cindy's world

Sometimes all it is, is about connection. The desire to reach out in this vacuous existence and make contact with something. Sometimes I reach for what I think is a secure, unquestionable connection, and in touching this sure thing, I slowly realize it’s not as tangible as I thought it was. I feel it out, testing its shape and temperature and concreteness. Again and again, my hand falls through the mist. …So sometimes the security is in not reaching out, in refusing to confirm what is feared — that I am alone.

Sometimes I’m not sure whether “alone” is the relief that I tell myself it is. There is absolutely a security in aloneness, provided it doesn’t turn into loneliness. Take me right now, for instance. I’m blogging alone in my house, left heel propped up on the front of my chair in shameless unfeminine form, and I’m clad in oversized plush house slippers and tasteless hipster underwear that loudly declares all of Cancer’s traits in white felt print on the ass of the hot pink fabric, and on top, I’m in thermals. I look ridiculous. I don’t care. I enjoy the fact that this getup is so ill-assembled that I wince unintentionally when I pass by a mirror. It’s asserting my independence from others and their opinions. But give me 3 nights of this and I guarantee I will be lying face down on my pillow wondering why my friends have abandoned me. So maybe I can only take aloneness in small doses in order to fool myself into believing that I enjoy it.

And then when I have tired of drifting alone but have reached out and taken a hold of …nothing… thereby causing me to have convinced myself that I’m okay with being an island, as in the way no man is supposed to be, my self-proclaimed brothers find me. Gerardo tells me he’s right there with me anytime I’m feeling cruelly antisocial, and Josh says he likes me and my edgy attitude when I’m PMSing and he’s gonna start tracking it on his calendar (so he has something to look forward to every month). And they both give me a hug. And I smile through my cramps as I feel truly connected to people who get me and accept me. And I reward them with more cruel sarcastic comments drawing parallels between the new people in jujitsu and the audience in Jerry Springer shows. (Gerardo had suggested Maury Povich, but I feel that the new people’s collective IQs are not up to the sophistication in Maury shows, and upon further consideration and with further examples exuded by the unknowing victims of my criticism, he agreed with me.)

Today is the first day back at work after the New Year holiday weekend. All the photos and stories from everyone’s respective New Year Eves are circulating by mouth and via email. Although I’m glad to hear how much fun everyone had in welcoming 2006, I can’t help but feel a little teensy bit bitter that I was the lone person awake as midnight struck that night. The tradition/superstition is that whatever you do on New Year’s Day (or maybe Eve or maybe as the hour turns, I’m not sure) sets the precedent for the coming year. Apparently 2006 is going to be a lot of my being awake and alone and slightly irritated at that setup.

Oh well. At least I wasn’t physically alone, just the only one conscious. I can hang with that. I keep hearing something my dear friend Erin told me that her dad had told her: A hand has short fingers and long fingers. Everyone has some shortcomings, and if this is the worst shortcoming I have to deal with, I consider myself ridiculously spoiled by blessings. This hand still works very well, short fingers, long fingers and all.

If someone breaks up with their significant other because the signifiant other doesn’t want to get married, which one loves the other more than marriage? I started to comfort someone by saying that if you were left on Christmas because you didn’t propose, then maybe the person who left wants marriage more than they want you. But then, if the person who didn’t propose would rather let the other leave than get married, then isn’t this person’s priority heavier on marriage (as in, wanting NOT to get married) than on the significant other? I guess it comes down to:

Person A – Do I love you enough that I’d be with you even if it means we aren’t a governmentally-recognized official couple, in order to simply be with you?
Person B – Do I love you enough to become a governmentally-recognized official couple even though I don’t want to be, in order to be with you?

And then there’s stuff like this, which I absolutely believe:

Every man you have ever dated who has said he doesn’t want to get married or doesn’t believe in marriage, or has “issues” with marriage, will, rest assured, someday be married. It just will never be with you. Because he’s not really saying he doesn’t want to get married. He’s saying he doesn’t want to get married to you.

And yet, there’s this:

The question at hand is only this: Is he making lame transparent excuses about marriage to cover for the fact that he really doesn’t ever see a future with you? That’s the hard question. And women are smart. If they really got quiet and stopped listening to the excuses, or believing what they wanted to be true and what they hope he’s really saying, and just got all centered about it, I think women would always know. They’ll always know the difference between a man who truly has issues with marriage but is deeply committed to the relationship and them, and a guy who’s just being a weenie. …Before you enter into the sociopolitical-anthropological debate about marriage as an antiquated financial contract, blah, blah, blah, ask yourself some very serious questions. Questions that only you can answer in your most sane, clear-headed of moments: Do you feel truly loved? Do you feel he is deeply committed to you? Do you feel he has any doubts about wanting to build a life with you? If the answer to these questions are yes, yes, no, then let the debating begin, because he might have a point. But if you feel that he’s always holding something back, or that you’re spending a lot of energy trying to change yourself into something you think will make him happier, then divorce yourself from him and move on. Don’t let him make you feel stupid about wanting to feel loved.

