to infinity and beyond

With the bright lights of city life, the twinkle of the night sky gets muted. A memorable moment for me was my first time on LSD and staring at the night sky above Joshua Tree. The dancing clouds amidst the backdrop of distant stars and moonlight was a visual art performance to behold.

I did not realize though that our atmosphere with the haze, air flow and moisture tend to distort the night sky with extinction (dimmer) and seeing (blurry), including airglow and aurora, reflections of light back onto us. At almost 14,000 feet above sea level and with its arid climate and stable airflow, Mauna Kea has one of the best conditions for stargazing. Continuing with new templates...the party continues (rub-a-dub-dub), laying on sacred land to glimpse the planets and other glowing orbs seem to be a fascinating new experience to an ancestral memory of native life.

"The best way to know if land is truly undiscovered is to seek words to describe it. When you can't, you know it's virgin land. Untouched by our dirty hands. To see it is to be silenced by it. Made speechless by its endless uniformity...

To crest a rise is to see another that is identical. One must read the sun and stars like a sailor to navigate this place. We've seen nothing but grass for over a week: no game, no birds, no snakes, not even a lizard, and no evidence the human race still exists... 

The dirty hand of man can go unnoticed in the city. Because his dirty hand made the city. But in this place, where innocence is a mineral in the soil, the filth of our touch is an apocalypse."

~ Elsa Dutton (1883 - Season 1, Episode 7)

In addition to the conservation and protection of the surrounding lands, laws ensure minimal light pollution around the island. Only 4x4s are allowed up to the summit. Lava rocks as far as the eye can see, there doesn't seem to be any life around as we ascended with periodic reminders to be mindful of altitude sickness. We are blessed with sunrises on the Hilo side but as we continued our climb up to the summit, the barrenness was filled with the juxtaposition of the amber and indigo hues from the West and East of the island.

Snuggled under blankets, breathing in the crisp, cold air, I was silenced by the awesomeness all around me. Without the atmosphere blurring what we see, humans can see approximately 5,000 stars with the naked eye. Absent the distortion from the Earth's atmosphere, I could even see the outline of the dark side of the moon as it sunk from the horizon of the ever-changing night sky, a reminder that not only the Earth is still spinning but also the moon is orbiting us.

Milky Way

What I thought were wisps of clouds turned out to be the Milky Way, as I was quickly reminded that we were above the clouds. I had overheard others nearby exclaiming sightings of shooting stars. While I was silently declaring that I wanted to see a shooting star before we left, I quickly dashed the thought away, as an emphasis to myself to be open to the experience without any expectations. I was rewarded with not one but two shooting stars, satellites and even a ... UFO sighting.

My friend was commenting that he hoped to see a UFO. I felt as if I had split with a part of me listening to his words and the other part completely entranced by a light, different than the other orbs in the sky. Unlike the satellites that we saw that night that seemed to glide by the stars in a trajectory, this one appeared to be flitting. Without thinking, I soon cut him off and asked if he sees this, pointing in the direction to guide his eyes. Just as he said it was getting brighter, it soon looked like it ascended as the light dimmed and then disappeared.

Birthdays have always been a day of reflection for me. Most of them have come with sadness...a wanting and wondering if and where I went astray from my path or destiny. Heading up Mauna Kea, I was in awe of what I was seeing ahead of us while my friend was admiring the beauty in his rear view mirror.

"There is an Indian proverb that goes, 'Sometimes, the wrong train takes you to the right station.' It was like that for me, too. Throughout my life, I always felt like I was on the wrong train. One time, I wanted to give up. I didn't want to go anywhere. So I thought about jumping off the train.

Look where I am now. I took the wrong train again, and a very wrong one at that. It even got me across the 38th parallel! 

Still, you should think about the future even if things don't always go as you wish. I wish you could be happy ... I want you to arrive at the right station no matter which train you take."

~ Yoon Se-Ri (CLoY - Episode 5)

As I looked through the side mirror when he told me to look at the view behind us, I was too focused on capturing the picture but as I scrolled through my photos tonight, what laid ahead and behind me were vastly different. In the present moment, it feels much like I got on the wrong train again, and like Se-Ri at that moment, we can derisively laugh at our situations. Yet, on this day, for a split second, in a moment of reflection, perchance, one can see a beauty in the snapshot in time where things may not have gone as I had wished but the wrong train did give me this moment of pulchritudinous respite of nature.

In the end, will destiny eventually guide me to the right station regardless of the countless wrong trains I had to take to get to bliss? Thinking about the future sounds akin to ... hope (ftale).

a frog's kiss

The waxy giant leaf or monkey frog (Phyllomedusa bicolor) is a bright green tree frog, native to the Amazon basin, whose waxy secretion has been used for its powerful emetic or purgative effects. Kambo, named after the shaman Kampu who learned about the medicine from a forest spirit to heal his tribe, has been used to eliminate toxin, increase strength and stamina, or dispersing negative energy. Thought to emit a light green glow to attract prey, it is also used to aid in hunting to reduce need for sustenance and minimize the human scent.

While the frogs are not great at hopping, they have adapted to their environment, such as climbing trees and producing the secretion which protects them from drastic temperature changes and predators. They are listed on the Least Concern on the International Union for Conservation of Nature's (IUCN) Red List. The secretion is 40 times more potent than morphine or microbicides and peptides that could help prevent HIV transmission, as well as inhibit cancer cell growth. It is also known to treat chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia, herpes, Parkinson's disease, Alzheimer's, depression, hepatitis, diabetes, menopause and a host of other ailments.

