A lot of people, including me, learned a new term after the Presidential Debate last week. For those of you that didn’t watch, the term “Sane Washing” was used to describe what happens when a certain someone — whose name I will not say — does or says something outrageous enough so many times that this behavior is deemed “normalized” or statements are seen as “fact” in society.
Take, for instance, the Holocaust. Today, there are many people that are in denial that the Holocaust even happened. Then why do some of the camps still exist as a living testament to what had occurred? Why are there women & men with numbers tattooed on their arms? What about all the memoirs written? All the stories of displaced and lost family members? Just because you weren’t there to witness it, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. You weren’t there during the Revolutionary War, were you?
But I digress.
Last week I posted something that was meant for fun on my dog’s Instagram Page. Yes, Kirby Krackel has his own celebrity page and personality and it has always been meant for fun, but sometimes “he” has stated some of his liberal views on his page. I had never received any complaints about it before until now. I’ll give you a second to read the comments and my reply to it.
Don’t believe the lies. Our pawrents RESCUED us and gave us a loving home. Our Grandpaws & Grandmaws are immigrants and they ADORE and SPOIL us. Why would ANYONE think that ALL immigrants are dirty & disgusting and resort to eating animals?
We hope that the next US Pawsident is just that: Pawsitive. We’re exhausted by all the doom & gloom we keep hearing. We want to hear GREAT things of the FUTURE of AMERICA … rather than just making it great again.
My intent was to leave the comment up there for others to read. What you don’t see is the immature, response he left following my reply which resulted in me hiding the comment. I ended up going one step further and blocked & reported the account for bullying as I had clearly stated that Kirby’s account was strictly for fun. Especially since I had the Freedom to do so.
I wanted to show this to the world to give an example of what Sane Washing can do. Regardless if this person had seen videos of this (I bet he could actually prove videos of Haitian immigrants in the US doing this), this person is spreading unconfirmed lies and “normalizing” what he/she heard from a person that was immediately told on national TV that the Springfield OH officials confirmed that there were no reports of animals being harmed.
I could go on and on about the homeless and illegal “dirty immigrants” part. About how Italians and Irish were also deemed as “dirty immigrants” when first coming to the US. Or how Asian Americans were brought over to *just* help build the Transcontinental Railroad or farm their lands for cheap labor but still be referred to as “dirty.” Or how African Americans were brought over illegally strictly for slavery.
Or even how the “illegal immigrant” Europeans brought smallpox to the “New World” which killed countless Native Americans and new settlements (-ie- immigrants) in the 13 original colonies. The point being is that all of our ancestors1 that came to live in the US were “dirty immigrants” (except for Native Americans) at one time or another.
Please know, that although I do lean left, I’m not saying that EVERYTHING that is said has been sane washed. I’m just asking that — before you cast judgement — make sure you get your facts right.
And because I refuse to give any more of my time or space to someone I don’t believe deserves more attention that he seeks for, I think this may be the last time I’ll speak of him until after November 5th.
Which could be as close as your parents or grandparents ↩︎
That’s a silly term, don’t you think? The English language being the English language never fails to confuse even the those who use English as their primary language. Obviously, an “anchor” is something that is used to keep an object in place. And “aweigh” is derived from the Dutch word “wegan,” which translates as “to weigh.” Put the two words together and you think it would mean to weigh a person down. But nope. It’s an English nautical term that basically means, “Lift up that dead weight and let’s get movin’!”
Except that’s not exactly what I’m doing these days. In fact, I’m doing the literal (or maybe not so literal?) opposite.
Batten Down The Hatches!
I can’t explain my roller coaster moods lately. For the most part, I feel like I’m doing fantastic. Things are looking good on the horizon. Work is improving (getting off the graveyard shift soon — woohoo!). I’m working on my health; trying to get my body working properly. I’m overall happy where I am in life
I admit, moving into the 5th decade of life for me was difficult. It wasn’t just the thought of being old. It was the physical aspect of being old. Like, when did it get so hard to get off the floor after bending down to pick up a paperclip? Or how come my knees crack after crossing my legs for so long?
