Perspectives

In the wee morning hours of Sunday, February 3rd, I got matching tattoos with Dallas, Ariane & Yvonne (DAY). We were all getting variations of a four-star motif.

My thoughts: I feel like I'm constantly chasing shooting stars, hoping that my idealistic values lead me somewhere good.

Ariane's thoughts: The places everyone chose to get their tat is symbolic of their relationship to the group. Dallas got it near her stomach, and she's the maternal one of the group. (READ: The only mom.) Maria got it on her foot because we keep her grounded.

*****

There was a really funny conversation Abie and I had the other day, but I can't remember what it's about at this moment. I'll ask if he remembers then post it.

*****

On my leaving the country in September:

"I obviously haven't taken enough time to fully weigh out my options."

VS.

"My personality = Living by the seat of my pants."

VS.

"I'm falling back on my usual M.O. and haven't learned anything from my mistakes."

*****

On leaving my folks to fend for themselves physically and financially:

"It was a necessary action that should've been done sooner - even if it would've been more painful to all those involved."

"It was a necessary action that happened when I was ready to make it happen, and everyone's better for the relatively painless way in which it happened."

"By leaving my folks to fend for themselves, I'm buying into 'American' standards and values and dismissing my parents' culture. I was just using my Asian-ness as an excuse to play the martyr."

To Go or Not to Go: That Is No Longer the Question

It's three in the a.m. and I can't sleep. I'm supposed to be going to the Philippines in seven weeks. The plan was to live there for two or three years, teach English while there, and earn a physician's assistant degree. With money issues abounding in the Rubio household, I can't afford to stay on-track with my writing plans (I wanted to leave NYC in order to pursue an MFA and/or PhD in fiction asap). But there's no money to be made by following my dreams, so instead I chose to follow my parental instincts and haul ass to bail my folks' asses from poverty. At this point, I'm used to putting my goals on the backburner to appease my engrained standards of the "greatest good."

The plan was going well - or so I thought. I attempted to do all the research - student visas, school search, financial research - on my own, but my folks insisted that I let them handle everything - and then they lied to me. Said straight to my face that there was a school near our Philippines house where I could get my bachelor's in physician's assistance. Said it would only take me two or three years and that it was accredited in the States. Said it was cheap and easy. Then I come to find out that there is no such school; they've only found nursing programs near our Philippines house. Physician's assistant programs might not even exist in the Philippines.

Now let me say this for you non-Flips. Nursing is cool. You save lives. You learn very useful information about the human body. You earn a good wage. But every other Filipino is a nurse; it's the default occupation for those who still haven't come to grips with what they wanna do with their lives. And even though I respect the career and I understand that some Filipinos actually want to become nurses, I never want to so easily fit into a stereotype. Becoming a Filipino nurse is like being a Korean grocer or a Chinese dry cleaner: although each position fulfills a necessary and viable role in the community, it's played out. My sense of unique individuality will not allow me to slip into starched white scrubs.

Kicking and screaming the whole way through, I decided that for the good of the family, I'd knock out the two years in nursing school. I got accepted into a program, my parents were thrilled at the low cost of tuition, and I shouldered on. In two years, I'd be making at least $80,000, I told myself. Not only that, but I'd do it by being useful. I'd be saving lives. I'd be fulfilling a necessary, respected and important role in the community. I thought of my large extended network of family in the Philippines and became even more set on the idea of leaving: I've never known what it's like to be a part of a close-knit clan, and seeing Rob's functional and large family made me long for that experience. The few times that I've visited the Philippines since hitting puberty, I'd bonded with my family and made unbelievable memories; I couldn't wait to do more of the same.

Then there was the issue of teaching English. One of my uncles had won a councilmanship and had mentioned an orphanage within his district. The locl government was in charge of finding caretakers and teachers for the children, and he asked if I'd be interested. The role would allow me to mold young minds, show off my passion and skill with the English language, and build up my resume. I jumped at the chance. I'm always seeking ways to fulfill my maternal instincts, and this felt right.