As with any 'healing medicine', the results vary by person and usually provides what the person needs at that moment. Preparation required fasting all day and intake of lots of water. I was not prepared for the copious amounts of water, which resulted in my body having the shakes. The medicine is applied onto gates upon the skin, created with a hot stick which causes the top layer of the skin to blister.

As the medicine moved throughout my body, it controlled my shakes while causing my body to intensely purge. The experience was very uncomfortable, practically hugging a bucket as there was no warning for the bile and toxins seeking refuge. The denouement were drops of the intense sting of sananga to the eyes. As part of the ceremony, we returned our collective refuse to Pachamama underneath a cherry tree.

It is recommended to do kambo at least three times during a lunar cycle for the optimal results in removing toxins. However, after one session, for some, they were able to let go of some pent-up trauma. For me, it provided clarity and perspective for something that was plaguing me that day. For those in the ceremony, it was a shared experience that further connected each of us to each other and the universe. For a family that pukes together will always be connected with the dots, sealed with Dragon's Blood, signifying our badge of courage.

* * * * *

Update February 19, 2019:

Perhaps due to the bountiful rain that has finally ended the 7-year drought, the cherry tree is in full bloom, after looking as if it had been on its last legs in the last few years. However, I am sure that the offerings we provided to the Mother were returned in the blessings of the beautiful blossoms on the cherry tree.

full circle (part 9)

"You are one of the most agreeable Lovers of this type, always ready to compromise and anxious to please; but this does not make you the easiest to love. The fact is, you are more apt than any Mars in Aquarius Lover to shut out those you love from your emotional life. Your self-sufficiency means that even people who want to be close to you find themselves loving you from afar. You are a warm, witty, and exceptionally sexy Lover, but you can’t expect people to truly care about you if they can’t really know you."

~ Good Golly, Mars in Aquarius, Venus in Virgo 

I first read that last year, and whether one believes in astrology as an alternative science or not, it resonated with me. I focused on the positive aspects that allow me to intimately connect and find pleasure with a partner without the usual emotional attachment (face of the girl (part 1)) that many women require.

As a first born (family ties) from a first-generation immigrant family, I have always had to be self-sufficient (full circle (part 8)), whether I had wanted to or not. In some ways, Italy seemed progressive such as creativity in their relationship paradigms and in other ways, traditional. One discussion I got into was with a woman who was professing her liberalness yet complaining about how men have been emasculated. It was not until her cousin explained to me that she had made it her mission to let the entire family know that her husband has not had sex with her for over 11 years that it occurred to me the irony in her emasculating her husband rather than working through their issues as a couple, rather than trying to practically bully him by embarrassing him in front of others.

Throughout my time in Italy, I often got into conversations regarding relationships and gender roles. In the same breath, the men would grumble about Italian women wanting men to take care of them and yet want to be in charge. I am pretty sure that is not just limited to Italy. Many confuse the concept of feminism, which is the right to be equal among the sexes. It does not equate to being equal in all things. For example, generally, men have been noted as having better spatial cognition. That does not mean a woman is incapable of packing luggage in a car trunk.

During a fun debate on the topic, it was noted that a man's ego and masculinity drives him to want to protect a woman. As noted in beach angel, while I can take care of myself, I would love to be protected. But as we were talking, it occurred to me that I never really allowed someone to do so. My friend remarked earlier that day on how a close family friend always opened the door for her. Of course, jokingly, I commented that he did not open the door for me. Rightly so, he retorted that I hopped in the car so fast that I never gave him the opportunity to do so.

A few days earlier as we were having lunch, I arranged to pay the bill mid-meal. I had learned over the weeks that in Italy, the early bird gets the worm. Yet it is very common for the men to cover the bill so I was rejected by both the waitress and owner, as my male friend is a regular patron and it is usually assumed that he would cover it. Since he is American though, it only took a few whispers for him to get that overridden. However, my other friend's Italian husband would have none of it. If the American man was not going to pay or pay a portion, he would pay as he views it as offensive if a woman pays for him. In the end, we ended up splitting the bill, with him paying for me and his wife and me paying for the American man and his female friend.

Later that night, as I had to listen to the gripes of the American man penny-pinching on what he had to cover, which was half of the drinks bill at the last bar, splitting amongst the men, rather than everyone splitting the bill, I realized how chivalry seems to have gotten lost, especially as his lunch was technically covered by me. My friend had to explain to me how not only her husband but also his family and friends feel the same way in regards to women paying. As I parted ways with the American man and for the rest of the trip, nobody blinked as the men fought over who would pick up the tab.

I have gone Dutch for as long as I can remember, partly because of equality with all of us having careers and partly because men cannot expect any favors later in exchange for drinks or food (reclaiming the cunt (part 3)). However, this has also been taken to the extreme as I have noticed lately that some men will intentionally go to a bar early to order and pay for his drink so that there is no confusion on who is covering his date's bill. I personally prefer to take turns treating each other, just like taking turns asking each other out. Either way, I realized that following my friend's instructions not to insult the men by offering to pay became a bit more challenging than it should have. 

As the family was pimping me out, I found myself hesitating, and rationalizing my behavior as not wanting to hurt a gentleman. My friend kept reminding me that they are adults and are responsible for themselves. I found that it was a similar apprehension as when I met a man from YUMmy and subsequently, his friend, prior to my trip to Italy. 

