cindy's world

A normal and pretty girl, much like you and me (:P) if you happen to be a girl, made her choices of what men to date and what men to turn down as she went through life. In her early 30s, she finally settled on a nice, stable man and married him. They had a normal life, a nice house, a couple of kids, and every time someone asked her how life was, she shrugged and said “Fine.” Because it was.

One day, a magical woodland creature popped out of this girl’s morning smoothie, shook the frosty berry goo off her shimmering wings, and said, “Thanks for releasing me from this smoothie! I’ve been stuck here for awhile, I really shouldn’t have fallen asleep inside that banana. To thank you, I’m going to satisfy your curiosity. Was there any what-ifs you’d ever wondered about your life? Tell me one and I’ll show you the alternate reality of that what-if.”

The girl knew exactly what she wanted to see. There was a guy she’d considered dating before she’d met her husband, but had ultimately decided not to date him because at the time, it didn’t seem like they were on the same track. He was attractive and she was certainly attracted to him, they found each other to be fabulous company, but it just seemed like they wanted different things out of life. So looking at long-terms, she had reluctantly turned him down after getting to know him a little better. “I want to see what my life would’ve been like, if I had dated him,” she told the magical sprite.

With a wave and twist of a magical wand, shimmers appeared and faded as the girl saw herself years ago as if she were watching a high-definition plasma television screen. She watched herself laugh and play with the guy, watched them share serious and silly things with each other, attend sophisticated grande operas and jog through nature. It was the relationship she’d always wanted, and it was a relationship she didn’t have with her husband. And then, much as she’d been afraid would happen back when she made the difficult decision to not date this man, she watched the relationship end in the enchanted projection. He didn’t crush her heart, she didn’t cheat on him, they didn’t stop getting along. Their paths just diverged, much as she knew they would. Their ships had passed each other in the night after a relatively brief but perfect interlude. The girl watched herself then meet her husband, get married, and have the exact same kids she has now.

“You look sad,” the sprite observed with concern as the girl looked up from the fading projection and impatiently brushed a tear from her cheek. “Your life is in the same place now as it would’ve been if you had dated that other man. Is that not reason for relief?”

“Even so, I feel like I’ve lost something,” the girl sighed. “Even if there could never have been a future with him, I almost wish I hadn’t known of that perfect relationship.”

“Your people have a saying, that ’tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ At birth, you are given a string, and each of your experiences is a pearl or another precious stone to add onto that string. The totality of it is the valuable necklace you get to wear proudly as you age. All of your people’s necklaces are different, and they all uniquely identify you as who you are. But you look so sad that I can give you another alternate reality if you’d like. I can put you back to before you saw all of this, and you would have never known. Would you like me to take this pearl back?”

What would you do?

“OR…” the sprite interrupted with a glint in her eye, “OR…I can go farther back in the alternate reality and GIVE YOU that relationship with that other man. You know how it’ll end up, but you can experience it yourself. Would you like that pearl?”

Would you?

Based on what Mr. W has told me about this experiment, it scares the crap out of me. Apparently some scientist is about to start blasting particles at some nucleus at light speed using a new machine called the Large Hadron Collider, hoping to spin the nucleus and then explode it to see what’s inside a molecular nucleus. The experiment’s hope is to discover and recreate the start of life, i.e. to prove the Big Bang Theory. This experiment is scheduled to start on Wednesday. Meanwhile, three other scientists say that this experiment could produce a black hole that would suck matter into it insatiably until the Earth itself is completely sucked in and/or destroyed, and that once begun, there’s nothing we could do at this point to stop it. These three scientists use their warnings to sue the first scientist, and all three have emergency petitions to the Courts for a preliminary injunction (a preliminary court order to stop the experiment from happening while the case is being decided in Court).

