Happy 4th!
People never cease to amaze me. I guess that statement requires and explanation, and since this is a blog, I guess I should do just that, heh? So here goes: I'm usually pretty good at reading people. I never judge nor do I "hurl the cynic's ban" according to Sam Walter Foss, but rather, I try to "live by the side of the road, and be a friend to man." Nevertheless, first impressions are always made, and I always get a feeling about a person.
A couple of months ago, I semi-met someone whom deep down, I felt to be totally, completely worth it, as a friend. I say this because as I grow older, I find it harder to make friends. I don't mean acquaintances but rather, true friends. Most of my out of this world friends are from a lifetime ago, high school, college, and grad school. But in Houston, it's been a bit trying. Up until a couple of months ago, I felt very alone here. I attribute part of that to being homesick, but also to an adjustment period I had to go through before I could get comfortable. I guess in many ways, I've always taken a bit longer than most to adapt to my new surroundings. I've always been very independent, and I'm very adept in unknown situations, but in the end, I still need that adjustment period to feel completely comfortable with my surroundings. But I digress.
So I go back to my original topic--I met a person who made me feel like I was at home. Just seeing this person automatically made me more comfortable being in Houston even though I never had any interaction with this person. For the first time since I'd been here, I felt good about coming to Houston. And so I decided to pursue this friendship, but in the end, I gave up. Friendship should never be hard, right? Take my relationship with Phil, Angela, Cax, or J9ners. It's never difficult. We're so comfortable with each other, and we don't have to work towards making our friendship better. We just understand each other that way. Sure, in the beginning, we were unsure about each other, but with time, our friendship only got better.
I'm going to sidetrack really quickly--everybody deserves a Phil (or Avi) in his/her life. The friend where you can bare your soul to, and when life makes you sad, he'll be there to pick you up, even if you're thousands of miles away from home. It's funny how Phil and I became friends. Not many people know this story, but Phil and I still laugh about when he witnessed me snapping the sager splint on my hand while I was testing a c-spine student. Pain and bleeding ensued, but the damage was done. I embarrassed myself in front of Phil, my only witness. I don't remember if this was before or after I passed Phil for his airway exam (though I believe that it was after), but we've been fast friends since.
When Nick moved to Virginia, Phil and I were left behind to fend for ourselves. It was us against the not-so great-world. We spent hours talking in his truck about nothing and everything. So many tears were shed in that truck. Monday and Tuesday nights were our nights. People see us, and they don't understand why we're best friends. Phil is charismatic, charming, and funny. There's never a dull moment with him. I am the complete opposite--quiet (until you get to know me), sarcastic, and semi-serious (also until you get to know me). I guess we're not as different once you get to know me, but we're back to the first impressions now. The people who choose to be friends with me see a glimmer of hope when they first meet me; they see that I'm not ordinary nor do I follow status quo. I'm my own person, but until you get to know me, you won't ever know that. Phil saw that from my stupidity and clumsiness with the sager splint.
Which brings me back to why I started this entry in the first place. I met someone whom I saw a glimmer of hope in--someone who had a lot to offer but didn't do so upfront. Someone who I could see myself being fast friends with because he had a deeper side to him that most people didn't see or care to acknowledge. So I decided to pursue this friendship because I needed it. I needed some hope, some sign for why I moved to Houston in the first place, and this was it. But in end, I gave up on because I felt stupid. Why should I work so hard for a simple friendship? Friendship is just that--friendship--to be friends. My point is that friendship should never be hard, right? Because if it was, then that wouldn't classify the relationship as a friendship, but rather, as a problematic not so good ex-(friend)ship, right? Friends should never put you in an awkward place or make you feel bad about yourself, right?
Clare and I have talked about this, and we have come to the conclusion that friendship should not be hard. But we've also come to an agreement that life is hard and nothing comes easy. I think I just made two conflicting statements, but perhaps what I'm trying to say is that sometimes you need to fight the fights that you think are worth fighting for. And so perhaps this person deserves more than my mere indignation of a "fight," but I don't know how he feels about all this. For all I know, this is a one-sided feeling, which is why I need to work harder on this friendship, no?
Today, I think I've come closer to understanding why this person is the way he is and also why perhaps he's worth the fight. I think I was wrong to give up so easily the first time around. But this doesn't mean that I will try and reach out again because even though I better grasp why he seems to have an inherent sadness to him, there are other factors for which I do not think our friendship would turn out.
