)

-10 - Who???

If I don’t know who the hell you are and cannot figure out why you’re running based on your resume, how am I going to know why you deserve to be in office?

-30 – “So basically…”

This is a high deduction because it’s a significant error that speakers often make. As a frequent error, it ranks somewhere below “your/you’re” and “its/it’s” confusion. But also, as a frequent error, it is something that fluent English speakers should know about. There is absolutely no reason to ever use the word “basically”. Whatever you are saying, you can drop it and the sentence will still make perfect sense. When you use that word, you basically sound stupid.

-30 – “Democracy”

America is not a democracy. Guam is not a democracy. Anyone serving under either flag should know that. As a politician, there is no reason to perpetuate this misconception. You should know better. So cut it out. If you are referring to the democratic process of citizens voting for their representatives, well, there’s a word for that. You’ll find it in the Pledge of Allegiance. And to the “what” for which it stands? That’s right. A republic.

-15 - Stick to what you know

If I do know who you are and what your background is, I expect this background to have something to do with your qualifications as a representative of our island. Don’t come out of left field, citing your platform when it has nothing to do with your expertise because then I’m left with wondering exactly who you are and what you’re talking about. It’s even more off-putting when you talk about this platform and it is clear that you don’t really have experience in it. And understand that an observation is not experience.

-10 – Not politically correct

I know, the rules change rather often and sometimes being PC goes a little too far. It often seems like no matter what word you use, you’re going to end up offending someone. But at the same time, there are certain PC terms and ideas that you really should know. They are spoken about often enough. Not knowing them means you don’t really pay attention and if you don’t pay attention then who’s to say you’re capable of paying attention to what this island needs. If you can’t be bothered to look these things up, yourself, then have your team do the work for you. Until then, Oriental refers to objects, people are Asian. And “handicapped”? Really? Why don’t you just call them “cripples”?

+/-10 - Every single act that you have made in office or in the public eye, dependent on whether I agree with said act or not

Self explanatory.

+15 - Variation

For those duos running for our highest seats, I prefer a team where the members are not similar types of people with similar backgrounds. There should be a clear distinction, even with common goals. This comes across as a team that brings more than a few strengths to the table and has more to work with.

+ 50 - Archbishop's League of Evil Ushers

Anyone the Apuron says not to vote for gets an added 50 points. I'd make it 100 but it would really throw things off. I resent being told who to vote for considering you're sitting on your free ride in a position that our grand constitution has given you the right to not be affected by half of the laws that govern the rest of us. It's called Separation of Church and State. Or do you only care about that when it benefits you? Jackass.

Full negation of positive points – Rotten fruit:

This means you are automatically below all candidates and not remotely a consideration. If you’ve failed in your first job as a leader -- that is, in leading your children -- why should I trust in your ability to lead a significantly larger population? If you've raised a child stupid enough to burn your own bridges by threatening to kill my husband, knowing this could cast you in a negative light, well, that's beyond disgusting. That's just stupid. You and your family deserve a lot of things. But none of them are positive. And none of them include my vote.

*******

That seems to be it for now. I’ll probably add more as we near election time.

Up next: The list of candidates and their points thus far which, in most cases, is still also subject to change.

there goes my baby

Yesterday, I woke up earlier than I had in the past five years. It was so early for me that there were many days in those years that I was barely getting to sleep at that time. But that was not too hard.

Yesterday, in addition to getting myself ready for the day, I had to awaken, clean, dress and feed two other people and make sure they had everything they needed. I had to cook immediately upon waking up, springing into action, instead of taking a good hour to adjust to being awake as I had been able to before. That wasn't the hard part either.

Yesterday, I had to brave the early morning traffic, having not driven at that time of day in several years, forgetting what it had been like and knowing that there were more obstacles to contend with, making any recollection of traffic almost moot. I made great time, actually, and was able to beat the traffic, making my morning rather smooth despite being pretty tired. So that wasn't hard.

