Privilege

As I sit here writing on my boyfriend's computer on July 4th, I'm thinking about privilege. My mental gears have been churning frantically since I got to VONA last week, and being in Chris Abani's workshop has only switched the setting higher. He throws out so many things to process, at such a rapid pace, and challenges you to stop being lazy and really think and take control fo your novel. It's a wild ride, intense and overwhelming, but incredibly healthy and healing, in a strange way, at the same time.

So today I'm thinking about privilege, because Abani told that all of us in his workshop are middle class, that no matter what our socioeconomic background we've had the privilege of an education. Yes, all true. But then it got me thinking about the many levels of privilege I have, and how much privilege I've attained in just one generation here in this country, how removed I am from my mother's experience and even further from my grandmother's experience (and I'm only focusing on my mother's side of the family because that's the only part of my blood-family that know well).

It's interesting that in a writing workshop that was exclusively people of color, I started to ponder how privileged I am. Some people might think that all we talk about at VONA is oppression and 'The Man' and how we are so downtrodden and silenced in the mainstream. God, if we only talked about that, how boring VONA would be! Instead we have much more engaging and relevant conversations about themes of voice, language, self-loathing, immigration, violence, relationships and love in our work. And we see over and over again how even if we are only writing about people of color without even talking about colonialism or whiteness or racism in the US or whatever, we've got plenty of privileges and oppressions to deal with just within our own nations/peoples/communities.

I started listing today all the different kinds of privilege I have: economic (I have enough money to not just eat but to have health care, go to therapy, have a computer, go to this workshop, buy new clothes every so often, etc. In other words, I'm not just surviving, even if I am living paycheck to paycheck most of the time); educational / intellectual (I have an undergraduate degree in a country where only a small percentage of people even attend college, let alone graduate with a degree); access to money and exposure to people with money (through my fundraising work); political (I vote and have knowledge of the inner workings of our government through my job, and have more access than some people to policymakers and decision-makers); literacy and communication (I can read and write at a fairly sophisticated level in one language--English--and I can communicate somewhat in three other languages--Spanish, French and Tagalog).

This last privilege, the privilege of literacy, is one that has been haunting me lately with the weight of its importance. Not just for me as a person--who would I be if I didn't know how to write? I wouldn't haev the job I have, the friends I have, I wouldn't be a writer, I wouldn't read books--but for my family, the people that I've known as my community, etc.

The importance of literacy struck me in a very simple but deeply emotional way when I was in the Philippines. My second day there, I was in Lingayen, where many of my cousins grew up and still live. The cousin I was traveling with, R., brought me to the bamboo hut (bahay kubo in Tagalog) that he and his siblings grew up in for part of their lives, and I saw with clear eyes the poverty and rural conditions that my mom had known as a girl growing up in the Philippines, not far away. My cousin and I talked about how our mothers--his mother is my mother's sister--had lost touch for a good 30 years, being in the US and the Philippines respectively. It always was a question in my mind how they could have 'let' that happen. It never entered my mind how difficult it would've been to maintain communication for them during that time, given their class status and life circumstances.

My cousin explained how in the town they were growing up in, there wasn't even a phone until a few decades ago, and even then there was only one phone in the whole town, so communication by phone was not very reliable.

"Why didn't our mothers just write to each other then?" I asked naively (my mother can write, although she doesn't like to because she's not very skilled at it and usually makes me write out checks for her and sometimes even sign her name; she's embarassed that she doesn't know how to do this well).

My cousin just looked at me and said matter-of-factly, "My mother doesn't know how to write."

I felt so stupid that I hadn't even considered that. For the first time in my life, I think, I realized what a huge privilege it is to be literate. And because I was literate, why I was the one who was asked to write the obituary for my adopted grandmother when she died seven years ago, and to write and give the eulogy at her funeral. i finally realized how hard it must've been for my mother to have me get impatient or frustrated with her because she wanted me to write out her checks or sign a birthday card for her. I realized that I had taken for granted the one skill I have that I would be an entirely different person without. I cannot imagine life without writing, as I can't imagine life without eating or drinking or music or dancing. It's inconceivable to me. Even something as simple as writing a letter to your sister who is an ocean away was not something my aunt could accomplish by herself.

And in one generation, me and my cousins have this privilege, this right, really, to write. Being at VONA has helped me understand more deeply how important this is, and how important it is for me to use my writing to make the best damn novel or short story or poem that I can. I'm not going to squander this gift, this privilege, this right; I'm going to use it to set the world on fire.

Ass-kicked

I feel a bit beat-up, like I had a long, drunken night that ended in a mini-brawl that I can't remember and now I'm awake and trying to figure out what happened. No bruises or anything, just that feeling. Ass-kicked. I did not literally get my ass kicked--well, actually I did get my literARY ass kicked. I had my fantasy/sci fi novel workshopped in Chris Abani's 'Complete Novel Workshop' during my second week here at VONA. It was a good whuppin', because I'd been a 'bad' writer--hadn't developed my characters enough, hadn't written my 'bible' for the world that I've created, etc etc. Chris at one point even called it an 'intervention' to 'save' me, the 'addict'. Addicted to writing an illogical book, I'm supposing.

