Sunday morning - need more coffee
Sunday morning after the time change and I'm bone tired. I'm starting my 1st cup of coffee but it doesn't seem to be helping. AJ and Bonnie are getting new furniture across the street. Funny, I thought in my new neighborhood that there wouldn't be a lot of transience, but it's worse than the apartments I used to live in: people moving in and out, lots of renters. And some folks that were bitter about leaving let their stupid dog poop all over everyone's lawn. I keep meaning to yell at Manassas Park to put up fine signs, but I've been bad about it.
I love my place though. Even though it's only a 1-car (I didn't think I'd have to worry about anyone else - who knew), I have the 2-story living room (though it's my family room area; my LR couch is too big), I have the blue granite counters, spiced maple cabinets with 1-glass pane. Ceramic tile in the kitchen and main floor bathroom. Double-sink vanity and jacuzzi in the master. I love this place. And I'm slowly cleaning up my clutter.
My clutter is crazy but it comforts me. It's a direct reflection of my state of mind: if I don't have something to manage, some form of chaos, then I'm uncomfortable. Though I cringe to see pack rats. I have to work to keep my place decent, but I'm not like the Zodiac writer.
Bought an orchid yesterday (my favorite). This one is a blend (like me -- I'm such a dweeb) -- a cream color with striated purple. It sits next to my Chinese soldier and wise man (my only nod to being Asian).
Asian culture makes me nuts. I'm not sure there's any other ethnicity filled with such self-hatred. Reading about the operations that some Asian women underwent made me want to puke: getting their eyes widened -- it's sick. My mom and aunt's insistence that I look like Nicolette Sheridan -- wtf? Ugh, no. I would like to pass some sense of heritage down to G and baby W, but what do I tell them? G does look more Filipino than I do (his eyes). And there's always the wonderful issue that if you mention the Philippines to a military guy, chances are his immediate experience is with cheap prostitutes that you could buy for less than a dollar. Yeah, I need to work out the bitterness issue, but facts are facts.
Spike Lee will always be my hero. I am a little disappointed that he backpededaled a little bit from his comments about interracial couples (and I know A would yell at me), but I really get irritated by interracial couples that pretend that race doesn't matter. It matters all the time!
After being stalked by people insisting that I tell them, 'where I'm from' I really fault my parents for not having the foresight to talk to me about race. Any disagreement that I have with my mom has racial overtones and we've already agreed that I would've had my tongue cut out if I were in the Phillipines for my disrespect (long live America). Dominican Republic, that felt like home because everyone's blended. But I was eager to leave within a week after seeing how chauvinistic it is.
It's a fight, to be whole, to be happy. My friend Patrice and I used to fight about race all the time. She started dating drug dealers because it was too hard to find a good black man. I know her parents would have died, with her mom being a judge and her dad being an LTC. Hopefully, she's had better success. She used to tell me that she was black first. But I don't have that identity. West Coast Filipinos would disavow me, they hate white people so much. And I have little stomach to defend myself or my mom's decisions.
So I'm just me, a little jumble. But I've made it this far, no sense stopping now.
I love my place though. Even though it's only a 1-car (I didn't think I'd have to worry about anyone else - who knew), I have the 2-story living room (though it's my family room area; my LR couch is too big), I have the blue granite counters, spiced maple cabinets with 1-glass pane. Ceramic tile in the kitchen and main floor bathroom. Double-sink vanity and jacuzzi in the master. I love this place. And I'm slowly cleaning up my clutter.
My clutter is crazy but it comforts me. It's a direct reflection of my state of mind: if I don't have something to manage, some form of chaos, then I'm uncomfortable. Though I cringe to see pack rats. I have to work to keep my place decent, but I'm not like the Zodiac writer.
Bought an orchid yesterday (my favorite). This one is a blend (like me -- I'm such a dweeb) -- a cream color with striated purple. It sits next to my Chinese soldier and wise man (my only nod to being Asian).
Asian culture makes me nuts. I'm not sure there's any other ethnicity filled with such self-hatred. Reading about the operations that some Asian women underwent made me want to puke: getting their eyes widened -- it's sick. My mom and aunt's insistence that I look like Nicolette Sheridan -- wtf? Ugh, no. I would like to pass some sense of heritage down to G and baby W, but what do I tell them? G does look more Filipino than I do (his eyes). And there's always the wonderful issue that if you mention the Philippines to a military guy, chances are his immediate experience is with cheap prostitutes that you could buy for less than a dollar. Yeah, I need to work out the bitterness issue, but facts are facts.
Spike Lee will always be my hero. I am a little disappointed that he backpededaled a little bit from his comments about interracial couples (and I know A would yell at me), but I really get irritated by interracial couples that pretend that race doesn't matter. It matters all the time!
After being stalked by people insisting that I tell them, 'where I'm from' I really fault my parents for not having the foresight to talk to me about race. Any disagreement that I have with my mom has racial overtones and we've already agreed that I would've had my tongue cut out if I were in the Phillipines for my disrespect (long live America). Dominican Republic, that felt like home because everyone's blended. But I was eager to leave within a week after seeing how chauvinistic it is.
It's a fight, to be whole, to be happy. My friend Patrice and I used to fight about race all the time. She started dating drug dealers because it was too hard to find a good black man. I know her parents would have died, with her mom being a judge and her dad being an LTC. Hopefully, she's had better success. She used to tell me that she was black first. But I don't have that identity. West Coast Filipinos would disavow me, they hate white people so much. And I have little stomach to defend myself or my mom's decisions.
So I'm just me, a little jumble. But I've made it this far, no sense stopping now.
posted by Michelle at 7:23 AM
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