Opposite Poles

Yesterday I was at my cousin Joel’s wedding. I ended up catching the bouquet (I actually nose dove for it- my cousin Mercel has the action on her digital camera and the M.C. said it looked something like straight out of ESPN and I have the bruises to prove it). Yet as I look at my knees today and thought about it, I wonder if it was worth it. Yes I do want to be married and have kids but in the next 3 to 5 years and I do want it with Joe. However, right now, the things in our lives just kind of make it rather difficult for us to even maintain anything. I’m not too sure what it is that is making it so hard for him to really communicate with me. It seemed so easy not too long ago. I don’t know what to say now.

My brother Ed and I go into a little fight yesterday. Since he was the one driving all of us around- all which included Ma, Pop, Auntie Flor and Nana Daline (Auntie Flor’s older sister who is living with her ever since Lolo Pol, Auntie Flor’s husband, passed away this spring) and me- he pretty much was the determining factor on when we left the wedding reception. I had to leave early so Pop pretty much told Ed that we had to go much to Ed’s dismay. Ed and I had a few words but finally found some solution to the situation (we found someone that could take Ed back to Auntie Flor’s place where Ma, Pop and Ed were staying. Ed and I said a few choice words to each other in the car but when we drove back to the reception to drop Ed off, Ed wanted to apologize and me being me, stuck a good dose of guilt into him by not taking his apology. I thought about it later on during the BART ride home and called him up to talk for a bit.

I haven’t really written much about my younger brother. He is 27, turns 28 in December. He is quite the opposite of me. I’m the liberal Democrat. He’s the staunch conservative Republican. I’m the outgoing, brash one getting involved in different things. He’s the introverted one who doesn’t get really involved. I’m the one going to Mass once in a blue moon (I wouldn’t call myself an ex-Catholic but a lapsed one). He’s the one totally involved in our family’s parish, St. Adelaid’s as a Eucharistic minister and other things. He would rather stay in San Bernardino his whole life with my family. I would rather be in San Francisco and away from my family but still close by. My friend Alain shares more of my common interests and goals so he’s more of my little brother to me (funny is that Ed and Alain are close to the same age only Alain is roughly 6 months older than Ed).
Ed always felt like life had to follow a certain order, a certain script. As for me, I just went with whatever I feel and what things are. At times, I felt like Ma and Pop favored Ed more. He worked for the same company that Ma and Pop put their lives into. He moved back home after graduation. He was the one who shuttled Grandma around to her appointments when she was sick. Sometimes, I felt like I was the wayward one, the one who did their own things and sometimes didn’t really care what the family thought.

As much as I want to keep things some things traditional, there are other moments when I just want to buck the system, do my own thing. The tension between my family and myself has always been an issue with some of my relationships with other men. Some of these men have come from strict traditional Asian families where they value their importance. I’m not saying I devalue my family but I feel like at most times, they aren’t the ones who are not the most supportive. To this day, Ed still doesn’t like me doing AIDS/ LifeCycle which is a shame because I wish I could share the beauty and the lessons I have learned from the experience.

I’ll have to say that things are a little better these days with my folks. It isn’t exactly ideal but it does the job. I’m still very close to Pop and get along with him well. My relationship with Ma is still a work in progress as it is with Ed. I hope things do improve, hopefully before I marry. That would be nice.
Could my relationship with my family possibly be connected to all my trials with my relationships with other men?

Balancing Heart and Mind
 
"Balance" is one of those buzz words that is being tossed around these days. We as a society are trying to do more and be more connected to one another at the expense of having our down time, our "me time".
 
However, I'm not going to go into trying to find balance in one's life in this entry. This is more of me trying to find some answers to certain questions, doubts and even fears that I face in dealing with the aftermath of my breakup.
 
Now for some of you that have been reading this blog periodically, some of you might think, "Hey wait a minute, weren't you and Joe already broken up?" Yes we were but somehow, I thought time could change things, could heal some of the wounds both of us had. Instead, time and things in life have caught the both of us in ways that we're really out of step where the other person is. One wants to love, the other cannot. One is willing to give their heart, the other feels that they are not worthy to recieve it.
 
The rational part of me wants to get things over and move on but in a somewhat cold way where I want to shut down. The other wants to hold onto the love and the memory of someone that was once rather loving. I know that I can still love Joe deep in my heart and move on but right now, deep down inside my own heart, I still want to hold on to that boyish smile, the scent of fabric softener in my shirt and the slight Chicago lilt when he says certain words.
 
As for now, I do my best, day by day to live my life and to heal and to take care of me.

Getting Back On Track
 
Right now, I'm trying to shake off this wierd round of fatigue that I got from working a good 16 hours straight from closing the store to doing an overnigther at Gap over on Powell and Market (affectionately known to insiders as Gap Flood because it is housed in the historic Flood Building). I was hoping that I could get enough sleep to shake off the exhaustion to run this evening but alas, the body made it loud and clear during my errands of going to the Farmer's Market and Sports Basement that there was no way in hell that I was going to run.
 
I'm trying my best to keep myself strong and to keep going. I figured that I would get at least 3 days of running in this week as opposed to two and hopefully I will get back to my full four days a week. Now cycling is a different matter and if I could just get myself to do a nice 44 mile regular Tib loop without expiring or huffing and puffing, I will be fine.
 
I know during my bouts of trouble or depression, I would revert myself to sleeping a lot and eating really horribly where I find myself making the rounds of all the cheap food joints in my neighborhood. I've reached the point where I just don't want to eat anything processed anymore yet I need to find the energy to cook. When I do cook, I feel greatly satisfied and happy because it is my way of really taking care of myself. Each dish I prepare is like a little gift to me. Except lately I didn't even touch last week's produce I got at the Farmer's Market. Only the fruit was what I managed to eat.
 
However, each day, I try to deal with the daily mundane things of life and just at the same time, trying to go through the emotions of what I feel is possibly truly the end for me and Joe. It's something that part of me is refusing to accept or to the point denying that there is no chance that we can get back together. I do reflect on the bits and pieces of what my friends have told me.
 
