Deflect, elect, reflect.

Reflections and lessons from election season...

 
1. I learned that I can outrun a dog. Fact. For anyone who's ever canvassed before, you know this lesson is key to surviving election season. If all else fails after graduation, I have a future working for USPS.

2. To the swing, the undecided, and the uninformed voter: It's not you, it's me. I love you -- but in the unhealthy, I-sort-of-want-to-strangle-you kind of way, which indicates we're in a dysfunctional relationship. You deserve someone better than me; I'm just too stubborn with my opinions and views on healthcare, gay marriage, education, immigration policies, and you know --the salient issues facing the country right now. We just don't have a lot in common, and it sort of fizzled. I mean, think about our conversations -- whenever I bring up politics, you tell me "not at the dinner table" and politics isn't exactly acceptable pillowtalk to you. Sorry. I hope we can still stay friends, but I just need my space. We're at very different points in our lives right now, and I don't want to hold you back from enjoying life. I don't want to force you to take time out of your day to pick up a newspaper, watch the news, or just listen to NPR. I just can't expect you to take the time to fulfill your civic duty, that would be really selfish of me. Honestly. You deserve someone who sees the world, the way you do. When you define something, you limit it; and you're just not ready for a commitment, well -- to anything.

3. On that note -- people who have well thought-out responses to why they're not voting, I truly did enjoy talking to you and hearing your stories. I actually would encourage more people who made the decision not to vote to talk, write, or blog about it. I really enjoyed hearing people who have taken the time to understand why they do not want to vote, walk me through their thought process. Telling me that there are no candidates you like when you haven't touched a newspaper yet, does not fly. Telling me that you are refraining from voting because you are in the military and do not want to cast your ballot -- because ultimately you serve the President, whoever he may be... I'll have to respect that.

4. I would never ever want to live in a battleground state. Like, ever.  Yeah, imagine that with Taylor Swift's voice if you want. But honestly -- between the incessant door knocks, phone calls, and political ads; you're surrounded. And elections get dirty. The ground warfare during election season should be understood as guerrilla warfare with the landmines you have to dodge -- false ads in Spanish telling voters that Election Day is November 7th, robo-calls telling people that if you voted down the line for Democrats that your vote wouldn't count for Obama, and Voter ID laws that don't accept military IDs.... that's just wrong.

5. Everyone's moving to Canada. Apparently. I'm not going to explain why "conservatives" can't say this -- but I will say that people threatening to move to another country, you're just unpatriotic. YEAH, I said it. I don't care if you're Democrat, a Republican, a Libertarian or a goddamn Tea Party supporter -- but saying you're moving to another country because the POTUS isn't the president you wanted? Tough shit. Suck it up and do something about the direction of this country if you're a real American. If you live in the United States, then fight for it. Leaving when the going gets tough is not the answer. You should  be proud to be an American, no matter what. Understand that no country is perfect; that you may disagree with certain actions taken by your government or discontent with inaction. There is a constant struggle between the role of government and the role of the individual.  I'm not saying you can't complain -- complain ALL you want. But if I see one more Facebook status about renouncing U.S. citizenship, I will actually slap a ..... well, let's keep this PG.

6. Beware of being trolled. Let me explain -- going house to house giving my ten minute spiel about why I was voting for President Obama only to have a Jehovah Witness making me listen to HIS ten minutes spiel... totally trolled. Being invited in to discuss how I should invest in someone's upstart NGO and/or introduce me to your son because he needs a girlfriend... totally trolled. How did I go from the one selling my pitch to you selling yours?

