Has there ever been a moment in your life when you went back into "bad habits"? Everyone has at least one trait that they don't like about themselves (maybe something that others dislike) and the goal is to change that aspect or attitude and improve for the future. In my case, I was extremely antisocial as an adolescent, especially toward the family. I always thought that since no one talked to me, no one cared about what I did; I felt detached and grew irritable when anyone would approach me. I sealed myself away from others to be alone, but that proved to be failure as well. I loathe the stereotypical, Filipino family-standard whenever individuals are compared to others whether they are blood relatives or not. There is an undying sense of pride that I am yet to understand, but I suck it up because I always assumed that this is how it's supposed to be. I'm convinced that this is how our family functions and I have to deal with it because I was born into this culture. In order to be appreciated, you have be sociable and likable, otherwise you're left alone in the dark. I rarely find myself admirable so I have nothing to contribute to family conversations; it's gotten to the point where I've stopped talking all together. I feel strange when someone pauses and lets me speak, because I never think I'm going to get an opening. I don't want to show off to be admired, I'd rather be recognized for what I do - even if it's mundane, instead of having to put myself in the spotlight. Just when I thought I had matured from those experiences, an old shadow resurfaces and takes over from time to time. So am I really over it? There's a good chance there are small pieces leftover inside.

I didn't notice at first, but when I realized what was happening I felt anger and disappointment swell inside. It becomes extremely difficult for me to be productive when emotions numb the rest of my senses. I combat the raging emotions with apathy and this causes me to shut down mentally. My appetite diminishes more quickly than usual, I lose motivation and interest in all things. I slowly turn into stone: immobile, stoic and stubborn as a rock. For me to revert into this form became an emotionally crippling flashback. I thought about why I abhor family gatherings so much and how I never felt appreciated for being myself. Spending "quality time" is always the most difficult task because I have nothing to be proud of, so what good am I to them? Why should I force myself into conversations if I can't contribute anything positive? - "I don't relate to people I'm related to", and "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." - This is my logic whenever I get into those situations. My parents and sister ask why I don't spend more time with the family but I never give a straight answer. Do I lie to everyone and say I don't have the energy to put up with it? Or should I get straight to the point and tell them I think the things they talk about are incredibly offensive to me?

Last night we had dinner together: mom, grandma, sister, her daughter and our brother. It reminded me when we lived in Atwater Village except the two people that I talk to the most at a shared meal were absent, Dad and Michael. They discussed how our niece is Half-Asian, identifying mixed ethnicities by looking for certain traits. Then our brother talked about one of his girlfriends and Kariz says, "You dated a non-Asian for the first time ever? Congratulations!" she said it in a jokingly manner but thinking about the reality behind it aggravated me, because he is a racist asshole and that statement made it very clear. I finished washing my dishes and started making my way out of the kitchen, but my sister spoke up again, "you're not going to stay here and talk to us Paris?" In the back of my mind I thought: No one has said anything to me except you, Kariz. I'm not about to start conversation with a deadman and your daughter because I have nothing good to say about "culture", let alone their lifestyles. So instead of making it awkward for everyone I said, "No. I'm exhausted from work and I would rather lie down." Which is my polite way of saying I am not in the mood to hear this. I kept my mouth shut and crept upstairs to my room where I collapsed. I fell onto the bed without caring about posture or comfort, I dropped face down into the sheets and caved in. I tried to hold back but my quivering turned into tears. Nobody gave a SHIT about what happened to me that day, no one wanted to talk about what I did, nobody even asked me how my day went. Does anyone care that I'm belittled on a daily at work? That doesn't matter because the "family" belittled me at the dinner table. How dare you ask me to stay and chat. I didn't bother telling my them about how I Really felt because let's be realistic, who gives a fuck?

I spilled the beans on my best friend, mentor and only comfort at the time. So Kai responded, "you're going to experience shitty days all through the year and they'll add up to about a month worth of pain." As much as I didn't want to hear that, I knew he was right. I believe Kai when it comes to disappointment because he's lived through much more and spent lots of time to analyze, meditate and reflect on it. The feeling of rejection and ignorance are primary reasons I get uncomfortable when sharing my thoughts with others. That anxiety piles up and gets locked away inside a safe, but I cannot seem throw away the key. Sometimes all it takes is a memory to crack open that box again. Our family dinner from yesterday was remnant of my experiences in Atwater. I thought about the stubborn child I was and I hated being reminded of it. I cannot stand the thought of being my younger self, an immature introvert, but I've come a long way from having temper tantrums. I used to be so expressive with my anger that it scared people; as a child I would scream and slam my bedroom door until my arms were numb and my voice went hoarse. I was strong enough to put cracks in those doors, but I was told to stop because it was wrong and didn't resolve anything. When I stopped throwing tantrums, I started writing letters to the people, especially family members that hurt my feelings. I stopped giving out those "letters" when someone literally ripped the paper to shreds, so there's no question why I keep all of this bullshit to myself ...

