Random Rants & Ramblings

Where is God in the storm?

2011-03-18T19:43:00.001-07:00

A question was posed in this week's SDA lesson study:

If while you are witnessing to someone about God's goodness (especially as revealed in nature) the person brings up the question of tsunamis, earthquakes, famines, and the like, how would you respond? What does the reality of these natural disasters tell us about the limits of what nature can teach us about God?

In light of the natural disaster and resulting tragedies that happened in Japan this week, this is a question likely to be on everyone's minds, Christian and non-Christian alike. As a Seventh-Day Adventist, I know that this is a terrifying example of the "labor pains" the earth will go through as Christ's second coming draws nearer. And while looking at the bigger picture does give me some comfort in the fact that our time is not long in this sinful world, it still breaks my heart to see the results of these natural disasters.
When events like these occur, it is easy to place the blame on God. After all, other disasters such as war, oil spills, and nuclear explosions can easily be traced back to men and our sinful, imperfect natures. However, earthquakes, floods, tsunamis, famines, and epidemics do not have a human source. So a Christian touting the awesome power of God as displayed in creation during these events seems like the cruelest and most insensitive thing to do. During a natural disaster, Psalms 19:1 in all it's praise, "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands," is more likely to stir fear and anger in our hearts than awe and wonder.
So what do we say as Christians in the face of disasters caused by nature? The lesson refers to Job, especially the first few chapters of the book, when God and Satan are having a conversation regarding God's faithful follower. God is so confident in Job's loyalty, and Satan tries to prove him wrong. God allows Satan to do his worst to Job in order to test his faith and prove to the universe and all the heavenly hosts that when things go wrong, even the best of God's men would crumble and turn against their Creator. However, Satan's plan backfires, and Job does indeed stay loyal to God. But at his lowest point, Job pleads to God, "Why did You do this to me? I will still be loyal to You, even if You choose to take my life, but I just want to know why." Even though he never wavered in his loyalty, Job did not understand that it was not actually God causing these things to happen, but Satan. Still, for whatever reason, God does not tell Job about these behind-the-scenes conversations. God instead throws questions back at him: "Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? Tell me, if you understand. ... Have you comprehended the vast expanses of the earth? Tell me, if you know all this." Basically, God tells Job, "I do not have to answer to you. I am all knowing, and you are not."
It seems like a cruel answer at first. But think about it. In the end, even when he never got a direct answer or explanation for his problems, Job still stayed patient and faithful. I truly believe that even if God had not blessed Job again after these trials, he would have gone to the grave praising God. We, in reading his story, see the truth, the big picture. God may not have answered Job directly, but we see the answer, the truth behind the pain. We know that it was indeed Satan bringing these tragedies to Job, and it was because he was so faithful to God. We see the conversation, what's going on behind the curtain. Even though God allowed Satan to do these things to Job, we see that God still remained in control. Satan wanted to take Job's life, but God would not allow it. God does not cause calamity, but he still can protect us from the one who does. It's not the cleanest, most straightforward answer. But it's the best.

Acceptance

2011-03-11T21:20:00.001-08:00

I was in the kitchen this evening cooking for tomorrow and laughing at my own joke when I noticed my mom giving me an all-too familiar look. It was a look that said, "You're inappropriate." I tried to make light of it, since I was in a good mood, but then she explained her reason for the Look.
My friend Don had been over earlier and was recounting his version of our near accident about two weeks ago. I had been driving his car on a road trip back from Michigan with three other people in the car (five total) when I hit a patch of ice and lost control of the car. I spun out so that I almost hit a cement post holding up a bridge until the car finally stopped on the gravel on the divider and we were facing oncoming traffic. In Don's version of the story, everyone in the car was calm except me. I was screaming while everyone else in the car was quiet. In his head he was thinking, "Everything's ok. She's got this. We'll be just fine."
So why was my mom looking at me funny? She told me, "I wonder why you always have to overreact. I'm thinking about what Don said, how you were the only one screaming. Everyone else was quiet, why did you have to scream?"
At that moment, I felt like I had just been punched in the gut. That day I lost control of the car, the thoughts running through my mind were, "I'm going to total Don's car." "We almost hit that truck!" "We're going to hit that post." "How am I going to tell my friends' parents that I'm the one responsible for their kids' deaths?" So I screamed. Don and the others in the car had said that they couldn't explain their calm, that they just knew everything would be alright. But for me, I feared the worst. I was so shaken I could barely let go of the steering wheel, much less get up out of the driver's seat so Don could take over. And after hearing my friend tell his account the only thing my mother could think of is how much I overreact?
I understand that I'm an emotional person. When I feel, I feel very strongly, but often recover quickly as well. I'm rarely apathetic. I can go from laughing to crying to screaming to smiling in a surprisingly short amount of time. And my entire life, I felt that my mother hated this about me. I was always being told to keep quiet when I was happy. She even asked me to change my laugh. I have many faults, but this one seemed to shame her the most.
I used to hate my mood swings. I used to wonder if maybe something was wrong with me, if maybe I was defective in some way. But as I grew I learned to control my outbursts, especially in public. I learned not to show my anger so easily, and to contain my squeals when I felt I was about to burst with excitement. But I tend to let my guard down more when I'm comfortable. I began to feel comfortable with myself, to accept the fact I am just a very emotional person and that while it has gotten me some strange looks from my family and friends, it has it's benefits. I am able to relate and sympathize with my patients in ways few people can, but I can also come home and leave all my work stress aside. I've cried with families in one room as they shared their burdens and worries and then gone to the next room and laughed with parents celebrating their babies latest achievement. I learned to focus on the things I like about myself instead of wallowing in self-pity wishing I were someone else.
But tonight, I felt the full force of the rejection I had been trying to forget. I had brought shame to my mother because I screamed in a moment that I feared for my life. And I often feel that maybe that is how she often feels about me. And I can't help but wonder, do others share the same opinion? That I am a shameful thing. A madwoman who would be better off locked away in some attic. My confidence has been torn down again. I must start over once again, building these walls from the ground. That's what I get for building a fortress on sand.

Musings on one of Grimm's Fairytales

2011-03-01T21:04:00.000-08:00

“Once upon a time there lived a man, whose wife had died; and a woman, also, who had lost her husband: and this man and this woman had each a daughter. These two maidens were friendly with each other, and used to walk together, and one day they came by the widow’s house. Then the widow said to the man’s daughter, ‘Do you hear, tell your father I wish to marry him, and you shall every morning wash in milk and drink wine, but my daughter shall wash in water and drink water.’ So the girl went home and told her father what the woman had said, and he replied, ‘What shall I do? Marriage is a comfort, but it is also a torment.’ At last, as he could come to no conclusion, he drew off his boot and said: ‘Take this boot, which has a hole in the sole, and go with it out of doors and hang it on the great nail and then pour water into it. If it holds the water, I will again take a wife; but if it runs through, I will not have her.’ The girl did as he bid her, but the water drew the hole together and the boot became full to overflowing. So she told her father how it had happened, and he, getting up, saw it was quite true; and going to the widow he settled the matter, and the wedding was celebrated.”

I understand this is the brothers Grimm we’re talking about, but this is the introduction to a fairytale? I just about cried when I read this. Here is a woman who basically sends her daughter on a mission to demand that her best friend’s father marry her mother. But it’s not enough that she is basically doing the proposing. She’s offering to demean her daughter and uplift his if it will gain his consent! And the man declares that marriage is both a comfort and a torment, so he leaves the decision up to chance. And then it appears the fates would have him marry this woman, so he went and “settled the matter, and the wedding was celebrated”? I can feel my heart breaking just thinking about this. And yet, I wonder, is this really how some marriages come about? Are there truly people who think, “Marriage is torture, but since it has some good moments, it’s better than being alone, so I might as well marry whomever is willing”? I know there are some married people who are unhappy, but surely they did not enter into their unions with this mindset… right?

Maybe it’s foolish and childish of me, but my romantic self wants to fall in love. To be so enamored with a person that I can’t imagine not waking up next to him and be excited to spend time with him, even if it’s just doing mundane chores. To meet a man willing to move mountains and fight dragons and defy all reason just to win my heart. I want to get married someday because I cannot imagine living life without that person by my side.

And yet, I fear that I might become like this widow. See an opportunity and sacrifice all to grab at it, just because it’s there. Not because I care for someone, but because it’s better than being alone. And he will go along with it for the same reason. And we will have a loveless marriage, together but still alone.

Anyways, the story ends happily, sort of. Not for the widow. But that’s enough of that kind of thinking.