I could have gone down the rabbit hole about other “getting old” worries such as, “I’ll need hip surgery,” or “I hope I have good health insurance,” or “What about my retirement fund?”
But I didn’t. I figured, I can only deal with the here and now. And the here and now consisted of Hubby & me and our small postage-stamp house on a postage-stamp yard with our two adorable dogs. Apparently we are what they call DINKWADs — “Dual Income No Kids With A Dog” (or in our case, two).1
And then this past weekend, I stumbled onto an Instagram post that said:
Being overly independent is a defense mechanism from being constantly let down.
For some reason, that quote struck me hard. Being the couple we are, I shared the post with Hubby in the next room and texted that I had just realized that this was the reason I felt I had to take on (in this case) planning my mom’s 80th birthday2 party on my own because I didn’t want to feel let down NOR did I want HIM to feel let down with me.
At face value, I pretty much took it on myself to believe that it was because I always felt I could never measure up to what I felt my parents thought I could be. That I always felt I let them down. I mean … I *am* Filipino. And I *am* Catholic, aren’t I?
Thar She Blows!
But then I brought this up to someone else. Someone I felt I could talk to without fear or judgement. Someone that had no vested interest with my circle of family / peers. Someone who is my therapist. And she brought up something else.
She said, “Yeah! And don’t you think that you are that way because of constantly being let down from going through infertility treatments?”
BOOM
Just like that, I’m back to feeling like I’m 28 years old again and frustrated that I can’t get pregnant. Then in my head, 25 years goes by in a flash along with all the frustration, sadness, anger, and heartbreak. It feels like every single tear I shed in that moment was a memory I kept from those years.
It’s as I’m mourning my loss once again. This time it’s piece by piece. Bit by bit. Not just just the fact I could get pregnant, but the other losses too. The years I lost is being so focused on everything fertility-related. The stress and lack-of-control I had during that time period. Oh gosh, the time and money spent trying to get pregnant.
Then there’s the loss of all the milestones or “firsts.” First smile, step, word. First day of school (for every year until they graduate). First job, first car, first house. Graduation Day. Wedding Day. Grandchildren.
There was just so much loss.
However, there is one loss I feel greater than the others, especially now that I’m growing older in age. You’d think it would be the one about aging without having physical support around when it’s need. Yes, that is a concern; but for now, Hubby and I maintain that we plan to go down together with the Titanic.
Walking The Plank
No … The loss I feel most at my age now is friendship. Which was something my therapist and I talked about a lot during that last session.
I have always said to people that I am an introvert. Yes, I smile and talk a lot. Yes I can be bubbly and animated in public. Yes I’m good at public speaking. But once the mic is turned off and the lights go down, I am most comfortable in the corner at the back of the room. If given a choice to go out for a night around town on vacation or sit on the beach and watch the moon rise, I’d choose the latter.
With that in mind, it’s always been hard for me as an adult to make new friends. The friends I keep now are few and we often don’t see each other. But when we do, it’s like nothing has changed. We know each others’ nuances and are comfortable with each other. THOSE friends are once in a lifetime friends.
Hornswaggled & Marooned
In my 30’s & 40’s, I kinda chalked my lack of new friends to my introvertedness. And I also knew it was because most of them were now married with kids, leaving them little time or energy to hang out at night with someone without. PLUS, who would want to be friends with someone who needed a friend to vent about her inability to get pregnant while she either wants to vent about or praise the virtues of motherhood? I would be a horribly disappointing friend, wouldn’t I?
That would be the self-deprecating defense mechanism talking, as my therapist rightly pointed out. Truth is, I lost many high school and college friends around that period of time. Not due to any ill-fated reason, of course. It was simply because our lives took different paths. We simply lost touch with one another or became Facebook Friends where I could see their kids grow up before my own eyes. Our lives just didn’t seem to mesh with our lifestyles.
I always thought that it would be easier to make friendships at my age because there would be the potential for more empty nesters. Except, most people around my age had children later in life. Plus conversation would eventually turn to kids and grandkids — which, for the record, I have NO problem talking about 3 — and for most new acquaintances, it still seems like an awkward talking point to them when I tell them that we tried to have kids but it wasn’t meant to be.
