You Are My Stars

What would we do if the stars only came out once every thousand years? No one would sleep that night, of course. The world would create new religions overnight. We would be ecstatic, delirious, made rapturous by the glory of God.

Instead, the stars come out every night and we watch television.

--Paul Hawken, "You are Brilliant and the Earth is Hiring"

/\/\/\

Six weeks ago, we cramped together in the corner of the 2nd floor in Jupiter's to celebrate my 23rd birthday. I attempted to connect with each of you at least once during the nite, and I even made that silly "speech".

But after all us had left, I remembered something else I wanted to say. If I could do it again, I would add something like:

"Thank you for being here. I honestly don't know what I did to deserve you."

Although the evening was supposed to honor me, saying this would have been my humble way of honoring you, to show you, as much as my words are able, how sincerely I appreciate you.

I never got around to thanking you all for making it out to my little gathering. Well, thank you.

You see, you are my stars. Like the stars, I see some of you all the time and some of you only occasionally. But to me, it doesn't matter how often you come out--every thousand years or every nite--you still make me ecstatic and delirious. Your friendship means something to me, and I want you to know it. You are not taken for granted.

I appreciate you, each individually, and for unique, specific reasons. Don't believe me? Well then, guess I'll have to prove it...

(Hint: Check your TheFacebook wall sometime this week...)

Storms

There will be storms, child
There will be storms
And with each tempest
You will seem to stand alone
Against cruel winds

But with time, the rage and fury
Shall subside
And when the sky clears
You will find yourself
Clinging to someone
You would have never known
But for storms.

--"Storms", by Margie DeMerell


Every time a storm has begun these past couple years, I have posted this poem. With the complaining and the hate that the rain gets in all your TheFacebook statuses and Tweets, I like to balance it out with a reminder that storms are an important part of life. And in some ways, help us to live and appreciate life more fully.

Every time I post this poem, I follow it with some sort of reflection. This time around, I want to take this chance to thank all the people in my life whom I have clung to and have helped me navigate my most recent storm, the post-graduation storm:

All you, who have made music, talked music, been music with me.

You, the only one who was there with me every step on my path of finding--and finally starting--my job. Who cooked with me and cooked for me. Who came with me to SFMoMA every month. Who sat beside me while I hacked through Pilipino folk-songs and laughed with me when they honored me later that nite. Who held me and continued to be my friend, despite all my passive-aggressive actions, irrational feelings, and mood swings.

You, the one I commute with every morning and eat lunch with every 1 o'clock. Who listens to me when I vent, knowing when to give advice and when just to listen and understand. Who IMs me at work, keeping me awake and preventing me from losing my mind. Whom I can always call if I'm lonely or need someone to hang out with...or have a beer with.

You, the one that has opened up his home to me, letting it become my home too...even if I'm usually there just to watch Jeopardy! Who listens to what I have to say, always reserving judgment...unless I really need to be held in check. Who, in my interest, was willing to deny a favor to a friend. Who freaks out with me when we remember how old we're turning this year.

You, with whom I've been sharing this job-searching struggle for what feels like years. (Your struggle is my struggle too; I just happened to get really lucky.) Who has been my motivation to succeed by sharing in my dream with me. Whose lack of physical presence has helped me remember what it truly feels like to miss a person.

You, who always found time to have (black) coffee with me...even with your super busy schedule. With whom I can talk about nearly everything, from deep social problems & Pilipino identity to gossip & relationships. Who, with a strange combination of pleasure and weirdness, drove me around her territory in San Diego. Who loved meeting my grandma. Who was there for me when I needed to share my most extreme emotions. Who brings balance to my life.

Thank you all. I can only hope that I helped you half as much as you have helped me.

/\/\/\

This is subject to edit. I can't help but think that this list could include so many more. In case I missed you this time, there will always be storms...

Metaphor #6

Love is...

The stomach was hungry, so the hands gave it food to make it happy. This continued normally and happily until...

One day, the hands said:

Wait a second. All the stomach does is take from me. I go through all the effort to find food and even prepare it. I give it away for free but don't get anything back...not even acknowledgment.

The stomach is full, yet I am empty.

The stomach doesn't appreciate me. The stomach takes me for granted. Well you know what? I'm going to teach the stomach a lesson...

At that point, the hands decided that it would no longer respond to the stomach's hunger. The hands stopped supplying the stomach with food and let it starve. The hands wanted the stomach to know not to take the hands for granted, to appreciate the hands.

This worked for a little bit. The stomach was unhappy while the hands took sick pleasure knowing that the stomach needed the hands.

But after a while, the hands started to feel unhappy too. Without nourishment from the stomach, the sick pleasure the hands once felt made way for just plain sickness.

And so it was then that the hands realized that, yes, the stomach was taking them for granted...but they were also taking the stomach for granted.

The lesson?

The stomach learns to appreciate where the food comes from and not take it for granted.

And the hands learn that the stomach actually does give back, but not in the same way.

My version of a dream/nightmare

In case you haven't spoken with me recently, I now work in San Francisco in a setting I love in an office that overlooks Market Street. I dress up in business professional everyday and commute on BART to the Civic Center station. And if I ever talked to you about my job goals, that was exactly what I wanted, my version of a dream.



This is the view from my office window, overlooking Market Street and United Nations Plaza. It still feels unreal, even after my first week. People ask me how my work is going, and I end up saying, "I'm living my dream."

/\/\/\

When I woke up yesterday morning, the first thing I did was check my phone to see if I really got the call. That nite, I had a dream that someone called and told me that I'm just not good enough to be loved.

But it didn't feel like a dream. It felt real.

Most people have more substantial fears than that.

I imagine that exact situation so often that I can actually visualize it. I already know what the words would sound like.

So when I hear those words, it doesn't matter where I hear them, in a dream or in my waking life. It's all the same to me. I still woke up feeling more alone than when I went to bed, regardless of whether it happened or not.

I already have these insecurities; I don't need them taking over my dreams too.

Joy and Sorrow

I will weep when you are weeping.
When you laugh, I'll laugh with you.
I will share your joy and sorrow
Til we've seen this journey through.

Lately, I've been feeling good. In fact, I'm almost too good...as if I don't deserve the happiness I've found. I also know that a lot of hate has been put into the world lately, more hate than any person should ever receive.

So how about I share my excess happiness with you and help you forget the hate? Isn't that what life is all about?

It's finally over

I need to remember how I feel right now. This is the perfect time for it to be done...the perfect time to put my guard back up.

I am calm and at peace. The waters are completely still and reflect the beauty of the world around me. So I'm leaving before she has a chance to throw in another pebble.

One pebble causes ripples that last indefinitely...and I don't want to obscure the beauty of the world any longer. I'm out...it's finally over.

I need to remember how I feel right now.

Stealing the kiss...

There are two types of really good kisses in this world:

The "organic" kiss is the natural one. The one that kinda just grows out of the situation. The one where both people know it's coming because both have participated in the steps that led up to the act. Neither really makes a move, yet both kinda make the move together. Very typical, cheesy, and romantic.

But what is even more romantic is the other kind of kiss, the kiss you steal. This is the kiss that no one expected...sometimes not even the one that made the move. It's as if a bomb was dropped, landed on the couple, and well, just exploded. The kiss found them.


I love this picture because it's so easy to tell that this kiss kinda just came out of nowhere. I have it on my wall to remind myself that this level of romance does exist in this world. To let myself know that, even in my lowest of lows, love still exists. And maybe one day, I won't expect it, but someone might want to steal a kiss from me.