Making choices, taking risks, learning to trust

2011-02-21T21:56:00.000-08:00

I started off this year with the intent of being decisive and taking risks I would normally be too scared to take. (I'm not talking skydiving or bungee jumping risks here. I mean like introducing myself to someone new and painting something other than flowers. Anything other than flowers.) The problem is, I have often regretted the spontaneous decisions I've made, and the risks I've taken have rarely paid off. It seems I don't really know when a risk is worth taking or when a decisions needs time.

I moved to California with 3 weeks notice, but only because my job wouldn't let me leave sooner. I made the decision in practically no time at all. I was so sure I was following God's will, and maybe I was. But it's important to remember that when God tells you to take one step in a certain direction, it doesn't mean that you can safely assume where He's leading and immediately break into a run in said direction. I had to learn that lesson the hard way. I still don't know if I learned or did what God meant for me to learn or do in California. I can't say I regret the experience as a whole, but I do regret my overconfidence and what I now realize was a misunderstanding of how trust works.

This weekend has been eye opening in that I have seen clearly God's hand in the events that unfolded, too perfect to be mere coincidence. And now I am faced with a decision to make. At least, I think there is a decision to be made. And while my faith and trust has slowly been rebuilding, I'm terrified of making the same mistake of jumping ahead of God again. I want to be brave, but I don't want to be foolish. I want to be decisive, but I don't want to be rash. I want to live life the way God intended. Which I'm realizing may be nothing like I ever planned or dreamed.

Little Miracles

2011-02-04T09:44:00.000-08:00

I've been a nurse in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit for all of my nursing career (all whopping 5 years) and that has led me to the following conclusion: It takes nothing short of a miracle to bring a child into this world. Parents, especially those with uncomplicated pregnancies and healthy children, should never take this gift for granted. Babies are God's greatest masterpiece and it is no light matter to be entrusted with their care. It is my prayer that I never take for granted the awesome Creator that formed these small miracles nor forget the enormity of my responsibility every day I walk in to work.

Requisite New Year's Blog and Resolutions version 2011

2010-12-31T20:42:00.000-08:00

This year, New Year's Eve falls on a Friday night. I love it when that happens, because the Sabbath is the perfect way to start a new year. While everyone else is out trying to find the best party to attend, I have the perfect excuse to just sit at home with my family and spend some quiet time to reflect. Don't get me wrong, I love a good party, but to me, New Year's Eve is more serious than the other holidays. I like to spend the day cleaning, making sure everything is clean and in order. I've always hated the idea of welcoming the new year with chaos. And then, as midnight approaches, I like to think about the year past and dream about the upcoming year. All this is kinda hard to do when you're in party mode.

2010 has been the snowglobe year for me. Everything in my life was shaken, stirred, and basically went in a direction completely unplanned. I gave up one life plan in exchange for one completely different, and now I really have no idea where this one will take me. It's been a year in which my faith, my patience, and my endurance has been tested. And here I am at the end with no idea if I passed. This sounds kind of negative, but I see the good in it. I've grown a lot this year, but I can see that I still have a lot of growing to do. Most importantly, I've learned a lot about trust and faith. I'm learning what it really means to trust God and to follow Him without an inkling of how it will all work out in the end. It's scary and often times frightening, but it's also exciting. I have no idea what's ahead, but I think I can say now with more certainty than ever that I'm ok with that. Which is a lot, coming from a Type A personality.

Speaking of OCD-type behaviors... The following are my New Year's resolutions in list form.

1. Get certified. I want to take and pass the RNC in the first half of the year. More knowledge, more confidence, and also more money. :)

2. Write the first draft of my novel. I've had this idea stuck in my head for a couple of years now. It's about time it got penned down. I've been terrified because I want it to be perfect right away, but I should know by now that perfection takes time and work. Not to mention actual action.

3. Improve my financial situation. I'm not broke, but I'm not rich either. I definitely could learn to manage my money better.

4. Take care of my body from head to toe. It's the only one I've got. Not only does this mean the usual weight loss goals, but getting enough sleep, managing stress, and eating healthier. Head to toe also means taking care of my hair and my skin. Goodbye to junk food and hello to exercise and frequent visits to the salon, spa, and dermatologist. Not to mention actually finding a general physician.

5. Find a balance between family and personal time. I need to be more aware of my family's needs as well as my own. And if it means I need to go away on more mini-vacations to protect my sanity, so be it.

6. Start a musical group. Been working on this one with a friend. I miss choral singing, and producing good music is a blessing to all involved.

7. Become more involved at church. Not just saying yes to everything and then not following through, but actually contributing in a measurable way.

8. Start a work journal. I was disappointed when I received my evaluation at work to realize that my supervisors had simply given me cut-and-paste comments on my performance at work. If I can make real, measurable contributions to work and journal them, it will make proving that I deserve more than just a generic review much easier.

9. Watch less TV. Seriously, enough is enough. I think it's time to start weeding out some of the shows I've been watching. I can't live a great story if I'm too busy watching the stories of others.

10. Take chances. I don't know how many times I've regretted missed opportunities, questioned what if. I'm turning 26 this year and I'm not getting any younger. If I want things to happen for me, be they in my work life, my social life, or my spiritual life, I need to start moving NOW. Now is not the time to be afraid.

Here's to a great year... 2011, here I come!

Eclipse

2010-12-20T23:57:00.000-08:00

It's 2:44 am Decmber 21, 2010. I'm sitting on my bathroom sink counter. The skylight in here is the only window from which I can see the spectacular display outside. Tonight is the winter solstice, and the moon, sun, and earth have decided to collaborate for a celebration by creating a lunar eclipse. The peak is supposed to be at 3 am during which time the moon is supposed to look like an orange ring. Already, the earth's silhouette has cast an orange shadow on the moon's surface. It feels like New Year's Eve, and I'm counting down to zero. All over the country people are watching this sight. But my house is quiet, dark. I'm watching alone. But someone, somewhere, is watching the same miracle. Maybe they're alone too. Sitting on some porch quietly gazing in awe. Six minutes to go. This counter is cold and not at all comfortable. But it's ok. I'm witnessing a miracle. And someone, somewhere is watching, too. So maybe I'm not all that alone after all.

Remember Me in review

2010-03-15T21:06:00.000-07:00

First Disclaimer: Spoiler alert!! If you have not seen this movie, it is best to go in knowing as little as possible about the plot. If you have not seen it the first part of this review will be safe to read, but I will insert another disclaimer before launching into the second half. You have been warned.

Second Disclaimer: I am not a Robert Pattinson fan, at least not before this movie. I do like the Twilight movies and books, but I do realize they are cheesy, poorly done, and have little if any literary value. So you can consider this an unbiased review.

This movie was amazing. I went in with very moderate expectations, and ended up loving it. The story focuses on two people, Tyler Hawkins and Ally Craig, who each witnessed a loved one meet a tragic end. The movie follows their romance, but it isn't really the focus of the film. It's about finding purpose, or rather, about having none, but still living each moment knowing that each decision you make can and does ultimately affect and change the lives of people around you.

The plot itself, when viewed simply as a series of events, is really nothing extraordinary. It's the people that make it fascinating and emotionally moving. It's witnessing the effects of these events on the people in the story that is truly the heart and soul of the movie.

As far as the acting, it was far from flawed, but still very well-done. I have not seen any of Emilie de Ravin's work (sorry, I've never seen a episode of Lost), but she played the character of Ally superbly, and suffers no lack of chemistry with Pattinson. However, chemistry with co-stars has never seemed to be a problem for Robert Pattinson. I really wish he had not taken on the role of Edward in Twilight, because anyone who has seen the teen dramas will immediately be reminded of his vampire moodiness while watching this film. However, while his moody, brooding take on Edward in the Twilight Saga is annoying and serves as great fodder for parody, in Remember Me, Pattinson's emo ways are perfectly justified. He may be a one-note actor, but he's damn good at playing that one note, and Remember Me perfectly showcases his talent for it. Ruby Jerins is adorable as Tyler's younger sister, but far from the best as far as child actors go. Chris Cooper and Pierce Brosnan completely nail their parts as Ally's dad and Tyler's dad, respectively.

Now for the second part. Seriously, if you haven't seen it, stop reading. NOW.

The surprise ending was very controversial to critics, and I honestly can't see why. There is no other movie like Remember Me in that there is no other movie that so directly addresses the tragedy of 9/11. Many reviews have claimed that this twist cheapened the movie and trivialized and exploited the tragic event, but I simply cannot agree. This movie was both about 9/11 and not. It didn't try to dramatize what happened, or bias viewers in any direction politically. If the events of 9/11 had to be written into film, it couldn't have been done with more sensitivity and humanity than Remember Me. This movie did not take sides on the event, nor did it make light of the very real tragedy. It wasn't about blaming 9/11 for Tyler's death. It was about how every life, no matter how short, or misguided, or aimless, effects the lives of others and is therefore priceless. It tells us that even if we never gain fame or recognition for accomplishing great things, if we can bring joy and happiness to just one person for just one moment, we have a life well-lived. Every moment is to be lived fully, with abandon. To quote Tyler Hawkins: Our fingerprints don't fade from the lives we've touched.