At this point, my therapist asked if I had ever looked to see if their were any online support groups for those who were child-free and were feeling the same losses I was. And that’s when I had to chuckle.
Shiver Me Timbers
You see, 20+ years ago when I started searching for any type of support for women going through infertility, I wasn’t able to find anything. Keep in mind, there wasn’t any websites like Resolve at the time. Reddit was not even born yet. Facebook was still a baby. It was difficult to find anything. Any resources I found were from doctors offices.
I admittedly tried going to a live support group meeting, but the introvert in me was so embarrassed about crying in front of strangers, so I just never went back.4 So I just googled. And I stumbled on Mel’s website. And I found blogs and started to read. And in March of 2007, Apron Strings for Emily was born.
Over the past week, I have once again googled to see what kind of support is out there for me. I am happy to report there are many resources available depending on what I might be interested. Introverted as I am, I’ll likely try an online support group.
I am 100% grateful for this space. It has allowed me a place to bear my soul for the world to see. While many people in real life (IRL) know about this little corner of my world, I like to think this is my safe space where I can just be me.
Sometimes I forget I still have this space to do this. Sometimes I feel exhausted and lack the energy to write down all the crappy emotions I have in swirling in this head of mine. But I know I have to find a way to manage all get these negative, self-deprecating thoughts out of my head. And while I may not feel that I have the support of those who could completely understand the same fears and losses I have gone through (YET, working on that support group research), at least I have this space to talk about it. And not have to worry about letting anyone else — even myself — down.
Only the BEST 80’s childhood movie EVER
What do the Millenials say? I was THIS many years old when I found this out (too old, I guess). ↩︎
Today is my birthday, so I’ve made yet another complete revolution around the sun. It’s funny how the older you get, the less important a birthday is to a person. Unless it’s a particular milestone, whether it be a certain age or a goal to beat. As of now, I’m just trying to make it to retirement age!
I think it was back in 2017 or 2018 when I was still working at The Mothership, my wonderful office family gave me this *perfect* birthday card, knowing how much I would appreciate it. After all, we came into the office the morning after Election Day 2016 just stunned in disbelief, some of us not even knowing what to say. That silence didn’t last very long, and in our closed-door office (which was never *really* closed, and only closed for HIPPA purposes) many discussions and well-mannered debates occurred among any healthcare professional that walked into the room. As you can see, this is the lovely card … and it hung on my desk (with those same magnetic bubble clouds — sorry, Mom!) until I left. Ironically, it’s still hanging on my refrigerator door at home.
So here’s the thing. Anyone that has known me since High School, much to my conservative parents dismay, knows I lean left. Which I find almost humorous, being a First Gen Asian-American, Filipino-Am Gen-X Catholic School Girl.
Going to 12 years of Catholic School, especially post-Vatican 21 brought me up to be open to new experiences, to learn from others and to be gracious and giving. Growing up as a Gen-Ex child taught me self-reliance and independence. It also taught me that working alongside others we can achieve a common goal.
For the past 10 years, maybe even more if I’m being honest, I’ve been watching how the balance of power in our democracy shifting. When I read about the Supreme Court Decision regarding Presidential Immunity, my heart sank. Much like it did back on Election Day 2016. Probably even worse, since now we’re talking about rewriting American Democracy.
The way I hear people talk about the downfall of American Democracy, I wonder if people understand what this means. I don’t know if anyone has the same vision in their heads as I do, or have the same imagery I have ingrained my head. It’s the way I was taught back in grade school and it has stuck with me all these years.
Over the years I’ve asked other friends if they’ve been taught how American Democracy worked in this manner, but it appears no one has. Given the events happening to American Democracy today, I figured I’d share it with you today . And I’d love to know if you’ve been taught about American Democracy the same way. Anyway, here goes:
In the first picture below, you’ll see a brown stool with three legs. Each leg is equal in size and length; and they are balancing the seat perfectly even so that when a person sits on it, they won’t feel it wobble (unlike some tables a restaurants!). It serves as a team to create a functioning product
Now imagine if one leg starts to add burden to the other two legs, what happen? The other legs start to feel the pressure and start to shorten and then the seat will start to wobble, right?
