Rebirth Of A Seattleite.

Well, I'm officially a resident of Washington State again. We touched down at my sister's house in Kirkland late Thursday evening and it's taken a weekend to unpack, settle in and start adjusting to the time difference. Here's the route we took:

not nearly as bad as it looks

Happily, Veronica was very pleasant throughout the duration of the road trip. She's always been a great traveler though, and occupied herself with coloring, drawing and singing in between viewings of The Little Mermaid or Tinkerbell. We had lots of fun which really made the time go by faster (but believe me, I felt those hours of driving at the end of each of the two days we were on the road).

Here are the stats for our great adventure:

• 1661 highway miles
• 25 hours of driving
• 6 states
• 9 "Are we there yet?" questions
• 1 delay due to highway accidents
• 7 gas stops
• 1 motel stay
• 7 animated movies watched on the PSP
• 2 people happy that the trip is finally over

For the next steps, I've begun studying for my MRI boards that I'll take next month and sending out resumes for jobs. I only plan on staying with my sister (and her husband and daughter) for a few weeks, until I get back on track with a regular paycheck, and then it's back to apartment living once more. I'm looking forward to some steady work and adjusting to a schedule again. My re-education is complete. Now it's time to get busy.

Tweet Tweet.

Sooo apparently my sister Gen has joined Twitter. Because she's witty, funny and generally awesome, this is actually A Very Good Thing. I like her writing style but she doesn't update her blog very often (I mean, who has the time to write when you have a toddler wreaking havoc all up on your mid-century style furniture?). We share the same twisted sense of absurdist humor and have sent each other strange and hilarious crap over the years, so I can only look forward to the nonsense she'll undoubtedly tweet.

Mmm hmm.

Although Twitter has achieved a huge increase in popularity over the past couple of years, lots of people still have no idea what it is, or how people use it. The vast majority seems to think that it's only used for informing the Internet about what snack food item you just shoved down your throat but if they looked a little closer, really it's much more than that. I basically use Twitter for:

1. sharing interesting/funny photos, links and videos
2. keeping updated on various niche subjects, issues and news
3. seeing how clever people can get within the 140-character limit (it's amazing sometimes how constraint leads to creativity, and I'm not talking about abbreviated words)
4. discovering new music and art

I don't follow any major celebrities, musicians or athletes. A handful of friends are on it and it's nice to see what they're up to. The rest of my follower list mostly consists of random interesting individuals from all over the world, a few artists/groups, and some organizations devoted to important causes. And yes, I stay away from Trending Topics and people who only tweet about where they are and what they're doing at the moment -- and yes, what they're eating, unless you link to a photo. I love photos of food.

Try a tweet or two. You might like it. And uhhh, yeah.

Shameless Plug Time: Follow my sis (@genevieve_rocks) and me (@RanGamboa) on Twitter.

A Conversation On Post-It Notes.

This weekend, my mom is coming home from a 2-month stay in the Philippines, where she took care of some family business. The passage below was originally written and posted 12 October 2008 on another blog, but I wanted to repost here in an effort to commemorate how much she has been missed.

Nay went through some successful oral surgery about a week ago, and thankfully her road to recovery has been steady and unmarred with complications. As a result though, she's been in some post-op pain, with some swelling and a general inability to speak. So for the time being, most of our communication has been in short bursts written down on Post-It notes accompanied by amusing hand-fluttering and waving, punctuated by formless exclamations. For much of the week she's been awake, alert and seems relatively fine, but this afternoon she had a pretty serious episode of nausea and headache and had to retire early to my parents' bedroom -- leaving my dad to labor cautiously to finish the chicken and pasta meals she left simmering on the stove and checking in on her every few minutes.

Shortly afterward, I was studying for my midterms in the dining room when my dad informed me that she wanted to talk to me, so I went in and sat down in a chair beside the bed. Although it reads like the conversation took only a few seconds, it lasted several minutes due to the fact that she had to write down her responses and questions. [Edit: I found the notes the next morning as I was getting ready for class. Since she'd written a recipe for my dad to follow on the same pages, I just copied her words on my own paper for transcription into this entry.]

write your heart out

She jotted down Stay for a minute pls?

