Show and Tell: Doin' De-butt

showandtellI actually posted this on Saturday. And really, since I’ve been out of town, I didn’t have a chance to post a Show and Tell this Sunday. So instead, I’m updating this post to make it this Sunday’s Show and Tell.

Presenting … my youngest cousin’s cotillion. Or what we call, a “Debut.” In my case … it’s de-butt! 🙂

And make sure that you peruse the other Show and Tell posts this week!

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Whew. This was a busy week.

Monday was spent catching up on the events that happened over the weekend. No … not the “social” aspect of last weekend (although I might blog about that another day). Working as an RN in the health care industry, the work never stops. Even when working for an insurance company. So as the phone calls and faxes came furiously all day Monday, there was little to no time to rest. And given that our company was closed for Election Day … well, I wanted to get everything from the weekend done by the end of Monday, so that Wednesday, I could work on everything that came in from Monday and Tuesday. So basically, my work week was spent trying to catch up from the previous couple of days. I. Hate. Work Weeks. Like That.

Yep. Me at 18. At my Debutt. With a few of my Cousins.
Yep. Me at my Debut with a few of my cousins; the same year my youngest cousin was born

Tuesday, obviously Election Day. Hubby & I tried to stay up to watch the results come in, but ended up falling asleep in bed with the T.V. still on. I swear, one minute (oh, let’s say around 11:30) Obama had 207 to McCain’s 148 (or something like that …) and the next, it’s 11:55 and the news reporter on the T.V. announces that they’re waiting for the new President-Elect Obama to give his victory speech in Chicago. And then the next minute it’s 5:30 in the morning and the T.V. is off. I’m guessing that Hubby finally turned it off when finally going to bed. Or, I turned it off in my sleep haze and don’t remember doing so. Either way, I’m seriously bummed I didn’t get to hear Obama’s speech.

(Sidenote: A week prior to the results of this election, I received one of those mass emails from one of my parents’ friends about how a vote for Obama would mean a vote against G*d … or something along those lines. And since then, I’ve been getting these “replies” from people that I don’t even know either agreeing or disagreeing to that first email. Today … I got one with this article attached to it. Grr …

And here's the Cousins 18 Years Later!
And here's the Cousins 18 yrs later!

Wednesday was obviously a repeat of Monday morning. And we all know what happened on Thursday.

Now yesterday … yesterday evening was fun. It was my youngest cousin’s cotillion. In the Philippines, it’s customary to celebrate a girl’s “coming of age” by having a “Debut” party when she turns 18. (Think “My Sup.er Sw.eet Sixteen” with a two year delay.) I had a variation of one; more of a combination of a graduation / birthday party, all while wearing a fancy shmancy dress. My youngest cousin had, what I consider more of a traditional Filipino cotillion; complete with the white ballgown, the 16 or 18 person “Cotillion Court”, and the ballroom dance routine.

She Could Be Princess Jasmine!
She Could Be Princess Ja.smi.ne!

Oh, and did I mention that her party was more elaborate than my wedding?! Uh, yeah. So much that when we got the invitation in the mail … I thought that it was actually a wedding invite! Even the banquet hall was complete with a “head table” (for my cousin and her “Court”) and chair slipcovers with baby blue satin ribbons to match her “theme.”

And the cake … !!

But really, the best part of the party was, once again, being with my cousins. One came from as far as California just to celebrate with us. And the fun that ensued was beyond incredible. As tired as I was from the past work week … I wished we could have spent more time together. Perhaps one day we’ll be able to do the “girl cousins” cruise we planned that night!

(Another Sidenote: If you ever want to see a great example of a traditional Filipino cotillion … not to mention an excellent example of growing up Filipino-American, go rentThe Debut“. It’s so “on the nose” that it totally freaked even Hubby out!)

The Wedding ... I mean Cotillion Cake
The Wedding ... I mean Cotillion Cake

And today? Well, today I’m finally getting a chance to relax. Hubby & I took a trip to Chicago for an extra-long weekend getaway. A much needed getaway. We’ve been busy nonstop with various activities since Labor Day and just wanted to have a moment together without any distractions. And when we got a most excellent deal on a Downtown Chi-town hotel, well we snapped up the offer. So as I type, I’m lying in our wonderful king-size bed watching my Hubby snore next to me. Oh, and I think he’s getting sick, too.

