My Will and My Grace

(8 months, 15 days)

I’m sorry I am a bit late with posting an entry this week.
I’ve been a bit swamped with life’s stories, and I was trying my best to be Miss Grace Under Pressure.
This seemed to be the week’s theme. Being graceful in both good and bad situations. Much like the 2010 Winter Olympics, where a gold winner like Lysacek is full of modest grace, while Plushenko whines to everyone who will listen about his "quadruple's" lost. Only we common folk don’t get gold, silver or even bronze.

In my life this translates to taking a deep breath while trying not to hang up on my mother.
Or trying not to yawn and appear interested at what some hack might poorly suggest to me at a work meeting. The thing is, I have been struggling with this gracefulness for awhile now. I think I am pretty good with the humility portion, even being self-deprecating to a fault. But when it comes to keeping my cool, I find it hard to stay calm. Instead, I get red with fury and my forehead wrinkles. The most grace I practice is the restrain I summon, in not jumping across the table and slapping someone.

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Yes, I am pretty bad at being grace under fire most times. So let me try getting a handle of this. Which really means being able to handle my emotions.

It’s no wonder really that I could also be a messy eater. While others look divine while they enjoy a meal, I swallow each bite full whole. I think it’s 12 years of working in advertising, being trained to have one hand on a forkful of salad, another on the computer trying to re-comp an ad that was just revised by a client and now account people are breathing down my neck. Aside for the obvious metaphor of not living in the moment, it’s also really bad for my health and weight, according to some French ladies who eat chocolate and stay thin–––and I know one of my good friends, Yao would agree (I am at dessert already, getting my bill and she's just on her third bite of her appetizer).

I wish to chew each bite full for a few minutes, while savoring that moment and sitting with such great posture, I look very poised while I’m at it (ok, I’ll settle for no crumbs on my chest and no hunching over a bowl of spaghetti).

(By the way, I have cheated 3x on that second cup of coffee this week. I needed the caffeine to just keep me going. I know I sound like a junkie. But I promise to make good on my promise.)

I Take My Sorry Back

(8 months and 26 days)

I refuse to apologize for who I am anymore.

I have spent almost all of my life being uncomfortable almost all the time.
I remember a distinct moment a few years ago when I was still at my second job in New York. This was before I discovered the luxury of pedicure spas and all that girly stuff. It was a summer day and I was out to lunch with one of my BFF co-workers. I got into a casual conversation with two other co-workers that we passed by---one who was my old work partner, and the other one, someone who've actually in a way stolen my old work partner from me (long story. I really don't care about it anymore to elaborate). It was really like running into an ex who is now playing Happily Ever Aftter with a new lover.
As we were talking, I could see this one girl (the thief) glance down at my feet, staring at it. Now I was wearing a leather Birkenstock kind of vibed sandals at the time (trust me, it was cool then. I had a quirky look.). I know my feet were unpolished, but they were by no means scary or ugly. She looked at them in a way that conveyed a certain measure, a sizing up, judging me from my dry feet (side story: I was working 18 to 20 hour days and had no time for a proper pedicure).

I felt very little at that moment. I felt like the size of a nickel on the ground. Does that even make sense to me now? No. But back then, her eyes looked down with such snobbery that I still feel the sting when I think about it.

I swore never to put myself in that position again. I swore never to give anyone that much power over me again. Easier said that done.

Years later, I do still walk around with a bit of discomfort in my own skin. But at the rate I am going, I may never have fun if I keep this up. I mean "fully" have fun and be fully present. For when will I ever really be "perfect" enough?
So from now on I will take it easy on myself with my endless self-judgments and perusals. I will try with all my might to be proud of who I am and what I've grown up to be. I will LOVE ME. Bed head and all.
"Take it or take a hike."

A Certain Clearing

(8 months and 29 days)
I just found out that my neighbor died. She lived above me. And although in my 2 years in this building, I’ve only seen her come and go and never even seen her face. Hearing that shook me. I knew she was young (possibly my age or even younger) and looked healthy and vibrant. Details of it are unknown, although the handyman said it was during that stormy week a week or so ago. We are guessing it was an accident. All I know is that last weekend shuffling can be heard above me like they were moving stuff and emptying her place. I am still in shock. I wish I had said hello to her even once. Or at least made a stronger effort. I wish I had walked around with an openness about me that invited her conversation.

We just never know do we? We think we have all this time to waste on silly, unimportant-to-the-grand-scheme-of-things preoccupations, and then poof! Mad random thoughts came to my mind: What if time was up?

Am I to leave my family clearing my artful, yet dusty apartment?

Am I to be caught with bad underpants, and a savings that’s hardly there?

Will my friends have to wash my dishes from my messy sink, and rummage through an even messier filing system?

Will people “get” who I am by looking at my stuff? Will they accept me or be mortified?

I don’t want to live in fear of dying only because I am not the neatest person in the world. Or because I don't want to leave a less than perfect life to my loved ones. But I do know that I want to leave a legacy beyond the mess that I have. Whatever that legacy might be.

For now perhaps, I should start by tossing away my holey underwear and socks.

(Farewell, dear neighbor. I am sorry for not having been a better neighbor to you. I pray for your soul's peace. And for your family's comfort.)

Hello My Name Is Vanessa...

And I have been an addict for 17 years. A coffee addict.
“Naku, you are an adik”, my mom would badger me with a very thick Filipino accent.

For awhile now I knew I had to lessen my intake sooner than later because of genetic high blood pressure.
This depresses me so much because I looove my coffee. In fact I drink it for the yumminess and not so much for the perkiness.

See one day last week I woke up and realized that not only was it bad for my blood pressure, it was also bad for my skin. I have developed “dermatitis” in the past 2 years. Apparently, aside from gray hairs and this impending high blood pressure, my skin also has to start falling apart. And believe me, “dermatitis” in LA weather is hell. I walk around with blotchy red skin, looking like I was beaten up.
I saw pictures of myself from a few years ago. And cold turkey, I had to stop. I surely CANNOT sacrifice my skin for any cup of Joe, no matter how great-tasting.

So from now on I will only drink one mug in the morning and the rest will be green tea. I will be walking around in a bad mood, but I will have great skin. I will be the bitchy neighbor with great skin. Talk about vanity winning over again.

Mind you, I also just upgraded my sunscreen to SPF 45. My mom will be proud.