It was about what I expected. He had told us yesterday in orientation that he would make us cry, that he would really call us on our shit. And he did. His favorite question it seemed was: "What are you afraid of?" And at first I couldn't figure it out. I didn't think I was afraid of anything, but I realize now that I am afraid of making my protagonist vulnerable, of making her human (even though she's technically not), of making her consider doing something I feel every woman has a right to do but at the same time I would never want to do: have an abortion.

It was such a big revelation to me, but it came in a pretty unspectacular way, after a fellow workshop participant mentioned something about my protagonist being conflicted about wanting her baby, about whether she might abort it. As my stomach muscles tensed and I felt a strange nausea that rose to my chest, I realized that that was what I had been running away from in my story: my protagonist has to want to abort her baby. Whether she does it or not is an entirely different situation--or should I say whether she succeeds at aborting her baby or not is an entirely different situation.

It's so fascinating how the psyche works. I'm very openly pro-choice, have been trained to do clinic defense and was on the advisory board of Our Truths a publication which provides a forum for women who've had abortions to talk about their varied experiences. From happy to conflicted, from depressed to relieved. But this was still a hard thing for me to allow my character to even think about, let alone to do. Call it Catholic guilt, call it unresolved emotional issues, or whatever. It's the thing I needed to realize before I could really let this characcter be vulnerable.

As Chris said, I've had my breakthrough. Now I just gotta figure it all out in my writing. Wish me luck.

Other VONA-ites & Their Takes

I did a quick search for other bloggers writing about their VONA experience these last few days, and although I don't know these folks I know we share a kinship now as fellow VONA alums. Head-nod to Black Girl Lost...In a Book and Gemini Poet. If anyone else out there knows of other blogs by VONA-ites, please holla.

Peace and Writing,
Rona

Collard Greens, Gay Sex and Other Thoughts Post-VONA

I'm sitting at home now eating spicy stewed collard greens (no I didn't make them from scratch, I'm not that talented). I came back a couple hours ago from USF, where I departed early from the VONA student reading. I had read a piece that I wrote in Jessica Hagedorn's character development master class, from the point of view of a character named David, who has just had sex with his (straight male) best friend of 10 years and is regretting it.

It was fun and fascinating studying under Jessica. She's witty, quick, smart as hell, funny, down-to-earth and opinionated as all get out. She was straightforward and honest with her criticism, and gave us some good exercises to help flesh out our characters (in my case, David was a fairly flat side-character in my story, with his best friend being the point of view character and protagonist; working in Jessica's class helped me figure out some important stuff that's going to help me finish my story and make it stronger).

I'm realizing how cool and achievable it is--with lots of hard work, diligence and attention--to write fiction. Good fiction. Not that my story is near being finished, but it's a lot better now than it was a few months ago (I just workshopped it in Junse Kim's fiction workshop as well, which finished up right before VONA jumped off). If I apply myself, learn my craft, and listen to my characters, I can create a story that is both intriguing as well as entertaining.

I rented two big favorites of mine to help me come down from my VONA high--I haven't watched TV in a few days now--The Empire Strikes Back and Rome: Season One, Volume 2. I have fairly 'low brow' taste when it comes to cinema, although I do like a good art house or foreign flick now and again. Both of these films contain well-told stories, however, but they don't beat you over the head with their cleverness. They draw you in without holding your hand, and immerse you in worlds so real with characters so human and flawed and fascinating that you can't resist going along for the ride.

And that's what I'm going for with my story. Tonight after I hugged Jessica good-bye she looked me straight in the eyes, her hands squaring my shoulders towards her and said, "Keep working. I want you to finish that story. Just finish it." I couldn't have asked for more succinct encouragement, and it couldn't come at a better time.

All Shook Up

Been fearing earthquakes a lot lately. Not the little barely-noticed-them jolts that are so common, especially where I live in Oakland (it feels at times as if our building is built on not-so-steady ground). No, I'm talking about having fears of the proverbial 'Big One'--the one that geologists, amateur and professional--say is coming to the Hayward Fault, most likely, in the next 25 or so years. But really, it's not just the Hayward Fault earthquake I've been paranoid about--so paranoid that I've lain awake at nights after feeling a suspicious trembling (most likely my partner moving around next to me), my heart pounding in my chest--it's just earthquakes in general. I was in LA this past weekend and felt the same fear. Earthquakes, as it were, can happen almost anywhere in California. It's a fact of life I've known since I was a child, having been born and raised here and having lived here all my life.

Today I went to therapy and finally confessed to my therapist (who is very good, by the way) that I've had this strange, intense fear of earthquakes lately. So intense that I hadn't told anyone about it, for fear that I would be seen as silly and bizarre, or that I would cause what I feared the most to come true. She asked me, in that inimitably matter-of-fact yet nurturing way of hers, "Symbolically, earthquakes shake you to your foundation. Do you feel like you've been shaken, that you've changed lately?"