I’m really not cool with the thought of the world ending, or of my dying, in the next couple of days. I imagined being with my family, clinging to each other and crying. Or frantically trying to call loved ones on the phone and not being able to get through as everyone is calling everyone else, too, getting the “all circuits are busy” recorded message. Or cringing with my eyes squeezed shut on our bed, Mr. W holding me, as the edges of my reality start dissipating alarmingly, my whimpering about to be cut short by the molecular breakdown of my vocal chords. Or, as this last scenario is happening, Mr. W holding a gun to my head, asking me if I’m sure I want to be euthanized in this most violent but quickest of ways instead of finding out what happens on the other side of a black hole. Or of my floating gravity-lessly in black space, unable to breathe, panicking internally as the vacuum I’m floating in explode the blood out from the thin membranes of my eyes.

Then the rushing thoughts and stages: Who the hell gets to say how the world ends? Who the hell gets to trade in the lives of billions, of this entire planet, to satisfy his curiosity? Why don’t the billions of us get a say? Am I so helpless? Should I prepare for death? At least I got to experience love, marriage, and I’m glad I didn’t bring a child into this world to be taken out this way. And what about all the people with plans for the weekend? For Thursday? For their next birthdays? For their children? I remember that in AP English IV my senior year, we studied a poem that I only remember the ending of (cuz I was a bad student and didn’t pay attention), which is
“…this is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends,
Not with a bang, but a whimper.”

And then I read this just now. And feel a little bit better. Just a little bit.
One dark comedienne’s take.
THIS still scares me, reading between the humor.

I was planning to go to bed early tonight but now I’m thinking I’ll go spend some time gazing up at the hubby with big watery eyes instead. While hugging my struggling cat.

The problem with getting on social networking sites, is the ease with which you naturally try to reach out and touch someone. Sometimes you touch something warm and it’s fun. Other times you touch something cold, it brings you into a dark place you’d left behind, and now you’re in a crappy mood remembering why that door was closed to begin with. Then it’s a struggle to remember where you really are in life and recover again. And by then it’s been a few hours and you have to go crawling back to your newlywed hubbie and beg for forgiveness for neglecting him just to go around opening and slamming old crusty doors.

Mr. W and I spent our evening at home assembling our patio furniture, until it got too dark to see. And then we took out his camping lanterns and finished assembling by flourescent lantern-light. We’re excited to see the finished products in the light of day. We expect to do quite a bit of entertaining in our pretty back yard, hence the outdoor dining table that seats 6, and the separate firepit conversation set that seats 4. Ideally, I’d also like a bar out there. But for now I can mix in the kitchen and pass it out through a window or the back sliding door.

Of course you can’t just get guests into the back yard without letting them walk through the house, so we put up as much wall stuff as we could. My giant oil paintings found homes in the living space walls and over the fireplace, his giant maps of Hawaii are the focus of the entire foyer along with his decorative antique-looking suitcases, globes and stone vases, and his framed medieval prints of knights and princesses and gilded gold framed mirror found their niches in the master bedroom. We were too tired to clean up the floors and vacuum, but the place is shaping up to look like a home now. The first guest to see this will be MOH Vicky, who’s gonna pick me up in the morning.

Speaking of morning, it’ll start with an 8:30a appointment at the city’s private Lake so we can take photos for our Lake privilege ID cards. After we get that in order, our visitors can accompany us to the Lake for summer concerts, annual events like July 4 fireworks, sand volleyball, picnics at the clubhouse, boating, swimming, fishing, bbqing.

After our membership appointment, Vicky will come to our new house for the first time, and we’re going to a bridal shower that she, with some assistance from bridesmaid Diana, put together for me at the fabulous Ritz-Carlton, Laguna Niguel. About 10 of my favorite girls are meeting up with us there for a spa day, lunch at trendy 230 Forest Avenue Restaurant and Bar, dinner at the very classy Restaurant 162′ (dinner is Vicky’s treat and gift to all attendees), or any combination thereof. Anny, having recently received her new digital camera, volunteered to be my paparazzi, so we can thank her for documenting photos later. I think there’ll be a walk down to the beach somewhere in there, so I’ll be sure to bring a bikini. =D Screw the fact that I’m getting bloated. This is my bridal shower, goshdarnit. This is also the first time that all three of my bridesmaids will be together at the same place at the same time. Diana has to do a one-day turnaround flight from San Jose, I’m very touched she’d do this for me, and expect nothing less for her and us than a truly classy, fabu-loso time.

