Underneath my yellow skin

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More thoughts on my birthday, evolution of

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We are well past my birthday, but I have more to say about it. It’s partly because I am surprised at how much my hatred/disdain/disgust of it has vanished. It’s funny how I went from hating my birthday when I was a kid to becoming ‘neutral’ about it in my thirties to becoming truly neutral about it in my fifties. Yes, it’s been a long journey, but I’m glad I’m finally here. This is the post I wrote yesterday about being happy for all the love sent my way on my birthday.

What  I did not expect was that beacuse of all the love and warm wishes, I actually feel slightly positive towards my birthday itself. Not a huge amount, but it’s noticeable.

I cannot tell you what made the difference this year because I have no idea. I’ve had a lot of love on my birthdays before. Several people always acknowledge it so it’s not that it just goes by without notice. I usually talk to my parents and K on my birthday, too, so it wasn’t that.

Also, it wasn’t like things were going peachy in the world, either. Life in America is grim right now. Like, really grim. Because of the US being so powerful, all the terriblie and terrifying things that this president does has tremors that shake the entire world. Everything sucks right now, quite frankly.

Side note: The president saying those awful things about Iran yesterday and then pulling out a two-week ceasefire did something to my brain. I was saying yesterday that I truly had no idea what he was going to do, and it’s true. I still don’t know what he’s going to do. But.

Once the unthinkable didn’t happen and instead it ended up in a two week ceasefire. This is when, ironically, I became more cynical and uneasy about the situation. And angrier. Why? Because that’s when it became clear that even though this president says whatever the fuck he wants–he had no intention of bombing Iran. In this particular instance, it was a calculated move to–what? Terrify Iran and the world? Flex his muscles? Show what he could do if he wanted?

I’m not sure, but it felt so calculated in a way that most things he does doesn’t feel. I mean, I’m sure what he threatened to do was all him–but for whatever reason, I feel like he was encouraged to make a hard stance by his team (though probably not in those specific words) so he could look even better when he called the ceasefire.

Do not get me wrong. I did not want him ta bomb Iran. AT ALL. I want to make that excessively clear. I just find the way he casually uses the possibility as a flex to be morally repugnant.


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Covered in love for my birthday

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My birthday has come and gone. I bought myself some gluten-free/dairy-free whoopie pies. Chocolate cookies with whipped cream in the middle. So sweet and decadent, I have to eat it in tiny bites. I put some GF/BF peanut butter brownie ice ceram on it, and it was a great birthday treat. Here’s yesterday’s post with my musings about my birthday.

I also had a call scheduled with K. She wished me a happy birthday, and then we just ranted about the current state of our country. Waking up to the news that your president acutally said out loud in his outside voice that he was going to eliminate a civilization tonight was certainly a mood.

Here’s a distillation of what I said to her: This president frightens me beccause I can’t figure out what he’s thinking. I mean, I know he believes whatever he sys in the moment, but that changes from minute to minute. If this were any other president, I would believe that he was bluffing or pushing Iran to back down.

You know what? No. Fuck no. I wouldn’t because I would not fucking expect a president to ever say anything like that. The president was a loose cannon in his first term, and he’s gone completely off the rails now. I have no idea what he is going to say or do, which is not something I enjoy at all. I’m used to being able to read people accuurately, and he’s just–a hot mess.

Did I really think he was going to bomb Iran? I want to say no, but I can’t esay it with any confidence. And that’s a big reason I have such a hard time with this president. There are no limits to what he will or won’t do. I said he was chaotic evil to K, and I was not implying the chaotic was bad (I’m chaotic myself), but obviously, the evil part is bad.

We ranted for a good hour and a half. It’s a breath of fresh air to be able to do it with her. She sent me the most gorgeous bouquet of preserved live flowers in a vareity of shades of purple. They are supposed to last for a year to three years. As we were getting off the phone, she told me that it was a weird gift. I told her I loved her weird gifts because they fit me perfectly. She said it was weird even for her, and I insisted that I would love it.

