Underneath my yellow skin

Category Archives: Personal Life

Sideways to meeting my goals, part six

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I am so tired. So very tired. Not just physically, but emotionally and mentally as well. My sleep has gone to complete hell, and I don’t think it’s going to get better any time soon. It’s surreal living in a state that has been targeted by this president. I saw MS Now talking about how 50% of Americans think ICE are making things worse for the country whereas 30% think ICE is making America better. MS Now was talking about it as if it was a great thing. 50%! That’s like a twenty point swing (or something like that). Whereas I look at those numbers  and think, “What the fuck?!? Who the hell are those 30%?”

It’s a rhetorical question, though, because I know where that 30% comes from. By the way, it’s always 30%. The fucking assholes, I mean. It’s always around 30%. There’s a reason for it, but I don’t care. I can’t care any longer.

Here is my post from yesterday. And I’m going to maunder about it more.

In the Discord I’m in, when this president was declared the winner, there was a ‘this fucking guy’ who had to say his piece about how this is because the neglected white dude had been oppressed for so long. Oh, he didn’t put it that way, but that was his meaning. Not an American, by the way, I don’t think. He’s also into crypto coins and other shady bullshit.

And I want him to suffer. I want him to step on Lego every night of his life and never find a comfortable position in which to sleep. I want him to feel a fraction of the pain that my fellow Minnesotans are going through at this moment.

Here’s the thing.

My compassion is completely burned out. I am done with people talking about the high road and being the better person. Because that doesn’t make shit happen. Also, it has no benefit to the oppressed because it puts extra burden on them. Not only do you have to take the shit, you have to smile as it’s happening.

Governor Walz talked about being peaceful even through our anger. Not to give this administration what they want and the excuse to crack down even harder. I understand that, but I need them to understand that that is the same as someone being abused thinks–if I just do this, that, or the other thing, they won’t abuse me. If I just act as good as I possibly can, they won’t hit me any more. It’s my fault. I just gotta be perfect.

There is no way to avoid the abuse. Being peaceful won’t do it. Giving in won’t do it. Nothing will. I’m not saying to act up or choose violence, but I’m saying that focusing on being peaceful is a fool’s errand. Let that part go. Do what needs to be done without making preambles or excuses.


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Sideways to meeting my goals, part four

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In talking about my goals, I used yesterday’s post to talk more about my family. I mentioned how I have come to terms with my parents (sort of) by thinking of them as not my parents (read the post). It’s helped me smooth out a lot of the frustration I have felt towards them, which I  consider a win. Look. It’s better than what our relationship has been in the past, and I know that it’s not going to change. I talked about how neither of my parents have changed much in all the time I’ve known them, so why would they start now?

What does that have to do with my goals? The dysfunction in my family has often made me feel like what I did didn’t matter, especially as an AFAB person. My birth gender was emphasized so heavily, and I was deducted so many points  just for having the misfortune of being born a girl. My parents were both so heavy on gender essentialiism, I hated being a girl by the time I was cognizant that it was a thing.

One of my sharpest memories of my childhood is that by the time I was seven, I was praying every night to a god I didn’t really believe in that he would make me a boy. not because I felt like a boy or because I thought I was a boy (I didn’t on either), but because I had internalized that it was awful to be a girl. Every morning, I woke up deeply disappointedc that I was still a girl. Like, crushingly disappointed.

At some point in my early twenties, I became aware of gender and race. And I became a raging feminist/pro-Asian person. I also became aware that I was attracted to women as well as men (*binary at the time. This was the early nineties before nonbinary, genderqueer, agender, etc.,  became part of the social consciousness), but I put that on a shelf because I did not want to deal with that as well as race and gender.

This all comes into play when I write. When I write, all of that comes out in every word. Sometimes, those on the right will snark about how ‘woke’ those on the left are.

Side note: I never understood how that became a negative, but it’s just a well-worn path for them. Take something that is a positive (being aware of other cultures, personal identities, etc.,) and make it a flaw or something to sneer at. Even the word itself, ‘woke’, uttered an a derogatory epithet is baffling to me. Along with being called ‘PC’. Who wouldn’t want to be aware that other ways of living are out there? (That’s a rhetorical question.)