The respect they had for women and each other, their communication styles, their honesty and transparency with each other and me...it is difficult to explain why it gave me pause. Prior and during meeting, there were communications on intentions and check-ins to ensure people were aware of the other's objectives/plans, even if fluid. No games, just transparency and living in truths and authenticity. As my hair stylist reminded me while I relayed this to her, this was exactly what I have been searching for in the last few years. While I have always noted that I have met great men in my life (pig in mud (part 4)), there was something very unnerving about how these men disarmed me.

As with protection and simple gestures such as picking up a tab and opening doors, while subtle, there is a significant difference in expecting them and allowing someone the pleasure of doing them. As with my lesson on communication of intentions, it takes away any anxiety and/or assumptions when it is clear what the 'rules of engagement' or simple pleasures that make someone tick are. Like 'need' and 'want', it is 'same same but different'. It always troubled me when hearing people comment that I am difficult to get to know as I would like to think I am an open book about anything and everything but perhaps this steadfast 'independence' is the barrier they see. Between 11:11 (part 10) and these moments, 'letting go' and 'letting others in' also means 'allowing'.

My friend's Italian husband also loves to cook. He and his mother usually are a hoot to watch in the kitchen as she tries to supervise him while he blatantly tunes her out. As the family often utters, they gain weight when he is in town. My friend has learned to cook in order for them to have quality time in the kitchen together. She fries cutlets better than him while he loves to grill and makes a mean bowl of pasta.

In naturally trying to be self-sufficient and in the quest for equality, I missed the most obvious lesson of feminism. It is about unmasking the expected gender roles and embracing the ability to do what each person enjoys, even if that happens to be within the 'traditional gender expectations'. It does not make me any less of a woman than it makes him more of a man. Like being sexually liberated, even in the choice of being a sub, the freedom is the choice (and consent) to do so without being bound by the expectations of being one. By the last day, I was feeling less uneasy about men being chivalrous that I almost forgot to express appreciation to them for such gestures. Another lesson I cannot neglect. Similar to my surprise in identifying my love languages, what I thought I did not need turns out to be exactly want my soul desires.

pimping me out

The French are generally known for being more sexually liberated (lost 'n found), especially in comparison to Americans (reclaiming the cunt (part 3)). However, it would seem as if the Italians may be more open in nudity, sexuality and variations of relationships. In the Amalfi Coast, Gennaro (with new templates...the party continues) disclosed that he never felt the need to have a girlfriend until his mid-30s, when he felt the responsibility as the only son to procreate in order to continue the family lineage. It would seem as if he was not the only one with that mindset.

In their search for happiness, some have even been able to balance family time and individual time (family ties). Although the friend from reclaiming the cunt (part 8) had stated that if he were me, he would not have been so open about my personal life - again his projection of his insecurities and fears of judgment, it did not seem to phase any of the Italians that took part in any of those discussions. In some ways, there was still the typical 'sexist' mindset when some men are practically being touchy and flirty with other women in front of their wives. Yet, in other ways, it was refreshing to not have the feel of 'creepy eyes' boring into you from the slight suggestion of cleavage or skin.

After a few attempts to spend quality time alone, a close family friend who was following on his motorcycle did not continue his way home but rather stopped at the end of the driveway. After my friend's husband went to check on him, his brother then joined in the male huddle after a few minutes. I was not really surprised when they came back in the car and declared that they basically 'pimped me out' in frustration of my perceived cluelessness. The entire exchange was comical as it seemed so archaic yet transparent.

With mild hopes of some sympathy from Luci (thelma & louise (part 2)), I was amused at her reaction after informing her that her sons were pimping me out. In typical Luci fashion, she declared that if I did not 'scopato' (what's in a name?) the family friend, she would. Then, she mused and pimped me out to her single son. Without pause, she postulated that he must be homosexual as like his father, whom she disclosed only wants to do it 3-4 times a week (it was not clear to me if she meant it as the past or present as they are in their 70s), he does not seem to want sex as much. Of course, she had us in tears of laughter.

thelma & louise (part 2)

The matriarch (Luci) of my host family in Meolo is one of eight, of which three are women. Gina, who is the oldest, has two children, whom seem to overpower their spouses. While attending a birthday party for Gina's husband and her son-in-law, her children were energy suckers, overtaking others in their braggadocios, while their spouses mostly remained silent. During the dinner, Gina oftentimes would comment on how the meat or dishes were dry or cold because of our tardiness in arrival.

Luci (middle) and Paola (youngest) are unlike the traditional and passive-aggressive Gina. Even with a relative stranger (me) in their midst, both were unabashed as they spent quality time together sunbathing in their underwear. Both had no qualms as their family members would touch their breasts and jokingly comment about sex and other perceived taboo topics.

As her youngest son noted, what you see is what you get with Luci. She is brazenly honest but has a good heart. She had a few miscarriages before her firstborn, and while a part of her always wanted a daughter, she has opened her heart to her daughter-in-law and even me during the few days I spent with her. It was with wistfulness, and not bitterness, when she relayed her childbearing stories including the names of her sons (and their related female versions with hopes of the child being a girl). In a case of opposites attracting or the ying to her yang, Franco, her husband, is a calm and patient man.

Her motto is to never leave home without either lipstick or heels on. In the case of nature vs. nurture (family ties), her sons have clearly inherited her frivolity in life. After checking out my chipped 3-week manicure, she quickly brought out nail polish remover and hot pink nail polish. After I jokingly asked if she was grooming me to pimp me out to a family friend (pimping me out), she quickly brushed it off and noted that a man is irrelevant, and it is always important to look good for one's self. She patiently sat next to me and supervised my manicure, correcting missed spots or rubbing off polish that got on my skin. As she showed my newly manicured nails to her sons, one of them jocularly noted how it looked like a puttana. Naturally, Luci took it as a compliment and a sign of her youth.