How to save a life

2010-03-03T20:57:00.000-08:00

Cheesy title I know, just move past it already.

My dad had blood work done to day to test his eligibility for a kidney transplant. He's going to go to surgery to get a fistula so he can start hemodialysis. I hate seeing him like this. When I first realized he was going to need a kidney, all I wanted to do was give him mine. But I'm at high risk to develop the same health issues he has. Even if I were eligible to donate, it would be at a tremendous risk to myself, not necessarily right away, but in the future. Still, I desperately want to help him. He has a couple of siblings who are in good health, but I don't know if they'd be willing to donate a kidney to him. Even my brother wants to give up a kidney, but he's got the same risk factors that I have. He's still young, and my dad's siblings have families to think of. So in my mind, that makes it my obligation to donate. As I wrote before, I've had to lock away the last of my dreams. My parents and my brother are my world, my future. More than ever I feel the need to make some changes. If I can alter my lifestyle, get rid of some bad habits, I can greatly reduce my risk of inheriting my dad's health problems. It is now more important than ever that I get healthy. It's not just about trying to look good. It's about saving someone's life. I need to get my self into the best shape possible in order to do the same for my dad.

Locked away

2010-03-02T22:01:00.000-08:00

I've written before how I hope to be brave enough to put aside my dreams, to put them away in a drawer like Mr. Darling does in Peter Pan. Many of those dreams were elusive enough to put away without too much difficulty, since the chances of seeing them become reality were small. But there was this one dream. This one most cherished dream that I clung too. It was one of my first dreams, and also the one I thought had the greatest potential to become reality. This dream, I did not want to put away in the drawer. I didn't want to let it go. I realize now that this dream, even this one, must also be put away. The thing about abandoned dreams is, the more you take them out of the drawer to admire them, the harder it is to close the drawer. I see know what I have to do. I need to place these dreams in a locked safe, hide it in the deepest recess of the deepest drawer, and throw away the key. Can I be brave enough?

Is there a point?

2010-02-26T16:47:00.000-08:00

I feel like I should blog something. Over the past two weeks I've had moments of inspiration, but lacked the willpower to just sit down and commit a few minutes to writing. I'm not sure why, if it's a fear that what I write is just meaningless rambling that adds to the clutter of mediocrity already plaguing the internet, or just a lack of motivation. Probably a little bit of both. Anyways, my life is still a bit unstable, what with not having a job and still waiting on movers to bring in my stuff, so I've been finding all sorts of excuses to not write, blog or otherwise. I really really do want to write this novel, but I'm reluctant to start. That's always been my problem: getting started. I get inspired to do something--write a novel, take the RNC Exam, lose weight--and I plan and plan, but never actually get to that first step. It disgusts me. I want to accomplish these things, but I always let the fear of failure and/or rejection take over and keep me from even trying. I've always been this way. Even as a child I would always sit out on new games because I was afraid I'd mess up or lose right away. So I became a spectator. Always sitting on the sidelines while the other children played, and then while my peers lived. I don't want be a spectator anymore. I want to be able to look the risk of failure in the face and say, "I'm not afraid of you." So I'll start small. I'll try to commit to a weekly blog, especially now, while my life is still a mess and fiction-writing needs to move down on the list of priorities. At least blogging can keep my writing skills (ha!) intact. But whenever inspiration hits, I'll sit myself down for however long it takes to turn that idea into words, music, art. You hear that, you big, empty void that is the internet? You shall keep me accountable.

Happy New Year... sorta

2010-01-29T01:56:00.000-08:00

I realize it's probably much too late to write my New Year's Resolutions. I had good intentions, really. One of my resolutions was to stop procrastinating, so as you can see, that's going well.

My life is about to turn upside down again, I'm going backwards and starting over at the same time. It's new, but it's a familiar new. Almost like a second chance. I was dreading this change, back when I first realized it had to be made. But one of the New Year's resolution I made this year, I fully intend to keep, mostly because if I keep this resolution, the others are sure to follow. That resolution: choose happiness. My life is only as happy as I decide it to be. Changes are not obstacles, they are opportunities. Opportunities for growth, for gain, for wisdom earned and not simply handed out.

So far, I've been good at keeping this resolution. Granted, there are my moments of melancholy, but instead of fighting them, I'm choosing to accept them, realize that they are a part of my life experience, and that they will always pass. I'm choosing to have faith again. Repairing a relationship with God that had withered away to almost nothing, but now is growing. Albeit slowly, but better a steady burn that grows than a brilliant spark that lasts but a moment.

My life is not at all what I would have imagined it to be at this age. At 24, almost 25, I expected to be dating, maybe engaged,having travelled the world on various mission trips/vacations and well on my way to a happy domestic life raising perfectly spotless children in some idyllic suburban mansion with two dogs and a cat. Instead I find myself single, having never left this country in 5 years, moving back home, leaving a job I love, and having to take care of my ailing parents. I could be devastated, I could be crushed. But I'm not. I'm choosing happiness, or something like it. I find myself moving toward opportunities. Though I love my job, it has already taken such an emotional toll on me, that I would be sure to burn out in a few years if I stayed with it. Now I have a chance to explore other areas of my field, perhaps areas that I will find even more suitable for my personality and temperament. I'm moving back home, but I'm going to be close to my loved ones. My home church has been the source of much help in my spiritual life, I'm looking forward to returning to it, to feeling like I belong again. I have to deal with living with my parents again, but I am also privileged because I get care for them, return the love they bestowed upon me freely as a child.

So many opportunities and reasons to be excited. But every once in a while, I feel the hollowness of dreams forsaken, dreams that remain just out of reach, and I am not to pursue them. One of my favorite lines from the movie Peter Pan stays with me:

Mrs. Darling: There are many different kinds of bravery. There's the bravery of thinking of others before one's self. Now, your father... has made many sacrifices for his family, and put away many dreams.

Michael: Where did he put them?

Mrs. Darling: He puts them in a drawer. And sometimes, late at night, we take them out and admire them. But it get's harder and harder to close the drawer. He does. And that is why he is brave.

I hope I can be brave, too.

"

Another piece of my heart

2009-12-10T01:15:00.000-08:00

After circling the hospital parking structure, I found an open space and parked my car. As I walked towards the hospital, I looked down at the ground, watching my Converse-covered feet move mechanically just past the hem of my jeans. This is wrong, I thought. I've made this trek three nights a week for the past three years, but always wearing my "work shoes" and scrubs. And usually at dusk or after dark. But it wasn't only my attire that was unusual, there was no reason to the bright noonday sun. And again I thought of why this felt so wrong. It was a familiar journey, but today was different. I was not a nurse today. I wasn't going in to the hospital to work. I was going in to grieve.

Just two days before, I had made this same journey, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Two days ago, I had walked in to work, anticipating a nice, peaceful night taking care of my primary, Layla*. I had been taking care of her for the past three weeks, almost from the night she was born, and she was making so much progress. She was tiny for her age, 35 weeks and still under a kilogram (approximately 2 pounds). But she was feisty. The last time I had taken care of her, I had turned off her IV fluids because she was tolerating all her feedings, even bottle feeding, despite her tiny size. As I walked in that night, I wondered how much progress she'd made during the weekend while I was off.

I felt my stomach drop down to my toes when I saw her that night. She didn't even look like the same baby. She was not only intubated, but on the ventilator saved for only the sickest of babies. I had left her with only one IV access, just for emergencies, but she now had several lines inserted, and the bedside was crowded with all the pumps administering medication just to keep her alive. All night my coworkers helped me, as I moved mechanically, doing my best to separate myself from the tasks I had to do. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't help the fact that several times I was frozen in place, looking at this swollen, pitiful infant and thinking, That's not Layla. Surely this can't possibly be my Layla.

Those two nights were among the top if not the hardest nights I've ever had at work. Not only because of how much work there was to do, but because of the emotional and mental burden I had to carry while fighting to save this child's life. For two nights, I watched Layla get worse and worse, despite my futile efforts. But the hardest part of the whole ordeal was facing her parents. I knew, because of my clinical knowledge and experience, that we were just postponing the inevitable, but how could I tell that to Layla's parents? How could I take away their hope? I knew better than to encourage false hope, but neither could I bring myself to tell them outright that the outcome would not be good. It was my job to look at things objectively, it was their job to hope and pray for the best for their daughter.