But I’m seriously okay with that. And to tell you the truth, I almost half-expected him to get sick. After all, he has had little to no sleep over the past weeks. And this is his body’s way of telling him that taking care of himself is just as important (if not more) than any other business he has.

Besides, then I wouldn’t have time to write this post.

Crouching Dragon Lady

Well … For those of you that have read my last PWP post and commented or emailed me personally, I very much appreciate all that you’ve said. There were definitely points that were brought forward that I haven’t thought about in my angry haze, and for that I am grateful. All of your words definitely made me stop long enough to breathe in some fresh air rather than breathe out flames of anger.

I’m still trying to decide what I want to do with this blog. Don’t know if I want to continue to post on this blog, or if I want to move elsewhere. I’ve already got another blog site all set if I decide to move, but for now I think I will continue to just PWP those posts that I assume would “hurt” other people.

Which (okay … one last b*tchy statement and I swear I’m done for now … ) just still gets my goat (goad?) Because seriously, while I understand sometimes words do hurt … by having to “censor” myself … well, it just makes me feel like I shouldn’t be “allowed” to express how I truly feel. Like I have to “butter up” my words (or rather kiss a$$) just to avoid hurting someone else’s feelings. But G*d forbid that I’m not allowed to have my own feelings hurt!

Woops. I believe I just got side-tracked from what I was originally going to blog about. Now what was I saying?! (Ugh. Mind is in a haze …) Oh yeah. In one of the comments I received, there was a statement that I feel I need to clarify. Actually, there were two:

There was a comment indicating that I’ve made this particular relationship into a competition. That I “think” that my loss is “bigger” than this other person’s loss. Or that this person’s life is much “better” than my life. I’m “saying” this loud and clear … it has NOT BEEN ME that has focused on this part of our relationship. To me, I have never thought that one person has it worse or better than the other. To me A LOSS IS A LOSS … it doesn’t matter how small or large the loss is, it still hurts like h*ll. As I’ve (obviously not-so clearly) mentioned in this post, I never wanted this relationship to be a competition. All I wanted was the support.

Which leads me to the second point of clarification …

I want to clear up the statement I made about not considering Hubby & myself a “family unit.” It wasn’t that I didn’t think Hubby & I were a family. No, I was more irritated at the way the envelope addressed. Because that action was just a very passive-aggressive way to include me … and yet to not mention me by name. It was a subtle dig (whether consciously or unconsciously) to let me know that I was still on a certain person’s sh*tlist.

Yes, I know Hubby & I are a family … we’re a family of two; which is how it has always been. Especially as we have been going through this infertility journey alone. And that’s in sharp contrast to what our Filipino culture is supposed to be. As a “family” (which ultimately includes all immediate family members, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc), we’re supposed to be supporting each other, fighting for each other, holding each other up when another person in the family needs it most. And while I feel as if I’ve done my fair share (and sometimes above and beyond) of support, I just don’t think it’s ever been reciprocated, leastwise from this particular person. At least in the way that I wish it would. The way that I’ve done for others.

Truth be told, I want someone to speak up for me when I’m tired of giving explanations. I want someone to fight for me when someone says something inappropriate. Or at least diffuse a potentially uncomfortable situation. And I want someone to hold me up when I’m weak from having to do all those things mentioned above.

Tell me the truth people … if YOU held someone up at one (actually two) of their most difficult times in their lives; if YOU fought battles for people when you felt they couldn’t fight any more; if YOU put aside your own uncomfortable feelings in order to support someone that you knew needed it … wouldn’t you hope that when YOU needed the support, these same actions would be returned?

I suppose I’ll get the responses like … “Well, you can only expect to get what a person is willing to give.” Or “some people aren’t built like that.” And I can honestly say that it’s taken me over twenty years … but I’ve finally accepted those answers. I might not like it and may still b*tch about it from time to time (in a PWP post, of course) … but I accept that I shouldn’t expect anything more from this particular relationship.