There were other "bonuses" to leaving the States. For one thing, I could start fresh. An overwhelming feeling was flooding the core of my bones: I wanted to erase all of my emotional and financial plights. I wanted to physically distance myself as much as possible from my parents, whose drama constantly weigh me down. I wanted to experience new cultures, to travel, to lose myself in the differences of the East. Japan, Malaysia, Singapore: these are all countries that are a stone's throw away from the Philippines, and I told myself that I'd take advantage of the low price of airfare and visit these places. I wanted to "find myself," and I felt that the only way of doing so would be to go where no one really knew me.

Of course, none of that's quite true. Starting fresh has very little to do with physical distance and a lot to do with emotional preparation. I can physically and emotionally distance myself from my folks while staying in New York City. I can experience new cultures when I'm in a better financial situation to do so (I'm incredibly broke right now). And lastly, and most importantly: I found myself these past few weeks. The old addage is right: you find what you most need when you're not looking for it.

So now I've landed an amazing job teaching with a non-profit organization. My bills are getting paid through promotions gigs. I've started writing, drawing, sewing, exercising, eating healthier - I feel like I'm fulfilling every New Year's resolution anyone could possibly have. And I feel so close to being complete. I feel so incredibly good.

I decided this past week that I'm definitely going to stick around for at least another year. There's a feeling in the pit of my stomach that says I have to see through the stuff I'm doing now: I have to continue teaching these amazing, bright, wonderful students. I have topay off all of my bills, save up cash and feel capable of taking care of myself. Most of all, I have to feel like I'm entitled to the amazing things that are out there in the world, and the only way to feel that way is to "repent" for all the mistakes I've made along the way. I have to leave my folks' house better than ever and let them know I'm here for them when they need me, but that I've stopped catering to their needs. I have to fulfill as much of my promise to be a writer as possible. I have to be satisfied with my academic education in the States before I travel elsewhere - if only so that I can truly compare and contrast the experiences. I must do all this If I don't, I'll always feel like a fraction of a person.

It's taken me a long time to realize that my parents are never going to learn to take care of themselves if I always bail them out of tough jams. I've always figured that because I know better than them, it's my duty to take matters into my own hands when they haven't the ability to do so for themselves. I've felt guilty about making them fend for themselves. I've sabotaged my own success and happiness so that I wouldn't have the opportunity to leave them.

But there came a point when I realized that the only way to safely ween myself from my family is to become filthy rich; in this ironic and paradoxical manner, their dependence and my enabling character do not lead to immediate stress. My guilt would cease because of the knowledge that I'm providing them with everything they could possibly want. Their vices - retail therapy gone very bad, gambling, narcissism, pride - would be fed by my money. Everything would be handled without disappearng.

And that's exactly the problem. I've been trying so hard to accomodate my mom and dad that I didn't want to listen to anyone who told me I had to take care of myself. My identity was wrapped up in their care, and my contemporary/feminist/rebellious personality would not let me admit this fact. All of the problems that had shaped my personality up until that point had been caused directly or indirectly by issues inflicted on me by my parents, and I was afraid of making a new personality for myself. Sure, my problems drove me crazy, but they were mine. They were understandable excuses for my many neuroses. They were comfortable and worn-in like a favorite T-shirt. They were easy.

This afternoon, between applying to jobs, emailing professors, cleaning up my room, "window shopping" online, and running errands, I thought of the amazing things I wanted to do in the Philippines: all of the traveling, the bonding, the teaching, the learning. I realized that it was no use in leaving the country as the person I am. I've got too many unresolved issues to take care of and I wouldn't be able to fully lose myself in every wonderful experience. There would always be a part of me that is ashamed for leaving so abruptly, for not making good on all of the opportunities I've had, for allowing someone other than Me to decide my fate.

I love my family and I always will, with every fiber of my being and every iota of my soul. I will do everything I can to make them happy, but there's a mirrored line which draws the distinction between what I will do for them and what I won't. I love my family and I always will, with every fiber of my being and every iota of my soul - that's why I can't let their needs overshadow my own anymore. I don't ever want to resent them.