As I reported off to the day shift nurse at the end of that second night, I asked her to call me in case (in my heart, I said when) anything happened. Exhausted as I was, I knew sleep would not come to me that day. Sure enough, around noon, my phone rang. I almost didn't answer. I already knew what the nurse had to say.

So I went to the hospital. not caring about my appearance. I still hadn't showered from the night before and I looked a wreck, but even though I was going to be amongst my peers, I knew I was going there not because my job required it of me, but because I needed to be there for her. For Layla and her parents. As a nurse, I was finding it difficult to maintain my professional distance. So in a way, I was glad that today I wasn't their nurse. I was their friend, joining them in their grief.

When I walked onto the unit, I washed up in the scrub room like any other visiting family member. As I walked into the room, I took several deep breaths before going behind the curtain that gave very little privacy to this family that had become so dear to my heart. Behind the curtain, I found Layla's mom in tears on the phone, likely calling all family members. Layla's dad was hunched over the warmer, stroking her cheek. When he saw me, he hugged me, or rather clung to me, and cried into my shoulder, saying, "Thank you for being such a good nurse." I instantly felt all my resolve to put on a brave face melt away as i broke down into sobs. I didn't know what to say, I had no words.

After her mom got off the phone, she gave me a similar greeting. It was just the two of them for now, but several extended family members were on their way. I told myself I would stay only until they arrived, so they could grieve in private. I ended up staying for three and a half hours. I couldn't bring myself to leave, even after all the family arrived. I stayed against the wall of the room, out of the way, feeling a little like an intruder. But when the chaplain came around to pray with the family and they welcomed me by taking my hands and drawing me into their circle I knew that right then, though we were practically strangers, we were united in our grief and sadness.

Every life is precious, no matter how long it is lived. Layla was not my child, but I cared for her deeply, and her family has touched my heart. I tried to go in to work last night, not 24 hours after she passed away, and I couldn't do it. As I walked onto the unit I saw the nurse practitioner who was on call that last night, then the fellow who wrote the order to take her off life support. When I saw the respiratory therapist who had worked with me and encouraged me those two horrific nights, I turned around and ran out of the unit sobbing. I have a few days off. I'm hoping these few days will be time enough. Time enough to ease the pain, to soften the memory. But never time enough to forget. Forgetting is ceasing to care. And in my life, both professional and personal, I simply can't afford to stop caring.

*Not her real name.

I need to get this off my chest...

2009-12-03T05:04:00.001-08:00

I've noticed something about myself: whenever I find myself acting the most carefree and adventurous, that's usually when I'm the furthest from happiness. Spontaneity and hyperness in me is a defense mechanism from other negative feelings that are threatening to take over. I finally took the time to analyze myself, and to figure out what was bothering me. The answer? Not what I expected. Basically, I'm pissed off at God.

I first moved out to California because I though this is where God wanted me. Why? I didn't know. I hoped it had to do with finding a purpose, and possibly a soulmate. After three difficult years full of loneliness, frustration, pain, disappointment, I had finally adjusted and accepted my life here. No, I didn't find love, but at least I found some purpose and meaning in my job. And now I'm moving back. Out of necessity. And it feels like I'm facing the gallows.

I feel like all this time, I've been holding on, thinking to myself, "The best is yet to come. It make suck at times right now, but in the end, it will all be worth it." And that hope, that little glimmer of hope, kept me going. And now it seems that God has just told me, "Oh, sorry for the confusion, but all that shit you went through? Yeah, that was the 'good' stuff. And now it's over. Sorry you didn't get to make more of you pathetic excuse for a life."

My hope? Gone. It hurts to much to hold on to an impossiblity. I feel like I've been holding onto the edge of a cliff for years, fingers slipping, nails ripped off and bleeding. Knowing that I couldn't make it on my own but holding on to the hope that someone was coming to help me. Someone was coming to rescue me. But when that someone finally showed up, he just smiled at me as he kicked me free of that last pinkyhold and now I'm just falling, falling, falling into the abyss, waiting for the inevitable.

Hoping no hate..

2009-11-08T00:12:00.000-08:00

No deep meaningful post tonight. I was just watching Manny Pacquiao's interview on Jimmy Kimmel. Now, I'm a proud Filipina. I love my heritage. And I get that to be Filipino, truly Filipino, you have to love Manny Pacquiao. But if I can be completely honest, this interview is painfully embarrassing. I want to write Jimmy Kimmel a letter apologizing for the awkwardness he had to endure conducting this interview. I know Pacquiao's a legend. I know it. But please, hire a speech writer or coach. Please.

I can only link the first part. If you can endure to see more, feel free to find the rest yourself.
But you gotta hear the singing.

Drive-by Post

2009-10-30T11:00:00.000-07:00

Is there someplace I can go for a manual on blogspot? I like this site, but I do get confused easily.

Anyways, have been concocting an idea for a novel. Will it ever make it to paper? Or even my computer's hard drive? We'll see. Right now, I'll be impressed with myself if I get an outline typed out.

Jane Austen Book Club

2009-10-28T03:49:00.001-07:00

Grigg: I understand why Colonel Brandon goes for Marianne. And it's not 'cause she's young. It's because she's generous with herself. She's willing to risk her heart. No rules, no fear.

Jocelyn: And Willoughby tramples her.

Grigg: She just picked the wrong guy.

I love this movie.

Alone

2009-10-27T10:41:00.000-07:00

The other night I was driving home from a friends house at almost 11PM. I had been feeling weird--kinda... off--before I left, and I wasn't really looking forward to my 40-minute drive. Now, I had noticed that my tires were looking a little low on air, but I just hadn't gotten around to putting air in (I know, bad car owner, bad). As I was driving, I kept feeling like something was wrong. Somehow the idea got stuck in my head, not that I could get a flat tire, but that I most certainly would get on on my way home tonight. So the whole time I'm driving, I felt this anxiety closing in on me, and a voice in my head saying over and over, "You're gonna get a flat tire! You're gonna get a flat tire!" Then, out there on the freeway, I heard a thump and the smell of burning rubber quickly filled my nostrils. My hands shaking on the steering wheel, I pulled onto the shoulder. This was a busy freeway, with lots of traffic and virtually no streetlights. I carefully got out of the car and checked my tires. All four perfectly intact. At this point I was near tears, and I climbed back into my car, and carefully merged back onto the road.

You would think that nagging voice and anxiety would have gone away, right? Wrong. The anxiety turned into a thick wool turtleneck that was somehow shrinking in on my as the voice changed it's persistent screaming inside my head: "What if you had a flat tire? You would be stuck out here, in the middle of nowhere. There's no one you could call, everyone's busy at work or too far away and would probably say they couldn't come out to help. You'd be stuck alone. Alone. Alone." By this time, I was grateful that my apartment was less than 5 miles away. When I pulled into my parking spot, my hands were shaking, I was choking on dry sobs, and the chant in my head had turned into just one word: "ALONE. ALONE. ALONE."

I think it was a panic attack that shook me that night. But since that night, that word has been haunting me. Loneliness is not unfamiliar to me, in fact it had been my constant companion for years. But since moving into an apartment by myself again a few months ago, I hadn't felt that loneliness. These past few months, I felt satisfied with how my life was. Maybe not completely happy, but I really had no reason to complain. I kept holding my breath, those first few weeks, to see if the loneliness would come settle around me again, but every morning, I was pleased when it didn't. Now, all of a sudden, it came back into my life out of nowhere like a slap in the face. For the past few days, that word, that disgusting, hateful word has taken up residence in my mind, coming out and taking over, usually when my defenses are down as I try to fall asleep (much like right now). When it comes, it's like my body is a plane of glass, and someone just very gently hammers a small nail smack in the middle--where the heart is--and as the cracks slowly spread a vacuum sucks the tiny shards into oblivion, from the inside out. And I just wait for sleep to mercifully pull me into unconsciousness, but not before that empty, hollow feeling settles deep in my bones.

I'm hoping it's just a phase. A very short phase.

Pet Peeve

2009-10-23T02:15:00.000-07:00

Tonight I hung out with some new people at a restaurant, you know, just to shake things up a bit. Most of them were cool, but the guy sitting next to me completely ignored me. That's ok, I understand some people are shy, I'm not exactly the most outgoing person either. The service at this place was horrible, but we were trying to make the best of it. Even though the waitress took forever to bring out our food, we just tried to ignore our grumbling bellies and enjoy the each other's company. However, this guy next to me was just not having any of it. The waitress had already brought all our entrees, but we were still waiting on the rice (it was an Asian restaurant). She had confused our orders and didn't realize that we were waiting on it. Meanwhile, this guy's food had gotten cold, and he was not taking it well. He kept grumbling and saying, "My food's cold now, it's disgusting. I don't want it." The rest of us were in the exact same boat, but we were just trying to laugh about it, but he insisted on sulking. He told the waitress to just take the food away, untouched.