"But inside, you're just a little baby
It's okay to say you've got a weak spot
You don't always have to be on top
Better to be hated than love, love, loved for what you're not."
- Marina & the Diamonds, I am not a Robot.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

Only in the Wanderlust would you
Wonder why such creatures do exist.
Manifested, entrusted, beloved animals
born in the depths of one man’s soul-
highly neurotic, erotic, exotic, exquisite
creations beyond measurable means
driven by both pain and pleasure,
freaks of this nature roam free
in the jungle of his wildest dreams.
Immaculate emasculate beings evolved
within the scenes; vivid visions become
surreal fantasy realized through painting

— for Alexander Ghastbrow. (friend and creative collaborator)

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

I remember it being dark; imagine seeking shelter during a storm. I was welcomed in by two young men wearing cloaks, my first impression was that they were in a cult. I looked at the walls and floors, warped wooden panels and furniture draped in animal hides. Then I thought they were hunters instead, or perhaps skilled craftsmen. One looked like someone I know, but he did not recognize me; the other was short and stout, hunched over like a mole. The familiar one seemed affectionate whenever I needed something like food or blankets to keep warm.

The door creaked open heavy and slowly revealing a field of gray mist, a mysterious fog covered the path outside. I shrieked at the sight of it as the short one yelled, "Keep that sealed damnit! Don't let any of the air get in!" He told me I had to wash the sweat from my body as demons outside could smell fear in my pores. Giant footsteps echoed against the walls and came closer to the cottage.

The familiar one stood by my side as I undressed for the bath. There were many layers to undo; blouse, tunic and tights, chain-mail and lastly a cloth wrapped around my torso to protect my breasts. The familiar one looked at my body and said to himself, "I know why I need to protect her." the short one prompted me to wash-up as he rearranged their space. The familiar one waited for me to finish the shower and held a hand to me when it was time to come out.

The short one announced, "Here comes the Ogre! Get dressed before he finds her!" The familiar one took me from the tub and grabbed my clothes in a bundle. I slid underneath a long narrow table against the wall and squeezed into a slot between the floor panels. Imagine lying inside a coffin with a glass top surface. The familiar one saw me struggling to move and lied face down against the glass table. "Don't move, don't even breathe." he whispered.

I heard the ogre stomp inside and the short one helped him around. He kept the giant occupied while I played-dead underground. The familiar one closed his eyes as sweat dropped from his forehead. No squeak, no sound, not even a breath came out of my mouth, but I couldn't help but feel trapped, cornered in the makeshift coffin. I overheard the short one and the ogre bickering, "I assure you, there is no feast here today." He led the ogre out the back and returned only to find the familiar one shielding the glass top with his own cloak. I was safe now, but wedged a few feet under the table.

(From Friday 2012/03/09, more recent and unusual of my memorable dreams)

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

I dreamt I was petting an animal, I want to say it was a cat because the coat was plush to touch. The cat purred, warm and relaxed whenever I stroked her back. The whiskers tickled my wrist as she stared at my hands; I stopped petting her to look at her face, gold eyes glowing with great intent. I don't know what compelled the cat, but she bit into my fingers. It got to the point where she gnawed the skin off my knuckles. I felt spear-shaped teeth tearing into flesh and bone, I caved in and pleaded her to stop. She lept off my lap and revealed raw, bloody knuckles. The blood stained her white coat and left a trail of red paw prints behind her. I turned to my hands again, the flesh decaying after exposure to air. Rotting muscles hanging off bones and the red turning darker as I looked into the wounds. It didn't dry up, it continued to ooze down to the fingertips. Why did I trust the cat, I knew it would bite me, but I didn't know how hard. Maybe it was a lion cub looking for finger food.

(From Monday 2012/03/05 - I didn't make time to write about and post it here until now.)

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.