With that said … I want to share an article with you that a co-worker thought I could learn from. I enjoyed reading it and … who knows? Maybe it’s lessons will come in handy in the (very near) future!

Oh, the Irony …

Day 3 of “Voiceless Emily.” I made the attempt to go to work today and promptly fell back into bed after taking a shower wiped me out. So today, I make the trip to my doctor’s office to hopefully get some “magic pills” to make me feel better.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I hate having to get antibiotics to get rid of a bug. I’d rather do it the old-fashioned way with lots of fluid and lots of rest. But this one … I don’t know, I just haven’t been able to “break” it just yet. And I’ve gotta be better by this weekend, as it’s my cousin’s wedding!

Thank you for those that responded yesterday to my post. Part of me knows that I’m just being stubborn and spiteful. And the other part of me knows that I’m doing this for self-preservation as well. Because if I continue to subject myself to “saving face” just to “keep the peace”, then I’d be back-pedaling in my progress towards happiness.

It’s just rather strange for me to be listening to that “other part of me,” because I feel as if that’s the selfish part of me. The one who only thinks about herself. The one who was told time and time again in her youth that it was bad to be thinking about my wants and my needs. My job … my duty, was always to think and care for others. (No wonder I became a nurse!) And I’m sure that lesson was reinforced over and over again by both the Filipino culture I was brought up in, as well as the twelve years of Catholic school.

And not that I mean to emphasize the point over and over again … but this is probably the biggest reason why it’s been so difficult for me to deal with my infertility. First … let’s not talk about my issues so as not to make you feel uncomfortable. Next, let’s take care of everyone else’s needs rather than take care of my own health. And finally, let’s just stifle all that unhappiness away and pretend that it doesn’t exist.

In any case, it took a long time for me to realize that I couldn’t continue to live this way. That my own body was telling me that I could no longer hold things in. Seriously, when your blood pressure continues to sky-rocket despite taking medications and you find yourself having a tremendously difficult time performing such simple tasks like taking a shower … and your mind is so muddled because you can’t even begin to determine what to “fix” first … well, then it’s time to seek some professional help.

So yes. I admit it (as it’s hard to do for most Asian-American’s), I broke down and called my former RE’s office and asked for a good therapist; one that had experience in dealing with infertility issues. And from that first meeting with her, I felt as if I struck gold. She has been that wonderful.

From our sessions, I’ve learned that one of the biggest things I needed to do was listen to my body. Which, of course, was hard for me to do … as throughout my IF journey, I’ve felt I’ve been betrayed by it month after month. But it’s those headaches that I frequently got that told me that my blood pressure was bordering at extreme highs. And it’s those days where my body refused to get out of bed that told me that I had stuffed waaay too many emotions inside that my body simply refused budge until I felt or expressed something.

And that’s why I began to blog. My outlet. My way to talk about the complex things and complex relationships I have going on in my life.

Duh, I can hear y’all saying … it’s not like I haven’t said this twenty zillion times before in previous posts.

But then part of me begins to wonder. Am I revealing too much? Am I expressing those feelings too intensely? Am I hurting others by writing exactly how I feel about the situations I’ve been in?

Is the proverbial pen mightier than the sword?

The reason I pose these questions is because I’ve been “asked” to refrain from blogging about certain people and certain situations I’m placed in, Which my gut instinct is to say, “F*ck you. This is MY blog. And you don’t have to read it, if you don’t like what I have to say.”

But then I began to think that maybe what I say in this blog may push things to the limits. That instead of making it easier for others to understand what I’m going through, I’m making them more uncomfortable. And hence making it more awkward for them to talk to me in real life (IRL). That I’m further isolating myself by “talking” about these things. (Of course, this pertains to IRL people and not you, my dear bloggy friends.)

Then there’s the Filipino-Catholic in me. The person who feels like she’s being self-centered and only thinking about herself in these situations … and not about how others might react to what I’ve said. That I’m hurting others by the words I write. And that I’m now sufficiently doomed to H*ll.