Had I not been told, I would have thought Luci was in her 50s rather than her 70s with her energy, zest for life and openness and intelligence. She was a woman with no judgments and kind heart. As I told many, including one of Gina's children who was a bit shocked as Luci is known as the crazy old woman, I would love to be Luci when I grow older. Hopefully, I resemble much of her already.

crushing grapes

Well almost.

I was never a fanatic for I Love Lucy, but the episode where she and her best friend stomped on grapes to make wine seems to have stuck with me as one of those cool experiences. I finally decided to join my friend who owns a prosecco label to harvest season in Valdobbiadene, the finest prosecco region in Italy.

While they no longer crush grapes by stomping on them, they also generally harvest with machines. However, the beauty of Valdobbiadene is that the vineyards are on the mountain side, too steep for machinery. Every harvest is entirely done by hand. In many cases, the vineyards are family owned, and as each section of land is so diverse in its topography (e.g., soil, limestone, rainfall, sunlight), harvest even within the same vineyard is usually done when an agronomist or viticulturist determines  that various vines have the appropriate sugar content, so are done in batches.

My first experiencing harvesting with the top agronomist in Valdobbiadene and his family was definitely an unforgettable experience. The forecast called for rain, which would have made the steep hills challenging as well as the battle to beat the rain, in fears of it diluting the fruit content. With waterproof booties, long socks, and clippers in tow, we were prepared for what nature had in store for us. However, she graced us with a beautiful sunny day with crisp air and the magnificent aroma of grapes and slight fermentation. 

Although his vineyard is less than an acre, this is his passion, and harvest is family time for him, ranging at least three generations. Every vine is passed over at least by two sets of eyes with neighbors helping each other. Lunch was prepared by the matriarchy of the clan, and served on a picnic table nestled in the vineyards with all the fineries of Italian culinary delights of prosciutto, cheese, pasta, olives, peppers, prosecco, torte, and caffé perfecto (coffee with homemade grappa).

While I did not understand everything that was said, I shared in the laughs and family frivolity such as when the parents pointed out the massive hickey that the older son had on his neck, resulting in his face turning beet red. While other vignerons were selling their best harvest in many years to vintners, Giovanni chose to keep his batch to make his own blend of bubbles for personal use.

They did offer the silly American an opportunity to fulfill my dream of crushing grapes by throwing some poorer quality grapes into a bowl so that I could stick a foot on it but the dream was just in living out the day with a beautiful and gracious family rather than some silly stomping of grapes.

moonshine

Wine, of all varieties, and even certain spirits are so cheap in Italy, in many cases about a fourth or a third of the prices in the U.S. Children grow up drinking wine with meals. We often ran into other Americans in grocery stores and delis looking to buy bottles to enjoy at their residences, usually pondering at the aisle whether the prices were indicative of quality.

There seems to be little correlation as many of the local wines are not sold internationally. In fact, the vintners tend to use the best grapes to be used for the prosecco and wine in the local market and the lesser quality grapes for the international market. With all the duties and taxes, a similar bottle would be significantly more pricey in other markets. With the additional charges, their profit is not significant in the other markets yet the companies know that to compete in the local market, they are also competing with the homemade variety as well.

Many Italian homes have made their own alcohol for generations. A family who owns a deli on the Amalfi Coast makes their own red and white wine in bulk in a small storage room under their house on the cliffs, and sell it to locals in large jugs. Families have their own recipes past down the generations in making spirits like limoncello or grappa. They also experiment with various ingredients. One family altered the fermenting process and recipe to also create cough medicine from pine cones, sugar and sunlight. Learning the process is a rite of passage for the children, especially when their product is brought out to be showcased at a family event.

When attending lunches or dinners at an Italian family's home, alcohol is flowing as if it was like water. It came as no surprise when I found myself loving the taste of a particular prosecco at a dinner in Meolo that turned out to come from an unmarked bottle, the usual indicators of something that was homemade rather than store bought.

naming names

In light of the movement with #GoldOpen to draw attention to people of color in Hollywood with the opening of Crazy Rich Asians, Kelly Marie Tran, a Vietnamese actress who had a leading role in Star Wars: The Last Jedi, wrote an oped today in the NY Times regarding online abusers and racial discrimination that resulted in her deleting her Instagram.

I am not the first person to have grown up this way. This is what it is to grow up as a person of color in a white-dominated world. This is what it is to be a woman in a society that has taught its daughters that we are worthy of love only if we are deemed attractive by its sons. This is the world I grew up in, but not the world I want to leave behind. 

I want to live in a world where children of color don’t spend their entire adolescence wishing to be white. I want to live in a world where women are not subjected to scrutiny for their appearance, or their actions, or their general existence. I want to live in a world where people of all races, religions, socioeconomic classes, sexual orientations, gender identities and abilities are seen as what they have always been: human beings... 

You might know me as Kelly. 

I am the first woman of color to have a leading role in a “Star Wars” movie. 

I am the first Asian woman to appear on the cover of Vanity Fair. 

My real name is Loan. And I am just getting started.

~ Loan (Kelly Marie) Tran 

People often ask me when I introduce myself why I did not take an American name. In high school French class, I had picked the name Anne-Marie. I had thought long and hard when applying for university whether it would be a good time to go by a name that was easier to pronounce and/or remember. I even filled out two versions of a college application with Anne-Marie on one. In my 20s, I sometimes introduced the world to Bambi (core values and full circle (part 8)) but she was more of a nightlife persona.