Now, I understand the need to send things back. I understand that waiters and waitresses are paid to bring out the customer's food in a timely manner. And I understand that bottling up negative feelings is not healthy. But the honest truth is, shit happens and sometimes you just gotta roll with the punches. It's one thing to make a (albeit, well-deserved) complaint to the waiter when you're in a small group. But to do so in a large group, especially among people you don't really know? NOT a good first impression. Had he simply told the waiter to reheat his food or to quietly send it back or, best yet, speak for the whole table in our dissatisfaction with the service, his actions would have been more appropriate. So of course, because of this one, guy, there was tension at the table. Everyone tried to ignore it, but I could still feel it, this angry heat radiating on my left side causing my whole body to feel tightly coiled. I'm a peace-loving person, I can't stand when anyone around me is upset or angry, and I will do all I can to restore that person to a happier state of mind. But with this almost complete stranger seated next to me, I felt trapped. I enjoyed most of the company I kept tonight, but you can bet, not only will I never return to that particular restaurant, I will do my best to stay away from the company of this particular boy.

And that concludes my nonsense rant for this morning.

A few changes

2009-10-22T02:39:00.000-07:00

It's 2:30 AM and the deep, thoughtful post I've been working on for months now is giving me a headache. So again, I tweaked my profile and layout because I'm still deciding what I want this blog to be. Much like I'm trying to decide what I want my life to be. But that line of thinking will bring me back to that headache-inducing post, so here is where I say, good night.

Where the Wild Things Are

2009-10-21T23:49:00.001-07:00

I remember when I was in grade school and I read Where the Wild Things Are for the first time. The book was a mystery to me. I was confused by and almost afraid of the drawings of these large beasts with huge claws and long teeth. Reading the book I thought, why would anyone include monsters in their happy place? And why wasn’t this boy afraid of them? And how brave was he to speak to his mother in such a disrespectful manner? I decided that the book would make much more sense to me if I were a boy. But I also remember thinking, there’s something about this book that I would only be able to understand when I was a little bit more grown up.

When I heard they were making a movie out of this 10-sentence story I remembered my childhood musings and intrigue about the book. I bought a copy, wanting to rediscover this world created by Max and see if years had indeed unlocked at least some of its mystery. Sure enough, it did. Now when I flip through the pages, I see Max for the boy he is: wild and brave, creating a world where he is totally unrestricted and fully in control. He has no reason to fear these beasts more than twice his size because he can and does make himself their king. But ultimately, he is a boy who wants the freedom to express the wildness within him and be loved unconditionally for it, not just in spite of it.
 Being a fan of any story that involves escaping reality through sheer imagination (Peter Pan and the Chronicles of Narnia are still among my favorite books), I looked forward to seeing this story brought to life. Despite reading reviews of it being much darker than most expected, I still had high hopes. And I was not disappointed. Somehow they managed to turn 10-sentences into a full-length movie without destroying the integrity of the story Maurice Sendak created. Out of necessity, events were created and manipulated not according to the book, but it is still very much the same world Max escapes to.

One of the biggest plot changes was the naming of the wild things. Not only were they named but they were made into complete, rounded-out characters that the audience could completely embrace as creations of Max’s imagination. Though they all had distinct personalities, it was downright magical to see how they took turns representing different aspects of Max’s personality and, at times, his perceptions of the people in his life. Carol is like Max’s best friend or soulmate, the one he could relate to most. Just like Max, Carol hates change and desires that his family stay together, just as it is. He’s looking for that happiness that is so close but remains just out of reach, and he’s searching for that something or someone to bridge the gap. Judith takes turns being like his mother’s more authoritative side and the negative, pessimistic gloom that Max can’t seem to escape, nor does he really want to escape it. Ira is probably what Max wishes his dad could be like: completely and unconditionally devoted to Judith (his mom). Douglas is the epitome of the unconditionally loyal friend because, honestly, what better friend could their be than one who still stands by your side, even after ripping out your (favorite) arm. Alexander is the part of Max that feels lost in the chaos; how Max feels other people probably view him--an annoying mosquito that people swat away. And KW is like Max’s mom in the best way. Of all the wild things, she’s the one who knows exactly who he is--she’s the only one who calls him Max from the begining--and loves him whole-heartedly, no questions asked. She can see that Max is pretending to be someone bigger than he really is, but instead of questioning his authority like Judith does, or pushing to know his background, or lifting him on a pedestal that deep down he knows he doesn’t deserve, she just loves him with her whole being.

A major addition the movie brought to the story was the conflict among the wild things that Max tries to resolve. Like his own life, a family is changed for what appears to be the worse, but in this world, maybe there’s a chance he can repair it. Through the movie Max tries his best to unite the beasts and make the hurt and loneliness go away. But even in this world of make-believe, it is bigger than he is, and Max ends up feeling like he just made everything worse. So Max returns home, glad to be free of the responsibility of fixing the world’s problems. Where he isn’t expected to take care of everyone, but instead he is taken care of, which is exactly where all little boys belong.

What I think I love most about the movie is how it is filmed as though Max himself is telling the story. All perception is biased by his point of view, and yet, it’s not the watered-down light-hearted fantasy Disney has taught us to expect of children. Even at it’s most rambunctious and happiest moments, there is still a hint of the sadness and loneliness permeating throughout. It’s as though Max realizes that no matter how free and wild he may act or how far away he runs, he can’t escape the troubles and worries that plague him. In the end, the most comforting place turns out to be the very place he has been trying to escape. It is at home that he finds beautiful, imperfect, and unconditional love.

Love Story

2009-08-15T00:34:00.001-07:00

So Michelle just linked me to this vid on YouTube of an arrangement this guy did on piano and cello called "Love Story meets Viva la Vida." And I'm trying not to cry like a baby. It's a beautiful arrangement, go check it out (but after you finish reading. ^_^)

Anyways, I'm typing this as I listen to it again, and I'm absolutely floored at the fact that a teenager wrote the song Love Story. Just the melody alone is enough to bring me to tears. But it's the words that do me in every. single. time. And I think, how lucky is this girl to be able to not just pen down these lyrics and hear this music in her head, but ultimately have such hope that someday she's going to find her Prince Charming. And not only will she find him, she believes he will overcome any challenge, any roadblock, big or small, to ensure their happily ever after.

That's a lot of optimism for a girl to have these days. With all the crap and stupidity going on in the world, it's hard to hope for true love. It's hard to imagine that yes, there is someone out there, meant for you, who will do whatever it takes to find you. I know in my personal experience, my natural optimism is constantly battling what I perceive to be a harsh reality: It's a tough world out there, and if you're gonna make it, you're gonna have to be able to do it alone. It's created an almost fierce independence streak in me. When I first moved out here on my own, I was the eternal optimist. I was Taylor Swift. I knew I was a social person, and that I needed people. But after just over two years and a lot of heartbreak, my thinking has taken a much more realistic, defensive route. I'm prepared to face this world on my own, without a crutch to lean on. I can't waste time looking for someone to share my life with, because it will only bring disappointment.

But I'm so grateful for those out there who do believe in happy endings. Who believe in that knight riding in on a white horse. It almost, almost rekindles that spark of hope. Almost. And sometimes, it's nice to pretend there is hope.

Anyways, thank you Taylor Swift, for your beautiful music and even more beautiful lyrics. Thanks for bringing the hope of a fairytale ending into an otherwise bleak world.

Single

2009-07-09T21:47:00.000-07:00

I currently am crushing on a much younger guy (he’s legal, I may be a cougar, but I’m certainly no pedophile). Anyways, at work the other day, I was just trying to picture what it would be like if I ended up with this guy. Now, another certain goal I have in life is to adopt a girl from China. I’ve done my research, and China only takes applicant’s over the age of 30. They take single parent applications, but if a couple is applying, they both have to be at least 30. In my fantasy scenario where I end up with this young guy, I realized I would have to wait till I was 35 before my adoption dream could even take the first step to becoming a reality. But I really I don’t want to wait that long! I thought, well, maybe this guy and I could put off getting married until after I adopted my daughter. But honestly, what would a guy think if I told him, “I love you and want to marry you and all, but I need to have a child first before I can take that step.”

This got me thinking. Maybe getting married isn’t so important to me anymore. I mean I just got this new apartment by myself, and I keep waiting for the feelings of loneliness to hit me, but they’re not coming. I’m finding myself quite content living alone. I’m loving my work and I keep planning the steps to keep moving up in my career. I’m making lists of places I want to visit, things I want to do. For once--probably the first time ever--I am truly happy and content with being single.