Sure I have things in my life but I was willing to help Joe through and be there for him. I wonder if I was even strong enough to even pull him out of whatever funk he is going through. I've been reading a lot about cycling and the Tour de France lately (I'm reading Lance Armstrong's autobiography and Bob Roll's Companion to the Tour de France at the same time). Though only one person wins the yellow jersey in the 20 stages of the Tour de France, it is a team effort. You place your cyclists in certain positions so that the one that wants to gun for the yellow jersey, le malliot jaune is given that opportunity even if it means going out in front of the one to get the yellow jersey and break the wind for him or her (damn I wish this was open to women...hmmmm...). Sure I'm a pretty strong person and maybe I could have ridden out all that I could to make sure that Joe is behind me and I break the winds of the craziness of life. But I'm not sure if I would be able to sustain that sort of spot or pace. I'm not sure how long this funk will last in Joe's life.
 
I know I have to move on. Yet, I wonder when do you stop loving someone. It all goes back to that image I had of Joe speaking to me in yoga class on Sunday, where he said, "Please don't give up loving me."
 
I guess it truly is up to me to know when to let go. And like Joe doesn't know if we will ever get back together even though in his mind it doesn't seem likely, I'm not sure when I will stop loving him,
 

If Only A Cheeseburger Could Fix
 
I will admit that I totally love cheeseburgers. I always have ever since I was a kid. Now in my adult years, usually if I will indulge on a cheeseburger, it's a way of me showing that I am trying my best to get out of a slump. I won't go for the usual fast food kind like Burger King or McDonalds. Usually In N Out, Burgermeister or Burger Joint will hit the spot. If I'm in the area (San Bernardino that is), then I hit Bakers.
 
I got a chance to tell Cindy and Amy about what happened with me and Joe. Cin admired me for my strength and courage to lay everything on the line and tell Joe how I felt. She also knew how hard it was for me in knowing that he couldn't love me. Cin told me to move on. Amy said it was up to me to decide what to do. The song that rings through my head is the Beach Boys "God Only Knows". I mean God only knows what I'll be without Joe. The saddest part is that I may not get another chance, another hug, another kiss, another dance with Joe ever again. Thinking about running the Chicago Marathon without his support, the holidays, our respective birthdays...it makes me so sad.
 
Yet I know I have to let go. To finally delete all the e-mails that he has sent. To put in the wash my victory shirt from ALC 2 where he washed it and the smell of the fabric softener that he uses happens to be the same that he uses on his shirts, the same shirts where I would bury my face in his chest every time he held me close. To dispose of the Penn State sweatshirt that he gave me to dispose of in the New York City Marathon (I ended up keeping it since I knew that I would be cold as heck). To delete him from the pages of my Franklin organizer. To totally erase him from my mind. Something that I cannot do. Yet I know that I cannot love him, especially not now at this time. I cannot love him in the sense that the love that I give to him is not given in return. I need to let him go, weight gain and all. He has to find out for himself the strength he needs to move on.
 
Yet I wonder if my efforts of sending good thoughts and intentions do work. I did that this morning during a really challenging power flow class at Yoga Flow. This time, it didn't intimidate me that there was a lot of people in the room. I liked the chants that Rusty led us through. I got in early and planted myself close to the community altar so I ended up gazing at the tealights that were lit near some photos. As always, I dedicated my practice towards Joe. Funny how things are because in the final mediation, I closed my eyes and sat for a moment and there was Joe, telling me not to give up loving him.
 
It's hard for me to think right now to put another ad on craigslist or even to put myself out there to date. There's such a part of me that still loves him. I just hope one day he will break away from what ails him. What I cannot predict is if he will come back to me. All I can do right now is hope for the best for him and his life.
 
Funny thing is that I still do that with most of my ex boyfriends. I never keep in contact with them and God only knows what is going on with their lives. I just hope that they are OK and well, nothing else. I've pretty much moved on from the wounds and the hurt. I know that I will do the same with Joe. I know I can.

Finding A Little Help From My Friends
 
All of a sudden, I am thinking of this song which is the title of this blog entry. I think about the Joe Cocker version that was sung as the theme song to the TV show, "The Wonder Years". I think about my friends that have been so helpful during this time- Alan for dragging my ass out to eat dinner and watch the Tour de France, my ALC pals- Shelly, Ben, Nick, Lydia and countless others that have been great in getting my mind off things and watching the Tour de France and drinking Fat Tire at Hobson's Choice; Jeanne my true blue ALC 2 tentmate and dear friend and confidant; Amy and Cindy for calling to see how I am doing.
 
To add to that list, some of the gals in my pace group tried to give me some perspective on the Joe deal. I ended up fessing up to Sue, Dianne and Lila about what has been happening. I ended up totally bawling on part of the run. I tell you it took me A LOT to get me to Marina Green this morning and run a good 10 miles. Overall, the women advised me not to make any big decisions regarding me and Joe. Right now I feel the exhaustion.
 
I honestly haven't been able to really sleep that well these past few nights. It might have something to do that I am sleeping a lot during the day perhaps? It hits me, especially when I am alone or late at night knowing that Joe is no longer there. I so don't want to give up. At the same time, I am so angry in the sense that I just want to fucking quit and just give up. Lila pointed out that yes, Joe may not be there to give me support and I need my friends to be there for the support I need especially at this time in my life.
 
It's just that Joe doesn't see us getting back together ever. I know that both of us have grown and changed but I'm not sure to the point where we can't make things work anymore? I mean, does life run out of chances? Is it a one shot only deal?
 
When I do think of Joe, I think of all the tender and loving moments. I think of his smile and his mischief and how he is there for me, standing strong. Is it now, I need to be the strong one? Does all the strength that I have gained from yoga, cycling and running have to now translate into the strength that goes into one's heart during the most difficult times?
 
I swear, I totally felt really mired after telling the gals in my pace group about Joe. I had to run alone in my own solitude for a few miles to just clear my head. I needed to keep focus and sometimes running is the thing I need to get me out of a slump.
 