I have, in the past, PWP’d (password protected) a few blog entries, but have hated to do so, for reasons I’ve mentioned before in this post. I think it protects certain incidents and people involved in them; which could be good. And yet it also isolates a potential reader …. someone, who like me is looking for someone to relate to … from not feeling comfortable in asking me for a password. And while I might continue to do so in some instances, I don’t like it. It makes me feel, for lack of better words (ha!), “voiceless.”

And the irony of it all? I can’t even speak a word above a whisper right now.

What do you suppose my sick body is telling me? Is it just telling me to shut up and not “say” or blog about the emotions attached to those complex relationships and situations? Or is it telling me to ease up on myself; that I’m once again being too harsh on myself that my body, or rather my voice needs a rest?

All I know now, is that I’m seriously doubting myself … if what I do and say on my blog is helping me IRL or hurting me even more. And if I should permanently remain “voiceless.”

Help me, oh bloggy friends. What should I do?

Placing Stock in Bonds

Today is my day off this week. I planned on working on special project for most of the day (details still forthcoming in a future post), but first I had to head over to my parents’ house to pick up more stuff for said project.

I forget what it’s like to be out driving around 10:30-ish on a week day. Mostly because 10-hour work days are spent indoors working furiously at my desk. So yes, I forget about the old folk out driving about 20-zillion miles below the speed limit. Or the multitude of service cars and trucks that zoom around you as if there was no one else on the road.

Or in my case today, watching at least three different groups of women walking around pushing baby strollers.

Okay, so not all of them were pushing strollers. Some of them were holding their pre-preschool kids’ hands as they walked. And others, well … they were pregnant. It was that image of pushing the baby stroller and/or being pregnant that reminded me of what I don’t have. Or rather … not necessarily what I don’t have, more than what I haven’t been able to experience.

In this case, it’s not about being pregnant or having a child. It’s more about the ability to form friendships with other women who are at the same stage of life that you are. A tribe of women, as a good friend once mentioned in her blog, that I can bond with and share.

I’ve always said that not having a sister to grow up with has limited me in my ability to form female bonds. There’s something to be said about having another female (about the same age) around to learn how to act and react to different social situations. Whether a woman is close to her sister or not, this relationship still teaches that woman about the female mind in ways that another “sister-less” woman cannot experience or understand.

I tend to think that this is one of my biggest flaws within my personality. This social ineptness, when it comes to forming relationships with other women. Up until Hubby & I started trying to start our family (and failing miserably), I would say that I had a fair amount of female friends. Ones that I would call up and make plans to go shopping or out to eat just so we can hang. Being in a profession dominated by women also helped form these friendships. But the longer Hubby & I went without having children, the more isolated we became. And that’s because these female friends went on to start their families and began to relate more with other women and couples that also had children. More and more, I began to have less in common with these friends.

Oh, I know not to place all the blame (if any blame at all) on these friends, who are now more like acquaintances. I know that friendship goes both ways. And I know that there are the times that I just didn’t make the effort to continue the friendship. But I also know that there are the times that I just couldn’t be the friend that they needed … my own pain, in my opinion, would have caused more of a rift in that friendship.

There’s another part of me that I believe has limited my ability to form long and lasting female friendships. And that is being a first-generation Asian/Filipino-American. (And for clarity’s sake, this means that my brother and I were born here in the US, while my parents were both born in the Philippines.) Growing up in my household always meant you had one foot in the traditional Asian mindset, while your other foot was learning to survive in the American culture and way of life. The traditional Filipino way meant that family and God (followed closely by education) always came first and anything else, such as friendships and after-school activities came in a distant last. And although the “American” part of me always wanted to make tons of friends and be involved in lots of activities, the “Asian” part of me held back considerably. Mainly because when I looked outward at myself and my family … I always knew that I was “different.”