Maybe it’s sad that it took me this long, to get to this point, but I couldn’t be more relieved. It feels like I’m finally getting the answer to my prayer. I think, right now, I could care less if I stay single for the next 5 years or 50. The things I really want out of life, I don’t need a boyfriend or a husband to get them. I can adopt as a single parent. I still enjoy my crush and a good sappy movie or love song now and again, but the aching emptiness I’ve felt for so long no longer has a vise grip on my heart. More importantly, I finally feel that I’ve let go of the rejection and unworthiness that have plagued me for the past couple of years. Yes, I’m single, and I may be single for a very long time, possible for the rest of my life, but that doesn’t make my life any less meaningful. I’m sure there will still be bouts of loneliness, but it all comes with the territory. Apparently I’m a very slow person: It took me over 3 years to accept and embrace the fact that I’m a nurse, It’s taken me even longer, to finally accept and embrace my singleness--but at least I finally got there.

Change of plans

2009-05-25T22:46:00.000-07:00

I was working on a graduation blog about my brother, but I just got news that my patient passed away over the weekend.

This is the first time I've lost a baby, much less a primary. I feel lost, sad, and I deeply regret not being there for my primary's family. What surprises me, is how at peace I feel. I expected to be guilty, or maybe even angry. While taking care of him, I kept doubting myself, that I was capable of handling such a sick baby. But over the weekend, even unaware of what was going on with him, I came to realize that I did the absolute best I could in taking care of him. I loved him, and it made me all the more careful and thorough in my care for him. So even now, knowing he's gone, I don't feel guilty.

I really did expect to feel at least a little bit angry with God. Given the fragility of my relationship with Him, I thought a loss like this would snap the fine thread holding me to Him. But again I'm surprised, because I actually feel closer to Him. I know He loved this baby a hundred times more than his parents did, and certainly a hundred thousands times more than I did. I know it breaks His heart that a life is lost, a family is grieved and broken, and that He hurts more than all of them put together. But I am 100% confident that this is not God's fault. God did not want this baby to come early, or to get so sick, or to give a family a baby only to take him away before he ever got a real chance at life.

So I am at peace. I know, when I return to work tomorrow night, it will hit me all over again, and I will probably shed a few more tears. But I can honestly say, though I am sad, my heart is untroubled. There is still a God who is watching, caring, loving everyone, including me.

hello again

2009-04-22T02:10:00.001-07:00

I think I'd like to come back to this blog. I kept it private for a while, but I think I have some stuff I'd like to share, so I went public. So I did a little redesign, made use of my editing shears, and voila: I present to you, RR&RoRR 2.0. In other words, your average blog. Ah, the brilliance of narcissistic anonymity. It's the American way.

slow to learn

2008-07-17T00:35:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I blogged here. But I just had to jot it down, so it doesn't escape my memory.

The first time I told a friend I liked him, his immediate response was, "So, do you think your friend would ever date me?"

The second time I admitted my feelings to another friend, he told me he still thought I was a wonderful friend. A week later, he was seriously considering moving away. Because of me.

I'm NOT going to fuck up a third time.

and Lee Pace can now join the lineup

2008-04-11T00:16:00.000-07:00

There's something that I've been wanting to blog about all day, and I knew it could only be posted here. But now, I realize, I've spent WAAY too much time thinking about this blog. Wondering, wishing, waiting, for four months. Mulling, reviewing, analyzing every action, every word, even things not actually done. And what have I to show for it? Mixed emotions, a thousand thoughts, and not one real piece of evidence that anything actually existed outside my own head. And I realize, I've fallen into the same cycle yet again. But this time, I know how it ends. I know what comes next, it will be no different than before. So now I say, enough is enough. I'M DONE. Not one more moment to be wasted, not when there's so much more out there to occupy my time. I'm done waiting, wondering, dreaming. I'm ready to LIVE.

why i feel like i've gotten into the wrong profession

2008-04-06T20:49:00.000-07:00

I had a whole eloquent and witty blog in mind for weeks now. Well, this is what you get instead.

I hate work. Not because of the job itself, but because of my apparent inability to perform my job well. I know I’m not the best nurse, but I always thought my strength was in being able to empathize with my patients and their families. I try to put myself in their shoes, see things from their point of view, and treat them the way I would want to be treated if it were myself or my loved one in the hospital. Even the most difficult families seemed to like me, because I acknowledged their frustrations as real and valid.

My primary’s parents asked that I no longer be assigned to their baby. I did my job, cared for their baby the best I knew how, charted responsibly, listened to the family’s frustrations, and resisted the temptation to turn them against the doctors when I didn’t agree with their plan of care. I did my best to be a peacemaker, to bridge the communication gap between the family and the doctors, to simultaneously protect the credibilty of the medical staff while acknowledging the family’s concerns and finding ways to alleviate their worries. And when other staff complained and called them difficult, I defended them. I fell in love with this baby, and I really enjoyed talking to the parents. So of course it was like a slap in the face to learn that my brand of care was not appreciated nor wanted.

I dread going in to work tomorrow. I don’t want to primary anymore, I don’t feel like I’m good enough. I wanted to try to pick up more difficult assignments after my primary went home. Now I feel thrown back to those first days when my job was frightening, intimidating, too big for me.

I’ve been questioning my reason for being called to come out here lately, but it’s been a very long while since I’ve questioned my professional calling. Did I make a mistake in thinking God has called me to be a nurse, even if only for the time being? I just don’t know anymore.

heavy thinking

2008-03-07T20:46:00.001-08:00

I was asked the following two questions this week:

1. What does "living life to the fullest" mean to you?

2. What's on your Checklist of things to do before you die?

The first question caught me totally off guard. I used to be able to readily answer, "Living life to the fullest for me means living wholeheartedly for a Godly purpose." But thinking on that now, it sounds rather vague and elusive. I still want to live wholeheartedly for a purpose that I'm passionate about, but I'm not yet sure what that is. I desperately want to live the life God has called me to live, but I don't know what exactly that entails. In the book I'm rereading, Captivating, it says that our calling is something that we are drawn too, something we are passionate about. Again, still figuring out exactly what that is. The follow-up of course to Question 1 is, "Are you living your life to the fullest?" Unsure as I am as to the first answer, I know beyond a doubt my answer to the follow-up. And it left me feeling quite unsettled.

As for the second question, I was also caught off guard, but in a different way. I really haven't thought about the experiences that I want to seek out. Sure, travel is up there, but it's on everyone's list. So again, I find myself thinking, "What is it exactly that I want out of this life?" Through prayer and much thought, I think I'm slowly finding the answer.

1. After God, I am most passionate about family. Children, married couples, I care most about preserving these bonds that God has created, and that Satan tries so hard to destroy. I want every child to feel loved. I want every married couple to be happy. I want to do whatever it takes to defend these relationships. Still unsure of the specifics, but I have a feeling this passion and draw to family is deeply integral to my calling.

2. I'm realizing more and more that I could care less if I ever go skydiving, visit Europe, write a book, write a song, or go white water rafting. Yes those things are nice, but I think the experiences I long for most are very close to what I'm most passionate about: I want to have a family. I want to know what it is to be a wife, to be a mother, to have my own circle to protect and defend. This is all that really matters to me.

Oh yeah, I forgot!

2008-02-27T18:35:00.000-08:00

I was starting to get a little down, lately. No specific reason, other than things being a little weird between some people. But then I remembered, I don't care what people think anymore! I'm just living my life, and I don't have to answer to anyone but my God. What a refreshing feeling!

...

2008-02-21T01:48:00.001-08:00

For once, I'm left utterly speechless.

I have no words.

commitment-phobe, me?

2008-02-14T01:06:00.000-08:00

I've never thought of myself as being afraid of commitment. I've always secretly dreamed of getting married to my very own Prince Charming and living happily ever after being with the same guy. But today I found myself in a discussion with a friend about my guitar.

Friend:So you bought a guitar?

Me:Birthday gift from parents. I asked for it.

F:So do you play it?

M:No.

And later...

M:Yep, took piano lessons for 12 years. And I still play like I've been taking lessons for 3.

F:Why do you say that?

M:I dunno, I lost interest, I guess. But now I really miss having a piano. I think I'll try to save up for a nice keyboard.

F:Yeah, but will you play it?

Which also led me to think about my art, my writing. I always get all excited about a project in the begining, but once I start losing my steam, I inevitably abandon it all together. I've had several ideas for novels and movie scripts, but I've never even attempted to pen them down because the idea of being tied down to something for so long frightens me. My longest story to date is all of three pages, and even that was difficult. I've started so many paintings/drawings/songs/poems that never reached completion because I just couldn't commit.