I wonder if trapped in that cold imposing Filipino guy that looked like Joe that met me with a cold stare and arms crossed on his chest is that loving and caring and funny and beautiful man that I fell in love with? I'm wondering what will it take for me to let that man out?
 
Maybe this is where my total belief in God and angels comes in handy.

Finding Life
 
Sometimes the hardest part after a loss of a loved one, either through death or breakup of a relationship, is trying to find life once again. I know there is that period of grief and sadness, knowing that the person you love so much is no longer in your life. But that is when you depend on the little things to make you smile and keep you going. A nice hot shower, work to keep your mind off the pain and grief, a good long run, calls and visits from friends.
 
I know it's easy for someone to say that there will be someone else down the line that can recieve what you have to give and recieve your heart. Yet right now, those are not the words I want to hear. I so wish that Joe could call me or say to me that there is a chance, that we can get back together.
 
Yet, that does not happen.
 
I am somehow reminded of Day 4 of AIDS/ LifeCycle 3 this year. That was the day where I didn't feel like being on my bike seat and in fact, it seemed so long. Yet, it was the little things that got me into camp that night- a cheeseburger in Cayucos, getting a good photo of me on the Half Way to L.A. rock, cinnamon buns at Pismo Beach, being pig for the day, sharing that cinnamon bun at Rest Stop 4, Tracy Chapman singing us songs at camp that night after dinner, a good hot shower, food in my stomach (I think I ate two plates of dinner that night), friends getting you to ride and keep going. After that day, it seemed like the rest of the ride was tolerable.
 
And maybe there will be my little things that will keep me going. Yoga class, friends, work, running, good food, fresh fruits and veggies from the Farmer's Market, things that will prod me a long and help me through this valley of grief that I am in. I know the sun will come out and things will be OK. I know there will be a downhill on this uphill climb of grief and pain.
 
Now I just got to chug one bit at a time. I'm not sure how long it will take but I know I will get there.
 
Right now, not having Joe in my life hurts life fucking hell.

Beauty In A Heart Filled With Truth
 
It has been several days since we buried Lolo Silecio to rest in St. Mary's Cemetary in Sacramento. Tommorow would make it one week since Lolo gave me his greatest gift, a strong, wise, beautiful new heart to give to Joe and the courage to finally tell him how much I love him.
 
All throughout the weekend, Lolo's spirit, in his own nagging way, was wondering when I would be able to tell Joe. As I would give him an excuse, I could feel him looking at me and pointing up his finger, not wanting to hear any excuse. It was Tuesday evening after a lot of sleep and a session with Kishi that got me the courage to trek over to the West of Twin Peaks to Joe's neck of the woods in the Inner Sunset.
 
Yes I was nervous and scared as I trudged up the familiar hills of Joe's street. Part of me wanted to back down but there was that part of me that found courage through fear. I got to his place, rang his doorbell. As I was ready to head on out and turn around, Joe stuck his head out the window and saw me there. I just smiled and said hi and he responded with a "hey". He ended up coming downstairs and opening the gate that led to the lobby. He stood there with his sweatpants and a California Berkeley t-shirt, arms crossed on his chest with an imposing look that said, "This better be good." as he asked, "So what's going on."
 
Looking at Joe at first, I felt intimidated. However, it was Lolo that egged me on to finally reveal my heart which I did. I delivered what I had to say what was in my heart, how I wanted to love him as long as I could and how I couldn't live the rest of my life without telling him how much I loved him. When I finished, Joe said a few things. He wasn't really too pleased with me coming over. However, he did assure me that I wasn't a bad person and I shouldn't let my past sins and doings with him affect my life and have myself beat myself up over those things. Yet, he confessed to me that he couldn't love me, he didn't feel that we could gain what we had before, that we could never have what we had, that there was no way in which we could be together again. He doesn't know when that would happen but he sees that we could never get back together. He said the best thing for me to do was walk away.
 
I looked at Joe most of the time. He gained quite a bit of weight and the joy and laughter that was usually in his eyes were gone. He looked tired and the whole time as he had his arms crossed, it was as if he didn't want to hear what I had to say or he had to protect himself from something. He reiterated how much his life is totally fucked up at this time. As much as I wanted to be there for him, to take away his pain, to make room in his life for me, that was something that I could not do. Those things are tasks that only he can do. As I hugged him for one last time, I took in the scent of his shirt, a mix of fabric softner and sweat and felt his chin rest on top of my head like he usually did. I wanted to kiss him for one last time but Joe pulled back. He realized this was so hard for him to say this to me as much as it was hard for me to take it in. As I walked away from him, not looking back, I knew this would be most likely the last time that I walk down this familiar street. As I rode BART back home, I saw this image of Lolo, his back towards me, weeping. Once I got home and got into bed, I started to cry, knowing that I could never love Joe the way that I have been loving him. This still makes me sad.
 
I told several people about what happened. Yesterday was the hardest day at work since it was my first day back since the funeral. I ended up going home early since I felt so exhausted. I ended up ducking into Rite Aid and getting a pint of Thrifty's chocolate chip ice cream. This so reminded me of childhood since Pop would get me ice cream from Thrifty's. I ended up staying in bed and eating the whole thing. I called Shelly to tell her that I wasn't able go and watch the Tour de France with the the other LifeCycle folks. I called Alan after that and he convinced me to go out for dinner. We went to Cordon Bleu near his neck of the woods on Polk and California. Now I tell you for a good price, you get great chicken, a pretty good salad, rice and meat sauce over the rice which is excellent. I told Alan what happened with Joe and he said that he admired me for my strength and courage to say my heart. Some of my co-workers said the same as well. Even my yoga instructor Jen was pleased to hear what I did. Jeanne said that she admired me for my guts and courage. Funny thing is that today as I was walking back to work from Nieman Marcus where I got some Khiel's products, I actually caught a glance at myself on the display glass, seeing myself as a proud and strong Pinay as I saw the writing on the window giving the definition of metamorphosis and the butterflies that would usually be on Nieman Marcus shopping bags.
 
