i believe

I met a guy who already voted for McCain. We were in Puerto Rico, swimming in the waves of the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of a San Juan beach. He looked young. He told me he's an original Nuyorican, that is, a Puerto Rican born in New York but whose family later relocated back to the motherland. He was on an 8-week break from his military service in Iraq. McCain wants to give him and his military peers more benefits, he argued. But, I countered, Obama wants you all completely out of Iraq. He was more concerned with the here and now. And actually, I should have been too, floating in those gloriously piss-warm salty waters underneath the gorgeous tropical sunshine. "We didn't come here to discuss politics now, did we?" he said.

But it's all-encompassing. No matter what light we shine on it, from whatever coordinates we are in the world, it is no exaggeration to say that a whole lot of my future, and everyone else's, rests on the outcome of tomorrow's election. I'm actually nervous. I'm turning down invites to "election viewing parties" at bars and friends' houses, because it almost feels too... personal? I have so much emotion invested in it that I may actually wail if things don't go the way I feverishly hope for them to. And it is so evident that I'm not the only one. So many times I've heard people say that tomorrow is everyone's election-- just not everyone gets a vote.

The whole world is watching us! The Economist even conducted a Global Electoral College to tally votes if the American elections were opened up to the whole world. It closed today as such:

So now I am not quite sure why Algeria, the Congo and Iraq are Republican (random!), but the incredibly overwhelming rest of the world would vote Obama. I pray everyday that we will too.

When I was growing up in the Philippines, I can't even count how many times I've been told how fortunate I am to have the freedom to come and go easily by virtue of my blue American passport. In a 3rd world country where human labor is cheap and plentiful, human rights are often violated without question, and a large percentage live on US$2 or less a day, it's easy to dream of better living conditions. And most often, people dream of America. They are eager to escape and work hard for many years just for that chance to infiltrate the so-called "Land of Opportunity" and get their own slice of the "American Dream." It's because of the alleged great American democracy that allows you to achieve success as big as you can dream it, but only if you're willing to work for it first.

I guess it really did take leaving for a bit and returning to this country to make me truly appreciate what I've taken for granted in the past. This is the country that puts such a premium on higher education that it has systems in place to reach even the most remote children, and adults, and offers them financial support to get them there. That allows women to have access to safe and accurate reproductive health information and options that best suit their individual lives. That takes its title of "World's Superpower" seriously enough to intervene with money, labor, moderators, and yes sometimes artillery, when other nations are in turmoil... clearly with varying degrees of success. That every year welcomes in foreign immigrants and refugees looking for better lives with this alleged "freedom." That is a veritable, incredibly diverse melting pot of all sorts of cultures and colors and lifestyles, and for the most part, we all do get along.

And then we squander all of that by voting in idiots who cannot possibly appreciate all these joys that America bestows on us, because they are born into wealth, they surround themselves with people of the same background and mentality, they have never left the country, and whose foreign policies are informed by the proximity of Russia to their house in Alaska. They want to instill in Americans a permanent sense of fear and defensiveness against foreigners and abolish the gains of Roe vs. Wade.

And year after year after year, I find it harder and harder to be proud to be an American. Whenever I travel I am constantly having to defend my government's bad decisions, and why? I don't support them myself.

So basically if McCain wins tomorrow, pass me the nearest shot of cyanide please.

If you're American, find out where and how to vote here. If you're not, pray for us please! We'll all just have to wait and see.

ay caramba!

Erin is ditching her jackets and heading to Puerto Rico to play on playa! Jejejejeje I kill me.

I promise to be a better blogger when I return. ;)

free-falling

My camera broke. Again. 2nd time in a year. 2nd time due to drunken debauchery. Full disclosure: we were really, really drunk. Clothes started coming off (NOT mine). Mind you, we were in a bar. A very posh one at that. Because I'm opportunistic like that, I snapped the money shot, and then triumphantly crowed displaying my catch on Facebook. Wrestling ensued. My camera and mind the only casualties. Wail.