Although I kept my birth name for personal, university, career, etc., I did Americanize it. When we first came to the U.S., my parents in their FOB accents somehow butchered the pronunciation of my name to be 'Chong'. People from the church that sponsored us and in elementary school would refer to me as such. Of course, my parents had no foresight that 'Chong' would be a basis for childhood bullying. As one can imagine, it became fodder for the derogatory slang 'Ching Chong', which many had posted on Tran's social media accounts. On the first day of second grade when my new teacher was trying to pronounce my name, I decided to change the course of my name and said it phonetically before any of my classmates can chime in with 'Chong'.

There have been two important men in my life who refuse to call me by any other name than the true Vietnamese pronunciation of my name which is neither 'Chong' nor the phonetic version I go by now. Both happen to be white American men. One (moments that matter (part 4)) lived in Vietnam for a few years and learned the language, and the other (bubble of bliss) has lived in Asia for most of his adult life. When I first moved to Vietnam, I will admit that it took me some time to recognize when people were calling my name. As I introduced myself, it was automatic to go by the phonetic pronunciation although I was living in the country that would know the correct way to say my name. 

One of those men was baffled why I allowed people to call me by any other name than the one given to me. Even in mixed crowds, he stubbornly insists on calling me by my true name despite the looks of confusion by others who do not understand that it is my name he is using. Despite my initial embarrassment when he would do this, he is right and in hindsight, was teaching me a valuable lesson on authenticity. It really is not difficult for people to pronounce the 'tr' as 'j' or 'ch', and if a Vietnamese person can learn to say 'Kelly', an American person should be able to learn to say 'Loan'.  

same same but different

The skyline has changed. There are multiple Starbucks and the Golden Arches seemed to have made its debut. Lê Lói Street is practically unrecognizable with the construction to build a subway. Yet, as I spent my first day in District 1, navigating new and old spots, many things are still the same.

Vietnamese white coffee is a combination of strong black coffee with sweetened condense milk. As I am not a coffee drinker, I tend to substitute it for black tea. However, in good old Vietnamese style of not thinking outside of the box (a box of crayons), if it was not on the menu, the wait staff could not take the order, despite having all the vital ingredients. Substituting tea for coffee in Vietnamese white coffee or substituting sweetened condense milk for milk and sugar with an order of a pot of tea somehow was overly complicated.

birthday bubbles

It continues to amaze me that I am remembered not only by my face but also by name (at your service). For some of these establishments, it has been two years, others more than four. From the bánh cuốn (street food) lady to a foot massage lady who has never worked on me but had seen me in the establishment to the spa owner who automatically knew how deep I like the pressure, it felt good to be back. I even got a glass of bubbles from a restaurant manager who remembered my birthday.

Tricia & Verona are expensive for local customers as tailors; however, their quality and price tend to cater to expats. Over the last six years, I have maybe used them three times maximum, of which one was for a bridesmaid dress that my friend had organized for her wedding in 2013 after I repatriated. Having sent in measurements beforehand, I had only planned to come in a week before the wedding for any last minute fittings.

popping out...almost

However, Verona had remembered my measurements to be much smaller (e.g., thinner) than what I had submitted so adjusted accordingly as she had assumed that the measurements were incorrect. They were so confident about the prior measurements that they didn't even cut the pattern to have much wiggle room. Since that time, my friend out of principle no longer uses them although she initially introduced me to them. The groomsmen and their friends though were making bets as to when I would pop out of my bridesmaid dress. As they put it, it was not a matter of "if" but "when".

Since I had only a week left here, I did not have time to explore new tailors. Besides, my friend's principles are not the same as mine, as it was not my wedding that they had put stress on. Quite frankly, Tricia & Verona had intended to provide the extra customer service based on repeat customers, and knowing our personal profile and measurements. It could have completely gone the other way if my measurements that were sent over were, in fact, incorrect, and they did not have time to correct it. When picking fabric color this time, Verona noted that as my clothes tended to be more neutral and/or subtle so for a fun outfit, she suggested I got for a brighter color such as burnt sienna. I was slightly taken aback when she stated it so confidently as if she had been observing my wardrobe over the years.

As the foot massage lady commented that she had not seen me come in the in a very long time, my other friend who was with me noted that perhaps she was just making conversation (yes, we were texting each other as we sat next to each other); however, I am not so sure given my recent experiences in the last 48 hours. As for special orders, I soon learned that it was better to order the pot of tea, and then ask for sweetened condensed milk after the tea has been brought out.

the living dead

The 7th month of the lunar calendar is ghost month, especially for those who follow Buddhism or Taoism. It is said that the spirits who may have been confined to hell get a month of parole where they can associate with the living. The 15th of the month is considered Pavarana (Zhongyuan or Yu Lan Pen) Day (or Hungry Ghost Festival), which is a day to feast the spirits to please and pacify them, especially any restless ones who may be back to cause misfortune.

As my friend's aunt (22 and 11:11 (part 6)) was channelling what the spirits had to show her as it related to me, it seemed as if many of my ancestors came at her from all angles. She noted that many of them are stuck, and suggested that I should help to set them free. It seemed apropos with ghost month, specifically with today being the 15th of the 7th month. She was also very specific in the temple that would have the appropriate monks to do the blessings...One Pillar Pagoda (Nam Thiên Nhất Trụ).