I think the toughest thing about being the person whose boyfriend or girlfriend claims to be shell-shocked about marriages gone bad is, you know he/she was willing to try it with other people. Heck, maybe he/she DID try it with other people. Maybe he/she has already told you that in a previous or recent relationship, he/she had it in their head that they were going to get married, but then now, with you, they’re suddenly backing away from the marriage concept. They tell you, “It’s not YOU, I just don’t like MARRIAGE as an institution for what it’s become.” But you can’t help thinking, But you were willing to do it with someone else — just not me. So what’s wrong with me?

All the above block quotes are from the hugely successful bestseller He’s Just Not That Into You by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo. They’re from Chapter 7: “He’s Just Not That Into You If He Doesn’t Want to Marry You.” And I’d like to end on another quote from that chapter.

THIS IS WHAT IT SHOULD LOOK LIKE, by Liz
I have a lady friend whose boyfriend had just moved cross country to live with her, and we were all out having drinks. We got on the subject of marriage, and he went on a huge diatribe of how he didn’t believe in marriage. He grew up in an environment where there was crazy pressure to get married, and all he saw were unhappy, unhealthy marriages. My friend was surprised by this strong reaction, and fairly upset about it. She wasn’t an intensely marriage-minded gal, but she always thought it was going to be an option. She gave it a good deal of thought and realized that what she really wanted was just to be with this man, who had just moved his entire life to be with her. So she got used to the idea that she would never be married. A year later he proposed, because he realized he was in love with her and knew it was something that was important to her.

This song is stuck in my head:

“4 Season of Loneliness” – Boyz II Men

I long for the warmth of days gone by,
When you were mine,
But now those days are memories in time.
Life’s empty without you by my side.
My heart belongs to you, no matter what I try.
When I get the courage up to love somebody new,
It always falls apart ’cause they just can’t compare to you.
Your love won’t release me, I’m bound under ball and chain,
Reminiscing our love, as I watch four seasons change.

CHORUS:
In comes the Winter breeze,
That chills the air and drifts the snow.
And I imagine kissing you under the mistletoe.
When Springtime make its way here,
Lilac blooms remind me of the scent of your perfume.
When Summer burns with heat I always get the hots for you,
Go skinny dipping in the ocean where we used to do.
When Autumn sheds the leaves the trees are bare,
When you’re not here, it doesn’t feel the same.

Remember the nights when we closed our eyes,
And vowed that you and I would be in love for all time.
Anytime I think about these things I shared with you,
I break down and cry ’cause I get so emotional.
Until you release me I’m bound under ball and chain,
Reminiscing our love, as I watch four seasons change.

REPEAT CHORUS.

This loneliness has crushed my heart,
Please let me love again.
‘Cause I need your love to comfort me and ease my pain,
Or 4 seasons will bring,
The loneliness again.

REPEAT CHORUS.

Remember the warmth of days gone by?

This morning, I had a conversation that reminded me of another conversation. Some time ago, I was dating a guy for a few months when it became apparent that this was not headed toward a relationship, this was stuck as a fling. I didn’t feel at that time in my life that I wanted a frivolous fling, especially not with him. I could see the potential for my really falling for him, so I talked to him about it. I told him that I can see where he is, and that’s fine because of his past experiences and his future plans, he has every reason to be where he is right now… except that where he is right now is not where I am, and since I don’t want to continue further only to get hurt, we should stop seeing each other. I tried to make it clear that I’m not asking him to change or to commit to me, it’s simply an acknowledgment of the chasm between where we are relationship-wise and where we want to be, and I was going to move on without him. He reiterated to me all the reasons why he believed he will never get married, how messed up the women are out there at least in this country, and he said, “It’s just that it’s so hard to find a woman these days who has more to bring to the table than her own bills.” The effect that statement had on me was solid confirmation that it has to be over because he did not see me. If he did, he would see that I am not out to trap a man, contribute nothing and expect to be taken care of. He would see that I have no revolving payments, not even car payments, except for mortgage because I don’t expect a man to support me the rest of my life. He would see that I have property, investments, retirement plans, and savings because I place my priorities on planning for the future, not on shoes, clothes and jewelry while waiting for some sucker to come along and wipe my ass with his dollar bill. To get hitched is easy; to be a good partner takes thought, consideration, work, mental and physical preparation. I’ve always thought that the worse the general female populace is with their gold-digging selfish taking-advantage ways, the better it is for me because men of good character will see the difference. They will. Won’t they?

