My dad sent me an email, he said my mom had a dream. She saw a little child, it is not a boy.
And then my dad asked the question: Who is that child.
Oh... I raised my eyebrows when I read it.
When the last time my mom saw a child in a dream my-sister-in-law got knocked up.
Another time,... my sister.
Coincidence? Maybe...
Superstitious? My dad? Most Definitely. (We are talking about a guy who enjoys palmistry)
But I KNOW, that I'm not expecting anything (except some DVDs in the mail). And I am not ready yet, to add a new member to my family (although, this is subject to God's will).
So, I replied back to my dad, I said:
Well, I don't know who that little rascal could be. Not mine. Maybe my sister's? Heh heh heh... just kidding.
Then my dad replied back saying... oh,... a little child can also mean good luck.
Ha.
How smooth he maneuver this topic.
So, I replied: Oh, wonderful then.
Case closed.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
What's in A Name?
I thought I knew what I wanted.
I wanted to change my name once I got married.
I always thought that having my husband name is like the combining ourselves together into one family. I even practiced to sign my name with his last name and tried to figure out how I wanted to sign it.
I also knew that changing my last name is a hassle. But I knew that I would want to do it.
My name here in the United States is my first name and my middle name as my last name.
Long story short, that's because of how my full name appears in my birth certificate. So, when I applied for my passport, the doofus who handled my application put my very feminine-obviously-a-girl's-middle-name as the last name. And so when I applied for my US visa, I had to put my middle name as the last name. Just like in the passport.
So, actually right now, I'm without a last name. My last name is my middle name.
My dad once asked if after I got married I'm going to change my name to my last name combined with my husband's last name. You know, just like Hillary Rodham Clinton.
And although I never want to go that route, I didn't tell him. I just said I'm still thinking about it.
But I actually lied.
At that time I was angry at my dad for his blatant attempt to make me do a prenup (failed, by the way). All I wanted to do was to be on my own. Definitely, keeping his last name was not on the top ten my list. Or top two hundreds at that time.
When a coworker asked me a similar question to my dad's, I said, no, I'm going to completely take my future husband's name.
He said, "So, then, you are not a feminist."
I said, "I never was a feminist."
There's this romanticism in my head when I thought about changing my name to my husband's last name. The very long engagement, for four and a half years along with the immigration drama, the wedding dress that was sitting there in my closet, mocking me, made me really long to be a part of him. To be called Mrs. ChicagoDimCorner.
How nice it would sound.
Now, that I am married to him, there's no stopping me. I can change my name. But I no longer feel the compelling need to do so.
If I change my name, people will think that I am a Manadonese.
But... I am a Betawi. I am a proud Betawi. Yes, I am Chinese descendant, but I am a Betawi.
My dad's ancestors landed on East Java then my grandparents moved to Betawi. My mom's ancestors actually landed directly on Betawi land.
My mom and dad lived in Menteng when they dated. One of my grandmas wore the Chinese kebaya outfit on daily basis when she was still alive.
They were true Betawi. They spoke the accent and lingo too.
There's something about adopting my husband's name that makes me think that as if I am turning my back on myself and my family's history.
I still want to be a part of my husband. Very much.
I honestly don't really care much about being a part of his big Menadonese family, as sweet as they can be.
This might sound silly, but adopting my husband's name is more like choosing to be a part of his big family, choosing have the same name as his mom, his dad, his cousins.
But abandoning my parents' name, my brother's name, my nephews' name.
So, I'm standing at this intersection of names: his last name, my last name, combined last name or my feminine middle name as a last name.
And I actually like my middle name as my last name.
It represent me. Just me. Two very feminine names combined into my name. The name that I have been using for the last 9 years.
And that doofus who messed up my passport,... I'm starting to forgive him.
I might even consider stopping calling him a doofus.
Maybe...
I wanted to change my name once I got married.
I always thought that having my husband name is like the combining ourselves together into one family. I even practiced to sign my name with his last name and tried to figure out how I wanted to sign it.
I also knew that changing my last name is a hassle. But I knew that I would want to do it.
My name here in the United States is my first name and my middle name as my last name.
Long story short, that's because of how my full name appears in my birth certificate. So, when I applied for my passport, the doofus who handled my application put my very feminine-obviously-a-girl's-middle-name as the last name. And so when I applied for my US visa, I had to put my middle name as the last name. Just like in the passport.
So, actually right now, I'm without a last name. My last name is my middle name.
My dad once asked if after I got married I'm going to change my name to my last name combined with my husband's last name. You know, just like Hillary Rodham Clinton.
And although I never want to go that route, I didn't tell him. I just said I'm still thinking about it.
But I actually lied.
At that time I was angry at my dad for his blatant attempt to make me do a prenup (failed, by the way). All I wanted to do was to be on my own. Definitely, keeping his last name was not on the top ten my list. Or top two hundreds at that time.
When a coworker asked me a similar question to my dad's, I said, no, I'm going to completely take my future husband's name.
He said, "So, then, you are not a feminist."
I said, "I never was a feminist."
There's this romanticism in my head when I thought about changing my name to my husband's last name. The very long engagement, for four and a half years along with the immigration drama, the wedding dress that was sitting there in my closet, mocking me, made me really long to be a part of him. To be called Mrs. ChicagoDimCorner.
How nice it would sound.
Now, that I am married to him, there's no stopping me. I can change my name. But I no longer feel the compelling need to do so.
If I change my name, people will think that I am a Manadonese.
But... I am a Betawi. I am a proud Betawi. Yes, I am Chinese descendant, but I am a Betawi.
My dad's ancestors landed on East Java then my grandparents moved to Betawi. My mom's ancestors actually landed directly on Betawi land.
My mom and dad lived in Menteng when they dated. One of my grandmas wore the Chinese kebaya outfit on daily basis when she was still alive.
They were true Betawi. They spoke the accent and lingo too.
There's something about adopting my husband's name that makes me think that as if I am turning my back on myself and my family's history.
I still want to be a part of my husband. Very much.
I honestly don't really care much about being a part of his big Menadonese family, as sweet as they can be.
This might sound silly, but adopting my husband's name is more like choosing to be a part of his big family, choosing have the same name as his mom, his dad, his cousins.
But abandoning my parents' name, my brother's name, my nephews' name.
So, I'm standing at this intersection of names: his last name, my last name, combined last name or my feminine middle name as a last name.
And I actually like my middle name as my last name.
It represent me. Just me. Two very feminine names combined into my name. The name that I have been using for the last 9 years.
And that doofus who messed up my passport,... I'm starting to forgive him.
I might even consider stopping calling him a doofus.
Maybe...
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
I Cut It
I cut my hair finally.
Nine inches of it. Gone.
I'm sending my hair to a foundation who makes wigs for sick people.
I feel liberated...
And content.
Nine inches of it. Gone.
I'm sending my hair to a foundation who makes wigs for sick people.
I feel liberated...
And content.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
It's over
I have to say, I am glad that my wedding reception is over.
And hopefully, sooner than later, strangers would stop asking to see my ring. Or to see my wedding pictures. Or to ask how it is being married. Because, I'm not like most brides after they got married, blushing with happiness glowing through every pore of their skin.
I don't secretly wish that people would ask how it was, so I can tell every details of it and share my pictures, and show them my ring.
I am very territorial about my personal life.
But that was nothing, though... the most dreadful thing is (and somehow, I always get this more from people from back home) that they hope and pray that I would have babies soon. I saw a lot of people wished that on my dad's Facebook. That got me pissed.
To be clear, I do not hate kids. But, there's something unsettling about strangers deciding how soon I will have kids.
My wedding was nice. It could have been great, if I plan it just the way I want it to be. But it was a collaborative, joined, event between two big families in two different cultures (believe me when I said two different cultures, even though both families are Indonesian). So, I just have to humbly thank God that there was no blood bath.