Ironic isn't it that though I feel like I finally have a better grasp of who this person is, I also feel that this will be the downfall of our maybe-one day friendship because it puts us in such different places in our lives. I lived through his place in life a couple of years ago but moved on because I could no longer take the pain. I am now numb to the part of life with which he struggles with. Don't get me wrong; there are still days when I will curl up in a corner and cry my heart out, but those days number in few. I have no problems with listening and helping him, if that's what he wants, but through my experience, I've come to find that people who are at different stages in life do not always think that the other person understands him--like children always saying that their parents don't understand them, and vice versa. Perchance, that's why I'm so weary of starting up this pursuit again.
Relationships exhaust me so. I am now ready for bed, I think. I feel my eyes beginning to close, and so maybe I will find an answer tomorrow. Or perhaps I won't. Nobody can help me with this question, I think, but me, myself, and Jennifer. I have no issues pursuing it, but I feel internal resistance. I can't do anything if I think it will cause damage to myself because in the end, I don't know how it's going to turn out. I don't want to be hurt anymore. With you guys, J9ners, Clare, Cax, Phil, and the many likes of you out there, I would give up my life for you guys. But you're different. We're already at that impasse of friendship where we're really not just friends anymore--we're more than that. You're worth more to me than life itself. Without any one of you, the pain itself would be too great to bear. So what to do?
Perhaps Dave Harris and Scott Grimes say it best...
What Love Is
Sorry
I Thought I knew you
There’s gotta be a better way somehow
I know I see right through you
But you should be the one for me
I know I’ve been living without you
I know I’ve been wasting my time after time
I don’t ever wanna be doubted
Oh...I’m not the one to lie
Cuz that’s what love is
What we take on
What I dream about
What I’m made of
I can’t see clear
When she comes around again
I can’t live without
Or ever let it end
That’s what love is
Oh that’s what love is
I know you
I’ve been around here
I watch you everyday
Now I’ve noticed
You don’t come around no more
Oh…I don’t know what to say
I know you’ve been spending your time
Livin’ all these days without me in your life
I though you could always be counted on
Oh…I’m gonna see your shining face again
I see you waiting for the moment that I come to you,
and say it’s gonna be alright
And I see this moment for the rest of life to come
J
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Why I Can't Sleep at Night
Heh. This happens more than you know. Just last night, I watched 2 movies after I awoke from my nap. It's a vicious cycle of my lack of sleep at night and then the need to nap after work just so that I can function. I wish I could just call 7pm my bedtime and wake up at 5am. Unfortunately, my body won't cooperate.
I'm sitting at the library on a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon. Oh what a gorgeous day, and you San Franciscans will be so envious of the beautiful, warm weather here in Houston. I'm attempting to write my personal statement, something that should have been done way long ago. I've having trouble putting my thoughts on paper though. I know what I want to say--I think there within lies the problem. There's so much I want to say; there's so much I have to offer to the medical profession. It's hard to not overwhelm the admissions committee, and yet not underplay me as a candidate. I find it so much more difficult to write this ps compared to the one I wrote for grad school. Perhaps it's because this is what I've always been dreaming of as a child. This is my end, so to speak. I will always continue bettering myself, but I need medical school to achieve all that I want to do in life. The CDC, my dream of one day being part of those multi-disciplinary teams that investigate outbreaks in other countries, but most of all, the dream of being able to bridge the gap of social and health inequality. Doctors without Borders is a great cause, and I would love to one day be a part of it or something like it. But throughout these past couple of years, I've come to realize that I do not need to travel thousands of miles to make a difference. I can simply drive across the bay to International Blvd and Fruitvale Avenue, and there are people who I can help. These very people, represented by my students in my high school EMT class, are the ones who inspire me to not give up when life gets tough because they have it so much harder than I do. The obstacles they withstand make me want to be the best that I can be so that I can help them. Inner city people do not scare me. If you give them a chance, you'll see the bravery they have and how truly exceptional they are.
And so perhaps the reason I can't sleep at night is because I'm afraid of failing the very people who have inspired me to come so far.