(Note to self: you can never show your face at that bar again, ever)

So that's my excuse this time for the lack of updates, which are nearly always inspired by my visual records. I'm waiting for new camera models to come out then you will be returned to your regularly scheduled programming.

In the meantime, I've had lots of time to go through slightly older stuff. Like how I spent my American summer. Post-life-changing, exhilarating, mind-blowing Asia, I shocked my system back into American life by first numbing my senses in suburbia. Suburbia, with all its perfectly cut grass, white picket fences, and old people that go to bed early. Like my parents. Who I love, so suburbia is in fact a necessary evil in my life. But once in a while, it's also a welcome refuge when I feel myself choking on New York exhaust fumes and could use some fresh air and uhh... nature.

Like I mean, what ARE these things?!

Dad found these baby bunnies in a nest right in the middle of his perfectly manicured lawn. Silly mama wabbit. I had my National Geographic moment when I decided to save them and move them to a safer spot under a bush. I dug them a new hole and put an "x" with twigs over it. They were alive and hopping the next day and the x had been moved, so mama had found them. 2 days later they were all gone. Probably off digging holes in someone else's yard.

In place of surfing, I had to get my sporting kicks elsewhere. So a few times a week I'd play b-ball with Dad. He talks a lot of smack, like "who says white men can't jump?" I am ashamed to say that he can kick my ass.

The happiest dog in the world. Mine. He never leaves my side for a moment when I'm there. And he is the most charming partner with whom to take in all the suburbian outdoor splendor and actually make it interesting again. If only I could have half the excitement he has upon seeing yet another lamppost or squirrel.

I'm especially nostalgic now that my transcontinental endless summer is, well... ending. The leaves are turning colors, temperatures are dropping, and my tan is fading (nooo!) faster than I can stock my Fall season wardrobe. I am so not ready. I threw on sandals, shorts and a tank top today in defiance of Mother Nature, and then sheepishly layered the outfit with 2 hoodies and a scarf. Le sigh. Farewell summer. It's been real yo.

i hate the bus

Threw the rest of my heavy coats and boots into my too-small suitcase and sat on it, pounded it and wrestled the zipper closed, like me on my heavy days vainly wriggling into a pair of skinny jeans. Mercifully it did close. Let's pray now that it doesn't burst and splay my underwear everywhere, as was my unfortunate experience once when traveling from Naples to Amsterdam. And another time from Manila to Hong Kong. Hmm actually this seems to happen to me a lot, I wonder why? Hauled ass to the bus depot, only to be greeted by the door bitch, who, armed with her clipboard and a nasty sneer informed me that there was no more space for me. "But I'm on the list!" I wailed, racking my brain for names to drop and pulling at the metaphorical velvet rope. Flashing cleavage in this situation proved fruitless. Bye-bye bus.

Cursing under my breath, I walked 6 blocks to the nearest Starbucks, dragging my luggage behind me like a dead body. And since when did one have to walk so freakin far to find a Stabucks?! They're on every blasted corner when you don't need them. And I hate Starbucks. But I needed the wifi. At $6 an hour, mind you. Groan. All so I could scour the other rotten bus options for the day, because I need to be back in New York already. My roomie is frantically texting me non-stop that there is a, umm, rodent situation in the apartment that needs to be dealt with asap. Boy, I can't wait to be back!

So as I sit here on this generic purple Starbucks couch, using up every cent of the $6 I spent on stupid Internet, sipping weak and overly saccharine sludge, I choose to vent out all my frustrations now to you, my faceless internet audience, lest I murder my seatmate with all my pent-up aaaarrrhghhhh. I will probably have to pee all the way back, thank you Starbucks, and I pray to God that the bus bathroom is halfway decent, but that would be too easy.

Next time I'm taking the f-in train!

where were you when...?

