Recently, I've been paying more attention to my dreams...don't really remember why, but I just have. I'm not writing them down or anything, though it helps when I tell someone about it. I noticed that most of my dreams actually include people I never really see like my parents, my brother, my closest cousins, my dog, my grandmother who has passed away, and Laura Z. Ben will make an appearance once and awhile, but most times it's all these random people.
Another thing is that I'm always on vacation somewhere, like in somebody else's house or my house or in a villa by the ocean. I guess it makes sense that I'm on vacation since these are the only contexts I see any of these people anymore. I realize that all of them have something to do with me being responsible for something.
One dream my parents and I went off on vacation, but apparently I had a paper to write and forgot some textbooks at home (SO weird, because I didn't really write that many papers as a Sternie). I drive back home and see my dog, Boris, and am so confused as to why my parents would leave Boris by himself (this is HILARIOUS because it would never happen and my parents are very particular about Boris's caretaker and schedule while they are away). But then my cousins Josh and Jikki were just hanging out there at my house. Basically it involved me running around taking care of things, while everyone wasn't doing anything about it.
So I think the running theme is that I feel resentful toward all the responsibility I've been given and other people who should be doing what they're responsible for, but are just so callously not, thus causing me to pull up the slack. Classic boundary problem I have with my parents. Classic boundary problem I have with everybody! Though, I think I've really made strides in this regard. Boundaries are so healthy.
Ah, thank God for counseling but more importantly His Holy Spirit!
Showing posts with label parents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parents. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
Processing the First Big Girl Vacation
Being that I only go home once a year, it always amazes me how different each visit has been since it wasn't "home" anymore and where it leaves me. Home has been ever-changing...and it makes me wonder if it was always like that when I lived there, or was my leaving some sort of catalyst and home was finding it's identity as I was in college. Empty nesters can be quite radical in their changes. I'd like to think the changes my parents have been making have largely been for the better (as it is for me). Some people don't want home to change (I think this is largely my brother's position), but for me, I think I like change. Especially when it's in a place where so much of my former self was not who I was supposed to be. My bedroom being nowhere near it's former state, the boxes in the garage dwindling to 1 box, it all somehow helps me to grow. The only thing that's important and good is still there, family.
Also, because I never really leave NY, I rarely get asked this question anymore, but I heard it twice this vacation. It's some variation or other of "So you like NY?" or "Do you think you'll live there permanently?" You can almost hear the veiled wonder and/or disgust. I told my mom I like NY because it forces me to deal with people, and what's so infuriating about cities like LA is that it's not like a city at all. It's a flat landscape of boxes. House boxes and car boxes that keep people from bumping into each other (yes, like what the Crash movie is all about). NY forces me to deal with people that are very different than me...yes, of course, you can avoid it, but not for very long, not like in the suburbs where you can really avoid it forever. No, I don't think I'll necessarily live here permanently, but there's gotta be a good reason for me to leave.
Something else that's interesting is I always go home around year-end. So together with all the things you gotta do anyway when you get back from a long vacation: getting groceries, unpacking/doing laundry, re-setting the unplugged alarm clock, take stock of what the roommates have moved around, mail/bills etc. there's all these other little things I do like renewing my budget for the year, putting together tax paper work, making sure my benefits are in effect, calendar transfer etc. It's like an extra point of rejuvination, not only did I Sabbath like whoa, but I also get to restart everything I do.
And this new year has been different than any other, because it really does feel like a NEW YEAR. Before, I always thought new year felt like a cheat being in the middle of the school year which really took over how I looked at a year. But 2009 is a whole year unto itself! No more thinking about 2009-2010 kind of years. And even weirder, I have little clue as to what will happen this year. There are a couple things planned here and there, but there are few markers to grasp a hold of and say "Yes, that is now over and I am moving on to the next thing"...except the next New Year.
After all that, here's a picture of my Boris. Even he had somewhat changed and matured.
