Underneath my yellow skin

Sideways to meeting my goals, part five

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These are dark days, my friends. Here in Minnesota, especially. I’ve lived here for all but a year of my life, and now, I am thinking of leaving. Well, to be fair, I had been thinking of it before–leaving the country, I mean. I’ve never been one to say, “This is not my country” because I’ve always been very clear that this is my country. Oh, sure, we kept it under the surface, but the hatred and bitterness was always lurking, bubbling, showing up in fits and spurts.

But. It was nothing like this. It has never been like this. This is unprecedent in my lifetime (not before it, mind, but during it). My brother called me today to let me know that ICE is going door-to-door and that I should have my passport on hand if I go outside. Two Target employees got roughed up and detained. They chased a DoorDash driver into the house of a customer (the customer screamed at the ICE in righteous anger that they had no right to go into her house. It was awesome and amazing. They eventually fled with their tails between theier legs). They are doing everything they can to terrorize my state.

Side note: I am increddibly proud of my state. Minnesota is well-known for its activism, and my fellow Minnesotans are not going to be cowed. They are out there protesting, blowing their whistles (as a way to disrupt ICE as well as notify people that ICE are in the vicinity), shielding their neighbors, and doing the Minnesotan thing.

We are going to bake you a goddamn tater tot hotdish if you want one or not. We’re going to wrap you in a comfy blanuket and give you a hot beverage to drink if you’re cold. We’re not going to say no to you, but you will know by vibes when we’re not into what you’re doing/saying/thinking. As I had to tell a non-native, if the answer to your question is not an emphatic yes, it’s a no. “I’ll have to ask my spouse” = no. “I’ll check my calendar” = no. “I’m busy” = no. “That sounds delightful! I ‘ll let you know” = no.

We’re slow to anger (as a general rule), but once we are pissed off, woe be the person who gets in our way. We may not show it in an obvious way, but you will feel our stubborn wrath. Meaning, it may not be loud and angry (though it can be), but it’ll be mulish and ongoing.

I’m so tired. My sleep has been terrible lately, even more than normal. It’s not a coincidence that it’s gotten worse since this president took office. And, it’s doubly not surprising that it’s been absolutely awful this week.

These are dark days. Really dark days. This president has made it clear that he considers liberals his enemy, and his goal is to stomp us into the ground. That’s his basic M.O. in general. Anyone who is not with him is against him–and therefore, needs to be demolished.


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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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Mental health is a health issue

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I may have to move mental health issues to the top of my list. I have been dealning with my mental health issues mostly by burrowing my head in the sand keeping my news input to a bare minimum.

Today, though, living in the Twin Cities made it impossible to avoid the most explosive and horrific news of the day. The killing of a Minneapolis woman by an ICE agent. I heard about it tangentially, and then I discussed it with several friends.

I’m outraged, furious, scared, and–numb. This year has been too much, and it’s been especially stressful for us Minnesotans because we’re being targeted by the federal government. There are several reasons for this, and I am frightened about the upcoming  governor’s election. While we vote Democratically on a federal level (though just barely in the last election, worryingly enough), we’re all over the map locally. We tend to split the vote, and the batch of batshit Republicans running for office, especially mayor, is making me very nervous.

These are dark days in this country. Our president just attempted a coup of a foreign country because he wanted their oil; he’s embroiled in nasty business (I mean, he always is, but this time, it’s especially nasty); and now, this.

It’s really hard to look back at the last year and not be filled with despair. I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn’t think it was going to go to hell in a handbasket so quickly and so starkly.

Early in 2024, I had to get my driver’s license renewed. When I went to the DMV in order to do so, I was pleasantly surprised to see that nonbinary was the third gender option (it had only been male and female before). We are one of the most progressive states in the country–at least the Twin Cities are progressive. Not so much so the rest of the state (like many states).

And yet.

My heart sank when I saw that third option. Why? Because I knew there was a very real possibility that we would have the return of a certain president as president once again, and he had made it quite clear that he would de everything in his power to discriminate against queer people of all different stripes*.

Nonbinary is not my chosen term, but if I were twenty years younger and if *gestures helplessly at the world around me*, I probably would use it instead of woman. Or maybe not. It doesn’t really fit me, but it’ll do in a pinch. I default to not calling myself anything, really. I don’t mind so much when others call me ‘she’ or a woman, but it’s not how I think of myself.