On September 11, 2001... I was living in Washington, DC and working for a government office. It was early in the morning and my coffee hadn't kicked in yet, and I was getting thoroughly annoyed by my coworkers shrieking in the next office. I went to see what was going on and the guard's tiny black and white TV was tuned into live coverage of the smoking twin towers in NY. Then it split-screened into the smoking Pentagon building, which was alarmingly closer by to us. Rumors abound that the Capitol building was the next target, which happened to be conveniently located next to our own building. This rumor actually turned out to be true- but for better or worse, the plane intended for us crashed into a field in Pennsylvania instead. Half the crowd hauled ass outta there. The other half, myself included, loitered about in shock and indecision.

My cousin worked at Morgan Stanley, on the 60th floor of the World Trade Center's south tower. It was unreal to watch the flaming buildings on television, knowing that he was there, somewhere. Then it collapsed, and I almost fell with it. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to do something, anything, anything was better than that nauseous, helpless feeling of dread, disgust, panic. I couldn't reach my cousin's phone and I thought I was going to go mad with worry. So I hauled ass outta there too. The streets were pandemonium. Everyone blubbering about senselessly, running aimlessly, on their mobiles and jamming the lines.

He was ok (thank the Lord). He was in the 2nd tower to get hit. When the first one got hit, his building was evacuated, without any explanation. They sauntered down the fire exits grumbling at the disruption of another unnecessary fire drill. When they reached the 45th floor there was a guy with a bullhorn telling everyone that the situation has been resolved and they could return to their offices. So my cuz took the elevator back up. "How stupid were we???" he would later be quoted in the New York Times. He reached his office and looked out the window to see people in the north tower jumping out of the windows. That's when the second plane hit. A file cabinet fell on him. Then he hauled ass. It took him an hour to make the 60 flights down, made painfully slower because he was helping a crippled woman. On the 7th floor she stopped, claiming she couldn't go on. My cousin was aghast. "What do you mean you can't? Do you understand that we are going to die?" She refused and refused. He had to leave her. He was 10 blocks away when the tower came down. The trains weren't running or were otherwise jammed, and the streets were flooded with ash and panicking masses. There was no way he was going to make it home, so instead he met his dad at a bar and they got drunk.

Seven years later, and I am still thankful that my cousin is still here with us, but mourn those who weren't as fortunate. I still wonder what happened to that crippled woman.

in a galaxy far far away

As promised many months ago, here's the video of the downtime during just another day at the epicenter of gayness, my little office in Chiang Mai. (Again, please excuse my very extremely heinous laughter in the background. I could not control it!)



I miss these fools. I really do.

only in america

Where else but in America can an Amer-asian girl dress up in a sari and roll into an Indian engagement party in a Brazilian churrascaria with a carload of Filipinos, Chinese and Koreans?

Mat was one of my closest friends from my college days in upstate New York, and over the weekend he celebrated his engagement in a traditional Malayalam Indian dinner party. It was an intimate crowd consisting of family and church members and a few friends. Their pastors were present to lead the many Christian prayers and singing. The mood was conservative, but happy. An hour into the festivities, I felt happy as well, but something was missing. And then I slowly realized there... was... no... alcohol. OMG. I was at a party completely sober! Surreal. Luckily we were at a Brazilian bbq buffet, so I got intoxicated on meat instead, my drug of choice for the night. I inhaled 9 different kinds of bloody carnivore delights carved from sword skewers directly onto my plate, and finished myself off with 2 plates of leche flan for dessert. All I can say is praise the Lord my sari was adjustable. I had borrowed it from Nina in an attempt to be formal and culturally respectful... and also because this might be my only chance to ever wear a sari and their jewelry is crazy. Love it.

I tease Mat that his Indian traditions extend way beyond just his religion. His mother had set him up in what I affectionately termed a modern-day arranged marriage. Clearly mommy knows best. It's rare to see 2 people together and know that there could be no better match for each. After only 4 months of dating, he proposed. He said it was the easiest decision he's ever made. Isn't that how it should always be? :)