My answer was, unequivocally, yes. I have changed. From my trip to meet my father and sisters to my trip to the Philippines for the first time, I have swallowed, absorbed and manifested many changes in my life that I never thought I would. Feeling possible feelings of forgiveness towards the father who abandoned me before I knew who he was. Meeting family members I never even knew existed. Building a relationship with a sister who, though born and raised 3,000 miles away from me, is so much like me that it feels natural to be with her. Immersing myself in the culture of my 'homeland' without knowing the language, without being able to say much more than "I'm hungry" or "It's hot" or "My name is Rona." All this has changed me, in ways that are obvious and in ways that I have yet to see and understand.

So yes, I told my therapist today, I feel as if I've had a series of earthquakes in my life lately. All self-triggered, so to speak, but emotional and psychological earthquakes all the same. Catharses. Cleansings. Life changes.

Today, on the BART ride home from my therapy session, I felt a little less skittish about riding the train underground. I felt a release, a letting go within me, of the fear that had tensed my shoulder muscles every time I felt a tremor from the rumbling of a truck outside, or of the train rolling into the station. It started to make sense. I suddenly understood that I didn't have to be afraid anymore, that my fear wasn't serving me in any way except for to make me feel imprisoned, trapped, helpless.

So crazy how having one person listen to you and attempt to help you make sense of your deepest desires and insecurities can loosen the grip of your old patterns, old grooves of habit and thought.

And now I feel ready for another potential shake-up: I start the first of my two VONA workshops tomorrow morning at 8:30am sharp. I'll be studying character development with Jessica Hagedorn, and then next week going through a novel workshop with Chris Abani. VONA was a life-changing experience for me two years ago, and though I'm trying not to have too high expectations for my second time around, I know at the very least that I'll learn something, even if it doesn't rock my world.

And really, that's okay if it doesn't. Because I've had plenty of 'earthquakes' this year already.

I Love These Things

These tag-and-you're-it random list-questionnaire things. Don't know why, but I do. Guess I need some structure in order to narcisstically reveal personal information. Thanks to Efren for giving me the opportunity to indulge.

A. Available or Single? Nope. Very partnered and taken. I'm available for free gourmet meals though if you want to take my boyfriend too. ;)
B. Best friend? My partner/boyfriend H., most definitely.
C. Cake or pie? Mmm, this is hard. Depends on the flavor. For cake, if it's coconut cream from Sweet Inspiration or guava from Hawaii, I'm all about it. If it was warm apple or cherry pie a la mode, I'm there.
D. Drink of choice? Loving the Serenity Kombucha stuff lately (H. thinks it smells like rotting fruit). But my budget prefers Italian sparkling mineral water. A holdover from my trip to Rome last Spring.
E. Essential item? My Palm Z22. I'm lost without it!
F. Favorite color? Purple for home-oriented things, various shades of green for clothes.
G. Gummi bears or worms? Ick. I'll eat them but only if there's nothing else around.
H. Hometown? This is starting to be too much information...
I. Indulgence? Chocolate gelato, Mexican chocolate or ube ice cream from Mitchell's.
J. January or February? February--Valentine's Day!
K. Kids and names? None yet! But hopefully soon..
L. Life incomplete without? Dancing, love, friends, my sweetie, and delicious food
M. Marriage date? N/a
N. Number of Siblings? 3 half-sisters
O. Oranges or Apples? Mmm....Apples. Fuji apples.
P. Phobias/fears? Dying without feeling as if I've accomplished everything I want to accomplish.
Q. Favorite Quotation? Don't have one anymore. They all sound too trite for me to enjoy for more than a few months.
R. Reason to smile? The sweet, small moments in life: afternoon sunlight, golden and slanting; sleeping in on Saturday mornings; watching children play and be goofy and innocent; hearing a golden oldie salsa hit from the Fania hey-day.
S. Season? Summer. The season of beaches and long, warm days (like today!)
T. Tag three people: I know they probably won't do it but here goes: Oscarchoy, Ludovic who's looking for a job, and Bino.
U. Unknown fact about me: Jeez. It depends on who you are. I love the musical (and the soundtrack to) 'Rent' (but not the movie so much).
V. Vegetable you hate: Ampalaya / bitter melon (Efren and I are on the same page with this sucker).
W. Worst habit? Biting the skin on my fingers. Yah, I know it's gross.
X. X-rays I’ve had: Too many. CATscan, chest x-ray (i've had lots of coughs in my lifetime), dental of course.
Y. Your favorite food? Good food. Seriously, I like all kinds of cuisines, and living in the Bay Area means I can pretty much take my pick of cuisines most days and nights. Some perennial favorites are Chinese, Filipino, Ethiopian, Indian, Japanese and Mexican.
Z. Zodiac? Capricorn (western astrology). Metal pig (Chinese).