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Sideways to meeting my goals, part three

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Let’s talk more about the circuitous way my brain works. I talked at length about it yesterday, but I have more to say. By the way, I am garrulous, especially in writing, and I’ve just accepted that about myself. Why use one word when ten will do? And why use ten when fifty works so much better? I have to actively stop myself from going on for longer than I already do, and when I’m tired, all bets are off.

I’ve gotten better, as hard as it is to believe that. But I used to not talk at all when I was a kid because I wsa taught that what I had to say didn’t matter. Nor what I thought or believed, for that matter. I was told over and over again that good girls were not heard at all and were barely seen, either.

When I was little, I was an exuberant, loud, joyful child. I would run around, climb trees, and just in general, be an active child. By the time I wsa seven, I was severely depressed, fat (according to my mother, who made sure to remind me of it in several ways, including putting me on my first diet, and saying I had such a beautiful face; too bad I was so fat). On nearly a daily basis, I was thinking about killing myself and how the world would be better off without me.

See, that was what the emotional abuse did–it told me that I was worthless. Or worse that worthless–I was an overall negative to the world. When I was in my late teens, early twenties, I believed I woke up every day not deserving to live, and I had to earn my way back to zero. Why? Because everyone around me reinforced the idea that my life in and of itself had no value. My parents, the people at the very cult-like Evangelical Taiwanese church my parents belonged to, and my very white teachers in the 1970s and 80s.

There were a few teachers who were incredibly kind to me, but for the most part, I was ignored. I’m not blaming those teachers, mind you. I note it more to say that I never felt welcomed in school, either.

It took me studying Taiji for me to realize that I mattered as a person. Not as an emotional support person. Not as an accessory, a friend, or a listening ear. But as a person in and of myself. Me. Just being me.

It’s difficult for me to hold onto that because my mother keeps making it about her. After my serious medical crisis, she said she was glad I hadn’t died–so she would still have someone to talk to about her problems. She’s said this to me more than once, by the way. She’s also called me her therapist, and her justification is that she knows all the therapists/psychologists/psychiatrists in Taiwan on a professional basis. Which, you see, means that she can’t have a therapist of her own.


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Sideways to meeting my goals, part two

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I’m back with more musings about my three main goals. I caught up on my writing (as far as an hour a day), and I have decided that I’m going to move Point B to the second book. What am I talking about? Well, I mused about it in the prior post, which you can read here.

In my murder novemoir, I had the central mystery plotted out in my mind. I didn’t know who the perp would be (which is unusually for me. I usually know it from the beginning), but I had the vic and the basic plot points.

Last night, I started writing about a second major mystery that I had seeded the night before, which was much more interesting to me. My impulse was to set it aside, but my brain said, “Nope. We’re going to keep on writing about it.” I mentioned in yesterday’s post that I knew the smart thing to do would be to put it in the sequel, but I’m stubborn if nothing else.

Now, though, I think I’m going to set it aside for the second book. It’s too meaty to do it in tandem with another major mystery. I have decided that the hour a day can include the time it takes for me to research a topic or rereading what I wrote before. It includes thinking time and anyithing that is related to writing. Once I’ve done that for the month of January, then I’ll think about making it two hours.

I am very glad that I changed it from writing 2,000 words a day to writing for an hour a day–and now saying doing anything writing-related for an hour. The goal right now is to get myself back into writing fiction on a daily basis. I still have it in me; I just need to apply myself.

Side note: This is another thing that I found out about neurospicy people–it’s not just laziness. What I mean is that sometimes it feels literally impossible to force myself to do the thing I need to do. Even if it’s something I want to do.

When my bestie used to live here, we would make plans to get together once a month or so. I always looked forward to it, but I had to drag myself to get dressed and drive to her place. She would not be ready when I got there (a long running joke in our thirty-year friendship), and we used to commiserate with each other about how weird it was that we had such a hard time getting ready for something we really wanted to do.


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Sideways to meeting my goals

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Hello. We are a week-and-a-half into the new year, and I want to do a check in as to how I’m doing with my goals. I haven’t looked into Asian queer/genderqueer groups, so we’ll set that aside for now.