A Conversation Between Me & Trina

Trina: Yo, that stuff you posted on your blog the other day about dumpster diving got me straight thinkin about going to the dump this weekend fo real. You down?

Me: Word. I'm free after three o'clock on Saturday. Just lemme know.

Trina: (nodding) How come you ain't posted stuff about what's going on with your family, with your trip?

Me: (Sipping Starbucks) I texted a few heads the other night, just saying that mad shit's going down so expect me to be kinda m.i.a.

Trina: I dunno, ma. If I ain't run into you here, I wouldn't know a damn thing about what's really going on with you - and I thought I knew cuz I've been reading your blog and seeing you at the spot lately. I thought the whole point of keeping a blog was for full disclosure, to get shit off your chest.

(Beat.)

I guess I got it twisted.

My First Child

He's almost six feet tall, weighs well over two hundred pounds, and is built like a linebacker. There are piercings in his ears and dye in his hair. Most of his wardrobe is red or black. When he opens his mouth, there's no way of saying beforehand if he'll talk about Neil Gaiman or the injustice of America. He's eighteen years old, but I don't care if he's thirty - I'll still call him "Baby." He's my little brother.

Abie comes home tomorrow night. Before talking to him, I was excited to see him. I kept on thinking about our partnership in the Philippines, We're gonna run that joint. But then I called him and he gave me an attitude, and I realized that I'm gonna have to play mommy once we make the trek overseas. It won't be the first time, but it sure as hell will be the last time.

Ever since Abie found out about our father's infidelity, he's lost a lot of respect for him. My mom's not exactly the brightest crayon in the box, so Abie doesn't look up to her either. All that's left is me. I try to teach him the best I can. I mold his thoughts and shape his personality to fit that of a successful, respectful, respectable, decent man - but I'm only five years older than him and by the time my train of thought's evolved to the next step, I have to undo everything I just finished teaching him. It's a long, involved process, and somewhere along the way he got stuck in one of my phases and I just kept on going. I guess that was bound to happen.

Now there's a different problem. My mentality is that of a forty-year old, and he's eighteen. We're going to live in the Philippines. He's at that age where he wants to figure shit out on his own and doesn't wanna hear different from anyone; I'm in the position to act like a parent. Obviously, I won't coddle him and keep him from making mistakes. But I want to be able to sleep well at night, too. So where's the right balance? How do I make sure that he's developing into a good person, and also give him the freedom to make the character-defining mistakes that everyone has to make? Is it too late to worry? Should I just have faith that I've taught him well and enabled him to survive?

Taking a step back, I see the obvious answers to the above questions, and innately I know how to handle the situation. Like all tough situations, all it takes is some time and some writing, and I know just what I should do. (Very rarely must I rely on advice from trusted sources, though I'm always happy to hear the suggestions of true friends.) But in taking the responsibility of guiding an eighteen-year old toward full maturity, I know that my parenting skills will be tested to their limit. This realization is only now washing over me: when I'm in the Philippines, I won't just have the mentality of a forty-year old; I'll be acting like one, too! I'll even have the eighteen-year old "son."

I've had several abortions, and I feel like I've brought up a kid already. I also have the feeling that my maternal desires will be quelled by the onslaught of nieces and nephews brought to my Filipino door. I wonder if all of this will stifle my urge to have children of my own; I feel like that's almost a certainty. And if it does happen, and I enjoy bringing up others' children just as much as I'd enjoy taking care of my own, I'll have satisfied another requisite of this life. I wonder how much more I'll need to do before I feel like I've really done it all.

On Misplaced Energies

FORWARD: I'm not sure that this really makes sense, but it's what I was thinking at the time...

"I don't think it was jealousy," MG said to me. "I just felt like that should've been me. I should've been the one graduating from law school and making $125,000 during my first year as a lawyer."

I laughed with MG, aware that her self-depracating tone was as much mockery as it was truth. From the moment I met her in the Fall of 1998, the one thing I knew about MG was that she wanted to be a lawyer. In high school, she had joined the debate team, won trophies for her arguments, and had even earned the role of co-captain for the team. As time went by, her experiences refined her path and identity, and she became more and more involved with politics and altruism. She was convinced of her lawyerly ambitions, and every chance she got, she pulled me into whatever she was working on. Luckily for me, my path constantly merged with MG's; she shaped my political awareness and altruism more than anyone I've known.