And, again, don't get me wrong, marrying my, now, husband, was great.
The greatest part of the whole day was, of course, when I did my wedding vow and shared that moment with my family and closest dearest friends.
Until I unexpectedly cried.
I hate that crying part. I HATE crying in public. I have some pictures with my ugly crying face that might never see the light of day.
But saying my vow is the whole point of the day for me.
It is big. That promise binds the rest of my future and life. It will affect all of my decisions from now on. Because I promised to love, share and honor someone throughout everything, basically. Stick by him through thick and thin.
Even if he becomes fat (thick) and bald (thin) and grow the eleventh toe. Gross, but yep, if he cannot bend to put any kind of ointment on that growing toe, I will have to do it for him.
...
Let's hope that it won't ever happen.
But, if it does... then I'll be there with the ointment jar.
Uhm,... anyway... the rest of the day was fine.
The governor came. He and my dad apparently were buddies in high school. I was annoyed that my dad invited him and made such a big deal about it (security, RSVP, pictures... sigh). I have pictures of him much more than I care to see. A lot of them. Nothing against the governor, but I never want my wedding day to be a show-off arena for my dad. Oh,.. and he invited the ambassador of Argentine too, whom actually he doesn't know very well and only met for a couple of times.
Yeah, another big shot with whom I have to endure special photo session.
After the wedding people asked my husband (and me) if my dad is also a big shot because he knows 'people'. And I have set the record straight with brutal truth to whoever asked me: Nope, he's just a ordinary person with some acquaintances who apparently got nothing else to do on that day.
But, hey, if I continue all of my complaints, this post should be a book with chapters and footnotes.
So I will stop right here.
I am now married ,with a five diamond ring that is slightly loose. Because your fingers apparently are bigger over there then here. Keep that in mind, people.
And I am GLAD the wedding is done and over with. So I can continue with my life quietly, peacefully and privately.
Wilson, if you read this, my perfect day also include very less meaningless conversation, and less... very less... or maybe no people/social interaction.
Quiet cool summer day, soft bossa music, a hammock, long nap under the shades of the tree in my backyard.
Maybe I will do that this weekend.
Sigh... it's so nice to be back home.
And hopefully, sooner than later, strangers would stop asking to see my ring. Or to see my wedding pictures. Or to ask how it is being married. Because, I'm not like most brides after they got married, blushing with happiness glowing through every pore of their skin.
I don't secretly wish that people would ask how it was, so I can tell every details of it and share my pictures, and show them my ring.
I am very territorial about my personal life.
But that was nothing, though... the most dreadful thing is (and somehow, I always get this more from people from back home) that they hope and pray that I would have babies soon. I saw a lot of people wished that on my dad's Facebook. That got me pissed.
To be clear, I do not hate kids. But, there's something unsettling about strangers deciding how soon I will have kids.
My wedding was nice. It could have been great, if I plan it just the way I want it to be. But it was a collaborative, joined, event between two big families in two different cultures (believe me when I said two different cultures, even though both families are Indonesian). So, I just have to humbly thank God that there was no blood bath.
And, again, don't get me wrong, marrying my, now, husband, was great.
The greatest part of the whole day was, of course, when I did my wedding vow and shared that moment with my family and closest dearest friends.
Until I unexpectedly cried.
I hate that crying part. I HATE crying in public. I have some pictures with my ugly crying face that might never see the light of day.
But saying my vow is the whole point of the day for me.
It is big. That promise binds the rest of my future and life. It will affect all of my decisions from now on. Because I promised to love, share and honor someone throughout everything, basically. Stick by him through thick and thin.
Even if he becomes fat (thick) and bald (thin) and grow the eleventh toe. Gross, but yep, if he cannot bend to put any kind of ointment on that growing toe, I will have to do it for him.
...
Let's hope that it won't ever happen.
But, if it does... then I'll be there with the ointment jar.
Uhm,... anyway... the rest of the day was fine.
The governor came. He and my dad apparently were buddies in high school. I was annoyed that my dad invited him and made such a big deal about it (security, RSVP, pictures... sigh). I have pictures of him much more than I care to see. A lot of them. Nothing against the governor, but I never want my wedding day to be a show-off arena for my dad. Oh,.. and he invited the ambassador of Argentine too, whom actually he doesn't know very well and only met for a couple of times.
Yeah, another big shot with whom I have to endure special photo session.
After the wedding people asked my husband (and me) if my dad is also a big shot because he knows 'people'. And I have set the record straight with brutal truth to whoever asked me: Nope, he's just a ordinary person with some acquaintances who apparently got nothing else to do on that day.
But, hey, if I continue all of my complaints, this post should be a book with chapters and footnotes.
So I will stop right here.
I am now married ,with a five diamond ring that is slightly loose. Because your fingers apparently are bigger over there then here. Keep that in mind, people.
And I am GLAD the wedding is done and over with. So I can continue with my life quietly, peacefully and privately.
Wilson, if you read this, my perfect day also include very less meaningless conversation, and less... very less... or maybe no people/social interaction.
Quiet cool summer day, soft bossa music, a hammock, long nap under the shades of the tree in my backyard.
Maybe I will do that this weekend.
Sigh... it's so nice to be back home.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Chapter 2: Good Day - Astrologically
I know... I know...
In Indonesia, they are big with this 'good' day calculation and it is a common thing to do.
Superstition is a big part of our culture.
In fact, if you have an outdoor party, a shaman specialized in taming the rain would be included in the package.... so I heard from a friend. But, I didn't double-check, so I don't know if it is true or not.
Anyway, my dad is big into this kind of thing. Somehow, he thought that he has found the formula for this calculation, based on my chinese zodiac and his chinese zodiac (yes, I kid you not). And he has a list of days that I can choose when would be a good day.
First day that he picked was April 29th.
That's a Thursday.
And at first I thought, they could not find a hotel with vacant weekend, hence the weekday selection.
So, when I realized that this is based on his calculation, I was very annoyed.
Well, he also sent me the calculation but I did not open it.
My problem with picking a day based on the calculation is this: My brother got married on a day that was calculated and picked out 'carefully'.
It did not stop the fact that he was not happy in the marriage.
Another example: My cousin's husband's family picked the day of their wedding based on their astrology. They are also not happy in their marriage.
He has a mistress now, and my cousin is living in hell.
No offense to people who has chosen this path. I am just talking for myself. And keep in mind that my dad is not an actual shaman. He's just a guy with a hobby. And, I cannot sue him for malpractice if he miscalculated.
Most of all , I'm annoyed because: Uhm, hello... please let me and ChicagoDimCorner pick our own wedding day, do you mind? We are both capable of that, you see. There's no need for a third person to make this decision.
So I told my dad, I think it doesn't matter what day I got married, I think it matters to whom I got married.
He was not happy when I said that, but,... there. Take it or leave it.
And so... we are getting married on April 25.
Just, because it is a weekend.
And because that's the date that is still available.
And for me, that would be just perfect.
P.S. I did review the spreadsheet AFTER we picked the date. April 25 2010 is the day of Tiger... whatever that means...
In Indonesia, they are big with this 'good' day calculation and it is a common thing to do.
Superstition is a big part of our culture.
In fact, if you have an outdoor party, a shaman specialized in taming the rain would be included in the package.... so I heard from a friend. But, I didn't double-check, so I don't know if it is true or not.
Anyway, my dad is big into this kind of thing. Somehow, he thought that he has found the formula for this calculation, based on my chinese zodiac and his chinese zodiac (yes, I kid you not). And he has a list of days that I can choose when would be a good day.
First day that he picked was April 29th.
That's a Thursday.
And at first I thought, they could not find a hotel with vacant weekend, hence the weekday selection.
So, when I realized that this is based on his calculation, I was very annoyed.