Yesterday, I walked through the gates of my old elementary school, my 5-year-old with his Iron Man bag strapped to his back walking next to me, my 3-year-old tagging along, holding my hand, my other hand holding a large plastic bag filled with the required extra supplies for the classroom, as we lugged ourselves and our baggage up the stairs to my son's kindergarten classroom for the first time. I brought him over to a bench where two of his classmates were already patiently waiting for their teacher. These two classmates were already somewhat acquainted with my son: one as a weekly playmate and the other as the son of a good friend of mine. My son spied another one of his classmates not adapting to this big change very well, crying profusely as their teacher tried to calm her down. I looked down at my boy who was, by then, rubbing his eyes, a sign that he was nervous. I knelt down in front of him and told him he was going to have a great day, that everything was okay, that he was a big boy and I was proud of him. I put on my happiest smile and encouraged him. As I looked closer, I saw his face start to break, a pout, a quivering lip and my extremely brave son trying very hard not to cry. When the teacher asked them to stand in line, my son would not move. I gently encouraged him to stand in line, grabbed his extra bag - and his classmate's extra bag - gestured to my 3-year-old who was busying himself with the jungle-gym outside the classroom and followed them in, despite a request made by the teacher the previous week that we let the teacher handle the nervous kids on their own while the parents left, trusting her to take care of all of our children who were complete strangers to both her and each other. By this time there was another child getting really upset. I sat my son down, gave him a few more words of encouragement. I didn't hug him or kiss him, feeling it would embarrass him even more. I whispered, "I love you." told him I had to leave and he nodded, understanding that despite his fear, this was something he had to do, that we had talked about for at least a year in preparation. I walked out with my youngest son who was, by now, crying because he wanted to stay. (And it was only then that I noticed my 3-year-old had been wearing two different shoes). We got in our car, drove the less than a minute drive home, walked into our house and started our day.

Well, we started our day after I closed the door and broke down, crying profusely, missing my first baby; wondering what I was supposed to do with one less child in the house; trying to get over the fact that this little boy had been by my side constantly for the past five years and now I had to let him go; remembering the fear in his eyes, the strength it took for him to hold it together as much as he could; the guilt of abandoning him when I was supposed to be the person who protected him, the person he trusted the most and feeling like a part of my heart was completely missing.

That was the hard part. That was, quite literally, the hardest thing I had ever had to do in my life.

While I can't say my life has been particularly difficult, I am still not above recognizing the slight humor in having such a hard time letting go for seven measly hours a day. I labored through sixteen hours of regular contractions for this child, even longer for my other one. I had managed to squeeze two human beings out of my body, sat through their shots and cried along with them, cried even more every time they were sick and endured countless sleepless nights worrying about them. Even though I had to let my son go in the morning, he'd be returning to me just a few hours later. We'd still have ample time to spend together, doing the things we used to have all day to do. No big deal. Millions of people do this every day, right?

None of that mattered. All I knew is that one day I was holding this helpless, newborn baby in my arms, his eyes wide and searching this bright, open space he'd just entered. Then I blinked and all of a sudden, my son was walking, talking, potty-trained, knew how to write his name, was a master at many video games and had an appetite for learning new things -- especially about dinosaurs and a bunch of other animals, each one more exotic than the one before it. And as he grew, he was growing right out of my arms.

The same fears that choke many parents in my position and the many more parents who've come before were clouding my mind with questions: Would he make friends? Would he be terrified and alone? Would the other kids be mean to him? Had I prepared him enough for school? Had I prepared him too much? What if they lost him? What if he got hurt?

More, though I had thought about it and tried to prepare myself for this big change, I realized I hadn't really anticipated how empty and quiet the house felt without him. My youngest son was still there and he's my little devil, the high-maintenance one, the one I always have to keep an eye on. I figured my days would still be busy chasing after him, stopping him from doing something he knows he's not supposed to do and having more time to be one step ahead of him. But he wasn't that difficult to deal with. The house did not get as dirty as it used to despite the fact that the child making most of the mess was the one who was still home. He was on his best behavior. It doesn't escape me that, perhaps, he was behaving so well because he was feeling lost and alone without his big brother, too.

That day was a busy one and I was distracted from feeling the anguish of being separated from my baby, even though I still thought about him every second that day. Before I knew it, it was time to pick him up from school. I walked through the gates again, this time with excitement, saw my little boy sitting among the other kids waiting to be let go for the day, smiled at the look on his face when he saw me there and knew he was just as happy to see me as I was to see him.