If I’m projecting fling vibes without knowing it, I guess I just screwed myself. But I believe that a man, the right man, will see me for who I am, and even if he thinks the institution of marriage in this country is crap, he will know I am not one of these women who continue to give marriage and divorce a bad name, and he will be with me because I’m me; he won’t not be with me because of other women’s characters.

The Wilco server is finally back up, having been down since Friday night. The recent entries I wrote were about how everything happens for a good reason and life is wonderful, thereby jinxing myself for the second time since I started this blog. I’m gonna trust providence and not blog about the negative occurrences of the weekend I just had since the blog must’ve gone down for a reason the moment things went horribly wrong in my life, and didn’t come back up until my 2nd (hopefully successful) attempt at resolution. Yup, I’m not going to talk about all the sadness and badness here…except to say that I found out alcohol doesn’t do a damn thing to alleviate the grieving heart. Not a one. I don’t understand why people turn to alcohol for relief. I had been drinking since 4:45pm Friday, finally stopping last nite after 3 martinis and a glass of blanc, and my problems neither faded nor lessened their sting, much less disappeared or became forgotten. I don’t get alcoholics. I don’t.

I was off after work to run an errand yesterday, which involved getting bad directions, getting lost, getting stuck in traffic, and fighting angry people (not literally). And that was just in getting there. I’d left the completed errand thinking I got the short end of the stick, but I just checked some sources and it turns out Lady Luck was really smiling down on me when it all went down, unbeknownst to me. Cuz the alternative, which I had chosen against and then bitterly regretted yesterday, turned out upon further examination today to be the worse choice BY FAR. I’m really happy and grateful.

I think I was 16 when I realized that Fate, Providence, my spirit guide, my guardian angel, God, Jesus, whomever is responsible for looking out for me and keeping me straight on my path, knows what they’re doing waaaay more than I do. I’m just blind and dumb stumbling around on Earth, trying to make sense out of something larger than me, for which I don’t have enough information to make sense of. That was when I trusted the higher power completely to arrange things that may not be my choice at the time, but ultimately always turns out better for me than what I would’ve chosen for myself in my ignorance. In other words, if I was upset that I didn’t get my wish, I later found out why and was grateful. At age 16, the issue was something as small as not being able to schedule my classes the way I wanted them so that I could be with the friends I wanted in my classes. But the way fate arranged my classes later proved to be more ideal than I could’ve figured, as more circumstances unfolded over time that would’ve made my personal choices bad for me. The effect of that realization is why even to now, each year I blow out my birthday candles, I don’t wish for anything specific. Instead, I defer the wish to my other-worldly guides to do with it as they see fit.

With the spiritual research I’d done since age 16, I’ve developed a larger understanding of the way things are, and I am completely comfortable with what I have learned, and I see it working every day in small miracles, too perfect and too many to be written off as coincidence.

So for the small blessing yesterday, I am humbled as I am shown once again, that I don’t necessarily know what’s best for me, that the Other Side does, and I am grateful that I am taken care of, even in the smallest of ways. I see You, Lord, and I thank You for always walking with me despite my too-often lapses into Earthly complaints.

Oh. And I also thank You for giving me Diana’s aid in my time of need yesterday. The timing, as with everything, was immaculate.

Amen.

I just dreamt that I missed my own birthday party, altho I knew that it was being planned and knew of some of the guests in attendance. But my friend Vicky was nice enough to call and tell me that it went well. There was a white-frosted homemade cake on a clear glass plate and the candle was shaped like a big, pink microscope sticking phallically straight out of it (as tho the cake were on the Petri dish portion of a 2-foot tall microscope). There was a singular flame at the eyepiece. People oohed and clapped when it was brought in the door. In my dream, while on the phone with her thanking her (she, a pharmacist in reality, was responsible for the cake), it occurred to me that I probably should’ve been there, and I felt bad and stupid for it not occurring to me to attend. She assured me that it was fine that I wasn’t there, because “You know how many people needed you not to be there because they needed to ask who you are, and what to get you? We told them, ‘Oh, you know Cindy. She’s a really nice person.’ ” I wondered only briefly who attended who weren’t even sure of who I was, but I figured that maybe other people were invited by word-of-mouth after I had seen the still-developing guest list. I started to ask whether my friends who threw this party had photos of me to show these people so they could recognize who I was, and then I laughed, feeling silly because I knew that of course they had my photos there. It was a wedding shower so of course there’d be the engagement photos of me all over the place. And then I stopped. What party is this? Shouldn’t I have been there, no matter whether it was my birthday party, my wedding shower, or my bachelorette party? I started to get offended when I realized that no one had actually called and told me when and where the party was to take place, which is why I wasn’t there. And then I woke up.