Which led me to think about bigger things: I originally planned to go to medical school, but I changed my mind. Why? The thought of being in school for so long scared me. Another interesting thing: looking back on my (nonexistent) love life, how many times have I been turned off or numb to a perfectly wonderful guy until I find some fatal flaw which makes me then fall head over heels? I've been sabotaging myself, running away from what could be a very good thing and instead wasting energy on things that will get me nowhere in life. How utterly depressing.

Oh well, Happy Valentine's Day.

F:

cynical, or, up goes the wall

2008-02-08T02:10:00.000-08:00

I've had a hard time sticking to my resolution of not being cynical. Correction, acting cynical. I really don't think the world is that depressing, I actually have a lot of hope for the world, and for the future. I do have faith in God and His plans and that He won't doom me to a lonely life if that's not what will make me happy. I want to believe that everyone has a purpose, and that everyone has a special someone out there, just for them. Oh, crap, I need to just come out and say it: I have high hopes of falling in love someday. Or at least, I want to have hope.

So why can't I admit it? I even had to stop myself from erasing what I just typed or slapping on a sarcastic "NOT!" at the end. I settled for moving this to my private blog. I can't seem to embrace or even admit to my romantic nature. I'm so terrified of even appearing the slightest bit vulnerable, of allowing anyone the opportunity to hurt me even a little. I've been careless with my heart before, and it was with a good friend, and it hurt like hell.

So now, with conflicting voices of "It's ok to let your guard down, just a little," and "NO!! Protect yourself at any and all cost!" bouncing around in my head, it's just a little bit crazy.

Thank goodness for good friends who have my back and warn me that my shell is cracking. Slap some cement, let it settle, and I'm impenetrable again. It's the only way for me to be free.

Life is funny...

2008-01-15T08:38:00.000-08:00

Just when you think you've got everything figured out, life turns your world upside down like a dollar-store snowglobe and everything is chaos and you count down the seconds till everything settles and you can once again try to make sense of it all.

moving on

2008-01-11T22:29:00.000-08:00

Looks like my fears were real. I've erred on the side of too forward without actually having the courage enough to be straightforward. So once again, another "option" misunderstood, miscommunicated, missed. At least here I have an opportunity to carry out another resolution (since I've already fallen short of all my other ones): to let go and move on. Realistically, what have I lost? A little pride, but no real harm done. Well, perhaps a friendship may have suffered a very little, but I believe time will prove to be a satisfying balm. All in all, I'm disappointed things turned out the way they did, but in the grand scheme of things, it hardly matters. It's just the price to pay for being overeager. Let's hope I don't make the same mistake again.

le sigh

2008-01-06T01:36:00.000-08:00

I confuse myself sometimes. I wonder if I'm too forward and obvious, or if I'm too subtle and distant. And right now, in my resolution to be more courageous, I can't help but fear I've erred on the side of being too forward. Just once, I'd like to get this right.

On another front (but also related to courage), I'm tired of being walked on and taken advantage of. I'm really tired of being stood up. I tried to tell myself at first that I was just being sensitive and overthinking things, but enough is enough. There is such a thing as common courtesy. Let me know if you can't make plans. It's only 30 seconds of your time "wasted" to give me a call, rather than several hours of mine waiting for your call.

why does megan's blog always inspire my posts?

2007-12-29T00:35:00.000-08:00

Yes, I was reading Megan's latest blog (at work) and it provoked my thoughts and inspired me to post my own blog (at work).

If you had asked me when I was 12 where I saw myself in ten years my answer would be something like this: Done with college, and either in med school or working as a biologist (don't ask where or how, I didn't think it through that far). I'd have graduated always at the top of my class, far and above the rest. Winning scholarships left and right. I'd be going steady with my boyfriend of a year, probably engaged. I'd be living in California if I was in medical school or in Hawaii if I was a biologist. I would have been on at least 3 mission trips.

If you had asked me when I was 17 where I saw myself in five years, my answer would be: Done with college, with an English or Journalism degree and a music minor under my belt. I'd be a copy editor or some title like that for Insight magazine, or I'd be an English teacher at BMA. On the side, I would be actively singing and writing songs, perhaps even recording. I'd be heavily involved in youth ministry, and will have spent a year overseas as a student missionary, and preparing to serve as a chaperone for BMA's yearly mission trips for the next several years. Also, I would be engaged, maybe even married.

And here I am, age 22. I'm a nurse, living in California, still working on my bachelor's degree. I've been on exactly one mission trip, and it doesn't look like I'll be going again any time soon. I can barely carry a tune with an extremely limited range(after several years of choir and a couple years of private lessons), play piano on an advanced beginner level (despite 10+ years of lessons), and hardly ever draw or write (despite poem upon poem and drawing upon drawing I used to spit out like an exploding ball of artistic creativity). I live alone, as single as the day I was born. Life doesn't really go as planned.

I used to want bigger things. I wanted to travel the world. To go on frequent mission trips, to make waves in my church, to be a breakthrough something. And if you looked at my track record, I was well on my way. And then somewhere along the way, I seemed to settle for mediocre. I started to blend into the background. Not doing anything outstanding, amazing. And I don't know if I chose this path, or if I just fell into it. Did I really let go of my dreams? Or did I just grow up? Is this really where God was leading me? Or is this where my own foolishness has led me? Sometimes I'm content, but more often, I'm restless. I never feel accomplished.

Where do I see myself in 10 years? Right now, I'm hoping to be married, had at least 2 kids (adopted and maybe biological--if I've been married long enough). Done with my masters in Marriage and Family Therapy, working 3, maybe 4 days a week, but primarily being a stay-at-home mom and good housewife. I will have gone on one more mission trip. Basically, even more settled than I am already.

Where is this big story I though God had promised me? Have I screwed up beyond reckoning or is this just a waiting period? I used to be a planner, now I'm realizing, the more I plan, the more likely I'll fall short.

reminiscing

2007-12-25T00:48:00.000-08:00

Christmas was always my favorite time of year. At school, there was always some Christmas program to prepare for. In elemetary, it was a school play. We'd always take lots of time from classes to rehearse. I think it was even tradition spend the entire day before the program (which usually took place on a Thursday night) in rehearsal and forsake classes completely. Then in high school, we had the Messiah Concert to prepare for. Prepreation for that usually started in October, with more and more sectionals outside of our regular rehearsal time as the date of our performance approached. At first it was exciting, then entire choir always kept singing whatever chorus we were working on as we left the choir room and walked to our various classes. But as P-day approached, tensions would rise as we realized: 1) holy crap, this performance is our FINAL and 2)how the hell we were supposed to memories all those melismas? Then there was dreaded DEAD week, the week of performance, and the week before finals. while the sane kids who weren't musically involved enjoyed the time to buckle down and focus on actual studying during study hall in the evenings, I was in 2 1/2 hour rehearsals for three nights. One day was for mass choir, another for select choir, and another for the piano recital. And it always seemed like the whole music weekend was doomed. Yet somehow, every single year, we pulled it all off. It was glorious.

As for home and personal life, it just wasn't Christmas until I had blasted my Hanson Christmas CD (don't laugh, you know they're good. And anyways, it later became my Avalon Christmas CD... much better.) at full volume. Mom, Earl, and I (Dad was usually working) always decorated the house Thanksgiving weekend. Decorations for Mom and me was an artform. The tree's lights and ribbons always had to circle the tree an even number of times or it was just unacceptable. Then, our color-coordinated ornaments had to be distributed evenly, and crystal ornaments had to be placed last and always near a light. Dad would put up our Filipino Christmas star above the door, since he was the only one who wasn't afraid of heights.

Then there was the gift wrapping. As a child, I would watch my mother wrap gifts. (not mine, of course, though I always managed to accidentally find my presents before they were wrapped. And I really do mean accidentally.) Again, here was another work of art. We're not talking about pretty paper and slapping a bow on top. We're talking exquisite, beautiful wrapping paper, perfectly aligned and folded, and not one edge of the paper to be seen. Later, as the gift wrapping became my responsibility (mostly a voluntary undertaking on my part) I further developed my perfectionism. The images on the wrapping paper had to be aligned, everything pefectly parallel. One year, Mom bought the metallic wrapper that's sort of like cellophane. Gorgeous stuff, but practically impossible to fold perfectly. I spent a half an hour folding just one present. I made Mom promise to not buy that kind of paper the next year.

I could go into detail about how every night I would compulsively rearrange the presents under the tree, grouping them together by family member, placing outgoing gifts in the front, stacking them just right, arranging them in various attractive angles. But I've already given enough evidence that I'm an obsessive-compulsive mess. And yet, I love Christmas. I love even the stress of preparing for the day, I find it relaxing in my own weird way. So here's to Christmas and our own weird and wacky traditions.

Merry Christmas!!