Closing the Circle

I'd heard recently from my former boss, John Anner, that the Independent Press Association (or IPA) had imploded after several years of mishandling, lack of political vision and (what seems to me to be) corrupt and unethical decisions made by key leaders in the organization (namely the Executive Director, Richard Landry and whatever Board members were supporting him).

This came as sad news to me, and I'm sure many others. You see, I worked for John at the IPA, for a little over two years after my start-up stint at School of Unity and Liberation. Back then, in 1999, the IPA was a smallish organization with big ambitions--the main reason I joined John's fledgling staff and stayed through the dot-com boom (and subsequent bust), when I could've gotten a job, like many of my friends did, making twice as much money and working half as hard for some weird tech company. John has always been a visionary, with the fundraising, communications and marketing skills to match, and I learned much working with him and the other talented folks at IPA, like Jeremy Smith, Martha Bowen, Linda Jue and Abby Scher.

Looking back on the whole experience now, I realize that the IPA taught me some important things about organizational culture, politics, and what it takes to build a real movement in the U.S.--things that I don't think I would've learned if I'd stayed in the world of small, grassroots nonprofits; these kinds of organizations, as John Anner has put it in his inimitably opinionated way, are often 'in love with [their] own marginality'. I also learned stuff about indie publishing, but that was secondary, really. I love magazines but I don't think I ever had the same passionate commitment to the indie publishing world that John, Jeremy and others at IPA possessed.

The real lessons I learned during my tenure at IPA were much bigger, and had (I realize now) a long-lasting impact on me and my worldview. Here's a rough summary:

1. Think small, be small, win small. The counterpoint to this lesson being Think big, be big, win big.. I was having a conversation with a colleague the other day after haggling with one of our youth board members over whether she could raise $500 or $1,000 as part of her board fundraising goal (Californians for Justice has a board that's mostly made up of high school-age youth and college-age young adults). I was exasperated afterwards (of course, she opted for the lower goal, despite my positive encouragement that I thought she could raise much more--which she definitely has both the skills and the contacts to do). I chatted my colleague and said, "I don't want to help people raise $500, I want to help people raise $5 million!"

This sentiment is a direct result of my experiences at the IPA. John and the rest of the IPA crew often thought big, huge even: they bought a distribution company to help get our member publications out to a wider audiences, then brokered deals with Barnes and Noble and Borders to increase that reach (I know, the hardcore lefties are rolling their eyes, but we ain't gonna win over 'the masses' if the only place we're trying to reach them is in radical enclaves like Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley). The IPA advocated to get indie publishers to use recycled paper, started an advertising co-op to help its members generate more sustainable revenue, and launched a project to get more articles by journalists of color in the still-embarassingly-White-male-dominated left press.

My head spins now thinking of all the IPA accomplished in such a short period of time. John and co. thought big, went big, won big. It's an attitude and approach I think many leftists--especially folks working at the grassroots, like me--could do well to embrace.

2. My opinions matter, my politics are important, people will listen to me. I didn't have years and years of writing and publishing experience before I joined the IPA staff. But for some reason the good folks there still paid attention to me, still took what I said and considered it valuable enough to maybe put into practice in terms of policy or programs. It amazes me now when I reflect on that time that they took anything I said very seriously! I was young and more than a little arrogant, and wore my radical politics on my sleeve (a fashionably chic sleeve, of course), sometimes alienating the very people that I needed to work with to accomplish our big goals. This meant a great deal to me, and I don't think I even realized it until now, at 35 years old. It makes a big difference in one's self-confidence to have people you respect and admire and who are accomplishing great things in the world stop and listen to what you have to say.

And at the IPA, we listened to our members, too. The importance of this seemingly simple act cannot be underestimated. These publishers were small, grassroots media-makers--the kind that the big trade associations, distribution companies and bookstore chains didn't listen to, because they didn't have to or necessarily want to. The IPA helped change that, because we listened to our members, asked them what they needed, and took it upon ourselves to figure out ways to give it them. The last round of IPA management obviously didn't do that, as many different accounts tell. Bumping members off the email list because they were critical of organizational practices or asking board members to resign--I can't even imagine even thinking about doing those things when I was Membership Director at IPA. The members didn't 'help us' fulfill our mission, the members were our mission. Listening to them wasn't a nice thing to do to make them feel better, it was our job. It's a perspective that I've grown to take as a given in my line of work with nonprofit grassroots organizations, and sometimes I forget that most of the world doesn't operate on this assumption: that you have to listen to your constituents, the folks whom you are serving, the people who are most impacted by the problems you are trying to find solutions for.

But these lessons weren't just imparted to me--I'm sure that many members of what was once the IPA would agree: the IPA's ambitious vision--for an indie press that could sustain itself financially and reach tens if not hundreds of thousands of more people, that could help sway the hearts and minds of the 'unconverted' masses that need to be won over if we are to build a real movement for social justice in this country--this vision and the programs and infrastructure the IPA created to help realize it, taught all of us that we could dream big, that we could do more, and that we could, one day, if we struggled through our differences and kept our eyes on the prize and were willing to think outside the box, build the kind of world that we'd only dreamed of.

