Sunday, September 2, 2012

This Date

Each one of us have a significant date that we would remember.  It would be one of those uncommon ones.  And perhaps may bear no quality to others such as birthdays, anniversaries, or the much anticipated dates of holidays.

But this date tugs at me every time it comes.  I remember clearly the day--the black silk pumps I wore, the outfit with gold buttons that ran straight down the middle, how my shoulders bunched up and left an ache down the sides of my neck and the base of my skull, how the people I met and ran across with looked different.  Gone was the multitude of ebony hair I was most accustomed to; replaced now by a predominant color of different shades of blond--caramel blond, chestnut, dirty blond and strawberry blond.

I remember how my heart beat fast and exhaustion and nausea was taking a toll leaving me to wonder, "Did I make the right choice?"

In the slough of people pacing in a hurry here and there, heads either looking up or staring down, each had a purpose or business to accomplish while boxed speakers situated inconspicously announcing their times of departure or arrival, I see heads bearing the same mane as mine.

I delight in seeing them, but gazing in their owner's eyes, I am left feeling as if I'm but a small fish in a massive ocean.  The current and tides churning us all.  The familiarity was gone.  The bridge had already been burned.  There was no turning back.

I wheel my suitcase searching for a sign.  "Welcome to LAX," was the first one I saw.  Then, in the awaiting crowd, a small cardboard sign bore my name.  It was held by R.W., a man whom I soon would find out was the one I'd be working with under the employ of his oldest brother Ferd, who owns an architectural/engineering firm in Southern California.

September 1st would mark my 23rd year of being in this country.  

A lot of things had happened since then.  The architectural firm I worked for no longer exists.  Ferd had passed away years after I left while R.W., from what I heard, had moved to Hong Kong.  There were heartbreaks and betrayals as years went along.  I moved two states away for the sole purpose of finding who I truly am and trials and triumphs punctuated my path. 

(Here I met a wonderful man and to this day we are still together.  Our two kids grace our lives as we forge on).

As I look back to my own personal history, I've realized things--good and bad--were placed in their significant spots.  Because of them I am left much more aware of who I am and what my place is in this world of ours.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Funny Side of Being a Writer

Yesterday, I found this poem by Shel Silverstein (author of Where the Sidewalk Ends and Falling UP).  It reminded me of how a writer's life is sometimes.  Hope you'd find it hilarious as much as I did.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012


     Night falls.  The wind crashes upon the house with relentless force.  The chime by the balcony screams to the fierceness of the hysterical element.  One day, it cajoles it like a friend, and now it slaps it to swaying and spinning as from an adversary. 

     In the kitchen, the vent rattles.  Feet away, the living room blares the voice of Dr. Seuss' "The Cat in the Hat,"  a winter special.  The woodstove in the corner spits a "pop;"  flame red logs fighting endlessly to keep wearied bones warm.

     The inhabitants are tired.  One gives a cough--lungs rattling like the vent in the kitchen.  They all accept winter's presence.  It is what it is.  A reminder to the cycle of nature and of life.


by Constantine Peter Cavafy (1911)

As you set out in search of Ithaka
Pray that your journey be long
full of adventures, full of awakenings.
Do not fear the monsters of old...
You will not meet them in your travels
if your thoughts are exalted and remain high,
if authentic passions stir your mind, body and spirit.
You will not encounter fearful monsters
if you do not carry them within your soul
if your soul does not set them up in front of you.

                    * * *

I jotted this poem down in my journal on December 28, 2011, way before I met Jessica Bell (poet and author of String Bridge).  This is in honor of her Homeric Writers Retreat and Workshop which will be held in Ithaca  this coming August.

The Homeric Writers' Retreat & Workshop

Thursday, January 26, 2012


Sometimes in life we are forced to “take a break.” Unwillingly, we drop what we love and face the inevitable.

Through all the workings, it is still there, hidden in the deep recesses of our minds -- what we most love, what seared us with passion, and its voice, though faint, begs us to come, to rise, and to never let go because it is what comprises us to be who we really are and should be.

After only entering three posts in my blog, life had dealt me something unexpected. My only kin here, an aunt, who had been a second mom to me was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. She was a nurse, no kids and a non-smoker, and I was left baffled by how cancer rapidly consumed her body to deterioration. One minute, she looked stronger than her younger sisters. The next minute, a short walk to the mailbox proved arduous to her.

I was unprepared. And I guess nothing about cancer could really prepare you for it. Yet, I did what I must--dutifully commuting two hours to where she was at--cooking for her, assisting her, and as much as possible did everything I could to make it easy for her. After a long exhausting day, and numerous days after that, with suppressed tears finally making its way, I journey back home to my husband and kids, my source of comfort.

During this time, I have let go of putting entries into my blog. I also let go of finishing my manuscript. No amount of concentration could get me to write.

When my beloved aunt passed away a few months ago, I learned that she had accumulated six month’s worth of vacation time. They were all unused. Why had she done this? Was she waiting for the right time to use them? Why had she waited so long?

Her decision of foregoing time for herself would always fill my mind, and it became my stimulus to change…to waste no more time…to see what‘s out there…and to fulfill my purpose as a writer. It is my hope to never tire, to be back into blogging once again, to write more, to be of help and get to know fellow bloggers and non-bloggers out there because all I am given is one chance and it is my aim to spend it wisely.