Now the other legs have choices. They can either follow the first leg and further upset the balance of seat, or continue to take the burden and still have the same outcome.
I’ve labeled the legs on the pictures just for imagery, but this is how I perceive the way things are going. The second picture of the three-legged throne? Well that’s how I see it if things continue the way they are.
Maybe this was helpful to others, maybe it wasn’t, but I figured I’d put this out there hoping that this will help safeguard American Democracy before we potentially have Another Revolution.
Though sometimes my Filipino parents were still on the traditional Vatican I values.↩︎
If I haven’t said this enough … I cannot speak or understand Tagalog. Though there are obvious words that every Fil-Am kid knows; malamig (cold), masarap (delicious), mabaho (stinky), tubig (water), kumustaka (how are you?), bakit (why?). Some phrases just get picked-up in conversation; like nagtatrabaho ka ba (are you working tonight?) or pupunta tayo sa misa (we’re going to mass).
I may not understand it word for word, but I do get the context of what they are talking about, especially when they speak in Tag-lish. 1 That said, I love being around and listening to my family and friends when they speak Tagalog. It’s a comfort to me. It reminds me that I’m surrounded by loved ones, even if I don’t fully understand what they are saying.
It’s funny. Even though I don’t speak the language, apparently, I’ve picked up some habits from listening to Tagalog and Taglish my entire life. Truth be told, I hadn’t even noticed it until a couple years into working full time after getting my RN license. And I didn’t even know WHY. In fact, when growing up it was something that many of us kids used to make fun of our parents, and Titas & Titos. 2
It was the use of pronouns. You know (say it with pride, SVF 3rd Grade Sr Barbara students!), Me – You – He – She – It – They – Them. Emphasis on the SHE and the IT … and said rapidly, as one word. 3
Difficulty with pronouns occur with most of my family & family friends that grew up speaking Tagalog as their primary language. They often get their He/She or Him/Her confused. Many times they resort to saying They/Them, or just referring to a person simply as one run-on word “He-She.” In return, I find myself doing the same thing. Getting my pronouns mixed up. Which seems awfully strange, but I’ve been it’s not unusual that this happens if you are brought up in a two-language household. It had been no big deal for the most part … until it wasn’t.
When I first started working full time, my co-workers found my mix-up of pronouns endearing. After the gazillionth time it became annoying. It became embarrassing to me whenever it happened, especially while talking with a patient or physician. “He-She” became a staple word in my vocabulary. It was that or, “He – <pause & blink> I mean, She” (or vice versa) every time I used a pronoun. There were times where patients or family members would look at me as if I couldn’t tell the difference between a cat and a dog. And believe me, there were many times I was told to “get glasses” or asked if I was blind and “can’t you see I’m obviously a <insert gender>.”
Getting to Sesame Street
The last time I was in the Philippines was in 2014. Before that was when I was 9 years old. I have lots of fond memories from that trip in the ‘80’s and to this day, my cousins tease me about the time I lost my balance and fell into the sewer. “Mabaho ka na!” (You stink!)
Going back as an adult, I was more aware of my surroundings and tried my best to be present with any interaction I had with everyone. To be honest, I did that for three reasons. Number 1): I didn’t want to get lost, since I didn’t know my way around. Number 2): I didn’t speak or understand fluent Taglish. And Number 3): I didn’t want to get kidnapped. I’m only half-kidding about that last one, but that’s what every Fil-Am kid who doesn’t speak Tagalog is told when they go to Manila.