Well, he also sent me the calculation but I did not open it.
My problem with picking a day based on the calculation is this: My brother got married on a day that was calculated and picked out 'carefully'.
It did not stop the fact that he was not happy in the marriage.
Another example: My cousin's husband's family picked the day of their wedding based on their astrology. They are also not happy in their marriage.
He has a mistress now, and my cousin is living in hell.
No offense to people who has chosen this path. I am just talking for myself. And keep in mind that my dad is not an actual shaman. He's just a guy with a hobby. And, I cannot sue him for malpractice if he miscalculated.
Most of all , I'm annoyed because: Uhm, hello... please let me and ChicagoDimCorner pick our own wedding day, do you mind? We are both capable of that, you see. There's no need for a third person to make this decision.
So I told my dad, I think it doesn't matter what day I got married, I think it matters to whom I got married.
He was not happy when I said that, but,... there. Take it or leave it.
And so... we are getting married on April 25.
Just, because it is a weekend.
And because that's the date that is still available.
And for me, that would be just perfect.
P.S. I did review the spreadsheet AFTER we picked the date. April 25 2010 is the day of Tiger... whatever that means...
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Chapter 1: The Wedding Cake
I don't know if everyone in Indonesia know that the big wedding cake that the bride and groom cut is fake.
Was I the only person who didn't know this?
You see, there were times in the past that I thought that the cake is real. Somehow, in the back of my head, I thought that the cake was constructed, or whatever to make it stand 5, 7, 9 or even 11 tiers without the bottom layers to be mushed down by the upper layers.
Until, a friend of mine, Edi, told me his experience: Noooo, the cake guy will tell you: Potongnya yg sebelah sini aja ya... soalnya yg daerah sisanya itu gabus. Or in translation: Only cut this part because the rest of the cake is made of styrofoam.
What?!
So I told my mom I want the real cake. It's kinda humiliating cutting a syrofoam cake. It's fake.
But my mom said, okay, but it is going to cost us more.
Really?
To have a real cake?
I mean... I don't want it to be made of gold. Just some flour, butter and eggs.
But, yes. It cost us much more.
So, I thought, okay, let's do the fake one.
Then I looked at some of the pictures.
Man.. those cake are huge.
And I mean HUGE.
I wish I have some time to google the cake. You can fit 3 Marilyn Monroe in there, complete with their boas and equipments ready to jump out any time singing whatever you want them to sing.
I also saw a picture of my friend, again, Edi... when he cut it, he cut the cake with a sword.
Yes. A Samurai.
If only my friend Edi wore yellow outfit, he would've been Uma Thurman in Kill Bill.
When my mom mentioned to the banquet people that I don't want huge cake they said: But madame, with our ballroom's high ceiling, the cake would look very very disproportioned.
Okay, fine... let still make it big, but at least let me cut with a knife.
So I informed this to my Wedding Organizer, copying my dad in the email.
Then I got an email back from my dad, how he thinks that it would not look nice if the cake is not big enough.
DARN IT!
First of all, I compromised not having a REAL CAKE for my wedding. The real one will be in the kitchen. Looking small and sad.
Secondly It's made of Styrofoam. I have to cut it on the exact spot because if I cut it from a different angle I will have to cut it with a chainsaw.
Third, it is going to be big. Who are we fooling anyway (except me, in the past) that it is not real? I mean look at the size. No cake can be this big. There's no oven in this world that can bake a thing that BIG. Everyone knows it's fake.
At leasssstttt, eventhough it is big and fake, let it be big in such a way that I can still cut it with a knife.
A knife.
That's all I want.
And my dad had a say in it.
So that was when I replied back to him saying: Dad, let me cut it with a knife. Butt off. (In a different words, of course, but same meaning).
So, on my wedding day, help me Lord if I see the cake as humongous as an elephant. Someone will have hell to pay.
Was I the only person who didn't know this?
You see, there were times in the past that I thought that the cake is real. Somehow, in the back of my head, I thought that the cake was constructed, or whatever to make it stand 5, 7, 9 or even 11 tiers without the bottom layers to be mushed down by the upper layers.
Until, a friend of mine, Edi, told me his experience: Noooo, the cake guy will tell you: Potongnya yg sebelah sini aja ya... soalnya yg daerah sisanya itu gabus. Or in translation: Only cut this part because the rest of the cake is made of styrofoam.
What?!
So I told my mom I want the real cake. It's kinda humiliating cutting a syrofoam cake. It's fake.
But my mom said, okay, but it is going to cost us more.
Really?
To have a real cake?
I mean... I don't want it to be made of gold. Just some flour, butter and eggs.
But, yes. It cost us much more.
So, I thought, okay, let's do the fake one.
Then I looked at some of the pictures.
Man.. those cake are huge.
And I mean HUGE.
I wish I have some time to google the cake. You can fit 3 Marilyn Monroe in there, complete with their boas and equipments ready to jump out any time singing whatever you want them to sing.
I also saw a picture of my friend, again, Edi... when he cut it, he cut the cake with a sword.
Yes. A Samurai.
If only my friend Edi wore yellow outfit, he would've been Uma Thurman in Kill Bill.
When my mom mentioned to the banquet people that I don't want huge cake they said: But madame, with our ballroom's high ceiling, the cake would look very very disproportioned.
Okay, fine... let still make it big, but at least let me cut with a knife.
So I informed this to my Wedding Organizer, copying my dad in the email.
Then I got an email back from my dad, how he thinks that it would not look nice if the cake is not big enough.
DARN IT!
First of all, I compromised not having a REAL CAKE for my wedding. The real one will be in the kitchen. Looking small and sad.
Secondly It's made of Styrofoam. I have to cut it on the exact spot because if I cut it from a different angle I will have to cut it with a chainsaw.
Third, it is going to be big. Who are we fooling anyway (except me, in the past) that it is not real? I mean look at the size. No cake can be this big. There's no oven in this world that can bake a thing that BIG. Everyone knows it's fake.
At leasssstttt, eventhough it is big and fake, let it be big in such a way that I can still cut it with a knife.
A knife.
That's all I want.
And my dad had a say in it.
So that was when I replied back to him saying: Dad, let me cut it with a knife. Butt off. (In a different words, of course, but same meaning).
So, on my wedding day, help me Lord if I see the cake as humongous as an elephant. Someone will have hell to pay.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
About the Wedding
Wilson posted a comment on my facebook about my spidery-webbed blog the other day. :)
That made me realized that I have not been in here for... 3 months.
Well, I have been crazy busy, stressed out, depressed, angry, stressed out, angry again, frustrated about the wedding preparation.
I seriously almost called it off. Not the marriage, just the wedding reception. The guy, I still want to marry, but the reception preparation made me just want to spite everything and let an Elvis marries us in Vegas.
But, that didn't happened. I marched through it, facing all the obstacles with agony, complain, tears and drama but the bottom line is: I'm facing it.
I found out a lot of eye openers throughout my wedding preparation. And I am going to bare it all.
And I mean ALL. I'm planning to post all of my gripes topic by topic and although I think all of this only apply to me no other single being can 'learn' from my experience, but I am a firm believer that tragedy + time = comedy.
If at least someone can laugh at this... then why not.
So let the chapters begin.
That made me realized that I have not been in here for... 3 months.
Well, I have been crazy busy, stressed out, depressed, angry, stressed out, angry again, frustrated about the wedding preparation.
I seriously almost called it off. Not the marriage, just the wedding reception. The guy, I still want to marry, but the reception preparation made me just want to spite everything and let an Elvis marries us in Vegas.
But, that didn't happened. I marched through it, facing all the obstacles with agony, complain, tears and drama but the bottom line is: I'm facing it.
I found out a lot of eye openers throughout my wedding preparation. And I am going to bare it all.