Writing: I have been doing ok with writing one hour a day except my sleeping schedule is fucked. I mean, it’s been fucked for most my life*, but it’s seriously fucked now. Plus, I fuck around too much. I need to buckle down and just get to it.

Still. I’ve managed to do the hour of writing every day but one, which isn’t bad. I’ll be honest. I thought I would struggle more with it than I have, so I’ll take it. I’m going to make up that half hour today and get back on track.

Am I happy with what I’ve been writing? Not really. It’s not great. It’s not terrible, mind. My writing is decent. It comes out decent. It then goes great or terrible, depending. Since I’m still in the explanation phase of my novemoir, it’s just fine. It’s difficult, though, because I have to go back and reread what I previously wrote to keep caught up on the main thread. My memory is shit now, and, yes, that’s something I can blame on my medical crisis.

One interesting thing is that while I had the main mystery planned before I started writing (that’s always how I do), a second murder, completely separate from the first mystery, is emerging. It’s not something I wanted to happen, but who am I to stop it?

Here’s the thing. With this novemoir, I’m in new territory. Normally, when I write, I have an outline of what I want to do. I go from beat to beat and rarely diverge from the road (less taken). Sure, the details may be emergent, but they don’t usually surprise me–much.

Plus, it’s usually follows in a chronological fashion. “Point A happens first. That leads to Point B, which trips off Point C.” In this case, Point A is tangential to Point B, but they don’t directly influence each other. Sure, I can make it so they intertwine, but I don’t want to do that for a few reasons. One, it’s too much of a coincidence. Two, it would get too messy. I’m fine with a fair bit of mess, but this would cross the line. Or rather, I don’t want to create that kind of mess.

The smart thing would be to not introduce Point B at all. It has nothing to do with Point A, and it would make things more complicated. The really smart thing to do would be to save it for the sequel. I like doing trilogies because I think it’s a shame to create a character I really like and then abandon them after one book.


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My country’s dangerous to me–not a land of liberty

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I am deflated, and I don’t reaally have much to say. That’s never stopped me before, though, and it will not stop me now.  I am still angry, frightened, and disgusted, and I don’t know what to do with all these negative emotions. I have never felt accepted by this country, and I don’t feel patriotic at all.

Ever since I first voted, I have been painfully aware of how there is no room in this country for me. Not only because I’m a visible minority (Asian), but also because of my other idenitity markers (areligious, bisexual, and now agender), and bceause of my neurodivergent brain. There is not one way in which I am ‘normal’, and it’s exhausting.

Here is yesterday’s post, which was basically a rant about gender. Well, not a rant so much as a utter exhaustion. I’m just so tired. So fucking tired. And heartsick.

I have been a de facto Democrat since I was eighteen. I was not able to vote the first time I was eligible because I was studying abroad, but I have voted Democrat almost every time in every election since (and independent the one time I did not vote Dem).

Look. As a lifelong Democrat, I know not to get my hopes up. I know the Dems are going to cave and give in. I know they are going to disappoint me again and again. I know they give a shit about me marginally more than Republicans do, but not much at all. In a deeply broken system, there is bad and less bad.

You know one of the reasons I voted for Obama? Because he actually mentioned Asian people and bisexual people. And later, when he was elected, he mentioned nonreligious poeple. And for the first time, I felt seen. Truly seen.

Yes, I know he’s a politician. Yes, I know he’s politically savvy and was just saying what he needed to say in order to get elected. But, you know what? I felt it. And I think he actually meant it (to a certain degree). Just the fact that he thought to say it meant it was actually on his mind–which is more than I can say for 90% of politicians.

Obama was a great president in many ways. And, something I don’t think he gets enough credit for is how great of a campaigner he was. Truly inspirational and revolutionary. One way was in how he dealt with online campaigning (thus locking down the young people’s vote), and another was how he deliberately reached out ot demographics that were typically ignored.


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My goals for 2026, this and that (smaller goals), part two

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In the new year, I have three big goals I want to attain. I also have a bunch of other smaller goals that I wish to do, too. Well, not smaller per se because some will be harder, but not my main goals. I talked about my mental health and finding a therapist in the last post. In this one, I want ta talk about finding a fuck buddy or three.