Believe me, any Filipino in the Philippines can spot a Fil-Am kid right on the spot. We may physically look the same, but we stand out in the crowd by our clothes, the volume of our voice, even the tone of our skin (the darker you are, the more American you are). So yes, when I’m approached at a store at one of the gazillion super malls in Manila or am seated at a restaurant and are asked what I’d like to order … they know to speak English to me. 4 And this is what I’m always greeted with:
“Good morning (or afternoon), Ma’am, Sir”
Recent purchases from C2E2 which is the Midwest’s version of San Diego’s Comicon
Have you ever called a Customer Service line for any major business and *actually* got to speak with a live person on the phone? Did the person happen to address you as “Ma’am, Sir” at any point during the conversation? Chances are you have a Customer Service Rep answering your call from the Philippines. So please be patient with them. 5
Let me tell you the reason why Filipinos get their pronouns mixed up. It’s not that we don’t know the difference. (Like I mentioned above, I’ve gotten that line more times than you think.) Or that we’re fumbling to determine your gender identity. It’s because Tagalog is a Gender-Neutral language.
A Gender-Neutral language is one that avoids references towards a particular sex or gender. For example, gender-neutral words in English would be “Postal Worker” or “Flight Attendant,” whereas gender-specific counterparts are “Mailman” or “Stewardess.” In Tagalog, when referencing a person, the word “siya” is used for both “he” and “she” as well as “it.”
That’s not to say that Tagalog doesn’t have any gender specific words, especially after over 3 centuries of Spanish influence. Those gender specific pronouns, just like Spanish, can be identified by their suffix: -o (Tito, Lolo, Pinoy) for masculine; -a (Tita, Lola, Pinay) for feminine. There are other gender differentiating pairs such as Ate (pronounced ah-teh) and Kuya for eldest sister/brother that are influences from China. But for the most part, when referring to a person there *is* no male or female counterpart.
Gender Fender Bender
Today, using the correct pronouns is important more than ever. Addressing a person in the way they wish to be addressed is paramount and should have NOTHING to do with gender identity in the first place.
I think back to BEFORE using the correct pronouns were, well – more pronounced. And how I would constantly get the “evil eye” from family members or be told by other health care professionals that I “needed to get my pronouns straight.” I remember how offended people would get when I goofed up simply because the language my culture speaks doesn’t have a specific pronoun for gender. And how I constantly make an effort to pause before using pronouns because of this.
And then I wonder HOW HARD it is for people to make the effort to do the same today.
Lame, I know, but us Catholic school kids had to find a way to swear back then!↩︎
Most Filipinos are bilingual as, during the 50 years of US occupation of the Philippine Islands, many elementary schools taught in English and required students to only speak English during class ↩︎
Not only because it’s not their fault that you’ve been on hold for so long, but it’s just outright rude.↩︎
Can you believe it’s already June? As a kid, I remember loving this month. It always signaled the end of school and the beginning of summer vacation. The never-ending days of bike rides to swim classes twice a week and to the library on other days. To staying out late with friends until the streetlights went on and you knew it was time to come back home. And for many Gen X-ers, it entailed eating a lot of cereal or Eggos for breakfast and figuring out how to make mac & cheese or hot dogs or pizza bagels for lunch.
But we survived our middle school, early 80’s years. And we thrived. Without video games (until Atari was readily available for us) or cable (until MTV was in every household). And God knows there was nothing close to internet social media at that time … unless you had a pen pal from another state or country.
One Man Come In the Name of Love
Maybe I was just a naïve 10–12-year-old Filipino American Catholic school girl (there was no such thing as “pre-teen” back in my day), but I feel like everything was just so innocent back then. Sure, there was crime (McGruff the Crime Dog anyone?) and kidnapping (“It’s 10pm, do you know where your children are?”), but it doesn’t seem as pronounced as it is today. It could be from the 24-hour news cycle. Or the internet. Or social media. But geez, I feel that if I was at that age today, I’d be overwhelmed with too much stimuli.
So yeah. It’s JUNE. And what does the month of June mean today, in modern times. Pride Month … or as I’ve seen multiple people post on FB: The most uncomfortable month of the year for homophobes.