And I mean ALL. I'm planning to post all of my gripes topic by topic and although I think all of this only apply to me no other single being can 'learn' from my experience, but I am a firm believer that tragedy + time = comedy.
If at least someone can laugh at this... then why not.
So let the chapters begin.
Friday, December 25, 2009
It's My Birthday!!!
The morning of my birthday, three days ago, I woke up and logged in to check my emails. I found many greetings and birthday wishes from my friends and family. It made me smile.
I got a message in facebook from one of my much older cousins. She wished me a birthday wish and said that she's wishing to God that I would have kids soon.
I was wincing while thinking, uhm... that is presumptuous of her to think I want kids right away. And even went ahead praying for that.
For one, I haven't had my grandeur wedding reception like my parents want. My mom would be livid. But then, I can tell her, well, blame my cousin, Tina, who's been talking to God about it. She's the culprit.
I chuckled thinking about it.
Well, I am thirty-three now. BUT despite that, I am thankful for all of God's blessings. And it is the first time that I am celebrating my birthday with a husband.
I have accepted and no longer in denial, that I do see more lines on the corners of my eyes. And I am in the market for some anti-aging cream... or some eye cream, possibly. Although, I'm not willing to pay for those hundreds of dollars worth of cream in tiny winy jar.
I also chatted with my sister (who is 7 years older than me) on Yahoo.
I said: I feel old.
And her answer was: Are you mocking me?
Which gave me the perspective that I was not that old. And actually a week before my birthday, ChicagoDimCorner's church just celebrated the birthday of its oldest member. A ninety-freaking-seven year old grandpa. His name is Don Taylor. Don has a really good memory. I'll say even better than mine. He remembers people and their stories. He is still capable of driving, painting his house and fixing his basement.
That's the way to live when you are ninety something, don't you think?
I couldn't really enjoy my birthday this time because it is just a day away from the fateful immigration hearing for ChicagoDimCorner, which turned out to be not that fateful anyway as it was postponed for another three weeks.
But anyway, I think the funniest thing someone said to me on my birthday was when my friend David said: Thirty three? Jesus died when he was thirty-three. And Tammy, his wife, dropped her head and shook it in disbelief that he just said that.
And the most touching was when my not-romantic and non-elaborate husband asked me to pray together with him and in the prayer he thanked God for bringing me into his life.
Touched. Yes, I was.
I got a message in facebook from one of my much older cousins. She wished me a birthday wish and said that she's wishing to God that I would have kids soon.
I was wincing while thinking, uhm... that is presumptuous of her to think I want kids right away. And even went ahead praying for that.
For one, I haven't had my grandeur wedding reception like my parents want. My mom would be livid. But then, I can tell her, well, blame my cousin, Tina, who's been talking to God about it. She's the culprit.
I chuckled thinking about it.
Well, I am thirty-three now. BUT despite that, I am thankful for all of God's blessings. And it is the first time that I am celebrating my birthday with a husband.
I have accepted and no longer in denial, that I do see more lines on the corners of my eyes. And I am in the market for some anti-aging cream... or some eye cream, possibly. Although, I'm not willing to pay for those hundreds of dollars worth of cream in tiny winy jar.
I also chatted with my sister (who is 7 years older than me) on Yahoo.
I said: I feel old.
And her answer was: Are you mocking me?
Which gave me the perspective that I was not that old. And actually a week before my birthday, ChicagoDimCorner's church just celebrated the birthday of its oldest member. A ninety-freaking-seven year old grandpa. His name is Don Taylor. Don has a really good memory. I'll say even better than mine. He remembers people and their stories. He is still capable of driving, painting his house and fixing his basement.
That's the way to live when you are ninety something, don't you think?
I couldn't really enjoy my birthday this time because it is just a day away from the fateful immigration hearing for ChicagoDimCorner, which turned out to be not that fateful anyway as it was postponed for another three weeks.
But anyway, I think the funniest thing someone said to me on my birthday was when my friend David said: Thirty three? Jesus died when he was thirty-three. And Tammy, his wife, dropped her head and shook it in disbelief that he just said that.
And the most touching was when my not-romantic and non-elaborate husband asked me to pray together with him and in the prayer he thanked God for bringing me into his life.
Touched. Yes, I was.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Mrs. ChicagoDimCorner?
We got married on November 5th. It was a Thursday, so I took a day off and was back to work on Friday.
It was a very small ceremony, if you even consider it a ceremony.
We went to the courthouse in Joliet, IL and paid $10. We waited for an hour and then a judge in an empty court room read us stuff, asked us the question. We said I do. Then we repeated after the judge, vowing to stick by each other, through sickness and health, richer and poorer, yada yada...
Then we kissed.
We took pictures.
And off we went to eat.
It could've been a more pleasant day, without all of the drama that was going on between me and my parents.
Without my dad's push on the (again) prenup and his extravagant, impersonal and expensive ideas on the wedding reception while I want a small one.
Without my mom's silence treatment to me and her risen up blood pressure when I suggested (just a suggestion!) that we just have a pastor blesses us here instead of in Jakarta.
Again... just a suggestion!!!
And she was so dissapointed, with tears, she demanded to have a wedding reception back home.
Uhm... this is just a suggestion, by the way, no need to get all freaked out.
Sigh, I really began to think that my wedding was their fantasy wedding. A big Cinderella wedding that they didn't have.
I don't know if I have always been this private, but that last scene in Runaway Bride is the perfect scenario for me. Just the the wedding officiant, the bride and the groom, on top of a green hill.
Perfect.
But of course, that didn't happen. And it will not happen.
I'm happy to be married to ChicagoDimCorner, though. I have never been so sure about anything else in my life, despite my brother's separation from his wife, Prince Charles' infidelity, Tom Cruise's and Nicole Kidman's divorce, Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey, Britney Spears and Kevin Federline, Jennifer Anniston and Brad Pitt, Elizabeth Taylor's and Richard Burton (twice!).
I'm sure we will be the anomaly, and will surpass all the hurdles in life.
That afternoon, we took Bandit to the doctor because he had eye infection. That's why if you see in all my civil wedding pictures, Bandit was squinting.
The trip to the doctor was short but that was the first time that day that I have some time alone with my husband, without relatives, without cameras, without people nagging about anything.
I said to him: So... do I refer to you as my husband now? Or still a fiance?
ChicagoDimCorner said firmly: Husband, of course.
Then I asked: And as what are you going to refer me?
He said: my woman.
I said: Hm,... fine... just like a caveman, huh? Grunt.. grunt.. my woman. By the way, I want to change my name. My dad asked if I'm going to change it to my last name hyphen your last name. But, I think I'm going to strip off my last name, and adopt yours completely.
He just smiled and said jokingly, whichever you will comfortable with, woman.
After the doctor visit, we walked to a small pathway in the woods right next to the doctor's office. We walked there in silence with Bandit, we held hands. And it dawned to me, I got married. I got married to a guy who loves me and understands my quirks and, let's face it, accepts my other hundred of mental disorders.
And it doesn't really matter what other people want, at the end of the day, when all the people are gone, it will be only me, ChicagoDimCorner and Bandit.
Nothing else matters.
And now, we are a family.
And in the chilly air in the woods, I felt warmth in my chest.
It was a very small ceremony, if you even consider it a ceremony.
We went to the courthouse in Joliet, IL and paid $10. We waited for an hour and then a judge in an empty court room read us stuff, asked us the question. We said I do. Then we repeated after the judge, vowing to stick by each other, through sickness and health, richer and poorer, yada yada...
Then we kissed.
We took pictures.
And off we went to eat.
It could've been a more pleasant day, without all of the drama that was going on between me and my parents.
Without my dad's push on the (again) prenup and his extravagant, impersonal and expensive ideas on the wedding reception while I want a small one.