In early February of 2020, I decided that I wanted to start dating. Not to find ‘the one’ or to be in a lifelong relationship, but because, quite frankly, I was horny as fuck. I’ve always been good at sex, but I’m pretty bad at romantic relationship. I was not a good partner for reasons that were partly my fault and partly not. Family training is hard to break, and I have been trying for nearly fifty years.Plus, I never really wanted to be in a long-term committed monogamous realtionships. I thought I  would be married by the time I was thirty because that was drilled into my head as the only proper thing for a woman to do–and then I would squeeze out a kid or two in following God’s great plan for every wonman on earth.

Looking back, I’m appalled at how I bought it hook, line, and sinker. I mean,  I don’t really blame myself because your family is all you know as a kid. It’s the norm, and if your family is fucked up, well, then that’s your base normal.

I am so grateful that I knew I realized I did not want children before my mother started her full-court press to get me pregnant. And, no, I’m not being too harsh on her because she spent fifteen years nagging me to have children. It started when i turned twenty-six and she commented that she had my brother at that age. Every time we talked after that, she managed to work me having children into the conversation. When she came in the summer to visit for a month, she mentioned it nearly every day.

When my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, my mother told me that my grandmother would really like to be a great-grandmother before she died. I was the oldest AFAB grandchild on that side of my family, and the fact that my mother was telling me meant that she was just using it as another cudgel to get me pregnant.

I reminded her that it took a while to meet someone, get married (they’re devout Christians), and get pregnant. Not to mention the nine months of gestating the baby. She said she was sure my grandmother would be fine if I skipped right to the having the baby part. My jaw dropped because as I noted, they are deeply Evangelical. I marveled at how a lifetime of very rigid and strict conservative morals were dropped just like that for what was ultimately a selfish desire.


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My goals for 2026, this and that (smaller goals)

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I have been talking about the three main goals I want to reach in 2026. In the last post, I wrote about wanting to find an online Asian genderqueer/queer group, and I’ll get back to that in a future post. In this one, I want to talk about some of the other goals I have for this year. They are not quite as immediate or as important as the big three, but they are prominent in my mind.

1. Finding a therapist. I know that my mental health is slipping. It’s in a large part because of the world around me (especially as an American), but it’s also my prior mental health issues coming rearing their ugly heads once again. By that I mean depression and anxiety. I have suffered from them all my life–well for as long as I can remember, which is seven or so. Depression was the main one when I was a kid with anxiety blossoming sometime in my early teens.

I will say that a lot of it is environmental with a (unhealthy) dose of of upbringing. Being a fat, smart, undiagnosed neurospicy Asian American kid in a time when diversity wasn’t even a twinkle in the eye of the social consciousness, let alone the bogeyman it’s been made into today.

Side note: It’s so hard for me to accept that diversity is in a worse place today than it was when I was a kid forty to fifty years ago. It makes me profoundly sad and defeated–like what is the point? We’re supposed to make the world better for the generations after us, and yet, we’re leaving it worse. Then, I get mad. I did not come back from death (twice!) for this, damn it. What the ever-loving fuck is going on?

One positive result of my medical crisis was that my depression and anxiety disappeared almost completely. My depression vanished by 90% and my anxiety lessened by 60%. My body hatred disappeared completely. In fact, I was positively arrogant in my body appreciation. It saw me through death (twice!) without even blinking. For real. I was in a coma for a week, and I woke up angry and redy to fight someone. But I passed all my tests with flying colors, and I was released a week later. A week! After literally dying twice and being in a coma for a week. I walked out on my own–well, leaning on my brother, but on my own two feet to his car.

Just to give you an idea of how wild this was, on the fifth day, the physical therapist came to me with a walker. She told me that she was gonig to walk with me down the hall. She explained how to walk (in case I forgot) and said I should only use the walker if I really needed it.