That's my baby!
Also, because I never really leave NY, I rarely get asked this question anymore, but I heard it twice this vacation. It's some variation or other of "So you like NY?" or "Do you think you'll live there permanently?" You can almost hear the veiled wonder and/or disgust. I told my mom I like NY because it forces me to deal with people, and what's so infuriating about cities like LA is that it's not like a city at all. It's a flat landscape of boxes. House boxes and car boxes that keep people from bumping into each other (yes, like what the Crash movie is all about). NY forces me to deal with people that are very different than me...yes, of course, you can avoid it, but not for very long, not like in the suburbs where you can really avoid it forever. No, I don't think I'll necessarily live here permanently, but there's gotta be a good reason for me to leave.
Something else that's interesting is I always go home around year-end. So together with all the things you gotta do anyway when you get back from a long vacation: getting groceries, unpacking/doing laundry, re-setting the unplugged alarm clock, take stock of what the roommates have moved around, mail/bills etc. there's all these other little things I do like renewing my budget for the year, putting together tax paper work, making sure my benefits are in effect, calendar transfer etc. It's like an extra point of rejuvination, not only did I Sabbath like whoa, but I also get to restart everything I do.
And this new year has been different than any other, because it really does feel like a NEW YEAR. Before, I always thought new year felt like a cheat being in the middle of the school year which really took over how I looked at a year. But 2009 is a whole year unto itself! No more thinking about 2009-2010 kind of years. And even weirder, I have little clue as to what will happen this year. There are a couple things planned here and there, but there are few markers to grasp a hold of and say "Yes, that is now over and I am moving on to the next thing"...except the next New Year.
After all that, here's a picture of my Boris. Even he had somewhat changed and matured.
That's my baby!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Longing for Home
Everyday has felt like a Friday this week. I think I just want it to be over because I'm going home next week. Oddly enough, there have been some solid work things that have broken up my days recently. It makes time fly by a lot faster.
I'm really looking forward to going home. It's been a whole year, and even I start missing the home I left. I miss chocolate milk, Mexican food, mild weather, and basically getting whatever I want. And any movie of significance in the past decade or so belongs to my father, I like taking my pick. I also miss my dog, even though we've really grown apart and he's the biggest brat ever!! I miss driving without fear or parallel parking. I miss my father and brother's jokes and the faces my mom makes. I miss not taking my wallet out.
I don't know how they talked me into being the very middle of this picture...I hate that...but it's impressive that even Boris (my dog) was looking at the camera that was on a timer.
Leaving home was probably THE best thing for my growth. And I don't necessarily regret not being able to go home more than once a year (and then for less than a week). But absence makes the heart grow fonder, so these visits are more precious to me than it would've been if I had gone home every summer. There are good and bad things in every home, but right now I'm probably just feeling a lot of the good.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Being an Immigrant
In regular NPR fashion, WNYC has been doing this Becoming an American series every morning ramping up to Thanksgiving. Obviously, it prompts me to think of the choices I've made to become a citizen in more ways than on paper. This one Indian girl with a very Indian name talked about how even now as an adult she still feels only half-American, despite spending most of her life here. Compounding this with Megan's post on creating a new kind of citizenship, and going to Grace's Korean home for Thanksgiving, serving with a large contingent of Asians at the Bowery Mission on Monday, I've thought about my pinoy-ness at odd moments in recent days.
It's weird to become self-aware of the fact that I am a Pilipina, in my current way of life, it's a bit of a reach. But what's cool about being in the working world, is I really see a lot of normal wage-earning Pilipinos running around, speaking my language, cracking jokes they think no one will hear. It reminds me so much of my parents, and how they're exactly like these folks, most especially since I'm involved in work that my dad precisely used to do. I look at the IT project leader sometimes with his thick accent (not pinoy btw) and I think of my father. This one Finance pinoy manager has a distinctly nasal quality to his English, and I caught up with him on the train once. Turns out, he lives on Long Island, his daughter is a Senior at NYU and will be going to law school. We also talked about Stern summer interns he had hired, one of which was really bratty. We talked about where I was from in the Philippines and the major development that's happened around my childhood home and subdivision, we talked about development around my old Catholic school, what it was like the last time we were there, the new mall, the infamous LRT.
