saudade (part 2)

I don't know when it started but the beach has provided me solace for a long time. The deafening roar of the surf, the misty sea-spray of the crashing waves, the abrading grit of the sand, the glistening sparkles of the aquamarine water, the gentle whispers of the salty breeze and the songs of the local inhabitants in the air, land and see inundates all the senses.

Perhaps suggested from "Footprints in the Sand" as a child 'bussed off' to weekly Sunday School, I would periodically visualize walking along the shore hand in hand with a taller gentleman during code of silence (#sue, #secretsociety123), although throughout my life, the image would oscillate with me leaning back on some stronger, protective presence, his arms embracing me, with the rising or setting sun illuminating us. Touch...before learning the love language (full circle (part 9), modern love), it provided so much more, with the presence of safety, trust, nurturing and ... 'je ne sais quoi' ... everything. I felt a flash of that re-membering in a bubble of bliss.

During my travels, I have turned to the shore during moments that I needed a reminder and recharge of my energy and essence, sitting for moments with eyes closed absorbing the warm embrace from the coupling of the sun (masculine)/moon (feminine) and the wind as a gentle caress, visualizing touch. Despite my Virgo Sun (earth), Sagittarius Moon (fire) and Metal (Gold) Pig (face of the girl (part 1), trifecta) I have been told by various 'seers' that there is a lot of the flighty air in me and that it would take a partner that could bring me down to the Earth to ground me and balance that energy. While I always felt grounded after my moments on the beaches, I often times felt an air of bittersweetness...was that a trait of the Metal Pig or a precursor to saudade?

As noted in saudade (part 1), I was not prepared when Yoon Se-Ri (CLoY - Episode 4) found herself in the outdoor marketplace talking to friends who were no longer there, with the scene showing the first flashbacks to the young girl sitting on the beach with the setting sun and counting. The body has a way of keeping score and I found the tears well up and fall without initially understanding the emotions behind the trigger. Fear, loneliness, perhaps a smidgeon of abandonment...yet, when Ri Jeong-Hyeok raised his arm with a candle as a beacon of light beckoning the little girl home, the breath I finally released was quickly followed by incontrollable sobs. I had to pause the series to let my body release what the little girl had buried all these years.

I had known about the incident in elementary school when I waited for hours to be picked up from school, but it was a story with no actual memories (ftale, moments that matter (part 1)). As with safe haven, my body knew something my conscious mind did not. Over the remaining episodes, it unfolds that the little girl on the beach came with her stepmother and was instructed to wait while her stepmother went to find them something to drink. After a spell, she starts counting, trying to convince herself that her stepmother will be back by the time she gets to 100; however, when she gets to 99, she restarts the count. Strangers eventually find her passed out on the beach.

As with standing taller, Se-Ri's stepmother, much like my mother, was experiencing her own unhappiness, and struggled with a daughter who reflected someone that they were not and exhibited innocence and kindness that they didn't believe they deserved. By the time I got to the same scene in the marketplace the second time I binge watched the series, my subconscious had released snippets of the repressed memories of the little girl, who was at Southside Elementary and had assured the last adult to leave the building, perhaps a teacher, that one of my parents was on his/her way to pick me up.

As the sky turned darker, I also had told myself stories as to why no-one had come yet as I looked out at the empty parking lot, with my heart skipping a beat each time I saw headlights in the distance only to experience a dash of disappointed which I quickly pushed away when the car(s) kept driving past me. Like Se-Ri on her hospital bed after listening to her mother's recorded musings of regrets (CLoY - Episode 14), I have been able to reflect on the event from the perspective of my parents (full circle (part 8)), who as immigrants, were working overtime or going to night school in order to better their lot in life, and as with any other day, were banking on their children getting home via the reliable school bus, forgetting the extracurricular activities that kept one at school.