Without my mom's silence treatment to me and her risen up blood pressure when I suggested (just a suggestion!) that we just have a pastor blesses us here instead of in Jakarta.
Again... just a suggestion!!!
And she was so dissapointed, with tears, she demanded to have a wedding reception back home.
Uhm... this is just a suggestion, by the way, no need to get all freaked out.
Sigh, I really began to think that my wedding was their fantasy wedding. A big Cinderella wedding that they didn't have.
I don't know if I have always been this private, but that last scene in Runaway Bride is the perfect scenario for me. Just the the wedding officiant, the bride and the groom, on top of a green hill.
Perfect.
But of course, that didn't happen. And it will not happen.
I'm happy to be married to ChicagoDimCorner, though. I have never been so sure about anything else in my life, despite my brother's separation from his wife, Prince Charles' infidelity, Tom Cruise's and Nicole Kidman's divorce, Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey, Britney Spears and Kevin Federline, Jennifer Anniston and Brad Pitt, Elizabeth Taylor's and Richard Burton (twice!).
I'm sure we will be the anomaly, and will surpass all the hurdles in life.
That afternoon, we took Bandit to the doctor because he had eye infection. That's why if you see in all my civil wedding pictures, Bandit was squinting.
The trip to the doctor was short but that was the first time that day that I have some time alone with my husband, without relatives, without cameras, without people nagging about anything.
I said to him: So... do I refer to you as my husband now? Or still a fiance?
ChicagoDimCorner said firmly: Husband, of course.
Then I asked: And as what are you going to refer me?
He said: my woman.
I said: Hm,... fine... just like a caveman, huh? Grunt.. grunt.. my woman. By the way, I want to change my name. My dad asked if I'm going to change it to my last name hyphen your last name. But, I think I'm going to strip off my last name, and adopt yours completely.
He just smiled and said jokingly, whichever you will comfortable with, woman.
After the doctor visit, we walked to a small pathway in the woods right next to the doctor's office. We walked there in silence with Bandit, we held hands. And it dawned to me, I got married. I got married to a guy who loves me and understands my quirks and, let's face it, accepts my other hundred of mental disorders.
And it doesn't really matter what other people want, at the end of the day, when all the people are gone, it will be only me, ChicagoDimCorner and Bandit.
Nothing else matters.
And now, we are a family.
And in the chilly air in the woods, I felt warmth in my chest.
Monday, November 02, 2009
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Who's getting married?
My boyfriend's lawyer dropped the news bomb a few weeks ago. ChicagoDimCorner's greencard process has moved along and now... he doesn't have to wait anymore to get married.
We. Are. Free. To. Get. Married.
In fact, if we get married before the time he has to go to the immigration judge at the end of December, I would immediately get my GC also (if he is granted his GC, of course).
I remember that day, we went out for lunch after his meeting with his lawyer, and he didn't have any appetite.
Not me though. I ate quite a lot. It was good Thai food.
Anyhow.... I told my parents about the news, of course, and they were packing their luggage right then and there and they will be back here, in less than two weeks to witness the two seconds moment of me signing the marriage certificate. I told them it's no big deal. It's not that we are really getting married. Well,.. yeah, legally I am married, the significance of that is that next year I will file a join tax with CDC and hopefully get more tax return. But we don't have a pastor to marry us, there will be nothing really, just a strategy for my immigration status.
But nooo.... they have booked their tickets and took care of their Japan visa for their overnight transits in Tokyo. They are all set!
Three times in a year, this year that they visit.
I love them to death.... it's just that.. uhm,.. the interval keeps getting shorter and shorter and my days off are skimpy now. Also, I have gotten used to living alone that having house guests seems... sigh... hard.
My dad loves to talk to me in the morning, right at the moment I go downstairs from my room in the morning, when my social capability is totally invalid. Like a computer that is still booting but the user is already trying to logon to Yahoo messenger.
Now, again, I love my parents, but I envision some bloodbath along the way towards my wedding day. My mom suggested, again, that I have prenup.
Also I just heard from my sister that my dad has chosen the color for my wedding in 2010.
It's pink if you're wondering.
And since the news, they have been driving around Jakarta visiting luxurious hotels asking for price quotes, checking out ballrooms, taking notes on the wedding packages.
They went to survey the wedding favors yesterday with my godmother.
My dad wants the guys (including my poor fiance) to wear bowtie. I don't know if it occurs in his mind to ask what my fiance would've like to wear. I think that what bugs me the most. The not asking and just deciding part.
Oh, and I found out from my sister that my mom might not have let go of the idea that we have TWO wedding ceremonies.
One is for the Seventh Day adventist ceremony, the other one is the Catholic ceremony.
Chatolic... hm,... a religion I have not thought about in.. let's see... since high school.
See, my mom is a Budhist, so... sigh... why insist on having a Catholic ceremony?
I can just see that when they come here in less than two weeks and we start to have the wedding preparation conversation, I will walk out the room as the most insolent, difficult, ungrateful daughter they have. They will switch and make my sister their favorite instead.
You see, I want to be married with CDC. The concept is that I want to have a day that I spend with the people I love and care about, celebrating us, being fools, getting married.
While my parents want to throw the wedding reception of the century.
Ow.. and my dad wanted to book Elfa Secioria as my wedding band. Who? My American friends might ask. That band is like the most popular big band, very popular in the 80-ies.
Sometimes I don't know who's getting married.
I'm so confused.
My parents have turned into Parentzillas.
We. Are. Free. To. Get. Married.
In fact, if we get married before the time he has to go to the immigration judge at the end of December, I would immediately get my GC also (if he is granted his GC, of course).
I remember that day, we went out for lunch after his meeting with his lawyer, and he didn't have any appetite.
Not me though. I ate quite a lot. It was good Thai food.
Anyhow.... I told my parents about the news, of course, and they were packing their luggage right then and there and they will be back here, in less than two weeks to witness the two seconds moment of me signing the marriage certificate. I told them it's no big deal. It's not that we are really getting married. Well,.. yeah, legally I am married, the significance of that is that next year I will file a join tax with CDC and hopefully get more tax return. But we don't have a pastor to marry us, there will be nothing really, just a strategy for my immigration status.
But nooo.... they have booked their tickets and took care of their Japan visa for their overnight transits in Tokyo. They are all set!
Three times in a year, this year that they visit.
I love them to death.... it's just that.. uhm,.. the interval keeps getting shorter and shorter and my days off are skimpy now. Also, I have gotten used to living alone that having house guests seems... sigh... hard.
My dad loves to talk to me in the morning, right at the moment I go downstairs from my room in the morning, when my social capability is totally invalid. Like a computer that is still booting but the user is already trying to logon to Yahoo messenger.
Now, again, I love my parents, but I envision some bloodbath along the way towards my wedding day. My mom suggested, again, that I have prenup.
Also I just heard from my sister that my dad has chosen the color for my wedding in 2010.
It's pink if you're wondering.
And since the news, they have been driving around Jakarta visiting luxurious hotels asking for price quotes, checking out ballrooms, taking notes on the wedding packages.
They went to survey the wedding favors yesterday with my godmother.
My dad wants the guys (including my poor fiance) to wear bowtie. I don't know if it occurs in his mind to ask what my fiance would've like to wear. I think that what bugs me the most. The not asking and just deciding part.
Oh, and I found out from my sister that my mom might not have let go of the idea that we have TWO wedding ceremonies.
One is for the Seventh Day adventist ceremony, the other one is the Catholic ceremony.
Chatolic... hm,... a religion I have not thought about in.. let's see... since high school.
See, my mom is a Budhist, so... sigh... why insist on having a Catholic ceremony?
I can just see that when they come here in less than two weeks and we start to have the wedding preparation conversation, I will walk out the room as the most insolent, difficult, ungrateful daughter they have. They will switch and make my sister their favorite instead.