Something the NPR series pointed out for one guy was the fact that most people will assume you're American. That is, if you are assimilated enough. It was weird when I became a citizen and was telling people about it, most people were surprised. Most people don't know how hard and costly it is to become one either. But because I really do have minimal, what I affectionately call, "immigrant moments" where diction or lack of knowledge betray, I seem like a perfectly normal young American. And indeed, I am. Thus, another point of tension part of the wider one of justification and sanctification.
It was hard growing up in Arizona. I had to go through a lot of misunderstandings about my identity. There was this one kid, Ryan (from Alaska..go figure), who seriously, seriously thought I was making up my ethnicity, even after I showed him a 25 centavo coin (probably didn't help that it was gold and has a butterfly on it, making it look token-ish)...until he met my mom (he lived around the block from me) then he was very, very nice to me. His father was an A/C repairer and fixed our central air. A lot of people thought I was Native American, or Mexican, or Hawaiian...rarely would they figure it right the first time. Then there's my blessed name, and people would think I was Greek. My parents seemed like anti-social people and do not, to this day, make friends with my friends' parents. My father is going to go into high stress, if he ever has to meet Ben's parents. It sucks to think I caught a lot of my shy tendencies from this. I'm too different, I'm too complicated, we have so little in common, better not try to bridge the gap. I have really cramped small talk skills. I didn't have a lot of examples of people standing around talking about nothing while their children play. I can't help but make small talk something more serious, otherwise I want to kill myself out of the madness.
Really though, my parents are great people. My father is a hilarious, jolly human being with a amazing servant's heart. My mother is a super empathetic, encouraging person. They both talk endlessly about politics, art, travel, business, and all implications of life. They're intelligent people. But place them in Arizona and I don't think my father specifically has found much community, even after 13 years. He really only talks to the dog, my mother, and sometimes his children. He writes these amazing emails about food, filled with rich history. He really is a great poet, his Tagalog is the deepest I'd ever dare read (he won many speech writing awards in school).
I know this has turned into a I love my parents fest, but really I'm just trying to make a case that being an immigrant makes things complicated, even for fluent English speakers. Arizona was not only so different from the Philippines, but it was a different America from the movies we saw. There are no brownstones, green lawns (except if you specifically look for it), brick houses with long driveways just white stucco, pink buildings, and red mountain landscapes. Nothing was familiar. I found myself constantly grasping for something that I could feel was mine and intimately connected to my identity. Well, duh, of course I know this happens to everyone, as we don't belong in this broken world. I'm just trying to express it in my terms as an immigrant.
Really, this is a process of not forgetting. I need to remember what it was like when I felt so left out of the world, that I thought I and/or God made a mistake. I spent a lot of time waiting for life to be over. I need to remember that Jesus walked the earth feeling exactly what I felt yet even more so, and died for the world anyway and was ultimately on the cross left out of the only community we really want to be in, the Father's. He not only welcomes, He knows. So that whenever I feel distant from things that I once felt intimate with (whether people, hobbies, or culture), whenever I feel like I'm being fake and it's obstructing my connection with people, I know that these are mere shadows of the deepest intimacy I've ever had and that is with my God. It is impossible for me to fake who I am with Him. It's ok for me to be confused about who I am too, since I don't determine that, He does. I always belong anyway, because I belong to Him.