While I may not believe in organized religions, I do believe that every soul is entitled to have their beliefs and in so doing, may be trapped in the trappings of such beliefs. Out of respect for my ancestors and loved ones, I felt obligated, yet honored, that I had an opportunity of being in the right place at the right time to lend a helping hand. Although my mother had texted me the names, my ancestry app helped me fill in the year of death, and my friend's mom and driver were kind enough to make the journey with me and walk me through the traditions for Cầu Siêu (the deceased) and Cầu An (the sick), as well as appropriate accent marks needed to get the names accurate.

As for the male spirit, she still saw him but he was a lot lighter than the last time she saw him two years ago, and seemed ready to move on as well. It is interesting that the default for Vietnamese is to think that not getting married was a curse, rather than the perspective that perhaps the male spirit was protecting me from the wrong relationship(s) (face of the girl (part 1) and 22). There have been times in the past few months when I thought he may have moved on that I felt that I missed his company; however, I, too, am a lot lighter than I was two years ago and I also hope that he, as well as my ancestors, feel light enough to take flight to everlasting bliss.

soul sistas

bubbles welcome for the pocket rocket

gangnam style birthday

It was not only a holiday in U.S., but also one in Vietnam. The airport was packed at 1 am, especially at the landing visa. With all the time to kill waiting for my name to be called, I switched on Wi-Fi. Similar to beach angel, my friend was waiting outside with her driver and new friend (who supposedly reminded her and her husband of me) with a bottle of bubbles and "cheeky". We spent all night with friends of old and new with not a wink of sleep as we rolled into the girls luncheon the next day for my birthday.

I have historically had more male friends for numerous reasons, perhaps a lot of it was that I did not naturally come from the same space as many of those in reclaiming the cunt (part 5). However, somehow in the last few years, I seem to have crossed paths with some wonderful women that similar to those in full circle (part 6) who have very different perspectives in life have turned out to be sisters from the same soul family. 

master photobomber got photobombed!

In one packed weekend, for various reasons, we were all able to get together to celebrate my birthday and the beginnings of a new phase in my life. There are no other people in my life that I would have wanted more to share this moment with. Some things change yet there are things that and people who do not change in ones' lives for the better. Love is love!

boom of the 'shrooms

a woman's kimono permanently burnt into her body

Today marks the 72nd anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima. In 2012 while I was visiting Japan, we had decided spontaneously to make a day trip to Hiroshima on July 1. The museum documenting one of the most disastrous civilian repercussions of wartime is the most impactful one I have visited. I have only learned about the event through the eyes of the American history books, and had not known that Project Manhattan had originally targeted Germany, but with the timing of Germany's surrender, the U.S. leaders made a decision to use the bombs that they had been developing on an alternative target.

There are different perspectives as to whether the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were even necessary for Japan's surrender. Despite its location, the museum did a wonderful effort in its attempts to portray the events as objective as possible. There were stories of the few individuals who were unfortunate to be at both Hiroshima and Nagasaki at the wrong times. The monument serves as a reminder of the outcomes of evil and the sacrifices for peace. 

Many cultures and/or ethnic or religious groups would normally use events such as this or the American internment camps for Japanese Americans as foundations for continued hatred, bitterness and evil; however, there is something special about the Japanese that results in a lot of order and collective society throughout its country (similar to the Incas in rock 'n roll), the high number of centenarians, and the low birth rate (face of the girl (part 4)). I had heard anecdotes of kindness from many who had lived and visited there, including drunk people passed out on the streets waking up to see their belongings in tact and lined up out of the way of being stomped on by unobservant walkers.

Yesterday the United Nations Security Council unanimously passed the strictest sanctions against any country as retaliation for North Korea's nuclear program and ballistic missiles tests, ultimately squeezing a third of its exports earnings, investments and overseas workers. Between mounting tensions with ISIS, hot-tempered POTUS, narcissistic dictator and aeons of history, one can hope that we have all learned from the decisions made from our past and evolve to not repeat the same mistakes on our road to enlightenment.

* * * * *

Sadako Sasaki was only 2 years-old when she was exposed to radiation from the bombing of Hiroshima. She spent most of her young life in and out hospitals, battling leukemia. When she was 12, she embarked on a journey to make a thousand cranes.

Stemming from an ancient Japanese legend, it is thought that anyone who folds a thousand origami cranes would be granted a wish from the gods. Some believe that one would further have eternal good luck, happiness and long life or health. Cranes, like dragons, are mythical creatures that live for a thousand years.

It is rumored that Sadako did not complete her mission before her death on October 25, 1955; however, classmates contributed their own cranes to eventually complete her goal. According to her family and classmates though, she did complete her goal (plus some) on her own before her death. Unfortunately, her wish to live was not granted. The museum still houses these cranes along with a statue of her holding a crane in the Hiroshima Peace Park, serving as reminder of peace, hope and love. Perhaps her wish was for all of us to live and make the most of 'now'.

crystal clear

luna y azul

I had known that we were spending a few days at a lake and to prepare to dress warmly. However, it wasn't until I got here that I realized that it was Lago Titicaca (grey puma, despite some thinking that it was named after tits and shit). Being geographically challenged, for some reason I had thought that this wonder of the world was in Africa, so it was a glorious morning surprise to realize that our boat ride on the lake covered another bucket list item.

Andes montañas en Bolivia

The Isle of Taquile has about 2,500 inhabitants known as Taquileños. They operate on community collectivism, based on the Inca moral code of ama sua (do not steal), ama llulla (do not lie), and ama quilla (do not be lazy). Punishment is relinquished in the form of public lashings. While technically, Taquileños are Catholics, nobody goes to church on the island as they follow the traditional Andean religion based on Patchamama and ancient local herbal medicines and medical diagnosis based on transference of medical conditions via guinea pig. The women weave and cook, and the men knit. Children do their own laundry by the age of 5, and learn the trades of their parents. While the number of tourists are limited on the island, the funds have helped the community to make upgrades to paths and to the community, such as solar panels for electricity. Life is simple, and life span averages 75 years old while the average life span on the mainland is 65 years old.