Which I did. I both grinned and teared up at the same time. She always gives me the perfect gift, especially when they are weird. She gave me a candle that says, “Out of fucks to give.” She’s given me more conventional presents like books that she thinks I will ilke. When she was here, we went out on a date between our two birthdays.


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Thoughts on my birthday…on my birthday

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I have more to say about my birthday–on my birthday. Technically. It’ll be my actual birthday in roughly seven hours I’ll be…ah….fifty…..er……..five? Yeah, that’s right. I honestly had to think about it for several seconds because I don’t really think about it. Again, it’s not because I’m getting older–it’s just because my age doesn’t matter to me.

Fun fact: When I was younger, I used to say I was a year older on January 1st. No idea why I did that, but many East Asian countries start at age 1 or 2 at birth. Maybe it was osmosis. Anyway, I say I have no idea why I started doing it, but it helped me get use to my new age by the time my actual birthday rolled around. As a result, though, I don’t always know how old I am. And, more to the point, I don’t really care. As with everything else in my life, it’s just a detail that doesn’t matter. Age really is just a number, and what I can or can do isn’t defined by it.

Whatever. I find my birthday meaningless, but I’m ok with other people wanted to acknowledge it (to a certain extent). Like, I’m going to be talking to K tomorrow, just so she can wish me a happy birthday. Here’s the thing. We both have April birthdays (hers is a few weeks after mine). When she was here, we would go out sometime between our two birthdays to celebrate them together (or any time near them).

She’s one of two people I actually get a birthday present for, and she gets one for me, too. She’s my soul sister, and I have been friends with her longer than anyone else in my life. I have joked with her that when we are both old, we’re going to be in an old folks’ home together, waving our canes at other prisoners inhabitants. We will shout things at them and just let the  chaos rain down.

I love her with all my heart, and I know she feels the same way about me. A few decades ago, we were talking about the hoary conundrum of ‘your best friend and your spouse are both drowning ten feet away from each other. Who would you save first?’. I was the one who brought it up, though I don’t remember why. She got angry and heated about it (which is unlike her). She said she hated that question beacuse she loved me and her husband equally. I was skeptical, but she insisted it was true. Unlike me, she cannot lie with passion. If she said that, I knew she meant it.

She said that she really didn’t like how society portrayed romantic love as being above all other loves. I didn’t either, so it was something else we bonded over. It’s very specific to Western culture. Eastern culture had a very different view on that, obvioously.


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They say it’s your birthday; it’s (almost) my birthday, too

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It’s almost my birthay. My parents called me to wish me a happy birthday (among other things) because they’re going to be busy on my actual birthday. I don’t care beacuse my birthday means nothing to me, but I’ve gotten over hating it by now. If it makes my parents happy to wish me a happy birthday, well, then so be it.

In the past, I hated it. My birthday, I mean. Not because I was getting older; I don’t care about that. but because I hated being alive and that I’ve not done what I’ve wanted with my life. That’s drastically compressing  and simplifying what my deal was, but it’ll do for the purpose of this post. I hated it so much, I refused to tell people when it was. When I first joined Facebook, you had to give them your birthday. I just lied and put a random day in January as my birthday. Then, I would be surprised by dozens of happy birthday wishes on that day. It never failed to amuse me.

My mom used to get upset when I said I didn’t celebrate my birthday. She once cried and told me it was such an important day for her. I mean, I think it’s a more meaningful day for her than me, yes, because she was the one who did the work of giving birth to me. I was did nothing to ease the birthing process, and I was probably a poin (literally) in her ass whilst making that journey. Though, family lore says that it only too k half hour for me to slide out (I was in a hurry).

Look. I didn’t ask to be born. I didn’t  want to be born. And I didn’t want to be alive for the first fifty years of my life (more or less). It took dying (twice!) to give me an appreciation for life, but now, that appreciation is draining from me. This president….this country…my countrypeople….Yeah, I’m not feeling it at all.

After I died and came back twice, I lost my hostility for my birthday. I had become ‘neutral’ to it in the decade before, but neutral was definitely in quotes. I said I did not mind it, but I still did not want to celebrate it. And I did not really want people mentioning it.