When MG decided against the big bucks of corporate law in favor of the work-for-the-little-guy feel of nonprofit law, it was only another hint at her awesome humanitarianism. "I've been poor my whole life," she jokingly said to me. "There's no use in changing that now." And maybe that's why she was the root of my civic-mindedness. It was MG who introduced me to NYPIRG; MG who came up with the idea of OICE; MG who championed all of my endeavors, despite the craziness or abdurdity with which others labeled them. More than that, it was MG whose heartstrings were tugged by the pain of women who had stories of neglect and abuse. She was undeniably human in her sympathies, but also completely humane - a characteristic not attributed to most people. In her was the rationality behind lofty ideals, a dissonant yin and yang that made her more relatable.

Whenever I've felt like my moral compass might slip, it's MG I call to keep me steady. I think of her a lot these days, as I prepare for my life in the Philippines. Although her altruism is undoubtedly intact and she remains a steadfast supporter of women's rights, religious charity, and the next generation of do-gooders (among other worthwhile aims), she has put her legal goals on the backburner. MG's path has gone in an entirely new direction, and she is now in an amazing corporate communications graduate program'; she will no doubt be earning a good wage in the near future.

***

It's four in the morning and I can't sleep. The roads are too slippery for me to drive, and I don't feel like busting my ass on the ice. I'm editing my latest story and realizing that a lot of it is probably crap. The thing is, I'm proud of it. In it I admit jealousy and pettiness and a slew of other emotions that I am only capable of feeling until they are put into words. After they're released on the page, I can get back to being the boring and decent individual that I attempt to be; those are the people that seem normal, and these days, I crave normality.

I spent the last two hours ironing clothes. I felt like it would dull my mind and make me sleep, but the repetitive action only let my mind wander aimlessly. I daydreamed about the next five years of my life: earning a physician's assistance degree while soaking in tropical sun, bonding with my extended family, indulging my maternal side by playing house with all of my cousins' kids, expanding young minds and building their characters, learning my heritage up close and personal, finding the time and relaxation to write, being less westernized and urban, fulfilling my desire to learn my parents' native language; then, coming back to the States, earning a good wage, going back to school in order to earn the long list of degrees that I want, reestablishing myself with the literary connections that I've made, fixing up and adding to my house, setting my folks up for "early retirement" so they can live it up in the Philippines while they're still healthy enough to enjoy it, renting out rooms in my house to my friends/fellow bohemian types, buying more property, living the dream.

It all feels so tangible and within my grasp, and for the first time in my life I'm not intimidated by this fact. I want it and I'm not afraid to admit that I want it. I'm painfully aware that Murphy's Law loves me, but I don't care. I'm gonna make it.

***

When I tell people that I'm going overseas, I cite various reasons. The one fact that sticks out, though, is that I'm the first-born child of immigrants who have never gotten their heads out of the clouds. Perhaps that's why I'm as "innocent" as I am, and still have wonder in my eyes and hope in my soul - but it's also why I have to be the one to handle the family finances. Much to the detriment of our collective economic status, my parents have never understood the meaning of "living within one's means." Perhaps it was guilt, or lack of planning, or just plain ignorance, but both of my parents act as if we were the sole owners of a bottomless pit of cash.

Now that they're facing their second bankruptcy, their assets are in danger of being repossessed, and the house is in constant danger of being foreclosed, I must push my altruistic-idealistic-romantic notions of finding an occupation which speaks to my soul - writing, teaching, nonprofit work, etc. - in order to make a living doing something that earns lots of money. And even though I'm doing it for my family, a part of me wants to give it up. Like KC said a few weeks ago, "There comes a point when you have to stop blaming your family for your craziness, and become your own person."

This resolve to earn a physician's assistance degree and make money is exactly that. I feel like it's my chance to give up the craziness that is my family's neediness; ironically, I must do that by first fully giving in to it.