Much as I anticipated, Kane had mixed reactions to his first day of school. Because of his shyness, it was hard to get him to talk about what he did that day. But there were still little signs here and there that betrayed him and told me how much he enjoyed himself. When we went back into the classroom to look for the lunchbox he left behind, he ran around his classroom in excitement, retrieving playthings he'd been introduced to that day and I knew this was his quiet way of showing off. Later, I managed to squeeze more information out of him. He had fun, he learned new things and he figured, on his own, that school was not as scary as he initially thought it was.

That day I received more confirmation that he'd be okay when his teacher told me that she was surprised he wasn't in preschool before, as he knew a lot of stuff. She told me that he only needs to work on not talking out of turn and sitting still. Naturally, as an experienced teacher, she knows these are developed skills. And I understood these were low-grade critiques as he was "on green", the highest section of the class behavioral chart. But the only thing I could focus on when she told me how he did that day was the fact that my extremely shy little boy likes to talk out of turn. You mean, he talked?

So that was our first day at kindergarten. I saw "we" because I hope he carried me with him, not as a person to miss; not as the mommy who left him with strangers; not as the person responsible for this whole ordeal. I hope he carried me as the person who started him on a his educational path, years before he started school; as the person who loves him enough to let him go; as the person who he'd always come back to at the end of every day. I know I carried him with me. I missed him desperately at the small unveiling party Drew and I attended later that day, even though I knew he would not have wanted to go and would have been bored and too shy to interact the way his social butterfly of a little brother was. I stared at a TV that no one had to fight over, a video game console that had not been turned on at all that day. I fed one child, put one child down for a nap, took care of the needs of only one child after three years of caring for two.

Even while I hoped he wouldn't miss us too much and that he was having enough fun to not think about us too much after that difficult and scary first step, all I could think about was how much I missed him. I thought about how much I would miss him, almost every day for the next thirteen years and how much I hope it prepares me for missing him for the rest of my life when he becomes the man he was born to be.

In closing, I want to address my big boy:

Kane, you will never truly understand what you mean to me and who you are in this family. But I hope to show you every day how fortunate I feel to have been blessed with such a wonderful son. I searched for the right fit all my life and realized the day you were placed on my chest that you were the reason I existed. With you and your brother, my world was complete and no void could ever exist that you could not fill. I am so proud of you and cannot believe that I created you, molded you and taught you to be the wonderful child you have become, even as you learned and developed many things that had little to do with me and more to do with what an amazing person you are. Never forget that I am always here for you, that "mommy" is simply another word for "home" and no matter where you are, you will never truly be lost or alone.

I love you,

Mommy

how we did it: potty training

That is, we didn't.

Let me explain.

As my first son neared his second birthday, I was aware that this was the time many toddlers started potty training. I knew that, as a boy, he'd probably learn later than most girls do. But I also knew that there was another baby on his way: I was near the end of my pregnancy with my second son. And from all that I had read, this was not the time to begin potty training an older child. We were advised to keep big changes separate if we could. There was no stopping the baby who was on his way. I couldn't ask him to hang out a bit so I could potty train his big brother and allow him to deal with that, first. So potty training was put on hold for a bit.

When we knew we were over the new baby transition, we did all the things we were told to do by the experts, by doctors and magazine articles and parenting books. We were a step ahead of many people as, by this time, my usually advanced toddler was fully conversational. He could understand all the things we were saying and could talk back. He had his own potty chair, he knew what it was for, we asked him often if he was ready to use it whenever he looked like he was doing his business in his diaper. He accompanied us to the bathroom to see what he was supposed to do in the potty. He expressed interest in using the potty. But he also expressed, very clearly, that he was not ready to use it just yet.

The months dragged on and he was turning three. And then more months followed and when he was half-way to four, he still wasn't showing readiness.

This didn't sit well with some people. Some adults, whether they were part of our family or not, whether they had recent experience with children or were a good thirty years past their baby-raising years, whether they even had kids or not, insisted that he was way too old to be wearing diapers, either the traditional kind or pull-ups. Some parents said pull-ups were a waste of time. I got advice from all directions and some of that advice was not much appreciated. At one point, I was given a book written by a woman who had no experience with child-care beyond having trained her one child much earlier than most children in America are potty-trained and she did it boot-camp style.