So how about forming friendships with other first generation Asian- or Filipino-American women? Believe me, I do have those few friendships. And quite honestly, they’re probably the ones that have lasted the longest. I strongly believe that this is the case, mainly because we’ve stepped outside of our “Filipino-American” selves and truly know one another, outside of our personal issues (read: Emily’s infertility). That is simply because we’ve known each other for years. And we’ve bonded. And if they’re not family, then they are certainly the closest thing I have to family (without, of course, all the dysfunction).

The rest of the Asian/Filipino-Americans … definitely different story. Especially as it relates to infertility. Loribeth recently shared an article from Newsweek on her blog. While this article’s primary subject is about infertility and the lack of treatment in developing countries , there is a small focus about the ostracism of infertile women in these countries. Here’s a little taste of it:

The stigma that infertile women face can infiltrate every aspect of life. They may not even be invited to weddings or other important gatherings. “People see them as having a ‘bad eye’ that could make you infertile, too,” says Inhorn. “Infertile women are considered inauspicious.”

Other people simply “don’t want to have them around at joyous occasions,” says Frank van Balen, coauthor (with Inhorn) of “Infertility Around the Globe” and a professor in the department of social and behavioral sciences at the University of Amsterdam. Their reasoning: “they could spoil it,” he says.

The thing is … this article doesn’t just pertain to these women living in that particular country. This article reflects just about everything that I’ve, as an infertile, encountered here. In the US. Amongst family and friends. Within my culture.

That article basically summed up the reason why I started this blog in the first place. Because what I write here is everything I feel about myself and everything I could never say out loud.

This blog was meant to help me work my way through my infertility issues. It was a way for those family members and friends who would always ask us why we still didn’t have children know why without me or Hubby having to spill all the details out loud in which I would inevitably cry. It was a way for me to feel comfortable telling my story, without having the other person feel uncomfortable.

But apparently even by just writing these things, I still make certain people very uncomfortable and therefore ostracizing myself even moreso amongst my family and Filipino/Asian friends. Certain actions have made it quite evident over these past few weeks. Certain things have forced me to evaluate exactly whom I want to be closest to me at my most difficult times.

It’s because of those actions, I have debated about taking down this blog. Or making it strictly password-protected for those who would be genuinely interested in following my rants.

But then I thought … how many other Asian-American / Filipino-American women or couples are out there that are going through similar things that I’ve experienced? How many are out there longing for some sort of bond with others going through something just as painful? How many more of us are out there that feel ostracized and alone?

I know what it was like to meet all of my infertility friends through blogging. And even though we might not share the same cultural considerations … I do know that they are going through the same (or similar) hurt and anger and pain that I’ve gone through while traveling on my IF journey.

And it’s because of you girls I’ve felt less lonely … less ostracized. I’ve felt as if I could go out to meet you for a “virtual walk” at around, oh … let’s say 9 pm … (when most of us are known to read/blog the most) and bond.

So I decided to keep my blog “password-free” (except maybe for the occasional post). My hope is that this blog is still a way to communicate with those people who want to continue with me along my IF journey. But it is also my hope that it be available for those Asian- and Filipino-Americans (as well as those that are not … Asian, that is) traveling down the infertility road alone and looking for some company.

We Interrupt …

We (or rather I ) interrupt this regularly scheduled time for whining to bring you this special video.

I am not much of a politically savvy person. However, when election time comes around, I do make an effort to find out more about each political candidate’s platforms. Whether if it’s by reading the paper or if it’s by watching interviews or debates on TV … I try to gather as much information about what each candidate can provide for us as the leader of our nation. Because, come Election Day … I want to make sure that I’m making an informed decision.

I’m not sure if it’s the older I get, but the more interested I am in politics. Perhaps it’s because what happens now will affect my immediate future … unlike when I was young(er) and (more) naive in my early 20’s.

Or it could be because this election year has been one of THE MOST interesting “campaign seasons” EVER.

Either way … I just know that as an American citizen, it is my given right to vote and I should take that responsibility seriously.

So with that said … take a lookie-see / listen to this monologue by Craig Ferguson, which aired on his CBS late night show last Wednesday.

It’s sexy (damn Scottish brogue … melts me every time!!)

It’s funny.

And it’s IMPORTANT.