Bad to the Bone/I am not the Grinch

2007-12-22T23:54:00.000-08:00

I really don't have much to say. It's just that this site is usually blocked at work, but not tonight! So yes, I'm at work as I type this. I should probably be taking a nap instead. But I'm hungry, and I can't go to lunch yet, because I'm the only nurse in the room.

What can I type about? Oh yes, Christmas. I probably won't have time to type up a Christmas blog on Christmas day, so I'll try to get that out of the way now. Why won't I have time? I'm working Christmas Eve AND Christmas day. Yes, it stinks. So I'm just focusing on the fact that I'm getting time and a half for two shifts. I'm looking forward to this paycheck. It's pretty sad how the older you get the less excited you are by the holidays. They become more and more of a hassel and source of frustration then actual cheer. There's school, work, and trying to find presents. I've prided myself in giving really good gifts, but I have to admit, this year, I'm all out of ideas. I even gave the same exact gift to a friend that I did the year before. Now THAT'S embarassing. Also, if it wasn't already hard enough shopping for girls, guys are virtually impossible. The only guy I never run out of ideas for is my brother. And the only reason is because I don't really put a budget on what I get for him, since he's my brother. With my dad, he's weird, I never know what to get him. He's not into technology or building stuff like most dads, and he already asked that we not buy him anymore sweaters. He's set for the next 10 years. As for guy friends, it's really tough. I can think of lots of stuff I'd like to gift, but they're all outside of my budget. Not only that, if I gave some of the stuff on my list, said guy friends might end up wondering if I had more than friendship on the brain. Not a cool situation.

My other problem is when to celebrate Christmas. I'm not one of those who care if Christmas is actually celebrated on Dec. 25th, having a doctor and nurse for parents taught me to be flexible on that. But I am used to declaring a certain day as the offical day to celebrate. Problem is, all my friends out here are nurses, and none of our schedules match up for the next month or so. We might just end up "celebrating" mid February at this point.

I swear, I'm not turning into the Grinch or anything. It's just a part of me growing up. Dang it, I swore I wouldn't, but I guess it's inevitable. The precious few remnants of my childhood are quickly slipping out of my grasp.

balance is essential to keeping sane

2007-12-18T05:43:00.000-08:00

Last night I spent the evening hanging out with one of my best guy friends and a bunch of other little boys. Yes, boys, Little, hyperactive, college boys. What would have driven most girls my age/maturity level insane made me insanely happy. I'm so totally surrounded by estrogen at home twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, that, at this point, there's no such thing as too much estrogen. I even, *gasp* flirted a little. Gotta say, I'm quite rusty, but it's alright. I did say they were little college boys. Well, all except for the one I stayed up talking with until 3:30 this morning. Yeah, I'm staying at a friend's house, and I really didn't know the guys who live here. And being the shy girl I am, I expected things to stay the same. But you get bold around midnight when there's nothing else to do, so I started talking to one of them, and my gosh, this boy is hot. No mutual chemistry, but at least I made a new friend.

Testosterone, how I've missed you in my life.

drive-by blog

2007-12-06T00:03:00.000-08:00

Much as they annoy me and stress me out, I have to admit, I'm pretty damn good at writing papers. Especially for a nurse.

Let me clarify that.

Most nurses rarely have to write papers. And if they got into the profession through the A.S. degree, they've never really had to write them even in school. So for me, an A.S. degree R.N. I'm a damn good writer.

Most (ok, all) of my posts have been negative thus far. Here's a rare moment where I actually get to brag about myself.

I'm a damn. good. writer.

faker

2007-11-15T13:04:00.000-08:00

I'm a faker.

I went through twelve years of school staying at the very top of my class, and I worked only about half as much as everyone else. I got to college, and I realized, "Hey, I actually need to study here." Problem is, I don't really know how to. Study, that is. I learned a bit in college, but now that I'm back for another degree, and I've got work and bills thrown into the mix. I'm drowing. I'm used to people constantly telling me, "Wow, how do you manage to do all that/get good grades? I wish I could handle all that." Now, here I am, only in school part time, work full time. And I feel like I can't. do. it. I know there are so many people out there who go to school full time and work full time. Why can't I do that too?

I know a big part of it is that I can't stay on task. I'm so easily distracted. For every hour I spend studying, I spend two watching tv/on the internet/doing nothing. I've always put forth the image of myself as a hard worker, an overachiever. Set a challenge in front of me and I'll overcome it with ease. And therein lies another problem: I don't know how to work hard. Things always came easily to me academically as a child, and I guess I expected it to always be that way. But it's not.

So now I feel like a big, fat, lazy, faker. And failure. I expect the praise without having to do the work. And I know that's not how life goes. I'm a praise whore. And I don't know how to work.

It took a while to see myself in true light, but here I am, and it is NOT a pretty sight.

God, weight, and marriage

2007-11-09T21:36:00.000-08:00

I've struggled with my weight for the past 12 years. I'm not obese, but I'm definitely overweight. I know the main reason I can't seem to lose weight is that I just don't have the self-discipline. But I think there may be another reason. I've prayed for years that God would help me to lose weight. And I fully believe in the power of prayer. But now I'm begining to wonder if maybe God was allowing this problem of mine to continue for a reason. Because of my weight, I don't have that much confidence. Because of my lack of confidence, I've pretty much chased away any chance of ever having a romantic relationship--yet another burden on my heart. I wonder that if I had lost the weight in my teen years, I would have had a boost of confidence, but a false one, based on my looks. Perhaps I would not have been so careful with my heart. Perhaps I would not have learned the valuable lesson that my worth is not found in my appearance or weight. (Although, I'm still learning it.)

Anyways, my greater point is that, I've been praying for a while now for God to show me what my purpose is in life. I know I want to help people, I know I want to serve Him. I knew I was meant for something big. And I feel like now I know what that something big is.

I heard a sermon on singleness. It wasn't like most sermons on singleness. It's focus wasn't "Hang on, God's got someone for you, it's just on the way!" It's focus was this: singleness is a calling. I won't get into all the details, but basically, being called to singleness is perhaps even greater than being married. The reasons are: 1.) more time to focus on God, and 2.) it's not easy. While listening to this sermon, I first got mad. Then, as I kept listening, I felt God tugging at my heart, like He was saying, "My child, this is for you to hear. This is your future." And being your average girl, I wanted to fight it. I felt like my entire world, my entire meaning just fell apart into a million pieces. I've hoped and dreamed of getting married. I've hoped and dreamed of having children to call my own. And it doesn't look like either of those things are going to be a part of my future.

I know God wants to give me the desires of my heart, but that often means that He will change our desires to match His will. I have to learn to let go of these dreams. It kills me, but it just makes sense. Given the path my life has been headed, I can't help bu think this is exactly where God is leading me. I'm not happy about it now, but I'm sure I will be later. God will be my partner, and the children I work with will be as my own. I just have to pray that God changes my heart and my desires. Hopefully sooner than later.

On the down side

2007-11-05T21:11:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, I went to a free depression screening at the school's clinic. I was definitely feeling down in the dumps, and I noticed I had begun to pick up some bad habits. Nothing serious, mind you, just a little irresponsible shopping. Which, while I love shopping, is totally unlike me. So I decided, what the heck, I'll go to the screening.

I got there, filled out their little questionnaire thing, then was introduced to this guy whom I believe was still a student, still working on his practicum hours to become a counselor/therapist/shrink/whathaveyou. By the time I left I was 100% sure he was still new. When we first sat down to talk, I could see he was kind of excited at the idea of a new client. He hid it well, it's just that I can usually read these things pretty well. Anyways, he took a look at my questionnaire, and you could literally see the disappointment transforming his face. He tried to hide it, but wow, did he do a sucky job. He sighed and said, "Well, you're not depressed. Why'd you come in here?" First off, way to put your client on the defense. I told him my situation, that even though I tend to be moody, what I was going through was unusual, and so I just wanted a professional opinion. He basically said, so long as you've got good friends to talk to, you're fine. You know what you're doing, so you can control it.

The whole point was that I was going to a "professional" because I didn't feel like I had good friends to talk to. Also, I kinda wanted to see if I could identify their therapeautic listening tactics. This guy was so transparent, it just made me mad. I probably didn't quite fit the descriptions of a clinically depressed person (even though I certainly felt like I did), but
invalidating my worries and fears does NOT make for good client rapport. It rather made me want to yell at him and just throw the word "suicidal" around.

It truly amazes me how terrified medical doctors can be of uncovering psychological wounds. And now I'm amazed at how therapists' love of uncovering those wounds can be so thinly-veiled. It's like, if I wasn't raised by a druggie mother and raped by my alcoholic father I'm not worth the time to counsel. Go figure.

commencement

2007-11-05T17:10:00.000-08:00

Not really. But here's where I can get away, speak my mind. And not worry about offending anyone.