And I have no idea what to wear.

But I DO know what I’m gonna wear for our upcoming Halloween party that Mr. W has agreed to let me throw when I uncovered all my Halloween season props and decor while moving.

Life is gonna be amazing.

(written earlier today at 3:36p and emailed to myself)

Pretenders Lyrics
I’ll Stand By You Lyrics
I was listening to the The Pretenders’ song “I’ll Stand By You” and the female speaker sings about how the man she’s singing to could show her his dark side, and when he’s upset he can act as upset as he feels without censorship for her because no matter what, she’d still stand by him and she won’t leave him.

“Nothing you confess
Could make me love you less.
…So if you’re mad, get mad
Dont hold it all inside
Come on and talk to me now
Hey, what you got to hide?”

I thought about myself listening to this song, and realized that I’m still somewhat in self-preservation mode. I don’t know that I can say I’ll stand by someone who’s being really mean to me just cuz he’s having some personal issues. I’m a lot less inclined to be a doormat now than I used to be, and definitely won’t put up with what I used to. It infuriates me to read in my past diaries about the things a guy would say or do to me, and how passive my responses were, always forgiving or tolerating it while convincing myself it’s not him, it’s me, and that it’ll get better if I could just find the right set of soothing actions and affirmations to make it so. In retrospect I never resolved these problems because the problems were never mine to resolve, they were the guy’s. If he’s acting or being a jerk, nothing I do could cure him of that personality defect; he’s just a jerk, period.

And I feel a little bad about my current hardness, because if anyone deserves my old forgiving, overly-tolerant approach to relationships, it’s my imminent future husband. But even Mr. W himself had said before that he can’t believe the level to which I’d tolerated my past boyfriends’ injustices done toward me, so it’s more than likely that this feeling bad is only one-sided. I don’t think Mr. W feels very gypped.

Which is good, because I don’t think I’m ready to let go of the protective shield yet. The thought of being without that arm’s distance of protection makes me feel naked and scared. And of course I didn’t use to fear loving with abandon, even tho I was never as emotionally safe before as I am now in the arms of Mr. W. But who he is, is why even if he perceives the shield, he’d give me a kiss on the top of my head and tolerate it, just to make me comfortable.

In keeping with my now crappy mood and old diary-reading, here’s something raw from several years ago. I haven’t had writing like this for a long time. That’s a testament to the wonderfulness of Mr. Wonderful. But JUST IN CASE you “don’t care to know” what’s in my past writings, you don’t have to click on the “more” below. (I’m not bitter.)
(more…)

Turns out that I may have as frail an ego now as I did a decade and a half ago, altho I’d like to think that I’ve grown up, mellowed out, and grew more centered in myself.