Joe did see the strong woman come through in me as I tell my love for him. Unfortunately, he could not be able to recieve that gift I was willing to give him. I wonder if my words made any impact on him at all. I wonder if he was able to recieve even part of that love and put it in his heart, even though he could not see a relationship with me at this time or any time in the future. I really wanted Joe to take that love and to hopefully love me back, to find some sort of peace in his tumulous life at this time, knowing that someone out there totally cares for him and loves him and is willing to do so. The rejection totally stings and it so hurts so much. Knowing that I could never love him the way that I do hurts.
 
Yet, Alan and my roommate Alex told me that I could still love Joe but in a different way. I could still care for him and be there for Joe only in a different way. I'm not sure what that way is but I know that maybe someday, there might be someone else that might be able to fully recieve what I have in my heart and my love and not turn away from it or be scared. Maybe it might be Joe. That I cannot say at this time.
 
As for the vision of Lolo weeping, at first I thought he was disappointed in me. Quite the contrary. Several interpretations of him crying were a) he was sad to see me in pain from Joe's rejection, b) he was sad that this young man refused such a beautiful gift that his granddaughter was so willing to give, and c) he was so proud of me taking that step to finally reveal my heart.
 
Though the action didn't produce the desired result, there is a lot of growth that I gained in both recieving that heart and my attempt to give it to Joe. I know in time that I need to move on but right now, there has to be a time where I need to be in this space where it totally sucks. I hope not long but in a way, nature and love and the angels above have some sort of overall plan that in a way, things do work out in the end.
 

LiveStrong Part 2
 
This morning, I was afraid I was going to wake up with a hangover. No not from the Fat Tire I drank last night (I only had one pint...I was being terribly stingy about my cash flow). I was more afraid of having a terrible hangover or something that feels like a hangover from eating a Big Mac value meal from McDonalds. Alan and I went there since I was hungry and broke and I was craving a Big Mac big time. I usually don't eat that stuff. Not since I read Fast Food Nation and not since one time I ate a Big Mac value meal from McDonalds the night before a training ride and woke up feeling like shit (swear it was like a hangover). This was during ALC 2 training season.
 
I felt somewhat sluggish and was willing to skip yoga class. However, I didn't. I ended up going and my intention for my practice today was to find some sort of healing, something to soften my heart. So as I go through a class of Hatha Flow (like Power Flow without the heat) at Yoga Tree, I do my best and pretty much trudge through the class. It was the end where we do a final resting pose when somehow, Lolo's death hits me.
 
Ever since I heard the news, I've mostly been in this mode to just do things. Get things done. Trudge on through. For some reason, I couldn't find myself to really cry. Or to open up. Or to soften up. In fact, since Lolo died, I find myself further working myself to a frenzy and further going away from my emotions. It's like layers upon layers of plaster wrapping around my heart and emotions. Sadly, it seems like life's stresses these days are distancing me further and further away from the feelings that I have for Joe. Feelings of love and caring and deep emotion...the things that warm my heart and yet scare the fuck out of me. Feelings I want to express yet make me want to run away because I am so scared.
 
As I am laying there on the ground, eyes closed, I had this vision of Lolo coming to me and slowly peeling away the layers of plaster surrounding my heart. The plaster layers are cracked- something that came from last week's class and last week's vision from Power Yoga- and Lolo takes out the pieces one by one. The exposed heart is pink, like a newborn baby, then it turns Crayola green and as he peels off more layers and cracked pieces, it becomes a rainbow of colors. He ends up telling me, "Now this is the heart I want you to share with Joe. It is your love for him. Do not be afraid to show him this to you. Tell him how much you love him and care for him."
 
And with that, the vision of Lolo disappears. I flutter open my eyes, feeling the tears flood down.
 
I end up going to work and doing what I need to do. During my lunch break, I head over to Niketown to get a LiveStrong bracelet. It complements my yellow baby t-shirt that I decided to wear today. After I got my bracelet, I head into Union Square and stand in the middle to think about Lolo, reflecting on the bracelet and it's message, thinking about what Jen would like me to accomplish in my practice- to be strong yet soft. To have a strong heart and courage yet not be so cold and distant from my feelings and emotions.
 
I plan to wear the bracelet for awhile. To remind me of the courage that it symbolizes. And yellow is one of my favorite colors. And to remind me to be stong yet soft.
 
And to finally show my heart and my love to someone I do care about very much and not be afraid of the reactions to what I reveal.
 
 
 

Goodbye Lolo
 
Last night, Ma called me while I was online and just somewhat thinking about what to do with my roommate situation. Ma told me that Lolo Silesio, Pop's father, passed away.
 
All I could think of was, "Oh shit."
 
I wasn't particularly close to Lolo. Mostly because Pop and Lolo are not on the best of terms. I won't go into the details here but today, I was just mostly trying to just function. I managed to get to work, to go running and to watch the Tour de France with friends and have a beer with them.
 
My head is not really spinning but more likely just somewhat buzzing and humming and going into overdrive. I'm wondering how to get to Sacto with the little money that I have. I need to get there somehow. I feel so broke right now (because I am) and just trying to find my way there will be a little of a challenge.
 
This is another irony, another parallel that brings me and Joe together- we happen to lose our grandfathers, our father's fathers in the same year. It yearns me to be closer to him. This makes me want to pull away even more. Where I am more determined to just keep doing the things that I am doing yet I want to pull away from what I am feeling even more. For example, I will throw myself into work, yoga, stuff like that even more and yet retreat further and further away.
 
I got up just now to pull out my box of photos. Some I have snagged from family photo albums. I sift through the box, determined to find the photo, one of the few that I have of me and Lolo Silesio. It happens to be one of me as a crying 2 year old toddler with Lolo Silesio holding me and two uncles I cannot identify off the top of my head. His second wife, Pop's stepmother is behind me and Lolo. I think Ma and I were only there for about a month or two months in the Philippines, a place that I don't even know.
 