Be that as it may, who would that child be today had she experienced those moments from the perspective of the universe rather than that from a girl with all the hope, trust and love from the innocence of the womb, feeling like she had to apologize for being born, much like Se-Ri? Perhaps much of the tears were less for the memories but for the grief of a childhood that should have been.

11:11 (part 10)

Since 9/11, I have made a pact with God and/or the universe that I would try to minimize overanalyzing things and embrace what was put in front of me (cougartown). That has how I have approached this trip to Italy with only a one-way ticket in hand. I was excited to see my 'baby sis' (from another mother and father), whom I have not seen since I repatriated. While I knew she had married an Italian, they are also living in Japan. In a moment of serendipity, they were visiting Italy for their first anniversary around the time I would be in the country.

When we finally connected, it was uncanny to find out that Valdobbiadene was the town they got married in a year before. The place that I had wanted to take them to after lunch (self service) turns out to be the spot that they took many of their wedding photos including one that she has posted as her Facebook profile picture that I had loved, and she reminded me and pointed out the spot which was less than 10 feet from where we were sitting. I happened to be in Vietnam last year during their wedding and had attended the wedding with her family via FaceTime. When she had said that they would meet me in Valdobbiadene, I had no idea that the place was of significance to them.

It was great to be able to finally meet the people who were part of the ceremony and/or behind the phone enabling us to participate. I have never seen her more confident or happy in life. When they asked if I would change my initial flight to spend more time together, I jumped at the opportunity and rolled the dice two hours before takeoff to make it happen. At some point, her husband decided to play matchmaker.

What I had thought was an initial joke as coordination to get a ring I had purchased but was getting resized in Padova turned out to be less so in pimping me out. Yet because I have an aversion to such machinations and to avoid repeating any drama from reclaiming the cunt (part 8), I have to admit to playing a bit ditsy at any attempts to get us alone. Perhaps as admiration for his repeated attempts and/or to give my friend some quality time with her husband before our flights the following day, I agreed to drinks after dinner.

Too many events in my life (the girl with the dragoon tattoo; when it rains, it pours; and 11:11 (part 4)) have occurred for me to believe that anything is coincidental. So when during our chat over Aperol spritz and prosecco, the topic of knowing the future and paths to follow naturally made me think of Sliding Doors. As I asked if he had seen the movie, he noted that he just brought it up in conversation during dinner. I missed it either while trying to pack at the same time or as they were discussing in Italian. While his point at dinner was that our decisions impact the paths our lives take and who we become, like the events of 22, it reminded me of the discussion with Jay, and I viewed it as a sign from my male spirit, taking away any hesitation on how the night would unfold (23 vs. 42).

At the beginning of the trip, one of my friends had messaged me to download Book Club to watch on my trip. I had forgotten about it until I saw it on the menu on my flight home. In one scene, Vivian (Jane Fonda's character) spouting an interpretation of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken," which sometimes, as is in my case, is erroneously referred to as "The Road Less Traveled".

It turns out that Frost wrote the poem facetiously for another poet (Edward Thomas), who oftentimes was indecisive, pondering the path to take in his life, and usually later lamenting that he should have taken the other one in hindsight. Many have interpreted that the road less traveled represents individualism. However, Frost has been known to correct people when they utter anything other than 'road' such as path, since roads are paved and man-made, suggesting that the road is not unique nor individual. Vivian's interpretation, which is supported by comments by Frost, is that both roads are actually the same.

"Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back."

Robert Frost, "The Road Not Taken" (excerpt)

Upon looking back, both roads are comparable and equally untravelled, carpeted by newly fallen autumn leaves. Instead the poet has turned an 'impulsive' decision to follow the one that was perceived as less traveled into an intentional decision. While our decisions in life and the events beyond our control shape who we become, our lives unfold through conscious design that come from constructive narratives rather than dramatic actions.