I’m not exactly sure why I’m blogging this, except that I was told to, perhaps in a “go away and stop bothering my sleep”-motivated sort of way. I’m an obedient insomniac.

I don’t want to elaborate on what events lead me to write this, because it’s kinda sad, but I seem to be surprised more and more at how little my mother knows me. Maybe my dad doesn’t know me well, either, but he doesn’t go around claiming that I would do x and y, when I would never do x or y and my staff and my friends know it without batting an eye. One of the peeves I have is people claiming they know me when they don’t, or claiming I’m like this, or I’d do this, and they’re totally off-base. I think if people are pompous enough to predict my reactions to things, they’d better be right. I don’t think I’d mind as much if people hypothesize nice things, but my grandma, for example, used to act all shocked when I’d eat tofu, and say things like, “She eats tofu? She knows what tofu is? That’s pretty good! She’s still Asian enough to be willing to eat tofu!” when anyone who knows me at all knows that if the US banned soy products, I’d have to move back to Asia. (No, actually, I wouldn’t, but I’d keep bitching about it.) And I am not THAT white-washed that I’ve turned my back to all things Asian. She almost passed out when I read a simple thing in Chinese once.

And yet there’s the part of me that wonders whether my mom being so off-base with me is actually my fault, because I’m not there as much as I should be, or I don’t share with my parents all the things in my life for them to understand how I am. But I feel that no matter how much I share, she will always still see me a certain way, and the image she has is offensive to me.

Actually, it surprises me that the two people who really should know me the best really don’t know me, and they expect very bad things from me, and are shocked when they don’t receive it. That both hurts and angers me. In a microcosmic analogy, it’s as if I’m walking with someone who’s supposed to really know me, and we walk by a homeless vet on the street, I give him a couple of dollars, and the person I’m with turns and gasps, wide-eyed, and exclaims, “Oh my GOD! You gave him money! That’s so kind of you! I didn’t know you’d have that kind of generosity in you! That’s is SO unlike you!” when my two regular charities (and this is true) is Los Angeles Mission, a homeless shelter that gets people back on their feet, and DAV, Disabled American Veterans.

I think I’m more apt to just wave off the mom thing and categorize it as a lost cause.

Neither the TV in my bedroom nor the big screen TV in the living room has been on since I wrote that I would not turn them on. I’ve tried to fill my sleepless nights with either blogging (which leads to IMing, which has been extremely rewarding since it is still time spent communicating with my friends) or reading. The blogging is excellent for getting rid of nagging thoughts, as since childhood I was able to immediately quell mental hauntings by writing them down. Thus all the diaries, journals, elephant-memory. Reading is good for keeping a finally blank mind from wandering back into something self-destructive.

I’ve been trying to read the novel Sister of my Heart by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, which is a national bestseller about two cousins in India. Grace had mailed it to me a couple of years ago and she had written the inscription on the inside title page

Dear Cindy –
This is one of the best
books I’ve read in a while.
The author captures the love
between two sisters beautifully.
I hope you enjoy it as much as
I do.
Love,
Grace

I’ve tried to read it upon receipt, but could not get into it because it opens with too many things foreign to me.
They say in the old tales that the first night after a child is born, the Bidhata Purush comes down to earth himself to decide what its fortune is to be. That is why they bathe babies in sandalwood water and wrap them in soft red mamal, color of luck. That is why they leave sweetmeats by the cradle. Silver-leafed sandesh, dark pantuas floating in gold syrup, jilipis orange as the heart of a fire, glazed with honey-sugar. If the child is especially lucky, in the morning it will all be gone.
Thus reads the first paragraph of Book One, chapter 1.

Now that Grace is gone, I am determined to get through this novel. I found the book on my bookshelf a few days ago in passing and read her inscription first. I gingerly passed my fingertip along the edge of her words, handwritten in blue ink, softly lest I unknowingly wipe away some of the essence that she left on those very pages she touched. I turned the inscription page and tilted the back of that page to the light. By studying the lifted lines left by the differing pressure of her pen strokes, I could almost relive her writing those words to me. The heavier downstroke of the D in “Dear” and the L in “Love.” I’d like to think that those letters were pressed more firmly because they bore more weight in her head as she wrote them.

She had thought of me when she read these very pages. I’d like to know why she felt this book was appropriate for me. There’s only one way to find out.

Off I go to read in my bed, as I had done in childhood, and prior to the days of falling asleep to the sound of sit com laugh tracks.