"Sure -- let me go get my book and highlighter. I'll sit with you for a minute." I left and came back with my study materials a few seconds later. I thought she just wanted someone to hang out in the room with her, which was fine with me, but she started writing slowly on her pad.

I love you anak. You have not disappointed me -- magaling ka at mabait -- tutularan ka ng mga kapatid mo¹. Sorry for my hurting you in the past. Hindi rin kita na-guide ng husto at tama². I pray you will be mentally healthy.

I was surprised. "No ... it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong."

I feel bad for doing what I had done to you and your siblings. Marami ka pa bang naalala na mali kong ginawa?³

Again, I said no. Even though I wasn't sure where this was going, it was definitely an important moment.

Pag meron pa, sabihin mo sa akin freely para hindi ka nagagalit ng sobra⁴. You are and you could always be better.

"No Mom, it's fine. I'm not angry with anyone. It's okay." Well, this was only 90% true -- the only person I'm mad at most of the time is myself.

Thank you anak -- kung bababa ang BP ko tutulungan kitang mag-review. Anak, tapos na ang one minute⁵. Thank you for staying.

I looked up after reading this last part and saw that she was crying softly. At first I didn't understand why she wanted to bring up something like this. I just thought she wanted to bond with me a little and open up a line of communication about an issue she obviously felt was unresolved. It's true though -- I'm not angry at her for how my life has turned out. It definitely isn't perfect and I have several problems that need to be worked on, but I attribute none of them to how I was raised or the way my parents have treated me.

I can't deny that until relatively recently, I really had no direction in life whatsoever. Maybe that was because neither my mom nor dad ever pressured me into pursuing a particular career path. Although they've hinted at an education in the medical field for almost as long as I can remember, I wouldn't call it "pressure." They let me do whatever I wanted to do, which was cool at the time, but in the end I floundered. Perhaps it happened for a reason, because now I have the motivation and drive to finish something (in the allied healthcare industry no less!), and be good at it. So for that, I sincerely thank them.

I checked in on her later to see how she was and also to retrieve the Post-Its of our conversation. I didn't find them unfortunately, but in my search I read something she had written to my dad before she'd called for me:

Please stay with me -- I'm afraid to go to sleep.

I think my mom was scared she wouldn't wake up. That was why she wanted to talk to me and ask my forgiveness, just in case. I think that's why she was crying. I was stunned.

She actually is sleeping now, fitfully, but she's in no danger of going anywhere. Although I'm going to miss the hand movements that look like she's trying to conduct an orchestra, I can't wait until she's fully recovered so we can talk and laugh again.

Tagalog-English Translations:
¹You're good and kind ... your siblings will learn from you.
²I didn't guide you well or right.
³Do you remember a lot of things that I did wrong?
⁴If there's anything else, tell me freely so that you won't be so angry.
⁵If my blood pressure goes down, I'll help you review. Son, it's been more than a minute.

Public Service Announcement 002: Facebook Status Updates.

I joined Facebook only about a year ago. After a couple months of my classmates in the x-ray program asking if I'd joined yet, I finally signed up and made my first noobish post to much fanfare and amusement. I mean, why not? -- pretty much everyone is on it now anyway. Yes, including my mom and several aunts and uncles.

[via]

This isn't quite the reaction I had when I got more than a few friend requests from the older members of my family, but I'd previously heard about people complaining that their parents were stalking them on FB, scrolling through their photo albums looking for incriminating evidence and/or posting stuff on their friends' Walls:

[via]

Thankfully my family's not that active on Facebook in general, so even if I were doing things my mom wouldn't necessarily approve of, chances are they'd miss my status updates. Not that I'd be posting about them anyway, but some people, unbelievably, still don't seem to realize just how public your information can be. They'll put stuff up about their latest experiments with mind-altering substances and/or stories about some crazy sexual conquest.