You see, I want to be married with CDC. The concept is that I want to have a day that I spend with the people I love and care about, celebrating us, being fools, getting married.
While my parents want to throw the wedding reception of the century.
Ow.. and my dad wanted to book Elfa Secioria as my wedding band. Who? My American friends might ask. That band is like the most popular big band, very popular in the 80-ies.
Sometimes I don't know who's getting married.
I'm so confused.
My parents have turned into Parentzillas.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Food For Thought
To my defense... I had that face because my brother trained me to make ugly faces upon request.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
100,000 More Times If I Need To
This has been a weird summer.
It's cool like April.
And it's been April since 4 months ago.
I switched my comforter to a thicker one a few days ago, it went down to the 40-ies at night, believe it or not. The world is nearing the end.
Well, enough about the weather.
Today, I am going to share something that is really personal about my family.
My brother has separated from his wife. After more than 12 years of marriage, he left his house and rent a one bedroom condo on the other side of the city almost a couple of months ago.
I have been holding my breath for quite a while, and it finally happened. And I am glad, to be honest.
But I am weeping inside.
I don't know how I feel. Ideally I want him to have a family. To be near his children, but life is f***ing unfair. And it's either you fall and cry on the side of the road, or you wipe your useless tears and keep moving.
My brother is the one of the few that I truly unconditionally love. The soft spot in my heart, my hero, my friend, my idol, almost my everything, (if I don't have ChicagoDimCorner).
I cannot express in words how strong of an influence he is all my life. I look up to him since as long as my memory serves me.
But then again, like I said, life is a bitch. And you just have to play the cards you're dealt.
He's not perfect. But for me he is a perfect brother. And I am privileged.
My parents... they love me, I know. I feel it. But we don't say I love you to each other out loud. I never said how much I love my brother. Ever. Out loud. I wonder, would it be weird if I do that?
I told ChicagoDimCorner, when we have children, I want to be able to express to them how much I love them, in words.
And in the helplessness that I felt, I prayed. I have been praying a lot for him. Oh God, please give him strength and wisdom and peace and clarity of mind and most of all happiness. Please be with him. Please. Please. Please. Please....
And I will pray 100,000 more times until I know for sure that God listens and grants my pleas.
I don't know how big the psychological impact would be for his children. But he is doing his best, he is a good father, he has always been, like he's a good brother to me.
Again, in my helplessness all I can do is pray for his children.
I don't know what the atheists do when they have problems. When it seems like there is no way out, and everything is just hopeless and you have no friends and you need help. Because, for me, I pray.
When he moved out of his house, my mom was all tensed, nervous and fell in deep pity for him.
Your poor bother, who's going to cook for him, poor thing, how is he going to take care of himself, who's going to do his laundry. Sigh... the apartment is very small, too small for even one person. Blah blah blah...
And so I said to my mom, in a very composed, together and calm manner, that she should be glad that he's left. That he is getting his independence back. His sanity back. His freedom. His peace of mind. That's he's standing up for himself and we shouldn't be too involved in little details.
We should let him take care of this by himself, after all, he's a 41 year old very capable adult.
We all just need to pray and tell him that we are there for him. He's going to be just fine.
But then, I hung up the phone with my mom and I started crying, oh my God, who is going to cook him meals, do his laundry, is the apartment furnished? Does he sleep on the floor at night. Oh my God, please help him.
But I think God did hear me. He is doing fine. He's getting his life back together, he wakes up in the morning not feeling like crap anymore.
And the apartment is furnished. He has a very nice and comfy-looking bed.
But still I am praying... 100,000 more if I need to. Just to see him happy.
It's cool like April.
And it's been April since 4 months ago.
I switched my comforter to a thicker one a few days ago, it went down to the 40-ies at night, believe it or not. The world is nearing the end.
Well, enough about the weather.
Today, I am going to share something that is really personal about my family.
My brother has separated from his wife. After more than 12 years of marriage, he left his house and rent a one bedroom condo on the other side of the city almost a couple of months ago.
I have been holding my breath for quite a while, and it finally happened. And I am glad, to be honest.
But I am weeping inside.
I don't know how I feel. Ideally I want him to have a family. To be near his children, but life is f***ing unfair. And it's either you fall and cry on the side of the road, or you wipe your useless tears and keep moving.
My brother is the one of the few that I truly unconditionally love. The soft spot in my heart, my hero, my friend, my idol, almost my everything, (if I don't have ChicagoDimCorner).
I cannot express in words how strong of an influence he is all my life. I look up to him since as long as my memory serves me.
But then again, like I said, life is a bitch. And you just have to play the cards you're dealt.
He's not perfect. But for me he is a perfect brother. And I am privileged.
My parents... they love me, I know. I feel it. But we don't say I love you to each other out loud. I never said how much I love my brother. Ever. Out loud. I wonder, would it be weird if I do that?
I told ChicagoDimCorner, when we have children, I want to be able to express to them how much I love them, in words.
And in the helplessness that I felt, I prayed. I have been praying a lot for him. Oh God, please give him strength and wisdom and peace and clarity of mind and most of all happiness. Please be with him. Please. Please. Please. Please....
And I will pray 100,000 more times until I know for sure that God listens and grants my pleas.
I don't know how big the psychological impact would be for his children. But he is doing his best, he is a good father, he has always been, like he's a good brother to me.
Again, in my helplessness all I can do is pray for his children.
I don't know what the atheists do when they have problems. When it seems like there is no way out, and everything is just hopeless and you have no friends and you need help. Because, for me, I pray.
When he moved out of his house, my mom was all tensed, nervous and fell in deep pity for him.
Your poor bother, who's going to cook for him, poor thing, how is he going to take care of himself, who's going to do his laundry. Sigh... the apartment is very small, too small for even one person. Blah blah blah...
And so I said to my mom, in a very composed, together and calm manner, that she should be glad that he's left. That he is getting his independence back. His sanity back. His freedom. His peace of mind. That's he's standing up for himself and we shouldn't be too involved in little details.
We should let him take care of this by himself, after all, he's a 41 year old very capable adult.
We all just need to pray and tell him that we are there for him. He's going to be just fine.
But then, I hung up the phone with my mom and I started crying, oh my God, who is going to cook him meals, do his laundry, is the apartment furnished? Does he sleep on the floor at night. Oh my God, please help him.
But I think God did hear me. He is doing fine. He's getting his life back together, he wakes up in the morning not feeling like crap anymore.
And the apartment is furnished. He has a very nice and comfy-looking bed.
But still I am praying... 100,000 more if I need to. Just to see him happy.
Monday, July 27, 2009
The Crystal Merchant Inspired Me Not To End Up Like Him
I just finished The Alchemist last week. Part of my New Year Resolution, the 2009 one, if anyone wonders, is to find a hobby. A hobby other than slouching on the couch and watch TV until it's time to go to bed.
And hence the reading.
I love fables.
And though I don't really 100% agree with what Coelho said in that book, I appreciate his work.
The book is somewhat a reality bitch-slap for me though.
I do have a job.
But is it really something that I want to do?
In the book (okay,... spoiler alert for those who want to read the Alchemist, but haven't), there was a old crystal merchant who have a shop. A long time ago, when he was young, being the devoted Moslem that he is, he always wanted to go to Mecca. But he thought that he wanted to work and be rich first so that he can afford a trip to Mecca.
It was tens of years ago and every year he sees people passing by with their caravans, going to Mecca. Even people who were poorer than him.
Their faces were happy. Because they were going to Mecca.
And now he's old, and all his life, the one thing that keeps him going is the thought that one day he will go to Mecca, but now that he can afford it, he is afraid.
If he goes to Mecca, then after that, what would he be looking forward to in life?
I don't want to be that old man.
I want to go to my 'Mecca', as early as I can.
