Monday, July 19, 2010

Karaoke, Lumpia.. Kumbaya!!

The Colonel sent me an email today in response to my latest blog post. I was fighting tears when I read the email. Sometimes, I feel very alienated because it seems like I'm going through growth and transformation at precocious speeds. I look around and no one else seems to be going through the same introspective experience. Some of the things that matter to me, I find don't matter to other people. The things I ponder on like consciousness and true unconditional love seem absent in what people think about before they fall asleep. It is a personal journey, and one that is proving to be hecka lonely and I agree with The Colonel, pretty humiliating sometimes. So it is refreshing to have an exchange with someone who has gone through similar experiences. It makes the path a little less lonely and times like these, company is definitely welcome.

When I started writing my blog, I never really expected people to read it. But since I've published it, I've had random people tell me how they appreciate reading about how I skate, sometimes, limp my way through life. But I never expected the encouragement that The Colonel has been showering me with! I am very grateful.

The last couple of weeks, I’ve been spending time alone and have not had any “distracting male company”. I think this could be the longest stretch of time I have gone without such distractions since The Breakup. My resolve is not the strongest sometimes so where my own will has failed, I have prayed for the Powers That Be to intervene. Now that it is here, some cathartic things are cropping up. They are going to be difficult to face, but it is something I know I have to do.

While I think I have done a pretty good job of recovering from The Breakup since it's been a year after all, I still have a lot of work to do. The guilt still eats me alive, and maybe that is a healthy thing to feel. So I allow it to come. I just keep on praying that one day, I get to forgive myself. Forgive myself from what exactly, I don’t even know what yet.

I have a rose bush in the front yard that is 90% dead. A neighbor told me that

I need to cut off the dead branches for the new ones to grow. After I got home from work today, I finally confronted this task I have been avoiding. As I cut the old, dead parts away, I thought how life sometimes works the same way. Sometimes, to live, we must die first.

Now more than ever, I am very fortunate to be surrounded by people like The Colonel and the Italian both - people who do a lot of work on themselves and people who recognize that it is an unending process only possible with God’s grace. They are inspiring people who bring God-ness alive here today, in real life. People who are Yogis in their own right and who are living spiritual, contemplative lives without having to enter the convent/priesthood, without having to leave their professional careers. The interesting thing is there are too many parallelisms between the two to ignore. They are both engineers, both Catholics, and both were addicts at some point. Both are completely sober now and share a passion for fast motorcycles. Funny thing is, they have never met. It will be interesting to bring these two people in a room. Will it instantly feel like they are looking at a mirror when they first meet?

And speaking of gratitude for people who become part of the patchwork of our lives, the most intimate people in my life (sans The Colonel and The Italian who are both out of the country, and a couple of Yogis) gathered for an early

birthday lunch filled with laughter and sunshine on Saturday. It was the first time I have brought these people together and it’s amazing to just sit back and watch how everyone’s heart open up to the person they have just met. There were so many little conversations, I could not keep track of a single one. People were talking about meditation and Artown and religion and history and tiramisu and culture and salsa dancing and Filipinos, before the craziness of karaoke started. There was so much genuineness around, it still warms my heart when I think about it. The Indian made jokes about himself and before leaving tells me he is glad he finally met my Mother. My Mother tells me she sees so much goodness in The Cheerleader. The Cheerleader tells me she really likes the girl who Almost-

Became-a-Nun. The Australian calls me today and said the same thing, except that she mentions the guy who Almost-Became-a-Priest as well. My Indian Sister ran into The-Neighbor-who-Mows-My-Lawn who she knew from college. The following afternoon, after partying until 3AM, the Cousin and I curled up on the couch to get (re) initiated into the genius that is Moonlighting (Oh, David Addison, you make me swoon).

And it cannot go without mention how my heart still swells yet with more gratitude for my Mother, a great, giving woman, who went to such great lengths to prepare such a fabulous meal for all the guests. She slaved in the kitchen and made everyone feel like they were her own family.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is unconditional love.



P.S. It’s been unbearably hot lately, I know, but today I saw a postman in the 89431 (old/downtown Sparks) walking under the scorching afternoon sun just so you can get your bills, Netflix movie, magazine subscription and other snail mail in your mailbox. Such unsung heroes, these people who keep our postal system running as it should. Next time you are on the verge of complaining how hot it is, it wouldn’t hurt to stifle it and imagine walking a mile in the mailman’s shoes.

P.P.S. The lavender that I planted in the ground a week ago is doing well! There is hope for me after all. I have not killed the rosemarys yet, but the last two lavenders that went in the ground are in a coma right now. I hope they make it. I am secretly hoping that for my birthday, someone will get me this type of evergreen tree I was enamored by (still researching what species it is) at a recent hike, but instead I got a cyclamen, and I’m happy! She even came with an aquaglobe!

P.P.P.S. On Sunday, my Cousin let me drive her Jaguar. Funny how it does not feel any different than driving any other car. So I come to a conclusion that a car is a car is a car. (Of course, I have not yet driven a convertible stick Porsche). I have the same philosophy about people. People are people are people. I know I just labeled a bunch of people in this post, but I felt compelled to do so to protect the anonymity of the innocent. :)

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