I'm sitting at the library on a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon. Oh what a gorgeous day, and you San Franciscans will be so envious of the beautiful, warm weather here in Houston. I'm attempting to write my personal statement, something that should have been done way long ago. I've having trouble putting my thoughts on paper though. I know what I want to say--I think there within lies the problem. There's so much I want to say; there's so much I have to offer to the medical profession. It's hard to not overwhelm the admissions committee, and yet not underplay me as a candidate. I find it so much more difficult to write this ps compared to the one I wrote for grad school. Perhaps it's because this is what I've always been dreaming of as a child. This is my end, so to speak. I will always continue bettering myself, but I need medical school to achieve all that I want to do in life. The CDC, my dream of one day being part of those multi-disciplinary teams that investigate outbreaks in other countries, but most of all, the dream of being able to bridge the gap of social and health inequality. Doctors without Borders is a great cause, and I would love to one day be a part of it or something like it. But throughout these past couple of years, I've come to realize that I do not need to travel thousands of miles to make a difference. I can simply drive across the bay to International Blvd and Fruitvale Avenue, and there are people who I can help. These very people, represented by my students in my high school EMT class, are the ones who inspire me to not give up when life gets tough because they have it so much harder than I do. The obstacles they withstand make me want to be the best that I can be so that I can help them. Inner city people do not scare me. If you give them a chance, you'll see the bravery they have and how truly exceptional they are.
And so perhaps the reason I can't sleep at night is because I'm afraid of failing the very people who have inspired me to come so far.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Guilt-trip
When I left the bay area, I knew that it was the right thing to do. But there was always one thing that nagged me, and that was picking up and leaving all of my friends and family behind. Throughout the 8+ months that I have been in Houston, you all have always come through for me when I needed you most. Friendship has no distance, and love never fails. So I will admit to you that I no longer feel guilty for coming out to Houston, except for one thing, and that's leaving my mom behind.
Most of you don't know this, but I've always had a very rough relationship with my mom. We've had many "bumps in the road" throughout my 25 years of life, and I have to say that we continue to have our trying days. But I also fiercely love my mom. As a child, I put her through so much hell via my rebellious nature that I feel the need to constantly protect her now from all the shit that she has to face. From my cousin taking advantage of her to my dad mistreating her, I feel the need to just wrap my arms around her and tell everyone, FUCK OFF.
But here I am in Houston, and she's in San Francisco. I am living it up without the constant overbearings of my father, and all the meanwhile, my mom is suffering at home alone, without any of her three children to defend her. I guess in so many ways, I feel that as her middle, independent daughter, I am the one who needs to stand up and fend for her since she won't do it herself. And perhaps it's also because my grandfather foresaw that one day, I would be the one that my parents will depend on that makes me feel so responsible for my mom.
Don't get me wrong. My dad's a great father. I love him to death too, but we just don't get along. He's my dad--simple as that. But that doesn't mean that I agree with everything he does or says. In fact, it's very rare when we agree on a topic, and that's where our problem lies. My dad is always right, and everything has to be done his way because it's the best way. I don't think so cause HOMEY DON'T PLAY THAT. I am my own person, and I will do what I think is right. Because of my rebellious nature, my parents know better than to impose their will on me, but don't think that my father hasn't tried. He still tries even though I'm thousands of miles away from home, but hell, I'm my own person, and I will do as I damn please.
My mom isn't like me. She grew up in a different generation and a different culture. She's the stereotypic subservient, and yet very capable, asian woman that is so often portrayed in Hollywood and such. If it wasn't because of my mom, we would never have come so far as a family. And yet, my dad, being the "man" of the house makes all the decisions, never helps around the house, and once again, is always right. My mom works full time in addition to taking care of the household. As kids, we always had to do things his way (except me because I would never follow his rules, and that's why I always got into trouble), but as we went through life and started having our own minds, my brother, sister, and I stopped listening to him as much. My mom, on the other hand, can never do this. She's too good of a wife and person to ever say no to my father, though she has built quite a backbone. But it's still not strong enough to withstand the horrors of my cousin and dad.
And so here I am in Houston, hearing all the shit that my mom has to endure by herself, and I sit and think about why she can't just come stay with me and escape her life like I did. Why did I leave her again? Why am I so selfish knowing that by my staying here, she has nobody, and yet, I have no desire to go home. How come my heart won't budge even though I feel it crumbling to pieces when I heard my mom cry on her birthday? Why do people have to be such assholes? Why can't they all just play fairly and be decent people? Why does my dad and his family think they are superior to my mom? Why does my cousin, who lives room and board free at my house, treat my mom like a servant? Why are the people dearest to us so selfish and fucked up?! Why can't I have the courage to go home and just deal?
I simply don't know anymore. I can't go home. That much is for certain. My relationship with my father is hanging on by a thread right now because he knows that I am alone with no one here. He also misses me as do I. But if I was to ever go home, all this bullshit about how he has to control every aspect of my mom's life and how my cousin can do whatever she wants--it's gotta go because I won't allow it. I simply won't. It won't be the first time I've had a showdown with my father, nor my cousin for that matter.