It's weird to become self-aware of the fact that I am a Pilipina, in my current way of life, it's a bit of a reach. But what's cool about being in the working world, is I really see a lot of normal wage-earning Pilipinos running around, speaking my language, cracking jokes they think no one will hear. It reminds me so much of my parents, and how they're exactly like these folks, most especially since I'm involved in work that my dad precisely used to do. I look at the IT project leader sometimes with his thick accent (not pinoy btw) and I think of my father. This one Finance pinoy manager has a distinctly nasal quality to his English, and I caught up with him on the train once. Turns out, he lives on Long Island, his daughter is a Senior at NYU and will be going to law school. We also talked about Stern summer interns he had hired, one of which was really bratty. We talked about where I was from in the Philippines and the major development that's happened around my childhood home and subdivision, we talked about development around my old Catholic school, what it was like the last time we were there, the new mall, the infamous LRT.
Something the NPR series pointed out for one guy was the fact that most people will assume you're American. That is, if you are assimilated enough. It was weird when I became a citizen and was telling people about it, most people were surprised. Most people don't know how hard and costly it is to become one either. But because I really do have minimal, what I affectionately call, "immigrant moments" where diction or lack of knowledge betray, I seem like a perfectly normal young American. And indeed, I am. Thus, another point of tension part of the wider one of justification and sanctification.
It was hard growing up in Arizona. I had to go through a lot of misunderstandings about my identity. There was this one kid, Ryan (from Alaska..go figure), who seriously, seriously thought I was making up my ethnicity, even after I showed him a 25 centavo coin (probably didn't help that it was gold and has a butterfly on it, making it look token-ish)...until he met my mom (he lived around the block from me) then he was very, very nice to me. His father was an A/C repairer and fixed our central air. A lot of people thought I was Native American, or Mexican, or Hawaiian...rarely would they figure it right the first time. Then there's my blessed name, and people would think I was Greek. My parents seemed like anti-social people and do not, to this day, make friends with my friends' parents. My father is going to go into high stress, if he ever has to meet Ben's parents. It sucks to think I caught a lot of my shy tendencies from this. I'm too different, I'm too complicated, we have so little in common, better not try to bridge the gap. I have really cramped small talk skills. I didn't have a lot of examples of people standing around talking about nothing while their children play. I can't help but make small talk something more serious, otherwise I want to kill myself out of the madness.
Really though, my parents are great people. My father is a hilarious, jolly human being with a amazing servant's heart. My mother is a super empathetic, encouraging person. They both talk endlessly about politics, art, travel, business, and all implications of life. They're intelligent people. But place them in Arizona and I don't think my father specifically has found much community, even after 13 years. He really only talks to the dog, my mother, and sometimes his children. He writes these amazing emails about food, filled with rich history. He really is a great poet, his Tagalog is the deepest I'd ever dare read (he won many speech writing awards in school).
I know this has turned into a I love my parents fest, but really I'm just trying to make a case that being an immigrant makes things complicated, even for fluent English speakers. Arizona was not only so different from the Philippines, but it was a different America from the movies we saw. There are no brownstones, green lawns (except if you specifically look for it), brick houses with long driveways just white stucco, pink buildings, and red mountain landscapes. Nothing was familiar. I found myself constantly grasping for something that I could feel was mine and intimately connected to my identity. Well, duh, of course I know this happens to everyone, as we don't belong in this broken world. I'm just trying to express it in my terms as an immigrant.
Really, this is a process of not forgetting. I need to remember what it was like when I felt so left out of the world, that I thought I and/or God made a mistake. I spent a lot of time waiting for life to be over. I need to remember that Jesus walked the earth feeling exactly what I felt yet even more so, and died for the world anyway and was ultimately on the cross left out of the only community we really want to be in, the Father's. He not only welcomes, He knows. So that whenever I feel distant from things that I once felt intimate with (whether people, hobbies, or culture), whenever I feel like I'm being fake and it's obstructing my connection with people, I know that these are mere shadows of the deepest intimacy I've ever had and that is with my God. It is impossible for me to fake who I am with Him. It's ok for me to be confused about who I am too, since I don't determine that, He does. I always belong anyway, because I belong to Him.
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