Granted, those are a much better (and far more hilarious) read than your typical "Having lunch with my BFF!!" or "GOD my life SUCKS" or "I just planted 35 acres of bananas in FarmVille" or "♫ [insert Top 40 song lyrics here] ♫" status updates -- or even worse, constant inane chatter:

[via]

Yeah, I've had to hide some of you guys for this last one especially. Sorry. (But not really.) Sometimes, it's just better to STFU.

Okay, rant over. Have a great Monday :D

Of course, shameless plug: Friend me on Facebook! But please don't flood my Feed with crap like I just wrote about, or you'll get smashed with the Hide Hammer.

Catharsis.

It's been raining. And it reminds me of Seattle.

I miss them both. I miss hanging out in my loft in Greenwood, listening to and watching the rain come down. I like the thought of the rain washing the city clean, giving it a fresh start. I know a ton of people hate the rain but I never ever minded. Ever. Rain was a catharsis for me, a chance to renew.

[via]

I feel like I need to give myself a fresh start. There are so many new things in my life, as well as older issues that have become ... baggage. I keep mentioning it, but I'm weighed down: Finishing my re-education and jump-starting my new career after graduation. My relationship problems. My financial situation (or lack thereof). Working hard not to disappoint my family -- and others close to me. I'm stressed.

It's a lot for me. I'm used to being a little more laissez faire with my life. I've always had the "twig in the river" mentality -- almost like fatalism -- where I go where life takes me, I'll just be along for the ride. It worked out like that for a few years, in Seattle. I truly had a blast, lived it up, partied, and generally didn't pay any mind to where I was really going, or what I was going to do next. (Not that I did anything crazy, but I considered myself pretty happy-go-lucky as far as lifestyle went.) Then came Veronica. The twig entered the rapids.

I have to credit a couple of people in my life who have blessed me with advice (you all know who you are). They've provided me with much-needed insight into myself, my feelings, my relationships -- family-related and otherwise -- and into life in general. I can't afford to live like I used to, they say. I have entered a stage where I have to man up and actually be responsible, not just for my own life but for the lives of the people involved in ours. No more half-trying. No more messing around. For this, I have to thank all of you. Your words will not go unheard.

It's funny how half of me found this advice hard to swallow. Half of me wanted to keep floating. But I know I can't.

I need it to keep raining.

Speaking of Seattle, I'm headed up there for about a week for Spring Break. However, regular updates of Perpetual Mixtape will continue. I'm cool like that. I think.

Tea With My Mother.

I felt under the weather yesterday. Maybe it was because I hadn't been out of the house in a couple of days and my body went into shock at being exposed to the wintry outdoor elements. Or maybe it was because I (uncharacteristically) didn't eat much all day and my blood sugar was low, resulting in drowsiness, severe headache and moderate, uh, intestinal distress. I'll save you by not elaborating on that last one.

At any rate, I'd passed out for most of the afternoon/evening, so at midnight I found myself half-stumbling upstairs to a dimly-lit kitchen. Surprisingly, my mom was wiping down the counter-tops. She usually goes to bed pretty early so I didn't expect to see her up and about. I was still feeling a little queasy, so I heated up some sinigang broth in a large mug and slid onto a stool, sipping slowly as she put away the wipes.

"You should try some green tea," she remarked, opening the pantry door. "It'll help settle your stomach. I'm going to have some myself." She emerged with a small box of tea bags and deftly brewed a small cup. After a few minutes, I finished my broth (so so good on a cold night), refilled my mug with hot water, and steeped my own.

[via]

It was a nice feeling to just sit, take in the aroma of the tea and hang out for a while as the rest of the house slept. Moments like these are few and fleeting, with two kids running around the majority of the day leaving happy chaos in their footprints. My mom seemed at ease despite the long day, holding her cup in both hands, elbows resting on the counter. In between sips, she extolled the virtues of tea-drinking, from its aforementioned ability to calm stomachs, to reducing eye puffiness, boosting the immune system, suppressing illness and even preventing cancer. I knew about all this; she'd been trying to convert me into a tea drinker for some time even though I'm a devout member of the Religion of Coffee. But it was soothing. Soothing to hear her talk about something as mundane as tea as I swirled the bag slowly around and around, steam rising from my mug.