Of course, that vision has not been realized, not even close, but it's incredibly reassuring to know that we've stepped a little closer to it, and that we even held parts of it in our hands.

Rest in peace, IPA. And may the lessons you taught us stay with us for a long, long time.

Procrastination is...

...I don't feel like being on a schedule. I want to just sleep in and relax and take my time getting up, and then later on go eat ice cream from Mitchell's in the Mission.

...I want to go have brunch at my friends' place and hang out eating waffles and turkey sausage and drinking french-pressed coffee 'til 3:30pm.

...I don't want to go do my laundry like a good girl, I don't care if I the only truly clean pants I have left to wear are the brown polyester slacks I bought in a rush to wear for a training one day, which I for some reason refuse to get rid of even though they are completely unflattering in every way.

...I want to go have dim sum with Efren and Howard in Daly City and then go to Target and buy meaningless trinkets, toiletries and office supplies.

...I don't want to have to go to work tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day. I want to be on vacation and laying on a beach in Maui.

...I want to stay here and cuddle with my sweetie in bed, because we were out late last night at the Leftist Lounge where H. spun a solid set that had the whole floor groovin'. Hate to say it but the other DJ's we heard were pretty sucky.

...I don't want to do the hundreds of pages of reading I have to finish by June 27 for VONA because I'm tired of reading student manuscripts and wish I could just re-watch Seasons 2 and 2.5 of Battlestar Galactica instead.

But most of all I want to stop feeling like a lethargic piece or warm rubber, so I will stop complaining now about all the things I want and don't want to do, and go be a good little Capricorn girl and wash my undies and jeans.

Cafes Make Me Happy

I'm sitting in Gaylord's Caffe Espresso on Piedmont Avenue, procrastinating from finishing my short story to submit at writing workshop tomorrow, but I've found this cool travel web site called Jaunted, which you can search to find cool things to do and see and visit when you travel all around the world (which I want to do more of).

Jaunted has awesome cafe listings, which made me realize how much I enjoy cafes. To write in, to hang out in, to read in, to drink coffee or tea in, or just to people watch in. I love how in cafes you can be 'alone' and enjoying your own little anti-social activity, but still be surrounded by a mess of people and therefore not feel 'lonely'.

I wish I'd known about Jaunted when I was in Manhattan a couple months ago and ended up at a random cafe in Soho because it was the only one that looked half-cool and wasn't packed with too-trendy hipsters being painfully self-conscious and stylish.

I also recently joined a couple of Flickr's cafe-photo groups. I especially love the photos of Parisian or French-inspired cafes. The French and the Italian have the whole cafe thing down.

Maybe one day I'll post my list of favorite cafes, and why they make me happy. In the meantime, I've got to finish my story.

Edit Mode

An in revision mode for a short story I've been writing off and on for about two years. The story just got critiqued in a workshop I'm in with Junse Kim, an excellent teacher by the way, you can find him teaching public classes through The Writing Salon in San Francisco.

I also submitted the same story for Jessica Hagedorn's character development workshop that I'm doing in a few weeks at Voices of our Nations or VONA. I'm excited to finally study with La Hagedorn (as Bino calls her. I wrote my undergraduate thesis on her work.

I'm super-excited to study with Chris Abani. I've heard he's a great teacher, and his writing just kicks ass. I'll be getting my sci-fi novel (yes, the same one--it takes a long time to write a book when you're working full-time) workshopped in his class.

I lied, actually, because I'm not just in edit mode: in a few days, when I turn this story in for another round of workshopping, I'll have to start doing tons of reading, since Abani's workshop, dubbed the "Complete Novel" workshop, requires each student to turn in at least 100 pages of their manuscript, and I want to finish Abani's The Virgin of Flames before then too.

Wish me luck...Con Cariño,
Rona

Slideshow time

So for those of you that have been asking (and those of you who haven't), here's the link to photos from my trip to the Philippines, complete with caption-'narration' so you can make sense of what you're seeing.

I had a little reportback brunch today (thanks to Germz, Efren and Howard, among others, for coming) with friends who supported my trip (I fundraised for a good portion of my expenses, which really helped a lot with both my trip to meet my father in Philadelphia and my trip to the Philippines) and one friend asked me to sum up my trip to the PI in one word. I thought for a moment, then said, 'Intense.' If it's not anything else, the Philippines can be a very intense place.

From the nearly daily 100 degree heat and ridiculously oppressive humidity that made my ankles swell up to the culture shock of a nation where Catholicism and Christianity and colonialism are so deeply embedded in the culture but still strangely unrecognizable at times, from the intensity of being around so many family members at once and for an extended time period to the emotional overwhelm of meeting all my relatives for the first time, this trip was quite an experience. But I'm glad I went, and glad that I survived, and I can safely and confidently say that I am a better person for it.