The Uros live on one of the 86 Islas Flotantes, floating islands made of totora reeds, which are also part of their diet. Each week or two, the indigenous inhabitants add a layer of reeds. Each island lasts for approximately 25 years before a new one needs to be built from scratch. Each island consists of approximately 25 people from 5 families. As children become teenagers, they move to the mainland. The families who choose to continue to live on these floating islands do so out of tradition and maintaining the ancient ways. They are said to have "black blood," which is why they do not feel the cold. A teacher travels by boat to one of the islands where the children gather each day via reed boats for their education.

totora reeds

solar panels en isla flotante

té de muña

The Uros used to catch 10 kilos a day of prehistoric fish, which they use to barter and trade on the mainland. However, due to overfishing, pollution and global warming, their catch has reduced significantly to perhaps 1 kilo a day. Tourism supplements their ability to obtain goods on the mainland, such as vegetables to supplement their diet. The lake also houses prehistoric frogs (Titicaca water frog or telmatobius culeus). It is also known as the Titicaca scrotum water frog for its excessive skin which helps it to respire in the cold water, as it is an entirely aquatic species.

Being on the lake with the crisp air and clear water left me absolutely breathless. The pictures did not do it justice with a beautiful sunny day with the cloudless skies, reflecting the moon on one side and the Andes on the Bolivian side. In the spirit of living in the moment (11:11 (part 4)), I did not hesitate to play in the "mucho frio agua" (7 degrees Celsius), despite being the only person from our boat to do so. Not quite as organic as the Pachamanca in rock 'n roll, the locals welcomed us and shared Pachamanca with their local flavor, including ending the day with pisco. As was a taste of heaven, connecting with Patchamama truly is blissful.

refreshing dip in lago titicaca

bubble of bliss

It has been two years since I got a taste of heaven. Regardless of the experiment with edibles, I have never felt as connected with another soul or human body even under the influence of MDMA. We both knew it was a momentary escape - he from his current turmoils at the time and me for a fantasy that seem to not be grounded in reality. Yet, for a few days, we got to live in the moment of what is in 5D and could have been in 3D.

The stroll along the beach was moonless and felt surreal as a wish from a prayer. He spent the night teaching me about the stars/constellations and an app that I recently used to learn the constellations in the Southern Hemisphere. I mentioned that it was always on my bucket list to go to the Yi Peng (sky lanterns)/Loy Krathong (floating candles) festival in Chiang Mai while I lived in Asia but I never could make the timing work although it is still on my list. 

He insisted on having me experience the sky lantern, which is to pay respects to Buddha and said to release bad luck or misfortune, especially if the lantern disappears from view before the fire goes out. Coincidentally, our lantern had two hearts on the two sides that we were holding it. He reminded me to make a wish before we released it. 

Reflection to the shore (tiny dots on the bottom)

As we watched our lantern float, we were in awe that on a moonless night, we were able to see the reflection of our lantern, not only just above where it was floating even in the distance but also towards us at the shore, regardless of whether the wind took it left or right. We observed others who released theirs; however, short of some reflections right above as they were immediately released, the reflections soon disappeared. In an attempt to make some logical sense out of it, he commented that perhaps only the persons who made the wish/released the lantern could see the ongoing reflections. I did not believe that either. 😉

On our last morning together, in a moment that we were probably the most connected, there was a knocking noise outside almost as an echo of each other on two sides of the villa. In my subconscious state, I probably thought they were landscapers outside. At some point, he looked up towards the sliding glass door with a surprised expression. A big black raven had one of my flip flops in its beak and was repeatedly flying to the left and right of the glass door, knocking on the glass a few times each time. As he walked towards the door, the raven flew up on the back of the lounge chair, with my flip flop still in its beak. Only when he stepped out did the raven drop the flip flop and fly away.

In different cultures, the raven can signify fortuitous or evil omen in the spiritual world. For Native Americans, the raven represents metamorphosis/transformation or that danger has passed and good fortune would follow. In the Haida tribe, the raven is seen as a combination of the trickster and creator, as it was responsible for the pairing of humans and protector of such pairings as well as responsible for bringing the sun, moon, and stars to the world. Scientists are also discovering that birds in the corvid family are the smartest birds, equivalent to a 7-year-old human. 

Initially, as it was within a week of receiving the message from my friend's aunt in 22, I had processed it as potentially a bad omen, contributing to my fear in full circle (part 1). In hindsight, the male spirit (aka the raven) was my protector in life. I recently told him this story, and one night in Las Vegas as I was listening to his sleep, I thanked the male spirit for watching over me all these years. It was also my attempt to release the spirit of such duties if somehow it thought that I no longer needed to be protected from the person laying next to me. The following month, my friend's aunt no longer saw the spirit in my life.

In mirroring each other, we happened to have taken these photos of each other, unbeknownst to the other, around the same time at the rocky beach of Bang Kao. Even with his phone having the better camera, I find the cloudy vs. clear sky interesting and representative or foreboding of where each was at that point in life, as he was about to discover information the following month that would take him through his dark night of the soul. In the spirit of numerology, my photo of him was on 7/11 at 5:22 pm (local time - 3:22 am PST my time). His and my life path numbers and this personal year numbers are 7 and 2 (1+1) (and/or 11, depending on the method ascribed to), respectively, and 5 and 3, respectively. 11 and 22 represent the master numbers for the illuminator/old soul and master builder, respectively, as they stem from 1 (divine masculine) and 2 (divine feminine). His photo of me is IMG_1313.JPG when it was saved to my phone.