And none of this advice sat well with me. I'm not the parent who takes all advice and tries anything people tell me to do. I'm the parent who seriously considers what others tell me, thinks about it logically and tries to reason about what makes more sense.

I concluded that I didn't want to go the naked route, effectively increasing my already over-loaded schedule with more cleaning than I was willing to do while also taking care of my new baby. I decided that taking my toddler to the bathroom every five minutes, ten minutes, half hour, hour, etc. was not going to work. I knew I'd never remember to take him to the potty regularly. I knew I didn't want to deny him basic necessities like breakfast until he used the potty in the morning. I didn't have that kind of patience. I didn't have that kind of time. And honestly, I just didn't want to deal with it.

I also seriously asked myself what the benefits were to force him into something he was clearly not ready for. Would getting him out of the diaper and into big boy underwear accomplish anything aside from shutting up the critics? Should I really be bothered or embarrassed that my son was almost four-years-old and not potty-trained yet? I don't embarrass easily. I don't give credit where I don't feel it's deserved. And I generally don't care what people say or think. Combined with all the expert advice that told me that I was making the right decision, I did what his doctors told me to do: Let him decide.

He was four-years-old and still in pull-ups. One day, while changing his diaper, he started jumping around saying that he needed to pee and I needed to hurry up and put his diaper on. I encouraged him to use the potty and, realizing that his pee was coming and he could not stop it, he ran to his potty and found that he was still too nervous. I had him stay naked for a while at that time because I saw this as a sign that he was, at least, partially ready. Sure enough, just a few minutes later, he decided to use the potty. I cried, I picked him up, I told him how proud I was, I made a very big deal out of this new celebration and called his father at work to share the good news. He was a little embarrassed by all of this. But I could also see that glimmer in his large round eyes that he was also pleased with himself.

After that we had him pick out his big-boy underwear and when he finally tried them on, he didn't really like it. But I went right in with the soft encouragement I was advised to use by the experts. And slowly but surely, he became more comfortable with his new underwear.

I looked at this experience with pleasure, realizing that I don't have stories to tell about all the accidents he's had while awake (he's only had two accidents since). People are surprised when I tell them that after only a couple months of wiping him after he used the potty, he became rather proficient at butt-wiping. Not a single skid-mark on his underwear since he's been wearing them. There was no transition from a baby potty to the toilet we all used. He also decided that on his own. He learned quickly how to stand up when peeing like a "big boy" and how to control his stream.

And I did practically nothing. I did what his doctor told me to do and let him potty train himself. It was later than most but that didn't bother me at all. Critics don't know me. They don't know my son. They rarely know norms or statistics in the first place.

I also realized something else. In allowing him to do this on his own, the accomplishment was all his. I had nothing to be proud of, myself. The only thing I did was listen to my son and let him tell me what he wanted, what he was comfortable with. This big milestone was his milestone, alone.

And now that we're over that hump, we have another three-year-old who is still in his diapers. I don't have a baby to take care of but having to take care of two "big boys" is not any easier than taking care of a toddler and an infant.

My youngest boy is still not ready. And just like I did with his brother before him, I will wait until he tells me he's ready. My couch will not be covered in urine. I won't find puddles that were made without my knowledge, or worse, much more smelly messes. I won't have to deal with digression when I push a child further than he is willing to go. Each step we take will move us forward. And my day will carry on as it always does with messes that are made quicker than I am able to clean up, laundry that never ends, little mouths to feed, hearing my name called every ten minutes, drawing my attention to an owie, a fight, something broken or dirty or a bigger catastrophe. And only when he tells me it's time will I finally be able to clear our shelf of stacked diapers and baby wipes.

When asked by other moms who are dealing with what route to go regarding potty-training, my only advice is this: Listen to your gut. My experiences may not be the same as others, even if they do the same thing. If you'd rather take the routes I chose not to, that's perfectly fine. Only you know your child. You are the one who will have to deal with what comes with potty-training so let this be your decision. Trust your instincts. Pay attention to your child. Don't sweat the small stuff. And remember that no matter what you decide, you and your child will be fine.

on regret

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.

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.

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.

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.