It now hits me that Lolo is gone from this earth. I don't cry. I just stand there mute and looking there somewhat dumbfounded. It's as if I am holding in all my emotions, playing poker face and just there. Nothing hits me, nothing phases me. I am just utterly dumbfounded.
 
Have I turned so cold that I cannot feel right now? I just find myself reverting further and further and further and further into some shadow of myself...

The Soul of A Man

Tonight I went for my usual therapy appointment. Before than, I juggled to get a run in after work as well as pick up some books at the library I had on reserve that just came in.

I told Kishi about my revalation I had during yoga class last week. This session we talked about some stuff and something came up where I ended up pondering as I decided to walk home instead of wait for the J Church line to take me home.

I will admit that once Joe and I broke up, all of a sudden, I stopped seeing Joe as a person. I saw him for more as a goal, something to get back, something to prove to, someone if things didn't go my way, I would throw a tantrum. Then that evolved into someone who was the epitome of what I want in someone, in a partner. Somehow in all this, I forgot the little things and quirks and qualities that make Joe who he is. I pondered during therapy when was the last time I actually listened to him as a person. I will admit there was a part of me that wondered if I lost that chance altogether once we broke up. Or did I automatically shut down when we broke up?

I was hoping to have enough money ro something to find a way to just shove this pain out of my system, something more in the form of eating something unhealthy in a mass quantity. I ended up just savoring a cookie, a chocolate covered shortbread cookie as I was pondering what to write in this entry.

I certainly don't want to be the bully nor the ice queen to Joe when I see him again. I certainly don't want to bulldoze him with anger or questions nor beg him to stay and cry and whine. I just want to be able to tell him how I feel, without doubt or worry or fear. I want to be able to see him as that person, a real person with feelings, thoughts, memories, connective tissue, muscles, neurons and blood cells.

I just want to see Joe for just being Joe.

Soul Food

Today was a rather laid back day as opposed to yesterday where I just cleaned and did laundry and talked to potential roommates. I'm hoping to get this roommate thing all straightened out soon. It's really making me antsy and just trying to juggle training and finding folks to look at the place makes me crabby and antsy.

I finally finished with some semblance of a draft to my law school personal statement. I still have to make some major edits and trying to make things flow. I have to put in the discipline to do it and get to it. I don't have much time left in a lot of things.

I did go for a run this evening. 5 miles with the SF Road Runners. I managed to do it in an hour which means a 12 minute pace give or take. Actually I found myself gunning myself up Infantry Terrace in the Presidio and doing pretty well. I didn't take any walk breaks and I think yoga is really helping develop my core muscles which I use in breathing especially when I start to ache on my side.

I ended up frying some catfish that Pop caught and froze for me and making up a batch of black eyed peas and marongai that Ma managed to get for me. I baked some cornbread and there I had it, a soul food feast with a slight Ilocano twist. The black eyed peas was something I saw that the Civic Center Farmer's Market last week and I had to get them. It was something Grandma grew in her garden.

Funny that it will be two years at the end of July since Grandma died. There are a lot of things that I wish I had a chance to talk to her about when she was still alive. Mostly stuff about Ma. Some recipes as well. Missing a grandparent, especially one that has been a main staple in your life is hard. I do think of Grandma quite a bit, especially when I see certain pieces of produce at the Farmer's Market- Chinese long beans (which I love), bittermelon (which I hate), Japanese eggplant, zuchini blossoms (which I have yet to buy but have no idea how to prepare them except stuff them with goat cheese and deep fry them which I have no desire to do so), cherry tomatoes. These were things that Grandma grew in her garden and sold to her friends and other Filipino families before there was an Asian grocery store which was built around 1989 or so in San Bernardino.

Eating the fried catfish and the black beans with marongai and cornbread reminded me of a few places that I would go to in East Oakland for soul food. I don't know the exact names of these places but I can remember them once I start going down International Blvd. where it intersects in the 90s and 100s.

Can I still find that courage within, the courage that will help me reveal what I need to reveal?

LiveStrong

Lately I've been somewhat trying to follow the Tour de France lately by either reading the online site or at least watching it on OLN by either going to Shelly's place or trying to muster some energy to go to Hobson's Choice in the Haight to watch it. This year's Tour is really exciting. It's trying to see if Lance Armstrong can win a 6th Tour de France, a feat that has never been done. He and several others have won 5 Tour de France's but not a 6th. Even watching bicycle races with major coverage on OLN is really exciting. Listening to Phil Liggett in his British accent which I am used to when I did have cable and watched OLN bike races and hearing Bob Rolle pronuncing in his own unique kind of cracker way of saying Tour de France (he says Tour Day France) which is kinda cute in a way. Looking at the peleton and team strategies of keeping the pack together. Though cycling is a very individual sport, it takes a team to make sure that one person gets what is wanted and expected.

Since Lance and his team U.S. Postal are sponsored by Nike, Nike is doing this campaign called the Wear Yellow campaign. NIke is selling yellow bracelets that cost about $1 or so that say LiveStrong on them. Somewhat a play on words...LiveStong...Armstrong...

Why yellow you may ask? Every time a person wins one of the 23 stages of the Tour de France, they wear the yellow jersey, the coveted prize. I didn't know that fact until one time when I wore my favorite yellow Cannondale jersey for the very first Cycle Buddy training ride of AIDS/ LifeCycle back then in March 2002. It was Paul who pointed that out. I better stop here because I'll end up babbling about Paul which is not the intention of this entry.

But the band which I am looking to get this week is something to remind myself to live strong in my own way. To find my own path, to explore and let myself be, to not be so hard on myself yet to be strong in my own way. To be strong and soft as Jen, my yoga instructor, would tell me. This is what I need to do, especially in these uncertain times that I do face right now in my life, especially with Joe...

Take Me Back To Childhood

On my bedside, I keep a black and white photo of me taken when I was either 6 or 8 years old. I'm facing the camera, smiling, hands folded and placed onto my lap.