It was probably a combination of the broth, tea and easy conversation -- I felt ten times better. We finished drinking, put our cups in the dishwasher and hugged each other goodnight. I went to bed with a calm stomach and a buoyant feeling in my soul.

So I've decided that one of my resolutions this year will be to drink more tea, at least one daily cup. At the very least, that might slow my coffee consumption. I doubt it'll get me to switch completely at this point; I love the taste of coffee too much. But no, I can't deny the health benefits of tea.

I'm pretty sure it's good for my spirit too.

Eight Years Later.

As if you needed any kind of reminder, today marks the eighth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center.  Like billions of other people, I can clearly remember what I was doing and where I was when I found out about the tragedy. I've never really written about it before (although I've alluded to the experience in past journal entries) so personally this will be a fresh look at that day.

That particular Tuesday started out routinely, a typical workday morning in Seattle.  I've never made it a habit to turn on the TV while getting ready, so I possessed no knowledge of what had already happened -- Wikipedia marks the beginning of the attacks at 8:46am Eastern, while I was still asleep on the West Coast. My bus stop was only a block away from the apartment, and I took my place in line with fellow commuters waiting for the 941 to swing by. I must've been switching out CDs in my Discman when I heard two women saying something about "a plane hitting the World Trade Center in New York." I don't think they had much information on it, that maybe it was a terrible accident, but was most likely a terrorist attack. The 941 came, and the ride downtown on I-5 was abuzz with passengers talking about the event.

An ugly knot began growing in my stomach. By the time I got to work, I felt like throwing up: My brother Jose and Mike, a mutual friend, were visiting New York for the week, and from previous conversations with them I'd known that the Towers were on their list of Things To Visit In NYC. Yeah you can probably tell where this is going. I became increasingly distressed and focused on nothing but getting to a TV and trying to get more details, but unfortunately there were no televisions in the office. I had to resort to refreshing news websites constantly for the tiniest scrap of new information; I must have pressed the Redial button on my cell a hundred times to try to get through the jammed airwaves. No dice.

I remember leaning against a wall in the hallway outside of my office after another futile attempt at calling, fearing the worst. My boss tried to give me some words of comfort, but of course my imagination ran rampant and crippled my mind. The photos of explosions, smoldering wreckage and terrified faces on the news sites didn't help things at all.

No one in the company worked that day. My concentration was completely shot. I remember one co-worker in particular who was especially shook; she worked the early shift and had just finished talking to a client in New York. Needless to say, she (and half of the office staff) went back home not long after they arrived. Payroll was due on Tuesdays so my boss and I were obligated to get that job done, but it took us three times as long to finish and I got nothing else accomplished that day. I was numb.

I was finally able to get through to my mom that afternoon. To my immense, intense relief, she assured me that Jose and Mike were fine and safe at my uncle's house; that they hadn't even had breakfast yet when the first plane struck.

Was it fate? Divine intervention? Hell, the fact that my brother hates getting up early? I look back and have no idea. But the feeling that I got at that time can only be described as blessed. It was very strange, and left me empty and full at the same time.

And I could breathe again.

As you know, the whole world changed at that point. Even now, eight years later -- when Ground Zero is being rebuilt and repurposed into a place even greater than it once was, when we have long been accustomed to long airport security lines and putting our toothpaste into clear plastic bags, when our military presence in the Middle East has overstayed its welcome -- even now, the personal impact of that day still twists my stomach and clouds my brow. I was blessed. I could have lost someone, and I didn't.

But thousands of other families did. I can only imagine what they went through then, and what they are still going through now, so today my thoughts and prayers go out to them.

In Memoriam: 11 September 2001.