The writer and director of Sliding Doors developed the storyline from a near death experience. As he was late in meeting a friend, he hesitated on running to catch the train or to simply call his friend from a public phone. On impulse, he ran across the street, nearly getting hit by a car. After talking about my brush with death during 9/11, my 'baby sis' shared a story where she almost got clocked by a car as well. We both commiserated on how those moments give us pause and end up shaping us more than we think. Gwyneth Paltrow received a note years later from someone who ran into her the morning of 9/11. Because of the celebrity sighting, the woman did not make the subway train that would have taken her into the World Trade Center at the time of impact.

In the end, we are shaped by our decisions and experiences. We choose how to react to every situation even those out of our control. As Frost notes, even knowing how things unfolded, I am such a different woman than whom I started that I would not want to double back and take another path. This takes me back to my views on Sliding Doors, which is regardless of our decisions, the universe has a way of directing us to become who we are meant to become, even if one road leads us to get there more quickly than the other, where fate and free will collides (22). 

So while my drinking companion, like Thomas, who at times tend to second guess his life decisions  and wanted to know his future as some form of assurance that things will turn out alright, we were both where we should have been at this point in time, regardless of whatever decisions we would or could have made in the past.

bloody hell

I had a sigh of relief when the doc cleared me to go home early this morning after pulling out the vaginal packing and not seeing ongoing bleeding. The pad they had put under me was clean as I got up and got dressed. Since she was on call at the hospital, they had put a hospital bracelet on me in case I had to head to the operating room that she had booked as a default plan.

I had not eaten since lunch yesterday so stopped by Starbucks for a muffin and chai latte on my way home. With those sensitive nerve endings, I knew that there were fluids moving within my body but figured it was just the body's way of cleaning itself. I had not even touched my muffin by the time I realized that the fluid movement seemed unusually high. A quick trip to the bathroom confirmed my fears and after it seemed to stop filling up the toilet, I thought it was safe to change, including topping it off with a fresh pad.

I barely got back into bed before I felt that it had not stopped, realizing that after another toilet full of red and the dripping not stopping, that perhaps doubling up my pads may not be sufficient. I had the foresight to get a change of clothes, and started texting my friend and doc. The lack of blood took its toll and I found myself constantly sitting down to catch my breath waiting for my friend. The doc called me with instructions including calling 911 as my picture to her had her alarmed enough to not wait. As I was laying on the kitchen floor with the door open, there was something surreal about the moment that I could not place.

As 5 EMTs came in, it occurred to me that I had dreamt about this recently. At the time, I had thought it was a very odd visual memory mixed in with an entirely different theme from the dream. Luckily, my friend arrived in time of them getting me into the ambulance to coordinate. I was worried about her relatively new car and had eyed a beach towel downstairs that I was going to grab, but as they switched me to the hospital bed and I saw the bloody gurney, my first thought was that I was glad it wasn't my friend's car. The nurses had difficulty drawing three vials of blood, as the blood seemed to want to flow elsewhere. I did learn that the body can survive on two-thirds of its usual blood volume as they were discussing potential transfusion. I still had the hospital bracelet on from earlier this morning.

As with the oocyte retrieval, I went out like a light, and apparently was not aware of any update from my doc; fortunately, she followed up with a call to remind me. We had dinner plans at Lazy Bear, a fixed menu dinner that you had to purchase tickets a month in advance. I was determined to make it, as it was also a friend's birthday. In the end, I was not allowed to go and order to get rest and be horizontal. Of course, I got chastised by my brother who became my emergency contact and default family doc for not even letting him know that anything was going on. He must have informed my sister, the anesthesiologist, who advised me not to be alone post surgery.

As we had to get replacements for Lazy Bear, since two others did not want to attend if I wasn't going, as it was my event that I really wanted to experience, a few others at work had reached out to check in. I did tell him that I could have used a cuddle yesterday, before today's event. I had sent him kissing my boo-boos. He had made a point that over the years, he did not feel as if I initiated, primarily texting and in life ways rather than transactional texts. While I tend to mirror people's communications style, and had communicated that, I had heard his concerns and had made efforts since returning. We all have our lives, and he's busy acclimating to new team and new job.