An old friend and I had been musing last week over how we met and became friends 14 years ago, and neither of us could remember how we exactly traded digits. Well, in my diary excavation last nite, I turned a page and there it was, right there. Down to the exact detail. I called him last nite kinda excitedly to share the story with him, but first I asked whether he was busy. He said he’d just gotten out of the shower. So I told him to go ahead and finish whatever post-shower routine he has and call me back. He agreed, but never called me back. 20 minutes ago, I thought I’d call him again, and he picked up as he was driving home from work. He apologized for not calling me back last nite, saying he has a lot on his plate with his new job, and I casually dismissed it, but he insisted on the apology. So we’re good, right? I told him all excitedly and laughing that I found my old diary from high school, and he said, “REALLY.” I told him I found out exactly how we started talking. Apparently I’d played a really lame prank on him and after doing so and kinda upsetting him, I’d felt bad so we traded pager #s and started talking. I’d kept laughing at myself and how idiotic I was back then, and said I don’t know how or why he’d ever put up with me, because even if he reads this diary now, he’d never speak to me again. He asked amusedly, “So what are you saying, I should just never speak to you again?”
I said, “No, just that you should never read this diary.”
He said, “Why would I?”
“Oh, no reason, just that sometimes people are curious what’s said about them if they know they’re mentioned.”
“I guess I’m just not that curious of a person.”
I flipped a few more pages and saw another amusing couple of lines about him, so I read it to him and laughed. There was only road noise on the other side of the line. And then he said, rather flatly, “I thought I’m not supposed to know the contents of your diary.”
I was still in an obliviously jolly mood, so I said, “Oh, you’re not getting much, just a couple snippets.”
From his end, more road noise. Then, “That’s okay. I really don’t care to know what’s in there.”
I finally heard the coldness in his tone, and inside I started backing up. “I just thought it was funny and that you’d be interested because we had been talking the other week about how we got here and neither of us could remember, so…”
There was a looooot of silence. So much so that I thought his phone went thru a bad reception area. I finally heard him say something I couldn’t really make out, and I asked, “Were you talking this whole time?” thinking that the silence I heard was really missed conversation.
He replied, “No.” And then said something else that I couldn’t really make out, but his continued cold disinterested tone was unmistakeable.
I asked, hating the small voice I heard, “Do you want to go so you can concentrate on driving?” Giving him an out.
“I’m almost home, just another light and around the corner and I’m there.”
What does that mean? That it’s okay to keep talking because he won’t be driving for long? Or that he’s almost home so he’d like to go? Whatever he intended, I knew what I wanted. “Your phone’s been going in and out and I can’t really hear you well, so I’m just gonna talk to you later.”
“Okay. Talk to you later, Cindy.”
“Bye.”

Why do I let people do this to me?! Now I feel like shit. And I feel stupid.

When I was a junior in high school, my English class crush told me, “I wish I were depressed.”
“Why?!”
“Because. It’s so artistic.”

Okay, so Sylvia Plath in her emotional cage and John Keats in his widower mourning wrote some pretty amazing stuff. Even my own poetry that bled out during the periods of deepest adolescent gloom were the most poignant and raw. But to wish for depression for the sake of artistic creation? Even if you’re getting a B in English, that’s not a worthwhile cause. B-, maybe. Depending on how Asian you and your parents are. Har.

Of the many voices I write with, two that I think are very prominent on this blog are 1) goofy tongue-in-cheek bordering on absurdity, and 2) a sort of struggling pain, a muffled cry trying to make sense of events and recover. In looking back I find that in 2005, I tried to stay optimistic while I struggled, then I went through a phase of euphoria when I broke free of previous emotional shackles, and then there was Mr. W whose appearance in my life added a calm stability that made most of my posts either dully reporting or if you’re lucky, somewhat anecdotally amusing.

I’ve read posts of others who are struggling, bleeding artists. The writing is beautiful and inspires me to want to write with the same honest emotion. But I don’t have any of those emotions and most of my prior wounds have healed. I *almost* want a little turmoil to add some flavor to my writing, except that I also recall a time when I’d thought all my posts were too depressing and wished for the emotional soundness to write the happy-go-lucky feel-good posts I’d read on other blogs at the time.

I think the moral is to embrace whatever state of mind you’re currently in, because it is human and beautiful in its own way. But I bet you’re thinking that the real moral is, I’m never satisfied, though I try. What color is YOUR grass?

*peeking over the fence into your yard*

(Read this with an Edgar Allen Poe voice in your head.)

‘Tis two hours left of this dark day, one hundred twenty minutes in a bleak countdown to end the week. Seven days with claws digging into your flesh, seven days of a spirit-sucking demon whispering over your ear, driving you to end this, end this, even as you sit in helpless misery and the damp secretions of your desperation hang off your brow and eyes like so many ignored and inconsequential desires. This week is a dream killer. Worse than that, it brings to mind fantasms of possibility which tease you to reach a weak hand to it, only to have these hopes instantly dispel as strange voices and things unnamed laugh and mock. The drain on your mind and soul after mere days bleed into a growing emptiness inside, and suddenly you are nothing. Nothing but what you never could be and will never touch again. Seven days draw to an end, but the closer this end comes the farther it pulls away, reminiscent of the near stopping of time when one is on the Stairmaster.