Why wait? I don't even know if I am still breathing tomorrow.
Well, hopefully I will. I have an early and important meeting with some clients.
I need to figure out what I want in life. Is being an IT whore (pardon my curse) really what I want to do? Is it what I aspired to be?
I have a friend who was just diagnosed with Lymphoma. It is basically a type of cancer. She called me and told me the biopsy result and instead of consoling her, I bursted into tears, I was so heartbroken. She's such a sweetheart. She was the one who then consoled me (nice going, Bluecactus).
But it got me think about life, and how uncertain it is. And I have been counting my blessings ever since and try to be positive. And it is hard, you know, because complaining is so darn easy. When you have an idiot as a boss, for example. (Insert smiley face).
But I am not waiting anymore. I want to live life to the fullest. It doesn't mean, clubbing every night, drink, try all the illegal drugs, swing from a stripper pole. But to live right, to take care of my own mental and physical health.
Plan to execute my forgotten life goals.
Do charity. try to be kind, be patient, be strong, be wise.
Live, love, laugh, people often say.
Then hopefully at the end of the day, I will have no regrets.
And hence the reading.
I love fables.
And though I don't really 100% agree with what Coelho said in that book, I appreciate his work.
The book is somewhat a reality bitch-slap for me though.
I do have a job.
But is it really something that I want to do?
In the book (okay,... spoiler alert for those who want to read the Alchemist, but haven't), there was a old crystal merchant who have a shop. A long time ago, when he was young, being the devoted Moslem that he is, he always wanted to go to Mecca. But he thought that he wanted to work and be rich first so that he can afford a trip to Mecca.
It was tens of years ago and every year he sees people passing by with their caravans, going to Mecca. Even people who were poorer than him.
Their faces were happy. Because they were going to Mecca.
And now he's old, and all his life, the one thing that keeps him going is the thought that one day he will go to Mecca, but now that he can afford it, he is afraid.
If he goes to Mecca, then after that, what would he be looking forward to in life?
I don't want to be that old man.
I want to go to my 'Mecca', as early as I can.
Why wait? I don't even know if I am still breathing tomorrow.
Well, hopefully I will. I have an early and important meeting with some clients.
I need to figure out what I want in life. Is being an IT whore (pardon my curse) really what I want to do? Is it what I aspired to be?
I have a friend who was just diagnosed with Lymphoma. It is basically a type of cancer. She called me and told me the biopsy result and instead of consoling her, I bursted into tears, I was so heartbroken. She's such a sweetheart. She was the one who then consoled me (nice going, Bluecactus).
But it got me think about life, and how uncertain it is. And I have been counting my blessings ever since and try to be positive. And it is hard, you know, because complaining is so darn easy. When you have an idiot as a boss, for example. (Insert smiley face).
But I am not waiting anymore. I want to live life to the fullest. It doesn't mean, clubbing every night, drink, try all the illegal drugs, swing from a stripper pole. But to live right, to take care of my own mental and physical health.
Plan to execute my forgotten life goals.
Do charity. try to be kind, be patient, be strong, be wise.
Live, love, laugh, people often say.
Then hopefully at the end of the day, I will have no regrets.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
They Are BACK! In Full Blast Nonetheless
My mom and dad is coming to visit me again.
Yes, they will arrive tomorrow. I will pick them up, drive them home, give them my room and entertain them for a whole month.
I will retreat to the guest room. I can't put them in the guest room, it's next to ChicagoDimCorner's room and my dad snores like there's no tomorrow.
They'll be back home on the 3rd of August.
I already counted, it's 24 days of full interaction.
Twenty four days.
I am an introvert. I really value my time alone without interaction with other human beings, and I'm so terrified that I will go crazy with constant human interaction 24/7. I need my alone time to read books, to wind down, to reset my sanity which everyday got shattered by the outrageous lunacy which unfortunately I have to interact with.
And my mom would burst into my room in the morning declaring that the breakfast is ready. I'm weeping inside just thinking about it.
It is actually kinda surprising to see that my parents cannot cope well as empty-nesters. I would think that they would blow us, the kids, kisses and say "Toodles, kids, we're going around the world in a full year, or two, eat caviar, sunbathing at the beach. Don't wait up!" But, apparently not. Sadly said, in their mind, I have been the same 17 year-old daughter of them. I have been seventeen for the past 15 years.
My mom said, "When I visited you last December, I saw the bathrobe you have was the old one that you have been having for years. I'm going to buy you a new one and bring it to Chicago."
Sigh...
"Huh? What's wrong with it, Mom? It's fine, I never use it anyway and I can buy it myself. Don't bring me anything, travel in style, travel light."
And last week, she just suggested that I have a prenupt before getting married, which confuses me because I'm not rich, and I don't have any weathly, sickly old relative who favors me tremendously.
Also, does she think that I have a big chance to have a divorce?
I'm trying to be in her shoes and think of reasons why she would think that I need one.
"Hm,... this kid of mine has always been the unstable one, always use feelings never logic. I need to step in."
Or, "This ChicagoDimCorner looks like a crook, and he's marrying my daughter, I better tell her to separate her assets."
Or, "It looks like it's the 'in' thing to do these days for young couple, so-and-so kids are doing it, her cousin did it, eeehhh... maybe I'll tell her to do the same."
I know she meant well.
But I'm just,... you know... speechless.
I finally said, I think about it.
And I hope this will never come up again.
Yes, they will arrive tomorrow. I will pick them up, drive them home, give them my room and entertain them for a whole month.
I will retreat to the guest room. I can't put them in the guest room, it's next to ChicagoDimCorner's room and my dad snores like there's no tomorrow.
They'll be back home on the 3rd of August.
I already counted, it's 24 days of full interaction.
Twenty four days.
I am an introvert. I really value my time alone without interaction with other human beings, and I'm so terrified that I will go crazy with constant human interaction 24/7. I need my alone time to read books, to wind down, to reset my sanity which everyday got shattered by the outrageous lunacy which unfortunately I have to interact with.
And my mom would burst into my room in the morning declaring that the breakfast is ready. I'm weeping inside just thinking about it.
It is actually kinda surprising to see that my parents cannot cope well as empty-nesters. I would think that they would blow us, the kids, kisses and say "Toodles, kids, we're going around the world in a full year, or two, eat caviar, sunbathing at the beach. Don't wait up!" But, apparently not. Sadly said, in their mind, I have been the same 17 year-old daughter of them. I have been seventeen for the past 15 years.
My mom said, "When I visited you last December, I saw the bathrobe you have was the old one that you have been having for years. I'm going to buy you a new one and bring it to Chicago."
Sigh...
"Huh? What's wrong with it, Mom? It's fine, I never use it anyway and I can buy it myself. Don't bring me anything, travel in style, travel light."
And last week, she just suggested that I have a prenupt before getting married, which confuses me because I'm not rich, and I don't have any weathly, sickly old relative who favors me tremendously.
Also, does she think that I have a big chance to have a divorce?
I'm trying to be in her shoes and think of reasons why she would think that I need one.
"Hm,... this kid of mine has always been the unstable one, always use feelings never logic. I need to step in."
Or, "This ChicagoDimCorner looks like a crook, and he's marrying my daughter, I better tell her to separate her assets."
Or, "It looks like it's the 'in' thing to do these days for young couple, so-and-so kids are doing it, her cousin did it, eeehhh... maybe I'll tell her to do the same."
I know she meant well.
But I'm just,... you know... speechless.
I finally said, I think about it.
And I hope this will never come up again.
Friday, June 26, 2009
To-Do List Before I Die
I have bought myself several empty journals in this month.
First because I was reading Eat, Pray, Love and I thought to myself, I should have a book just like the author where I can write to God, and have conversations with Him. Especially when I'm feeling sad, or confused or in need of a friend that no mere mortals can console.