It's strange how connecting with family--long-lost and otherwise--can somehow ground you in a stronger sense of yourself. It's about touching your roots and knowing your history, yes, but it's also about knowing that you are not just a product of your family and upbringing either, that you have choices and privileges and outside experiences that shape you and make you the person you are. I've realized how rich my life is, and how much I have done to build myself up after having some traumatic experiences with family in the past, and now that I know that I have blood-family that I never knew existed before, now that I've made those face-to-face connections and lived amongst my kin, I know that everything leading up this springtime of journeys had a purpose and was part of my preparation for these realizations.

Okay, enough philosophizing and self-analysis. I hope you enjoy the slideshow.

Peace,
Rona

The problem with me...

...is that when i get into things, like really into things, i can get a bit obsessive. Take, for example, Flickr, which i used to post my pictures from my recent trip to the Philippines (as well as my photos from my trip to Europe over a year ago!). I have hardly used it in the year or two that I've had a Flickr account, but after uploading almost 100 photos from this last journey--a process which took me at least an hour a day for three days--I'm starting to feel like I can't live without it. So at least twice a day, I've been visiting Flickr to check out mine and other people's photos. And I've finally put one of those super-narcisstic Flickr zeitgist thingies on my blog (see right). But then again, that's what a blog is all about, right? Narcissism? (Did i spell that right?)

I'm hoping that the fact that I don't blog much anymore shows that I'm not a narcissist. Or maybe that I just have my dysfunctional needs for self-aggrandizement fulfilled elsewhere? Hmm...

I Shall Return (to the Philippines), But For Now...

I am fine with staying in the US for a little while, maybe another year before I venture overseas or across borders again. Yes, I've returned from the Philippines, where I spent two weeks drenched in sweat in the sauna-like heat of Lingayen, Pangasinan, the provincial capital about five hours northwest of Manila. I'll write more later, but here's a few quick pictures of the trip. In short, although my trip was brief and only gave me a glimpse at life in Las Islas Filipinas, it opened my eyes to many new insights about my family, my culture, my people and myself. And I got to be a tourist and see some cool sites too. I was in Manila, Lingayen, Dagupan (my father's hometown), Calasiao (my mother's hometown), Baguio City, Manaoag and Aringay (La Union province).




Local and national elections were set to take place just a week after I returned, so there were lots of political campaign posters and other advertisements (like roving trucks playing candidates' individual jingles) in the streets of every town and city we visited.





This was my first breakfast in the Philippines--a veritable feast of fried Spam, Puto Calasiao, fried eggs, white bread, coffee, steamed rice and fresh papaya.

This is the view from Mines View Park observation deck in Baguio. Baguio was cool and pleasant, and reminded me a lot of my home here in the Bay Area. We came to Baguio twice to escape the stifling heat and humidity of the province, sightsee and do some shopping.

Preparing for My Journeys

I've been feeling a bit up-and-down recently, experiencing an emotional roller coaster of sorts regarding my upcoming trips to visit my father for the first time (hopefully, it's been difficult trying to get in touch with him) and also go to the Philippines for the first time.

I have to say, there's nothing like serendipitous incidents to make me realize that I am doing exactly what I need to be doing right now in my life. For example, yesterday I picked up a book at a used bookstore the other day, a travel guide to Philadelphia, which is the nearest big city to where my father lives. After thumbing through it randomly for a few moments, I looked up 'Chinatown' in the index (I'm always curious to see what Asian communities / neighborhoods are like in places outside the Bay Area). In the corresponding section, which was very short, was a brief description of some of the main Philly Chinatown sights, including a lion gate donated to the City of Brotherly Love by its sister-city, Tianjin, China. This happens to be the city that my partner's father is from. It was almost spooky.

Yesterday, I also went to hear Walden Bello speak at a public form organized by some activist friends of mine in the Filipino community. I heard Walden speak a few years ago in Berkeley, and his sharp intellect, practical reasoning and understated but very visible passion for advancing the political, social and economic evolution of Philippine society (and global society as a whole) is refreshing, inspiring and absolutely necessary to witness during these dark days of the Bush administration running amok in Iraq and global capital's disastrous impact on the Earth and Her people (aka climate change).

Walden is running for a seat in the federal Congress of the Philippines, and the gathering was something of a campaign event--although not a fundraiser for his campaign since (and rightly so) Philippine candidates cannot legally accept foreign donations. It so happens that there is going to be a major election in the Philippines on May 14, 2007, just a few days after I am scheduled to depart. Already there are suspicions and warnings of coming election fraud, such as the sudden fire that burned down the Philippine elections commission office in Intramuros, Manila. And although these developments scare me a little--no doubt the travel conditions will be a bit more dangerous during this time--I am actually excited about being in the country during a time when so much will be happening politically, and when I may be able to witness some of the amazing movement work in the Philippines that I have heard and read so much about over the past ten years.

So I feel that I'm doing the right thing, that my feet are planted firmly on the path and in the right direction, and although I am still feeling a little scared and a little excited and a little apprehensive about these trips all at the same time, I can't imagine taking these journeys at any other time in my life than right now.