Here’s the thing, though. Once I came back to life and became as close to normal as I was going to get, I adopted the day I died and came back to life as my re-birthday. I realized much later that I should have made it when I could breathe on my own, but whatever. I’m keeping my original re-birthday. That meanss that I’m four-and-a-half. Not really, though. It’s not that kind of birthday.


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A new year, a new me?

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Let’s talk more about my birthday and my goals for the upcoming year. Before I do that, though, I am so stoked about the weapons I have ordered. I am working on the Double Fan Form, and I’m not loving it. I don’t know why because I adore the Fan Form. Something about this is not working in my brain. The video I’m watching is split in front and back view ins the same view at half-speed. Theoretically, it should be a gerat way to learn the form because I can look at both front and back–but I think that’s actually part of the problem. I have a hard time focusing on one or the other. I think I prefer two separate videos because then I can focus on one or the other.

Yes, I know I could do that myself, but my brain doesn’t work that way. I have added a few more movements. It’s…fine, but not blowing me away. I can’t help but compare my feelings about the Double Fan Form to how I felt when I learned that I could do the Cane Form with the Saber. Not only did that blow my mind, but it felt so damn good. I gave myself a week to learn it, but it took three or four days. One day per row (four rows).

I just did a quick practice of what I know for the Double Fan Form. My brain still can’t grasp it completely. I’ve looked at a few different forms. There are three that seem to be the most repeated. One might be the official one–the one I’m trying to learn. Another one is a bit more aggressive, which I like, but not what I’m about right now.

I feel like I should learn the official one first before branching off to the other ones. I need to be patient with myself, but I’m used ot learning new forms pretty quickly. Why is this one so hard? My impulse is to say that it’s beacuse the two fans do different things, but up to this point, they really don’t. Also, in the Double Saber Form, the two sabers do different things, and I did not have too hard a time with that form.

The Double Sword Form has been fun, but it’s just me messing with two swords. For whatever reason, though, it feels much more natural than the Double Fan Form (formal). There is not an official Taiji Double Sword Form (that I can find), but there are two that I’ve found that are pretty cool. One is Taiji and the other is labeled Taiji/praying mantis.

Ha. I found a cool video of one man with two swords fighting another man with a spear. It turns out to be someone I subscribe to–the guy who reviewed the twin straight swords I bought. I’ve included the video below.


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Happy birthday to me

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Today (yesterday by the time this is posted) is my birthday. I normally don’t give a shit even though I no longer hate it. I care much more about my re-birthday (the day of my medical crisis), but as I said to Ian (who wished me a  happy birthday and said he knew I cared more about my re-birlthday), I would not have a re-birthday if I didn’t have my birthday. I got several sweet messages, which warmed my heart. For the first time in ages, I didn’t actually dread my birthday. I talked to K for hours, which really did my heart and soul good. She is my soul sibling, and we connect on so many levels. I talked to my parents (fine), and my Taiji teacher sent me a nice message, too. And, much to my surprise, my brother’s GF sent me an email as well.

I have no idea how she knew! My brother doesn’t even wish me a happy birthday every year. Honestly, I’m not sure he knows what day it is exactly. I figured the way it came up was this. Anyone who knows me well knows that my re-birthday is more important to me. I celebrate it and mention it way more than my actual birthday (which is ZERO for the latter). I consider myself three-and-a-half years old rather than fifty….four? Yeah, that’s how old I am now. Where the hell has the time gone? The reason I’m not sure is because sometime around the beginning of the year, I add another year to my age. Why? No idea. So I’m never really sure how old I am. In Taiwanese culture, you’re one at birth, so that might be part of it? Dunno.

I used to hate my birthday because it reminded me of all the ways I’ve failed in life. Another year of futility. Yay. That’s so great. The only funny thing is that wehn I joined Facebook, you had to put your birthday and it was displayed no matter what. There was no way around it. So I put a fake birthday–some random day in January. Then I immediately forgot about it–until that day rolled around. I got dozens of happy birthdays on my Facebook wall, which tickled me immensely.