And maybe that's why I'm thinking so much of MG these days. To the untrained eye it might appear as though she's giving up on her lawyerly goals and her liberal ideals, but that's simply not the case. In order to fulfill her own desires, she must first indulge her pragmatic consciousness, which demands that she be financially supported before she can resume her course. I've only got this one life to learn from, but this much I've realized: people who are true to themselves don't have misplaced energies. Their lives usually follow this pattern: Step 1: let your passion dictate what you want to learn. Step 2: Give yourself the means to live comfortably. Step 3: enjoy the hell out of the experiences you want to make your life about.

Filipino-(American) Air Force Ones

Even though Clark Air Base is closed, American influence will always endure in this corner of the world.

Irony, A La The Little Mermaid

My all-time favorite Disney movie is The Little Mermaid. I was seven years old when the movie came out, and at that influential age, Ariel was everything I looked up to.

I can vividly recall my enthusiasm at the idea of putting on my own live action production of the movie - way before Broadway suits came up with the idea. I bought everything from an Ariel nightlight (which glowed eerily) to Little Mermaid sheets to plastic cutlery sets emblazoned with likenesses of the main characters. Something about a story of a brazen young woman who overcomes all obstacles in order to be with her love seemed... well, magical. Her fierce spirit and determination appealed greatly to me. Ariel seemed to be swimming to the beat of her own crustacean band, and even at that tender age, I related to her. She was willing to part with everything she knew (her underwater world) in order to have a future that was well beyond her grasp. She maintained her sense of self, battled obstacles, fought a sea witch, and married her (first?) love, Eric.

Years after watching Ariel become human, I watched the beginning of The Little Mermaid 2.

Now, I'm hoping that I have my facts mixed up, but from what I recall, the plot of the second installment of The Little Mermaid started like this: Ariel and Eric have a daughter (Melody), and said daughter wants to become a mermaid.

That's right folks: Mommy went through all the trouble of disrespecting her father (with the possibility of alienating him indefinitely) AND took the risk of becoming a nasty-looking seawood clump with eyes; Daddy got put under the spell of a sea witch, almost married her, and almost died in the process of figuring it all out. Despite all this, little Melody decides she wants to go back where her mother came from. She decides she wants to live the life her mother didn't fulfill: the life of a mermaid.

Okay, so I'm probably drawing conclusions to things that don't really lend themselves to each other, but this is exactly how my life is right now.

My parents left the Philippines in order to forge a better future in the United States. They left behind family, friends, the entire context in which their lives were understood - and they came here. A few years after they were married, I was born, and five years after that, my brother was born. Things were idyllic for a while.

Or, at least, in the version of this story that I'm imparting now, things were idyllic for a while. (No sense in having only one version of the story anyway.) See, after a while, I grew up, started hanging out with the wrong crowd, and became a "problem child." I stayed out at all hours of the night, had sex, did drugs, yada yada... It's all cliche, right?

The thing is, though, I've never been "stable." I've always yearned for more than what's available. There's a homeless population? An environmental problem? A higher education issue? I became an activist. The family needed someone to take charge? I did it, even though I was too young to really know what I was doing. Were my friends "too ghetto"? I got new friends: ones who couldn't be any more white, or they'd be clear.

I shuffled around people, around lives, around dreams and actions - all because I've never known what it is that I truly want to do with myself. No reality has ever been good enough for me.

But now, the opportunity has arisen to travel to the Philippines, earn a BA in physician's assistance, and simultaneously do activism (teaching English to orphans). I'll be in a tropical climate with my little brother (aka my favorite person in the world). I'll be earning a decent living (in Filipino standards), and getting a degree that has potential for six-digits-of-dollars-earning. I'll be learning more about myself and my family than I've ever known before. And the fact that I'll be in a warm, sunny place makes me think I won't suffer from as many mood swings/melancholic moments as I've been susceptible to in the States.

So in this analogy, I'm Melody. I'm going back to a place my parents left, and ironically, I'll be going there for the same reason they left: I want a better future. I want another option. I want to change my destiny.