So I went and came back with a journal.
I have started writing in it. Yeah, already I did. Apparently I have dormant worries, confusion, concerns in life. I also have some friends I wanted to mention in my journal. I call this book as my Prayer Journal.
Another book I bought yesterday. Now this one I call as my Thoughts and Inspiration Journal. This is where I think I would write about my goals, where I want to be in life, focus in life, anything... basically to keep my perceptions in check as a third person.
The first entry I wrote was: Things I Want To Do Before I Die...
Luckily I did not put some number, like, the 10 things I want to do before I die. I found out that I am so boring, I can't even reached 10. I stopped at number 7 and I stared blankly at it, unable to dig in within me, what I want to do for number 8.
But anyway, maybe it was the hunger (I'm trying to eat less, yes... doctor's order... gosh darn it), maybe I need some sleep.
So... here we go,... The Things I Want To Do Before I Die...
1. Sky Diving (I know... I know... I keep on thinking about it and do nothing about it).
2. Go to Japan and explore their culture (Been there, never really go to the rural traditional parts of it).
3. Have kids and teach them well in life (I think this would be my biggest legacy in life, the hardest yet, I would imagine, the most rewarding). And I would underline the teach them well in life part. The having kids part, I think would be piece of cake. :)
4. Paint an oil painting and proudly hang it in my house.
5. Go to Alaska
6. Learn pottery and make some pottery objects that I can call my creations.
7. Have a series of professionally-taken self portraits before having a baby so I can cherish them later when I am old and toothless (hopefully not toothless... but you never know)That's it!
I know I want to travel, but I have yet to dig in more.
And No, I don't want to try bungee jumping, I think when I die, instead, I would be glad I duck out of it. And I don't know why it's so different (in my mind) than sky diving. I guess, I'm afraid that the rope would snap.
Anyway... enough about me. Anyone wants to share your to-do list before you die?
First because I was reading Eat, Pray, Love and I thought to myself, I should have a book just like the author where I can write to God, and have conversations with Him. Especially when I'm feeling sad, or confused or in need of a friend that no mere mortals can console.
So I went and came back with a journal.
I have started writing in it. Yeah, already I did. Apparently I have dormant worries, confusion, concerns in life. I also have some friends I wanted to mention in my journal. I call this book as my Prayer Journal.
Another book I bought yesterday. Now this one I call as my Thoughts and Inspiration Journal. This is where I think I would write about my goals, where I want to be in life, focus in life, anything... basically to keep my perceptions in check as a third person.
The first entry I wrote was: Things I Want To Do Before I Die...
Luckily I did not put some number, like, the 10 things I want to do before I die. I found out that I am so boring, I can't even reached 10. I stopped at number 7 and I stared blankly at it, unable to dig in within me, what I want to do for number 8.
But anyway, maybe it was the hunger (I'm trying to eat less, yes... doctor's order... gosh darn it), maybe I need some sleep.
So... here we go,... The Things I Want To Do Before I Die...
1. Sky Diving (I know... I know... I keep on thinking about it and do nothing about it).
2. Go to Japan and explore their culture (Been there, never really go to the rural traditional parts of it).
3. Have kids and teach them well in life (I think this would be my biggest legacy in life, the hardest yet, I would imagine, the most rewarding). And I would underline the teach them well in life part. The having kids part, I think would be piece of cake. :)
4. Paint an oil painting and proudly hang it in my house.
5. Go to Alaska
6. Learn pottery and make some pottery objects that I can call my creations.
7. Have a series of professionally-taken self portraits before having a baby so I can cherish them later when I am old and toothless (hopefully not toothless... but you never know)That's it!
I know I want to travel, but I have yet to dig in more.
And No, I don't want to try bungee jumping, I think when I die, instead, I would be glad I duck out of it. And I don't know why it's so different (in my mind) than sky diving. I guess, I'm afraid that the rope would snap.
Anyway... enough about me. Anyone wants to share your to-do list before you die?
The Size Of His Nostrils
You know...
When my best friend at work exclaimed while reading Yahoo! news, "Whoa,... Michael Jackson was found not breathing and was rushed to the hospital!"
All I said was, "Well, who can breathe anyway with that size of nostrils."
But then he actually died and today I felt bad that my last comment about a person before his death was a mockery on his facial weirdness.
When my best friend at work exclaimed while reading Yahoo! news, "Whoa,... Michael Jackson was found not breathing and was rushed to the hospital!"
All I said was, "Well, who can breathe anyway with that size of nostrils."
But then he actually died and today I felt bad that my last comment about a person before his death was a mockery on his facial weirdness.
Monday, June 22, 2009
A Day In The Life
Today I worked remotely from home.
I set my cellphone alarm at 6 AM, thinking that I would still be pretty much in a comma for the next half hour.
Then I forced myself up. Then I ran with Bandit around the block, then feed him.
Then I showered.
After that, I ate a couple slices of cinnamon raisin bread (I don't know why I like it while I'm never really a bread person, I think it's a seasonal thing, it'll be over in a week and I'll be back in disliking bread and worshiping potatoes and noodles).
Then I logged on to the office's network.
People from work, mostly the India team, started to call me through the IM one by one with their problems/questions/requests.
I'm their big mama at work, whether I like it or not.
Then some even called.
Then I did some conference calls.
Then we had some issues which needed immediate resolutions.
Solved.
I took Bandit out so that he can do his business.
Then I called my mortgage broker to talk about my refinancing.
Today ChicagoDimCorner and I refinanced our house.
We put 20 thousands more so that we can pay our house sooner.
We're broke and poor now. Broke broke broke.
But, it's all good.
I went to the Bank and got a money order for the refinancing.
The lady from the title company came and we settled the refinancing.
We are then twenty something thousands poorer now than this morning.
I worked some more.
Then we went to the post office and walked the dog, then we cooked dinner, which was supposed to resembled some Cuban meal we had when we were in New York.
It was good. I love the mango salsa part.
Watched some TV.
And here I am.
Tired.
I feel like an adult and I'm tired.
All I think about is to be able to not exercise but still feel good about myself, not having to work, not having to think about mortgage, refinancing, balancing my checkbook, cook my own meal.
And now I have to go to bed, so that tomorrow morning I can do it all over again.
I set my cellphone alarm at 6 AM, thinking that I would still be pretty much in a comma for the next half hour.
Then I forced myself up. Then I ran with Bandit around the block, then feed him.
Then I showered.
After that, I ate a couple slices of cinnamon raisin bread (I don't know why I like it while I'm never really a bread person, I think it's a seasonal thing, it'll be over in a week and I'll be back in disliking bread and worshiping potatoes and noodles).
Then I logged on to the office's network.
People from work, mostly the India team, started to call me through the IM one by one with their problems/questions/requests.
I'm their big mama at work, whether I like it or not.
Then some even called.
Then I did some conference calls.
Then we had some issues which needed immediate resolutions.
Solved.
I took Bandit out so that he can do his business.
Then I called my mortgage broker to talk about my refinancing.
Today ChicagoDimCorner and I refinanced our house.
We put 20 thousands more so that we can pay our house sooner.
We're broke and poor now. Broke broke broke.
But, it's all good.
I went to the Bank and got a money order for the refinancing.
The lady from the title company came and we settled the refinancing.
We are then twenty something thousands poorer now than this morning.
I worked some more.
Then we went to the post office and walked the dog, then we cooked dinner, which was supposed to resembled some Cuban meal we had when we were in New York.
It was good. I love the mango salsa part.
Watched some TV.
And here I am.
Tired.
I feel like an adult and I'm tired.
All I think about is to be able to not exercise but still feel good about myself, not having to work, not having to think about mortgage, refinancing, balancing my checkbook, cook my own meal.
And now I have to go to bed, so that tomorrow morning I can do it all over again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)