Tempted

I'm tempted to just quit this blogging business altogether. I mean, what's the damn point of having a blog that you don't write new posts for and which is hardly read? Okay, I do know that I have a small but loyal following so perhaps I'm being a bit ungrateful and bitter. But, it's really not about a lack of gratitude or bitterness, it's more a question of whether I feel like I can spend my precious 'writing time'--the minutes and hours that I actually spend in the act of writing stories, poems or drafts thereof--writing for a self-important blog, or whether I should just spend that time working on more substantial items.

It's a tough dilemma for me, because once the writing bug bites me--and she seems to be a seasonal insect--I do feel the need to write often, in various media, and for various audiences. My writings in the blogosphere provoke a certain response from certain people--people whom I otherwise might never communicate with or who might never read another word of my writing. So I do find a certain satisfaction in maintaining this--albeit fragile, thread-like--connection to this 'readership', if one could even call it that. It really is more of a loose community, a network of people who bandy about ideas, opinions and random announcements the way circus jugglers throw balls around, except we throw them to each other too, and then the balls get bigger, and sometimes they smash like glass on the ground...and, well, enough for that analogy.

Okay, I'll leave it at that, for now. No grand pronouncements or announcements that I will be discontinuing my blog, or that I will strive to write once per week or more, or that I will post nude pictures of my friends here for the viewing pleasure of my anonymous visitors. Just another little blog-post-blip in the vast swirling universe of the blogosphere. I've vented and gotten this bit of frustration off my chest.

Just my little two cent contribution. Thanks for listening.

The Morning After the Birthday Bash

No, I'm not hungover today from my birthday party last night. I didn't need to get drunk to be high on the vibe that we created last night, me and about 40 of my friends and family (and I don't mean blood-family, necessarily, I mean REAL family). I was blessed with a beautiful birthday celebration last night organized in part by a few close friends--Ayoka and Ntanya (thank you for the decorations and everything else!), Minda (always got my back girl), Brandon (on the 1's and 2's), Agustin (muchisimas gracias, amigo) and Henry.

We danced, drank and ate scrumptious Cuban-fusion food at La Taza de Cafe, a relatively new spot on Grand Avenue near Safeway in Oakland (up the street from the Grand Lake Theater). The vibe was great, the room was beautiful, and the sangria was just right. Some folks also enjoyed the Cuban rum and other goodies downstairs (mojitos or cigars, anyone?). It's a sweet spot for brunch, dinner and drinks, and the owner, Daniel, and his staff were the most gracious of hosts. And the parking is really convenient to boot.

In my 35 years of life I've worked to create a community of friends who are fierce, kind, compassionate and eclectic souls. I looked around the room a few times last night and realized that my efforts have been well-rewarded: queer and straight folks, folks of all colors and creeds, beautiful and grounded in themselves surrounded me with love and support. My friend D. said it best I think, when he loooked around and said, in his inimitably opinionated way, 'Wow, this is really diverse." I am truly blessed to have these people in my life, and I pat myself on the back too, for going the extra mile to build a loving family who has my back. Sometimes I forget about this fact, when I'm down or feeling frustrated by the challenges of life. Last night reminded me in a huge way that I am not alone and that I am loved.

You can see some pics of folks gettin' down here (dancing is mandatory at my parties, even for the most boogie-shy of folks) and chillin'. I didn't get a pic of my dress and shoes but they were CUTE, trust me (imagine ruby-red peep-toe patent leather pumps with my halter dress). This was also a fundraiser for me to take my first-ever trip to the Philippines this year, and folks blessed me with a signficant part of my travel fund. Thank you to everyone who attended and made my birthday so special.

Blessings,
Rona

On Turning 35 and the Year of the Golden Pig

A few days ago (December 30th, to be exact, for those of you who are keeping track), I turned 35 years old. It doesn't feel that weird. I think 30 was a much bigger milestone for me---the big THREE-O. But 35 feels like a stop in the road of life, and a brief one at that. Yes, I have a few more lines around my eyes and my skin is thinner than it used to be. Yes, I need to lose a few pounds if I want to continue fitting into some of my clothes. Yes, I feel older and wiser, and those two things are inextricably linked, I've come to see. I'm definitely not the same person I was five or ten years ago, but I am also not completely different.

I'm having two birthday parties--in grand Capricorn fashion--for my 35th birthday celebration, not including a small, intimate party I had on my actual birthday with a few friends. (If you want the details about the party--although you've probably already been bombarded by my Evites--email me privately, I'm not about to post that info on my blog!) A friend encouraged me to have a big party for my 35th, saying that we often never celebrated ourselves unless we were getting married or were dead. Birthdays, to me, have always been an important time, a time when we reflect for a moment on where we are in life, where we'd like to be. A time when we bring friends together to feel that they love us and to celebrate life with them. And a time when we may even ask for a little something for ourselves.