Midnight, almost midnight. The symbolic 00:00 o’clock, signaling the demise of this last day when the shackles disengage and life begins anew. Is it cheating, then, is it a soul-sacrificing sin to, in two hours, touch that elusive haunting giant chocolate chip birthday cookie, or will I be trading in forevermore the fantasy of physical thinness that compelled me to chain these shackles upon my then-innocent being seven long days prior? Have I been transformed, or have I learned nothing…?

Day 7: BROWN RICE, UNSWEETENED FRUIT JUICE, AND VEGETABLES. Again, stuff, stuff yourself. Be sure to have the soup at least once today.

I had to get to work early, so I didn’t pack a lunch of veggies or brown rice. I only brought along a container of the veggie soup. And you know what my court reporter brought to work? Homemade cupcakes!! With chocolate frosting! She’s NEVER brought cupcakes before. Of course it has to be during my diet week. My judge had one, my courtroom assistant (I presume) had one, cuz 2 were missing. When my reporter realized I was still on my diet, she blocked the cupcakes and told me not to look. Well, I did look. And then I went back and looked again. Later on in the day I walked by them and peered in yet another time. But I did not touch. Not even with my tongue. Not even when I had to bitterly drink half my soup before the noon workout and the other half plus a handful of raw snowpeas (donated by Gym Trainee) after the workout, craving carbs. There was one cupcake remaining in the container when I left for the day. It better be gone by the morning.

I am so scared that without the excuse of “diet” to refuse all this food this week, I’m gonna eat my way back into unfunny expressions like “I have a perfect body. It’s just wrapped in fat to keep it from getting scratched.”

I was starving when I got home, and the brown jasmine long grain rice was so fragrant and satisfying. I steamed the rice and mixed it with some (formerly) frozen seasoned veggies, had some soup with half a raw green bell pepper, and a big glass of unsweetened orange juice. I haven’t been full like this for a long time. But when I changed into my loungewear earlier right after I’d eaten, I could swear I look fat again.

Maybe Mr. W is right. If being full triggers me to think I’m fat, maybe I am anorexic. Our IMs earlier:

Cindy: *drinking yummy tasteless vegetable mush *
Mr. W: *drinking Martini
Cindy: *pout *
I’m scared I’m gonna eat everything in sight next week adn gain 10 lbs.
Mr. W: Thats usually what happens after a diet
Diets are bad….
Bad Diet
Bad
Cindy: are you wagging your finger at me?
Mr. W: No the diet
Cindy: I think losers pig out both before and after the diet.
and they reward their diets with food.
both of which are totally counterproductive to the act of dietingl
I’m not one of those fools.
I don’t start my diet on a “monday” just so I can shovel food in my face on the weekend.
I taper my food and give my diet a running start.
and I’m not gonna eat the “yay you deserve it” cupcake tomorrow.
*shaking fist *
Mr. W: r u off ur soap box now?
Cindy: *looking down *
Yes.
Mr. W: If u r looking down u r still on it
Cindy: What, you didn’t like the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” playing in the background while I was typing?
Mr. W: U do fine with your life style changes.
U don’t eat fast food…U moderate your sweets and snacks
and U plain eat healthy
Almost Always
Cindy: then why do I still jiggle when I move? *sob *
Mr. W: U have anorexia Syndrome
U will always think that
Cindy: i won’t think that if I don’t jiggle.
Mr. W: because your Mom ingrained that in you
Cindy: i’m not fat compared to californians but I”m fat compared to chinese.
Mr. W: Bones in the mirror still look fat to anorexics
Cindy: but I literally jiggle.
you see ripples like waves when I move.
Mr. W: I like your curves. If you become boney I won’t like That.
Cindy: oh, really?
Mr. W: Ethiopians are gross
Fobs are gross
Cindy: HAHAH
Mr. W: Boney arms and boney ribs..Blah
Cindy: I won’t be boney, I have too much muscle for that
Mr. W: Now calves and definition..Thats what I’m talking bout