Once Facebook took away that requirement (that it had to be public), I put the real date–I think? Anyway, I stopped hating it a few years before my medical crisis. I became truly neutral about it (not studied neutral like I had been about my body, which meant not neutral at all), but I wasn’t positive. Now, I’m just grateful that I have people in my life who love me. No, I still don’t care about my actual birthday, but I care that other people care about me.

It lifted me, I will admit. To have that many people wish me a happy birthday, I mean. Well, except for my parents. That’s much more complicated, but I don’t want to talk about it because I don’t want to bring down my mood.


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It’s nearly my (new) birthday

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We’re coming up on my third birthday. Obviously, not my real third birthday, but the third anniversary of the day I died (twice, and came back to life). That was September 3rd, 2021, and it’s a day forever etched in my mind. Which is funny because I don’t remember any of it. My brother has told me at some length what happened, but I don’t remember any of it. The last thing I actually remember is messaging with Ian the day before about Nioh 2. After the expercience when I was home and scrolling through my messages to him, I did remember that.

When my brother and Ian told me what happened, it was as if I was listening to a story about someone else. It’s really weird to hear about it when I have no recollection about it. I only know about it as a fait accompli. I read the last page of the story without reading the beginning. Or rather, the hundredth or so page because it was NOT the end of my story.

I have to say, though, that the high I felt for the first year has almost completely faded. When I first woke up, I was amazed and delighted to still be alive (once I digested what had happened to me). One simply cannot live in that heightened state continuously, though, and it was inevitable that the high would wear off. Frankly, it’s amazing that it lasted a year, to be honest.

For that first year, though, I was high on life. This was strange for me because I’m a pessimistic person by nature. I try to rein it in, but it bleeds out at my edges. I see the negative in everything, which is partly the way I was raised. My mother is the same way, which is who I get it from. She will always point out the negative and complain about it. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. I, on the other hand, am very aware that I do it. It doesn’t stop me from thinking it, but I try to keep it under wraps. It doesn’t often work.

For my first rebirth year, I walked around full of gratitude and awe. I marveled at the smallest thing such as how gorgeous the view outside my living room window looked. Ice cold water was so good as well. In fact, my brotehr teased me in the hospital beacuse I kept asking for ice water and then raving about how good it was. He laughed and told me that I did not have to thank them for bringing me water; it was their job. I retorted that it wasn’t their job to bring me a glass of water every few hours and even if it was, it didn’t hurt to thank them for being so attentive.


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Goals that I most definitely will meet this year

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I still want to talk about my goals for this year. In the last post, I mostly talked about my medical crisis that reshaped my life. Nothing is too hyperbolic to state about that experience. And it’s not something I can talk about with many people because it’s just not relatable at all.

The more time that passes, the less it stays in the front of my mind. Don’t get me wrong. I’m always aware of it, but it’s slowly become just a part of me. I don’t need to think about it as it’s embedded in the fabric of my being. As I would say that I’m Taiwanese American, bi, agender, and bisexual (not to mention areligious),  I would add that I died twiec and came back to life, better than even. Sure, there were a few netgative side effects, but for the most part, I’m fine.

That’s what blows my mind when I think about it too much, but I don’t do that these days.

I want to write about the experience, but I’m grappling with how to do it. Sure, others can relate to having a life-changing experience K thinks I can focus on that and the history behind it rather than the actual experience.

But here’s the thing. The actual experience is the attention-getter. Sure, other people have had had near-death experiences, but I have yet to find anything similar to mine. I would definitely have to rely on other hooks–dysfunctional family, how I overcame it, etc.

But it’s been burning in my mind since it happened. I want to write about it; I just don’t know how to do it. Part of the problem is that at the time, my mother was pushing me to write a movie script about it. When I demurred, she got upset and almost angry, saying it would be such an inspiration to other people. As if that was my duty–which in her mind, it is. My duty, I mean.

Ever since I was a child, she never considered me a person in my own right. I was supposed to be a mini-me of her–but it’s worse than that. I wasn’t supposed to be like she was as a person; I was supposed to be the ideal version of herself.

So all of that would have to be in the memoir in order for it to make any sense at all. I have no problem writing about my past, but I don’t know how to structure this memoir. That is my isuse.