I don't often reach out for help - lot of that is based on full circle (part 8). To me, communicating that I wished for a cuddle from him is initiating. Perhaps this is another episode of lost 'n found and as with that gentleman, he initiated and pushed despite my hesitation with the age difference, sometimes people do not know how they would react until experiencing it, which I understand. However, I disclosed to him what happened with the other gentleman, and he still danced the dance. A part of me is disappointed, a part of me knows to focus on my recovery. In the end, I am blessed for my friend who was there for me throughout the day, as well as very kind people who interacted with me today, from the EMTs to nurses to doctors, and my siblings, the doctors. full circle (part 7) serves as a reminder to live in the moment and not fret over a past that cannot be changed.

* * * * *

Update September 21, 2017:

It turns out I lost over 3 units of blood (or over 25%). Luckily, I did not need a transfusion but it has made my body anemic and dehydrated, causing weakness, lethargy and headaches. 😔

* * * * *

Update September 28, 2017:

In an act of kindness, the primary EMT who worked on me texted me today to check up on me. Given the sexual harassment at work (kissing my boo-boos), I initially hesitated to respond, assuming ulterior motives. I am glad I listened to my inner child and responded in kind...Law of Attraction.

23 vs. 42

While 42 may be considered unlucky in Japanese culture because it sounds like the word death, it is also the answer to the ultimate question of life, universe and everything, as calculated by Deep Thought (a supercomputer) over 7.5 million years in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. In the last 24 hours, 23 seems to be the answer...at least in some aspects.

In my quest to search for happy ending massages for women in Asia, my friend last night noted that there is a massage parlor in Danang where menu item #23 is the magic formula. A Korean woman had blogged about her experience where she happened upon this and towards the end, as she decided to also participate by performing oral on him, he had noted that it was not the norm. She went back the next day and after that she booked him for the whole day.

My other friend noted that for some reason she had been picking the number 23 lately when she buys lotto. I happen to be pulling out my VND for something and on one of my 500,000 VND bills, someone had written 23 on the bill and circled it. My friend immediately grabbed it and noted that she was going to use the bill to purchase a lotto ticket today. When paying for dim sum this morning, I had forgotten about that until afterwards. Luckily, I did not pay with the same bill. 

We had a spa service at her house as her son was napping and she had noted that she was going to buy the lotto ticket while he was napping, but ended up getting lazy and figured she would go later. As she went on a walk with her son and stopped by the shop to get the ticket, she had missed the cutoff for today's drawing. She let out a loud "FUCK" when she saw the number 23 as the pick for the day. Sometimes one has to act on the signs to not lose out on the opportunities that the universe provides. 😉

me love you long time (part 6)

One of my clients struck oil and had a First Oil Ceremony celebration last night. Anyone who was anybody in the industry and some local celebrities and government officials were at the event. When the CFO (an expat) stopped by our table, he knew I looked familiar and asked if I was the new manager on the account. When they corrected him, he noted that I looked very different than during our first and only meeting a few months ago. Later, he came for a closer look and said 'very stunning actually'.

During my career, I have noticed that people tend to state their titles when others ask what they do for a living. In general, I have stuck to the 'consultant' answer or not really broach the topic, which is a bit of a challenge during my assignment here since part of my role is business development. As I have advanced, people have treated me differently when they find out my level. Over time, this has become one of my pet peeves - my title doesn't define me. Yet, I find that people judge you based on your title. I got to this level being me so why would that change me? While that may be a rhetorical question, I will admit that a large number of people who have made it to such achievements have significantly changed once the title was bestowed upon them and so when asked the question of what they do for a living, their response of the title is to let the title define them.