There are days when I wish I could go back to those days. Today happened to be one of them. I wished for days where I would just go home and play and watch cartoons and color and make arts and crafts. Where I looked forward to going to the library or the bookstore and swimming lessons at the Y. Where I looked forward to outings to the beach and I thought Disneyland was the most magical place on earth. Where Pop would buy me a cake donut covered with white frosting and topped with sprinkles for a special treat or where we would stop at a 7-11 so that I can have a go at Pac Man. Where I looked forward to birthday parties at Chuck E. Cheese or when I was younger, having Ma and all her friends cook all this food and us kids would dance to disco tunes on a 45 rpm turntable. I wished for the days of coloring books and free reading time. Where if I read 25 books and did all the book reports during the school year, I would get a day off where I watched a movie. I was awed by Christopher Reeve playing Superman and Linda Carter being Wonder Woman. I wished for family trips and excursions to San Francisco and Las Vegas, where a bucket of quarters would satisfy me for a few hours at the Circus Circus midway.

Part of me wants to leave my adult life- the crazyness of work, the hassle of finding roommates, the drama that I am undergoing with Joe.

I don't have many links of my childhood lying around. I still talk to Amy, one of my friends who have known me for a long time. I value her advice and just her listening to me even though she is now making home in the Midwest.

Tonight I ended up splurging on 2 donuts, trying to get back childhood, trying to escape the misery I feel at this time. I wonder when will I find that courage to tell Joe how I feel about him, what I have discovered, how I have grown.

However, until now, I haven't been able to wonder and realize that all this time, I have been so angry. Angry at being abandoned, rejected, unloved, shut out. All this from Joe. I wonder why. I cry. I try to shove out the pain from my system only to be unsuccessful.

If only...

Born To Run

Saturday mornings from June to around October and November are a little of a challenge. That's when I get up and do my long runs for marathon season with the San Francisco Road Runners. I'm actually thinking of doing some of their weekly runs as well. I've met quite a few people in the Tuesday night runs and I'm thinking of giving Thursday track workouts a try.

Most of the folks in the club I wouldn't really mix and mingle with on a regular basis. Most are straight, married, a little older, more professional careers while my AIDS/ LifeCycle training rides were a nice mixed bag. The topic in our pace group today was the Michael Moore's film, Farenheit 9-11. The sentiments of some of the people in the group regarding the film was more of the thoughts that this is some politcally motivated film with an agenda. Well, DUH! Another runner talks about Senator Kerry's voting record and how he missed major votes. Sometimes I wish my political mojo was kicking again so that I could contribute and debate but maybe that is on my own time and I would rather focus on running and being social.

The thing I love about running is that I am on the ground, my feet in contact with the earth as opposed to my bike where it's only the rubber on the road and the occasional sole of my cycling shoe when I come to a complete stop and clip off. I tend to look at things at a slower pace and observe some things a little more closely. In cycling, I am exposed to different things like a slide show showing maybe 5 to 10 images in a span of 5 seconds. The thing I like about both sports is that I am exposed to nature, the great wide open going from point A to point B without being enclosed in a car or a bus or train. Both running and cycling help me process the things I go through in my life but by far, yoga is the one sport/ hobby that brings up a lot more than I thought.

I wonder if my anger will subside, if it will melt away or is it something I deal with and work through day by day, bit by bit. I'm not too sure about it because at this point in time, I wonder if I can truly still love and feel despite everything. Can I?

Anger Is One Letter Short Of Danger

Usually I would be in bed by now. However, I don't have to go to work until later on in the afternoon for a closing shift. Plus I'm also trying to detox all the junk I've had in my system today. All the Pepsi and Diet Pepsi and so so fish and chips that I picked up at Young's BBQ around the corner (the same place where they have substandard Korean BBQ and kimchee). I also took a shower not too long ago. Ended up cycling with Shelly to the Marin Headlands where part of our ride was interrupted by helping a woman that crashed off her bike (she was down when we saw her as we were riding up Bunker Hill Road to Alexandria) and taking a yoga class at Yoga Flow in the Castro. The class is another entry upon itself but the stuff that came up was something that I've been working on in the last few months. Actually, pretty much the start of this year and part of last year.

I remembered the instructor having us dedicate our class to someone we know and love that is going through a hard time, going through a cross road in life, going through a lot of suffering. So naturally, I think of Joe right away and put all my energy and efforts into class. Now Power Flow is one of those classes where the room is heated and you go through pose upon pose upon pose where your breath is your meter and guide. I think one of the series where Warrior 1 was involved included us growling like tigers. Here I was, really focused, trying to barrel through all the walls Joe and I had between us. Trying to be that action heroine where I would break down all the walls of anger, sadness, wondering as well as ease him from all the stuff that life is serving him on a platter (being overworked and dealing with grief). I literally was on this mission, putting so much work and effort to the point where at times I didn't focus on where I was positioning my body and where I found myself almost in pain. I was totally exhausting myself. At the final meditation where we just layed there before the class was over and did a final chant (having 60 something people chant in the same room as you is cool but a little much for me to handle), I thought of the things that came up. The big question that was coming up and asking me was, "Why are you so angry?"

All this anger I had inside is something Kishi and I have been trying to decipher through our therapy sessions. At first when she told me that I was angry at something, I thought she was on crack or something. Somehow I brought the anger that I had still left over from things unresolved with Ma and other stuff into mine and Joe's relationship and it unleashed its real ugly head after we broke up. Anger to the point where we couldn't move on, where we couldn't talk or resolve things. Anger that walled both of us up where we could really reach what was deep down inside...a love so strong and pure and innocent, a love that is so pure and yet inside, where both of us are so naked and vulnerable. The love you have for a person when you know this is the one you want to share the rest of your life with. That love that is willing to spring forth itself but is trying to penetrate through the anger and hurt and pain caked on like dried clay.