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The way my brain works

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My brain is weird. I’ve known this ever since I wsa a kid, but back then, I just thought it was that my brain was broken. My mom was a psychologist, but she also had very traditional Taiwanese ideas about, well, everything. She had definite ideas of what a girl child should be, and I failed miserably in every aspect. A girl should be demure, quiet, acquiescent, nurturing, always thinking of others, docile, and most importantly, she should never ever EVER be noticed. Ever!

It’s ironic because she was everything she told me not to be. Opinionated, athletic, sporty, and more masculine than not. She was just continuing the dysfunction that she learned in her own home, from her own mother who was also a raging hypocrite when it came to what she espoused girls/women should do and what she actually did.

If my mother had been able to break away from the idea that she had to be a wife and a mother, her life would have been so much better. Instead, she bought it hook, line, and sinker, and did her level best to make me as miserable as she was. I’m grateful that I realized at a fairly early age that I did not have to get married and/or have children. I’ve never wavered from that, and I’m profoundly glad that I, the most indecisisve and pushover of people, stood firm for once in my life.

What does this have to do with today’s post? Not much, but I just wanted to muse about it for a bit. Also, part of what I consider my broken brain is that I can’t for the life of me go from point A to point B in a straight line. I like to joke that I don’t do anything straight, but it’s true. Everything is interconnected in my brain, so I can’t just focus on one thing or the other.

I started teaching myself the Bagua Knife Form yesterday. I wasn’t going to do it until I finished teaching myself the left side of the Swimming Dragon Form, but, well, my brain said, “Here me out. What about now?”

I have taught myself roughhly three-fourths of the left side of the Swimming Dragon Form. I am pleased with how fast I’m learning it, but not entirely surprised. This is one of my favorite forms, and it was fairly easy for me to learn.

It’s the same as the Sword Form. That was the first weapon form I learned, and I stormed through it. I was so eager to learn the whole thing, and once I was done, I taught myself the left side in short order. I do need to do a bit of clean up on it, though.


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

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I’m a mess; I’ll admit it. There are so many things I’d like to change in my life, and it paralyzes me from doing anything. My brother is completely different, and I envy him for it. When he sets his mind to something, he just does it. Granted, sometimes it takes longer than he planned because he tends to underestimate how long things actually take and how quickly he can get shit done. Plus, with ten things going on at once, there is bound to be a ball or two dropped. Still. He does more in a week than I do in a year.

It’s hard to believe we have the same genes, honestly. We could not be more different in most ways. There are a few ways in which we are similar (we’re both on the autism spectrum,; we both have our topics that we can wax poetic on forever–and I do mean forever; and we’re both very opinionated, for example), but  I could rattle off our differences for several minutes. He’s more logical-minded whereas I’m almost pure emotion. He’s EQ is not great; mine is off the charts. He’s Christian, and I am not. He’s super-active while I am not. He’s into pickleball, hiking, and other outdoor activities while I prefer my exercise martial and indoors, please. I’m allergic to everything under the sun, and I stay out of the outside as much as possible.

I like to say I like the outdoors as long as it stays outside and away from me. I also like to say that I’m allergic to everything including the air.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. There are several things I’d like to improve this year. Or rather, several things I’d like to change about me and the way I am.

In the last post, I talked about wanting to get laid. Not looking for a romantic relationship, but for sex. I mentioned all the reasons that I had not gotten my groove on in quite some time, and maybe this is the year that I actually make the effort to get a piece.

Side note: Everything is really hard for me to make myself do. It’s the depression, and while I am not happy about it, I just accept it as part of who I am. Even when I was at my mental health best, it still took so much effort to actually do things. That’s another thing I am envious about with my  brother–that he just does things.

I want to cook a bit. I was going to say cook more, but that would be insinuating that I cook at all. Which I haven’t since, well, in a very long time. Even when I did cook on the regular, it was mostly simple pastas or making sandwiches. I did buy a slow cooker, but my sink broke, so I can’t watsh it. Yes, I need to get a new sink, but taht isn’t going to happen any time soon. Which means the slow cooker hasn’t been used in quite some time.  Also, the few things I made in it weren’t great, plus it took way more effort than I thought.


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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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