I don't know what his wish was, but it is fairly obvious what mine was. It was a dark period for both of us over the last couple of years but I have all the faith, as do my male spirit, that our souls are much stronger for it, and regardless of outcome, we both individually and/or together, will be  more enlightened and happy in our search for bliss.

 * * * * *

Yesterday as we were queueing for the bus to Machu Picchu, I noticed that the small bridge over the bus ticket office that leads to the artesenal market contained numerous locks of love. I have seen these spring up in various locations all over the world but never really researched it other than understanding that they represented declarations of love or wishes.

In the spirit of listening to my inner child (lost 'n found), an idea formulated to perhaps leave a token partly as a declaration, partly as letting go, and partly as a sentimental passing conversation that we last had, separately commenting our desires to travel South America. Perhaps it is the latter that has resulted him constantly being in my thoughts this trip (or perhaps it is because I am reading Grey on this trip and in many ways, he's been my Christian).

The love locks seem to stem as far back as World War I when a Serbian school teacher fell in love with and got engaged to a soldier, who ended up with a woman in Greece. To protect their own loves, young women from Vrnjačka Banja would write their initials with their loved ones' initials on padlocks and affixing them on Most Ljubavi (Bridge of Love), where the two Serbian lovers used to meet. Some believe that it originated in ancient China where lovers would even throw the key away, symbolizing locking their love forever. In Fengyuan, Taiwan, wish locks are affixed in pairs on a train overpass. It is believed that the magnetic field from the passing trains would cause energy to accumulate in the locks, thereby fulfilling the wishes. In Montevideo, Uruguay, a plaque in front of a fountain notes that "[t]he legend of this young fountain tells us that if a lock with the initials of two people in love is placed in it, they will return together to the fountain and their love will be forever locked."

I was not really planning on going out of my way to find a lock, yet everything seemed to manifest itself (Law of Attraction) when one of my travel companions had a lock for his travels at Mexican hostels and the restaurant that we went to dinner last night had a permanent marker. Early this morning on the way to the train station in Aguas Calientes, I stopped by the bridge to leave my small token (and anonymously mailed him the key)...tlc.

full circle (part 5)

Someone with Saturn in Gemini supposedly has communication challenges as a child; however, this also is a person who works hard, and so can become successful in communication as an adult, especially if he/she chooses to face this challenge head on. Such communication challenges could be from speech impediments or feeling as if he/she is not listened to, especially in comparison to siblings. As one person described it, it could also be from an overbearing mother overshadowing and silencing the father, resulting in the person learning from that environment.

I did have a lisp that speech therapy helped address and given my situation with my mother (full circle (part 3)), I never felt that I was heard as a child, especially when my brother would bribe my sister to take his side in things. In a culture that is male dominated, my mother seemed to always blamed my father for her situation (e.g., married at an early age rather than focus on her career) although according to her, her parents had her marry so that they no longer had another mouth to feed. Because my dad was in the military and mechanical in nature while my mother was educated in university, she always made him feel less intelligent.

It was always sad and frustrating for me to see him not stand up for himself when she did that. It is also the reason why I stray away from relationships where either the man wants me to change him and/or someone I view as a doormat and who does not stand up for his own beliefs and decisions. Yet, my dad is the best MacGyver (third time's the charm). He could fix anything even with limited tools and/or parts. We used to have such an old washing machine because he could always fix it and at some point, my mother had to just tell him to stop fixing it so that we could get a more modern one with additional functionalities. 

He also used to buy scrap cars and fix them from scratch, only to then give it away to others, like the Mexicans who worked with him at the auto shop, who could not afford to buy new or even old cars. My mother recently told me how all the old folks at the temple rely on him to fix random things and would bring them in hoping he would be able to be their MacGyver as well. What I love about him is that even if someone did not compliment/appreciate him, he would compliment himself in a passive aggressive way with a twinkle in his eye that just makes one giggle, almost very childlike.

We always had a very unique banter and wit, teasing each other, complete with a dead pan delivery, that made strangers think we did not like each other. My cousin once told me that she thought for years that my dad and I did not like each other because we would almost try to outdo each other in insults of sorts. She clearly missed the gleam in our eyes and smile to each other when we did it. My mother almost always missed it when I was younger, and usually became an unwitting pawn in believing the things we said until I had to clue her in.

However, it took me many decades for me to realize that my father's interaction with my mother was not due to weakness. It was due to love and kindness. He picked his battles. She was usually the disciplinarian and out of my rebellion, I would push her buttons until she brought in my father to step in during my impetuousness (see an eye for an eye). I believe the last "spanking" I received was when as a teenager, I declared at dinner that I would never marry an Asian (I have many reasons for that view at the time), and wallop, I was flying over other chairs and almost hit my head on the fish tank. It wasn't until twenty years later that my mother disclosed to me that my parents had a long discussion after that and agreed that they will have to let go of their views on potential partners for their daughter, as my father's reaction really shook him (them). He has always known how unhappy she has been and his concessions for her views, discipline, etc. was his way of trying to minimize her unhappiness.

One of my biggest hopes is that one day he will get the chance to meet my dad, my first soulmate...the two men I admire and love the most. Both are MacGyvers in their own right.

Happy Father's Day, bô'! Thanks for teaching me the art of kindness.