I came upon something I wrote a few months back, things that I would want to show Joe and be that loving and caring person that I can be but is encased in this shell of anger and hatred towards myself for hurting him. I so want to crack it open, to have it see the light of day, to let Joe feel that. Is our own lives preventing us from feeling that? Is my anger thicker than London fog?

For the longest time, I never understood why Kishi was so intent on focusing on the anger I have had since I started therapy, the anger of being rejected by Joe after I told him what I did, the anger towards Ma back then when I started riding and when she first showed her disapproval of me doing the rides and my career choices. Although the yoga class I took today wasn't really the greatest(it so reminded me of a huge college lecture with a professor giving what is to be done and learned while assistants milled around and andswered questions), it somehow unlocked something that I had inside me for so long, asking me why was I so angry and gently asking me to let it go.

And maybe I do need to let it go before it further poisons me and the ones that I love the most.

Shutting Down

Honestly, I'm not great with emotions. I do have no problem showing them but at times, when I am angry, I don't show it or if I end up crying myself into a puddle of tears in public, I would profusely apologize.

Yet I find myself seeing that if strong emotions, especially ones where love and intimacy are involved, I end up shutting down either by burying myself in projects or just distancing myself from that person. I did it with Ma at some portions of my life, especially several years ago when we weren't in the best relationship when I started riding and Grandma was dying. I find myself doing the same with Joe, not wanting to go through the pain or denying myself from it by just burying myself into work, marathon training, etc.

I find myself crying to the point where I wake up exhausted and beaten. Elton John's song, "Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word" is now my theme song, recalling a time when I read former Congressman Steve Gunderson's autobiography (an openly gay Republican Member of Congress from Wisconsin) talking about the difficulties that he had with his partner Rob Morris and he had this song playing when Rob moved out of their shared townhouse in D.C. when they underwent difficulties in their relationship.

It seems like I'm trying to find out what to do and all I get is a lot of confussion. It's like being surrounded by all this noise and you wonder where to go next. I'm trying to trust my heart yet I'm not sure if I can since I felt at the times I did trust my heart, I ended up getting hurt.

I just need to keep trying. Maybe there is someone else other than Joe that is that person I want to be with. I really don't know right now at this time what to think.

What I did learn from my run tonight with the San Francisco Road Runners was not to give up. I know tonight's Tuesday night group, it happened to be really crappy weather (fog at best), a long run (7 miles from Marina Green to the Ferry Building and back), and the fastest runners happened to be there. I literally fell behind and ended up stoping for a long cry in front of Pier 39. Luckily, Scott, the group leader for tonight, came back and ran with me on the way back to Marina Green. He and another Tuesday night run leader Kate encouraged me to come on back. Cate even told me that going to Tuesday night runs and Thursday track workouts move up pace groups. I know that is my goal and probably I too can be that speedy runner. I didn't become speedy cyclist overnight, right?

The Somewhat Anti-Fourth of July

This 4th of July, I wasn't up for the fireworks display or baseball watching mood. Since it's a hit and miss whether or not the fog will roll into the City to block the firework displays and I'm still not down with the Giants (I will ALWAYS be a Dodger Blue fan...no Orange and Black for me), Jeanne and I spent a somewhat tongue and cheek anti-patriotic 4th of July.

Now before you call up the Office of Homeland Security and report me as some traitor to the red, white and blue, I had the combination of traditional and untraditional 4th of July activities on my plate. The morning started off with running a 5K run on Ocean Beach benefitting Project Open Hand, a non-profit organization in the Bay Area that delivers meals to seniors and those who are affected by HIV and AIDS. I did get a t-shirt with the American flag on front which I really didn't care for. I was happy chowing down two bowls of Bud's Ice Cream (a local San Francisco company) after running on the beach at very low tide and going up against a nice headwind on the last 1.5 miles. Ah, gotta love headwinds (yeah right!).

After a good 2 hour yoga class with my former yoga instructor Anne (got re-aquainted with the lovely and static poses of Iyengar yoga...a nice change from flow), Jeanne came over and we camped out with others at Dolores Park to watch the San Francisco Mime Troop perform their free show in the park, "Showdown At Crawford Gulch." It was a great political satire comedy that parallels the realities of what is going on right now with a railroad monger who comes into town and entices the mayor about the surrounding Indian lands around Crawford, a small dusty town, filled with coal and water, the fruits of railroad labor and progress (the setting is around the 1800s) and at the same time, making up spins and lies about the Native Americans that live around the area being hostile and making war and manufacturing "arrows of mass distruction." You see the mayor convincing the townfolks from the local preacher, the shopkeeper of the general store, the schoolteacher and the bordello owner to sign over their deeds to help out in the war against the Native Americans (the mayor is also the President of the Bank). After the so called war between the Native Americans was over, the citizens found out that this war was unjustified and unnecessary but the citizens found out that all the local business and livelyhood- the local paper, the school, the general store- is all owned by the mayor. But the daughter of the newspaper editor resisted and encouraged the townfolks to elect a new mayor. You have to see it for yourself.

The San Francisco Mime Troop has been doing free political satire theater throughout the Bay Area for 45 years. They usually start off their season in Dolores Park on 4th of July weekend or close to it.

After the show, Jeanne and I hit World Sausages on the corner of Market and 14th Street where Cafe Cuvee used to be. Cal from the Foundation (as in San Francisco AIDS Foundation)told me about this place. They have a great variety of sausages and vegetarian offers and even a seafood stuffed sausage. However, Jeanne and I were total old school- I got a beef hot dog and she got a beer sausage. We ended up getting some beer and splitting a potato salad and a big assed deli pickle. I got a San Miguel- Itong Ang Beer! (the one and only beer in the Philippines; I go for it every single chance I get) and Jeanne got a Pilsner Urquel. We ended up getting some apple pie at Safeway since I couldn't think of any good places that had pie. After Jeanne left for home, I ended up taking a long nap and trying to read The Lovely Bones but the fatigue of yoga, getting up early, running a 5k and the beer took over and knocked me out silly.