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My goals for 2026, part two

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I’m back to muse more about the new year. We are in the first day proper, and I want to talk more about my three big goals. Here is my post from yesterday, which mostly focused on my writing. I want to add another step to reach my writing goal. I usually spend most of my time at my desktop, but I write at my laptop. I need to make the commitment to change computers before it’s time to go to bed. So, I’m going to say for now that I’m going to go to my laptop at midnight. That will give me more than an hour to write before going to bed.

Again, I want to give myself as much cushion as possible so that I will actually meet my goals. I want to set myself up for success, which is not something I usually do. Most of the time, I set myself up to fail by setting impossible goals. Not because I think I can do them, but because I feel I need to go big or go home.

To refine the writing goal: It has to be a solid hour of writing. I have had a hard time not stopping and starting, which didn’t used to be a flaw of mine. I had many, but I could write for hours without stopping. I don’t want to blame my medical crisis, but it’s possible that it’s responsible. Even though I’m not really affected in my daily life, I did have a stroke. That probably knocked something loose in my brain.

Let’s talk more about Bagua. Right now, I’m working on the left side of the Swimming Dragon Form (hands only). I am about halfway through, and it’s been mostly easy going. There have been a few postures that have fucked with my brain, but for the most part, I’ve been able to teach it to myself fairly painlessly.

I should be able to finish it in a week or two. Then, I will get started on the Bagua Deer Horn Knives Form. I just watched the video for it again, and I’m excited. I also watched my teacher’s teacher’s Karambit Form video. I had previously taught myself about a third of the form (thinking I was nearly done), and I want to pick it up again, too. It’s not canon Taiji, I don’t think, but I’m sure my teacher’s teacher made it so.

Do I think both are doable in one year? Yes. Am  I going to commit to it? No. Again, I’m trying to make my goals as attainable as possible. So, the official goal is to teach myself the Bagua Deer Horn Knives Form with the stretch goal of teaching myself the Karambit Form. Or, let me be more realistic. To re-teach myself the part I know. As I was watching the video, I noticed the places where I had got it wrong.

I love knives and swords. Probably to an unhealthy degree. For now, they are all practice swords and knives, meaning either dulled steel (my sword and saber), practice steel (flexible) (double sabers), practice steel part two (deer horn knives), or rubber (karambit).


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My goals for 2026

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It’s now 2026, which is surreal. Time seems to go faster every year, but that’s especially true of 2025. It went by in a blink of an eye, and now we’re in 20266. It seems impossible, but it’s true. I floated through 2025, not doing much of anything. I want to do more in 2026, but I need to be realistic. I am not a ‘do ten things a day person’, no matter how much I want to be one. Also, I am not going to go to bed before 4 a.m. Let me just admit it. In fact, it’s 4 a.m. now, and I’m just starting this post.

I have several poals I want to meet in the new year, but there are three major ones that I have at the top of my list. I’ll go through those first and then maybe tackle the others if I have time (and the will). These are not in any particular order.

1. I will write the first draft ofmy novemoir.

Yes, I’m still insiting on calling my writing project that as a mash-up of novel and memoir. I want to write the rough draft, which will be roughly 200+ pages. Probably more, but I’m making a safe estimate.

Let me break that down even further.

A. I will write an hour a day.

In the past, I have said that I will write 2,000 words a day. That was not a problem for the most part back before my medical crisis. I wrote 2,000 words every day for the better part of several years. Maybe a decade? I’m not sure, but it’s many years.

Ever since my medical crisis, though, I’ve been struggling. In the past, I have had novels galore in my brain, and I easily wrote the rough drafts like they were no big thing. For the life of me, I cannot get this one done. But, more to the point, I have not dedicated myself to doing it. It’s partly because I have not had to work for it in the past that I’m not good at steadily applying myself to something.

I want to make my goals reasonable so that I can actually attain them. This is the one that is the hardest, so I’m setting small goals.

B. If I can do A for a month, then I’ll move it to 2 hours.

This seems like a good mid-goal because it’s very doable. I can write 2,000 words in 2 to 3 hours if I’m steadily writing. If I can do one hour a day for January, then I’l lmove to two hours a day. By the way, I’m counting until I go to bed taht night as that day. So this would still be the last day in December in my mental files until I actually go to bed.


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