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Actual goals this year

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In my last post, I was going to talk about my goals for this year, but mostly went on and on about what my medical crisis was like. Which is in part because it’s the most important thing that happened to me. It changed my life in many ways, even though in some ways, it didn’t change a thing.

It’s not something I talk about much or often, which is part of the problem. Someone can’t really know me if they don’t know about that experience because it has left an indelible mark on me. At the same time, I hesitate bringing it up because no one can relate to it. This is not hyperbole. I researched situtions like mine, and I could not find a single one. It’s hard to find someone who has survived one cardiac arrest and/or stroke without side effects, let alone two cardiac arrests, an ischemic stroke, and walking (non-COVID-related) pneumonia.

I could not find any groups for people like me–not even close. K suggested I go to a group for people who went through any kind of medical crisis, but I would not want to make other people feel bad. My issue is not dealing with the ramifications of the crisis itself (difficulty walking, talking, thinking, etc.), but dealing with the fact that I’m still alive when I shouldn’t be.

The chaplain I talked to in the hospital asked if I ever asked, “Why me?” about the experience. I told him candidly no because why not me? I didn’t take great care of myself, smoked a few cigarettes a day, was fairly sedentary except for my Taiji routine, and had bronchial/immune system issues. For whatever reason, I have never thught of myself as exempt from bad things happening to me the way other people seem to do.

I did mention that I hoad some survivor’s guilt. At the time, I thought there was a young woman–in her early twenties–who was on my same floor and had COVID. Her family did not believe in thevaccine and she died from it–along with her mother. I realized months later that this never happened, but at the time when I was talking with the chaplain (which I’m pretty sure did happen), it was a reality to me.

I told him that I thought she should have lived instead of me because she was young and had so much of her life ahead of her. I, on the other hand, was nearer to the end of my life than the start and hadn’t really contributed anything to the world. I wasn’t being self-deprecating; it’s true. In a global sense, I mean. Whether I live or die doesn’t really matter. Especially now.

I want to change that now. I’m in my 53rd rotation on this earth. I probably have less than that left in me. If I’m going to do anything with my life, the time is now. I have had a few ideas in my mind for writing projects, and I’m not getting any younger.

Side note: I’m a very good writer. I am shitty at editing and holdinwg myself accountable. I said this yesterday. I have never had a problem with NaNoWriMo because 50,000 words a month is a sneevze to me. I can do that in my sleep. Again, that’s not a humblebrag or a brag–it just is.


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Happy birthday to me, I guess

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It’s still my birthday as  I write this. It will be for another hour and fifteen minutes. My mother called me around this time last nigth to wish me a happy birthday, and I was fine until she started moaning about my father again.

I know dementia is really cruel and very hard to deal with as a sole caregiver. Plus, she’s over eighty hereself, tiny, and in not the best health. but she makes things harder on herself by one, insisting on doing everything by herself; two, she is holding out hope that he will get better. She tells me about this article she read or that with ways to increase brain usage.

I have told her so many times  in so many ways that this was not possible. the cruelest thing about dementia is that except for a very few rare cases, there is no getting better. It’s a slow, steady decline with one ending.

She was saying that he just wanted to sleep most of the time, and he got upset when she tried to make him go for walks. The physical therapist insists on making him work harder than he wants, saying it would be better if he could go to the bathroom by himself and not have to depend on my mother.

Which, I mean.

Here’s the thing. My mother told me that Taiwanese people don’t believe in dementia, really. Or rather, they don’t believe that it’s an ailment–they think it’s a moral failing. So of course the PT thinks if my father tries hard enough, he can do things he literally can’t do. My mother protested and said he could do them when the PT asked. My brother said the same thing about when they went somewhere like the bank. My father could pull it together for that, so my brother thought he should be able to control it all the time.

I tried to explain to them that being able to do something for ten mminutes or even half an hour didn’t mean he could do it all the time. It wsa important to him to appear with it when he was in front of non-family members, so he put all his effort into doing that. That didn’t mean he could do it all the time, and in fact, his acting up later was probably as a result of wearing himself out.


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