So I did celebrate the 4th in my own way- a healthy dose of exercise mixed with a heap of liberalism and food and libations tinged with the usual patriotic flavor with a sprinkle of stuff from the motherland (you know I got to pay tribute to that Filipino side of me).

San Berdoo Blues

Well, somewhat before I get into the topic I want to write about, I'm pretty much still recovering from my 14 mile run this morning. I really do need new shoes (my feet were literally screaming and getting sore so I figured that it is time). Did pretty well and my psoas muscles are not as sore as they were last week.

So what got me to think of where I grew up was reading Christian's little blog on Xanga. Christian is the youngest of Pop's best friend and fishing pal, Uncle Doming. Sadly, Uncle Doming died of lung cancer 2 years ago. Those two had been friends for a little over 30 years. Pop is a ninong to Uncle Doming's second son, Cheston. Cheston or Titone as affectionately called by his mom is a month younger than I am. The oldest is Chester who is 2 years older than I am. Chris is a good 7 years younger than me and Titone. Uncle Doming's wife, my Aunt Fely or Aunt Fel as I call her is someone I totally confide in and see as my second mom. In fact, she practically acted as my second mom when things between me and Ma were really bad a few years back.

I decided to send Christian a little quiz I saw on Oliver Wang's weblog regarding how you gage your Asian American Activism. Christian has turned out to be the cool and hip Asian American activst/ journalist while Chester is experiencing married life and Titone is more the whitewashed conservative (kind of the anti-Edna in a male Ilocano form). I ended up reading Christian's blog which has some really great pieces. Some political, some personal. And it got me to think.

I think about the place where I grew up, someone East of San Bernardino in Highland. My family moved out to Highland from San Bernardino when Ed my younger brother was only a few months old. The orange groves and back roads were still there. This was before Highland became all suburbanized and having planned community upon planned community upon planned community made it up. I think about the choice that Ma and Pop made in raising me and Ed, speaking to us two entirely in English. At various birthday parties and functions, the adults would gather around and talk in Tagalog or Ilocano about life and how they are doing. It was like a secret code that us kids did not really pay attention to decipher. We either wanted to play tag, games on the Atari 2600 or dance to disco tunes in the garage. Maybe because all of us in my age group at that time (all the Filipino kids my parents knew) were really encouraged to assimilate and fit in and speak English without an accent.

In a way, I look at the then and now. Now San Bernardino and its surrounding areas Redlands and Highland and East Highland have a good healthy population of Filipino families. Ma used to know pretty much a good number of Filipino families in the community and in church at St. Adelaid's. Now there are unfamiliar faces in the crowd. It's not as isolating as it used to be. However, I wonder in this sense, did I feel robbed, cheated of not knowing my culture as I was growing up, not being proud of my indigenous Ilocano roots. I'm trying to make up for it in the last 13 years, ever since I set foot on UC Irvine back in Fall 1991. I wonder about the choices in my life.

Would I raise my kids in San Bernardino. No. Plain and simple. It's not the home that I grew up in. Nor do I want my children to feel as isolated as I did back then. Besides, it's a little too conservative for my taste and just Southern California just doesn't do it for me anymore. Home is here in Northern California and San Francisco. I wonder about how I am going to raise my kids in the City but I have a few more years before then.

As I was running this morning, the last 2 miles by myself (the rest of my pace group only did 10 or 12 miles while I did 14 miles to keep up with the Chicago Marathon program that Coach Diane laid out of us) I would occasionally look down at my shoulders and notice how brown I had become. I pride on that instead of wanting to be so white and fair. I will have to say that I'm a sucker for a caramel colored Filipino brother. Well, the color spectrum ranges from caramel colored to honey colored to the color of freshy baked bread, you know that golden crust color. That and a mop of coarse dark brown almost jet black hair. Looks aren't really everything but if he can have that balance of being proud of being brown and Filipino and open minded enough to accept the stuff here in the States and my liberal ideas and my ambitious self and not make me just become suburban SUV wielding soccer mom (Lord help me if I morph into this), that would be someone I want to be with.

I wonder what I am asking for is some kind of impossible dream. Something where people would wonder if you're on crack for asking this. I'm sure someone like this exists. I came close to finding it almost a year ago.

Friends and Fobs

Friends...how many of us have them...

I forgot the group that sang this old school song but that comes to mind when I think about what happened yesterday. Before work, Cin was in the City and she and I hung out for coffee near work. Cin and I have been best friends since 1996 when both of us were living in D.C. and we've kept in touch ever since. She relocated to the Bay Area in 1999 after she finished B-school in Georgetown.

Cin was really great in listening to a lot of the stuff I had to vent, mostly about Joe. She did gave me some good perspective. She figures the reason why Joe has been so catatonic towards my efforts of us wanting to be friends and trying again is that he has been so overwhelmed with so much in his life that he can't really see what is there in front of him. I know it hurts for me to see him go through such a difficult period in his life but there's only so much I can do. Cin even went on to tell me that Matthew Perry from "Friends" couldn't even realize how much his friends were wanting to be there for him while he was undergoing the ugly stages of drug addiction. This was something he told on Oprah and I was even surprised that Cin watches it (I wonder where she finds the time? Does Oprah even rebroadcast? Does she record the episodes every day?)

I e-mailed Amy the other night and she pretty much gave me the same perspective as Cin. She told me that I shouldn't see Joe's response as a rejection. More like he can't really focus.

I do respect their opinions and their insights. That's what makes them valuable.

As for fobs...Fobs as is people freshly arrived in the United States. A fob is an acronym for Fresh Off The Boat. I happened to think of fobs as I was on the 29 Sunset heading to the Marina from Sports Basement Presidio. Filipino guys boarded the bus with me, speaking loudly in Tagalog. I so wanted them to shut up. I thought they were just rather rude and somewhat embarassing, wondering if others think that all Filipinos (myself included) are this loud and obnoxious. I wonder if immigrant Filipinos see us that are American born (such as myself) and wonder if we're this wierd creature from the black lagoon.

I do have a lot to say but must go to bed. More on fobs later.