The CFO remarked that I had looked all 'accountanty' before. When we met, I went to get introduced so it wasn't a meeting I had to actively participate in. The number of times I spoke at the meeting and at the event last night to him was equivalent. So his first impression compared to his second was primarily from the lens that he was viewing me. These vast lenses are why I get such random job offers - personal assistant because I 'speak English good and look pretty' [yes, that was his grammar, and he was Australian - the pay was probably USD 1,000/month]; restaurant manager to 'micro-manage the staff, and it would be a great opportunity and step up' for me [this was from a restaurant owner that has been pursuing me for months, and though he knows where I work, my title and that I'm American Vietkieu, he has no concept of what I do and doesn't care to find out, but thought that by hooking me up with a job that pays USD 4,000/month that it would be equivalent to putting me up in a nice apartment and taking care of me]; and CFO at a company that is looking to go public internationally [potentially higher salary than my current one with options].

One of the celebrities was a top pop singer in Vietnam. Her recent 'scandal' was having a baby with a 'trust fund baby' and getting paid USD 1 million by him. She was treated as if she was one of the local girls chasing after the sexpats (see china anniversary).

Ho Ngoc Ha

But Ha got bitter when asked if the rumors were true that Cuong had bought her an expensive mansion abroad and other lavish gifts. “People will surely buzz about that. But I haven’t done anything wrong. Everybody who knows me will tell you how hardworking I’ve been so far. People are ignoring my serious preparations for childbirth if they think a house or a car is why I’m pregnant. But the more wicked the rumor is, the more my lover appreciates me. He understands how much I have to suffer." ~ Thanh Nien News

In a country where women are known to be the breadwinners and the men are known to be lazy, it is very ironic that the male species 'wear the pants'. The CFO is retiring and a local lady is being promoted to his position. When asked if she would continue the celebration with us after the event was over, she responded that her husband would not permit that and that he was coming to pick her up. While I never thought that the 'breadwinner' concept gave a person the right to set the rules for a relationship, I do think that it should give the person a 'voice' in a relationship. She remarked that it is not the Vietnamese way, and that the husband 'sets the rules and trains the wife'. 

I have two aunts who have husbands who have never really worked and gambled their earnings away. I have cousins who learned the same behavior from their fathers. A friend's mother has had to constantly sell off her properties and businesses that she has worked her entire life to build in order to pay off her husband's constant drinking and gambling debts - he also does not work. I find it very sad that women are not appreciated for such sufferings and sacrifices. Yet they do not leave their husbands either, whether out of stupidity, love, loyalty, tradition or some/all of the above. Who needs children when you have a husband to take care of? However, in this case, it is like saying though that the children sets the rules and tells the parents what to do. Hats off to the guy(s) who masterminded the events that got this to be the deep-seeded tradition/culture! [note the sarcasm]

double trouble

Gambling is prevalent in Vietnam; however, a law that only allows those with foreign passports to enter local casinos allow for plausible deniability (what's your sign?). Given its proximity, busloads of locals would travel to the casinos at the Cambodia border. Naga World is one such place in Phnom Penh. However, after perusing the casino floor, I soon discovered that there were no craps table to socialize. Fortunately, the spa was open until 3am, which even the king of sin cities (aka Las Vegas) doesn't even offer (well, not counting the rub & tug establishments). 

One of the services was a four-hand massage. The only other time I've experienced this was in Mexico. Definitely something that I couldn't pass up. The spa facilities were definitely something to write home about - caverns of rooms with individual steam showers, hot saunas, large bathtubs, beds and massage tables. It was a shame that I came alone as my immediate thought was that there were so many options for hours-long entertainment.

I opted for the 120 minutes session. I may have a small frame, but this body likes to be bruised when it comes to massages. Every crevice was worked on. A masseur once told me that there is a certain way to work on the lower back which would eventually result in a happy ending. In my travels, I haven't quite discovered this technique...yet. However, while the four hands didn't quite get me the happy ending, it was dang close. After three straight nights of partying until 2-3am, I sure slept like a baby!