The 'little something' for me this year is a trip to visit my father for the first time, as well as a first-ever trip to the Philippines. So if the coming and going of my 35th birthday seemed somewhat normal and uneventful, just another notch on the birthday belt (although if you talk to me after the big party I will probably say something different), these trips I'm sure will be huge life-changing experiences for me.

I've never known my father, and like so many people whose fathers were absent from their lives growing up, I have a mass of conflicting emotions about finally meeting him and possibly building a relationship with him. Firstly, i have a lot of anger, anger that has been sometimes aimed at other people, but really belongs to him. He left my mother and I before we were born, never gave us a dime or sent me so much as a birthday card. My mom was forced to raise me on her own, with the help of friends and family. And while I never regret that that was my path in life, I know that not having a father has caused me a lot of pain and grief. It has also taught me a lot of good things, and I am grateful to my mother for her role in raising me despite the obstacles that his leaving posed for her.

But secondly, I have a lot of hope and excitement, as well as fear. How is my father going to respond to me? What the hell am I going to say to him? Will I just yell at him and leave? I hope not. Will I ever want to see him again?

I also have two half-sisters that I have never met, my father's children with another woman. He wrote me a letter (when I was already an adultl; no doubt his mid-life crisis forced him to deal with me to assuage his guilty conscience) saying that they really wanted to get to know me. It's strange to think that somewhere out there are two women who may look like me, talk like me, who are blood-related to me but whose names and faces I do not know.

So the first trip I will be taking is to find and meet my father and sisters (yes, I've seen Antwone Fisher; I'm trying not to get my hopes up, though, that my father's family will be as welcoming or loving). And then in April 2007 (most likely) I will be taking my first-ever trip to the Philippines, where my maternal grandmother and aunt and many cousins still live. I've been estranged from my blood-family for many years now; my mother's one big flaw was a marriage to an abusive step-father that resulted in me being pushed out of my extended blood-family. But in recent years I've been trying to establish more ties with my family from the Philippines. It's an important trip for me, as the trip to see my father is, and I know that I can't move forward with the next phase of my life--planning for and starting my own family--without making these journeys and coming to peace with the families that I have had so many mixed emotions about.

And to connect this all back with my birthday, I will be asking my extended family of friends, comrades and colleagues who come to my birthday festivities to contribute to my travel fund. Working for nonprofits for the last eleven years has not helped me build a huge cash-reserve, and I'm hoping that all the fundraising I've done for others has bought me enough good karma to raise a couple thousand dollars. It's the best birthday gift I could ever get.

And lastly, I feel optimistic about my birthday fundraising efforts in part because, starting in February, we will be in the year of the Golden Pig (Chinese calendar). This means that 2007 will be a good year for saving and making money, and that babies born in this year will be rich (or that's what's supposed to happen anyway). And those of us (like me) fortunate enough to be born pigs should have especially good years. I've even asked my co-workers (who are mostly Latino) to start calling me 'Cochinita Dorada' (the little golden pig) to get the good luck flowing early.

So wish me luck and fortune in this year of the Golden Pig, and I do the same to you. Happy new year!

Rest in Funkiness, James Brown

I can't say more than that he was a true innovator, and a man who changed music forever. Funk on, JB.

Mostly True Generalization #1

Men think they don't need help at times when they actually do; women think they need help at times when they actually don't.

Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Hanukah....

I just got off the phone with a friend who is Jewish, married to a Christian, and has adopted two African-American girls. When I asked if they were going out of town for the holidays he answered, almost breathlessly, "We haven't had time to go anywhere." Except, that is, to various holiday engagements, including nightly Kwanzaa celebrations (each night of Kwanzaa is an opportunity for a family or community gathering). I suggested to him that maybe they consider rolling all the different holidays into one big one that they can rename something all-encompassing....'Winter festival' or something equally non-sectarian and inocuous. But it's not so simple as that, of course, as we all have our nostalgic, sentimental, or spiritual ties to the particular holiday that we grew up celebrating (or we had such negative experiences growing up with those holidays that we've discarded them in favor of new traditions; either way, they've got an emotional hold on us).

I like to think of this time of year as a Season of Lights; a season that's cold and dreary, which is why we feel compelled to chase away the darkness and the blues with colorful lights, fancy wrapped presents, comforting food and the warmth and friendship of our loved ones. There's a reason why pretty much every culture in the world does something to celebrate during the colder winter months. We're pretty smart animals in some ways, we humans, even if we are messing up the planet.

And while I celebrate Christmas, I make sure not to homogeneize the holidays into something superficially Christian. I find it interesting that my hard-core Jewish co-worker just wished me a 'Merry Christmas'. I feel a little awkward saying 'Happy Hanukah' so I go for the generic 'Have a good holiday'. It's just a lot easier and less likely to offend.

Whatever you call these cold days of winter revelry, I hope you stay warm, fed, nourished and comforted by all the magic and positive energy that the season brings. If only for once a year, I do have hope that people's hearts open a little bit bigger this time of year. I hope yours does too.