Do you know why June was chosen as the nationally recognized month? It’s in reference to the Stonewall Riots that started in the early hours on June 28, 1969. The Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village NYC was a popular restaurant and bar for gay men and those on the fringe in the late 60’s. In that early morning in June, a series of spontaneous and violent protests against the NYC police who raided the Stonewall Inn erupted. This was not the first uprising among the homosexual community and the NYC police in the past, though this one lasted for several days.
One Man He Resist
Today the Stonewall Inn has been named at as the defining moment of the Gay Rights Movement in the US and around the world.In 1999, Clinton initially declared June as Gay & Lesbian Pride Month. Twelve years later in 2011, Obama amended Pride Month to include the whole LGBTQ+ community.
On June 24, 2016, Obama also designated Stonewall Inn, Christopher Park, and the surrounding streets as Stonewall National Monument, making it the first US National Monument dedicated to LGBTQ+ rights.
And so now is the time I start to reflect on why this month is special to me …
We try to get down to Ferndale, MI during the first weekend of June every year for Ferndale Pride, Michigan’s Largest Pride Festival. Unfortunately this year I had to work, so excuse Kira for being in “fake” Pride gear
One Boy (Girl?) Washed Up On An Empty Beach
It’s amazing how far along this naïve Fil-Am Catholic school girl has come along from her sheltered life since those middle school and high school days. Especially when it comes to diversity in the rainbow sense of the word. I mean, I knew what “bakla” meant (feminine male, gay in Tagalog), but to talk about sexual preference was always (still is for many first gen Fil-Am kids with their parents) a taboo subject. (More on this in a separate post.) There was no such talk about “coming out of the closet.” It wasn’t until living up at Oakland University that I became more comfortable talking about sexual orientation and identity. I mean, that’s what college is for, right? Expanding your horizons and learning more about life?
One of my best friends from Nursing School came out to me a year after we graduated. When he did, I was incredibly happy for him, but I was not at all surprised. I had a strong suspicion he was gay, but I figured he’d tell me when he was ready. In fact, I think he was more surprised at my reaction than I was with his announcement. I remember telling him that I had a feeling all along, but really thought nothing of it, which was the honest-to-God truth.
One Boy (Not) Betrayed By A Kiss
To me it had nothing to do with what his sexual orientation was, but rather what his character was like. And he was that kind, funny, neurotic, immensely smart and sharp-witted type of guy that was THE best type of friend and “war buddy” you’d want to survive Nursing school. This is the type of lab / study partner that went deep in the trenches of clinicals, care plans and bedpans. He went headfirst alongside you and picked you up or dragged you when you needed it … and you would do the same when he needed the swift kick in the butt. He’s also the same guy that would drive in a blizzard to pick me up for clinicals only to find out that our university had called a “Snow Day” for the first time in decades. And the same guy who would NEVER ask questions when my roommate and I asked him to drive us somewhere in his VW Golf. He’s also the same guy who I’d drop anything I was doing if he needed my help. Even if it has been 20+ years since we’ve seen each other.
In The Name Of Love
Being in Nursing, I’ve had the privilege of working, meeting, and caring for people from all walks of life: of all different ethnic / social / economic backgrounds, of any gender identity or sexual preference, whether someone is homeless or an immigrant or even both. The point here being is that none of this matter when it comes down to the individual. In Health Care, that makes sense – it’s a whole team of people working TOWARDS a person’s health goal, whether it’s to improve, to maintain, or even to accept.
Except, why doesn’t everyone’s individuality matter when it comes to things even more important than health? Let’s say … like marriage, housing, religion, or any type of services otherwise provided to cisgender heterosexual people? What if these same issues were happening to your loved one; your child, for instance? Would your religion – or rather your FEAR – keep you from being present for them?
Would YOUR pride stand in the way of accepting YOUR loved one just the way they are?
THAT is the point of Pride Month. It is NOT – and I say this because I hear this EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR. – meant to throw one’s “gayness” or “queerness” into the rest of the world’s face. It’s to celebrate the fact that every person, regardless of gender identity or sexual orientation is allowed to freely express their individuality with PRIDE.
What More In The Name of Love?
We had nosebleed seats, but was able to catch U2 during the The Joshua Tree 20th Anniversary Tour