I feel guilty, and I can't reconcile my conscience for leaving someone behind. I hate being left behind, and yet I am hurting the dearest person in my life by leaving her behind to fend for herself. She calls life at home, "hell," and yet I can't help her. Rather, it seems like I won't help her. I am such a horrible daughter. I don't deserve my mom or her love, for that matter. I was a nightmare child growing up, and I don't seem to have changed much after 20 years. It makes me feel as if my desire to do good for the poor and uneducated is fraud when I can't even help my mom. Perhaps I'm just not as good of a person as I wanted to think I was. Hell, perhaps I'm just not a good person at all, period. Or perhaps I'm simply trying to compensate. I don't know. You tell me.
Most of you don't know this, but I've always had a very rough relationship with my mom. We've had many "bumps in the road" throughout my 25 years of life, and I have to say that we continue to have our trying days. But I also fiercely love my mom. As a child, I put her through so much hell via my rebellious nature that I feel the need to constantly protect her now from all the shit that she has to face. From my cousin taking advantage of her to my dad mistreating her, I feel the need to just wrap my arms around her and tell everyone, FUCK OFF.
But here I am in Houston, and she's in San Francisco. I am living it up without the constant overbearings of my father, and all the meanwhile, my mom is suffering at home alone, without any of her three children to defend her. I guess in so many ways, I feel that as her middle, independent daughter, I am the one who needs to stand up and fend for her since she won't do it herself. And perhaps it's also because my grandfather foresaw that one day, I would be the one that my parents will depend on that makes me feel so responsible for my mom.
Don't get me wrong. My dad's a great father. I love him to death too, but we just don't get along. He's my dad--simple as that. But that doesn't mean that I agree with everything he does or says. In fact, it's very rare when we agree on a topic, and that's where our problem lies. My dad is always right, and everything has to be done his way because it's the best way. I don't think so cause HOMEY DON'T PLAY THAT. I am my own person, and I will do what I think is right. Because of my rebellious nature, my parents know better than to impose their will on me, but don't think that my father hasn't tried. He still tries even though I'm thousands of miles away from home, but hell, I'm my own person, and I will do as I damn please.
My mom isn't like me. She grew up in a different generation and a different culture. She's the stereotypic subservient, and yet very capable, asian woman that is so often portrayed in Hollywood and such. If it wasn't because of my mom, we would never have come so far as a family. And yet, my dad, being the "man" of the house makes all the decisions, never helps around the house, and once again, is always right. My mom works full time in addition to taking care of the household. As kids, we always had to do things his way (except me because I would never follow his rules, and that's why I always got into trouble), but as we went through life and started having our own minds, my brother, sister, and I stopped listening to him as much. My mom, on the other hand, can never do this. She's too good of a wife and person to ever say no to my father, though she has built quite a backbone. But it's still not strong enough to withstand the horrors of my cousin and dad.
And so here I am in Houston, hearing all the shit that my mom has to endure by herself, and I sit and think about why she can't just come stay with me and escape her life like I did. Why did I leave her again? Why am I so selfish knowing that by my staying here, she has nobody, and yet, I have no desire to go home. How come my heart won't budge even though I feel it crumbling to pieces when I heard my mom cry on her birthday? Why do people have to be such assholes? Why can't they all just play fairly and be decent people? Why does my dad and his family think they are superior to my mom? Why does my cousin, who lives room and board free at my house, treat my mom like a servant? Why are the people dearest to us so selfish and fucked up?! Why can't I have the courage to go home and just deal?
I simply don't know anymore. I can't go home. That much is for certain. My relationship with my father is hanging on by a thread right now because he knows that I am alone with no one here. He also misses me as do I. But if I was to ever go home, all this bullshit about how he has to control every aspect of my mom's life and how my cousin can do whatever she wants--it's gotta go because I won't allow it. I simply won't. It won't be the first time I've had a showdown with my father, nor my cousin for that matter.
I feel guilty, and I can't reconcile my conscience for leaving someone behind. I hate being left behind, and yet I am hurting the dearest person in my life by leaving her behind to fend for herself. She calls life at home, "hell," and yet I can't help her. Rather, it seems like I won't help her. I am such a horrible daughter. I don't deserve my mom or her love, for that matter. I was a nightmare child growing up, and I don't seem to have changed much after 20 years. It makes me feel as if my desire to do good for the poor and uneducated is fraud when I can't even help my mom. Perhaps I'm just not as good of a person as I wanted to think I was. Hell, perhaps I'm just not a good person at all, period. Or perhaps I'm simply trying to compensate. I don't know. You tell me.
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