7. People. The only reason why I kept working on a campaign during election season was because of the people I met and the stories I accumulated. Working on a campaign is one of the most rewarding experiences -- win or lose. I've met a variety of characters -- this year and back in 2008. There was Thomas who managed to convince an elderly lady and her daughter to come in to telephone bank.... even though she needed an oxygen tank (ask me for details on that one later). Renee who always had a pot of coffee ready, God bless her soul. Sana, the diehard Eagles fan with the hugest crush on Obama. There was the elderly Jamaican couple that I could barely understand who walked me through the Democrat's party history.... and even recounted the Carter-Kennedy fiasco in vivid detail. The Republicans that hated me and the Democrats that hated me. The young couple from New York who were far too liberal. David who kissed my cheek out of happiness when I finally got his Dashboard profile to work. Mara who welcomed me into her home for the night -- complete with tea and a tour of her house. Paul, who didn't even need coffee to function at 3 AM (that's impossible for me). John, a wonderful old soul, who rough around the edges at first -- eventually warmed up to me.  The little black boy in West Philly who told me he didn't want Senator Obama to win the election back in 2008... because he wanted to be the first black president.

I'll forget the political debates, the doors slamming in my face, and the long commute. But these are the stories I won't forget. These are the people who made it all worthwhile.

Um, excuse me?

What was that?

We all saw it. 

And we all cringed.

Republicans don't kid yourself,  Clint Eastwood's address at the GOP National Convention was just bizarre. Collective jaw drop at two minutes, chest aches by four, and full cardiac arrest on part of the Republicans by the end of it.
 

He's your endearing senile grandfather - just nod and smile, folks. Be sympathetic, but don't take him too seriously. Because one, the POTUS is his imaginary friend. And two, he thinks he's a cowboy still.... Yikes.

On that note - who should the Republicans have drafted?
If there's a lot of conservatives in Hollywood (I'm taking Clint's word for this -- since only he's hot-doggin' it) then why in the world did the GOP choose Clint? My top five picks if I had planned out the speaker's list at the GOP...

1. Jon Voight


Positive points? Jon Voight would have been a more than willing candidate to speak at the GOP convention. After professing his love for Mitt Romney back in January, he obviously didn't just join the bandwagon. He's a nice example of a former Democrat turned Republican (then again everyone was Democrat when JFK was president). Besides him also being a certified 'badass cowboy' (see Midnight Cowboy 1969) -- he probably would have kept his act together.

Negative points? Post interviews. He calls Clint Eastwood's speech 'elegant'...... that's just a blatant lie. I'm also pretty sure Angelina Jolie would go Lara Croft on his ass if he were to make such a speech. This election is going to get bloody but we'd like to avoid actual bloodshed, thanks.

2. Robert Duvall


Positive points? He was in The Godfather -- a gangster with a capital G (bad joke, but I couldn't resist). He loves the smell of Napalm in the morning and recently hosted an Ann Romney fundraiser. He's also in one of my favorite movies 'Get Low', check it out. He probably wouldn't have spoken to a chair either.

Negative points? He doesn't have quite the same appeal as Clint Eastwood. Most people our generation would wonder -- who's that geezer? Sad to say.

3. Drew Carey

Positive points? He's funny. Actually funny, not Clint Eastwood funny. He was a critic of the Bush administration but that would only help the Republican base (because hindsight is 20/20 and no one likes Bush now). I actually don't know if he's supporting Mitt Romney in the next election...but he's been considered a famous 'Republican' in Hollywood. To clarify, he's more of a Libertarian -- a conservative that still gets high. Um. His words, not mine.

Negative points? He's probably more of a Ron Paul supporter.


4. Jessica Simpson

Positive points? We would have expected her to mess up a speech -- and she's smart enough to play the dumb blonde card (wait, what?). She's also still really attractive, at least more so than Clint. Not that the Republicans need any more hotness points with Paul Ryan, but she would have been an interesting choice.  She's endearing and as much America's sweetheart as Jennifer Aniston is to all of us.

Negative points? I will not allow for a blonde Palin. I don't think she'd be the best to discuss politics with.... Yeah, nevermind. That speech would be cringe-worthy too.


5. Chuck Norris


Positive points? Um, hello -- he's Chuck Norris.

Negative points? There are NO negative points.

Guilty pleasures?

2 PM songs are disgustingly catchy...
And while we're being completely honest - these guys are pretty damn hot.

Truth,

I quit smoking and it's killing me.
Just murmur over that statement for a bit and then laugh.
I write this not because I'm proud, but because I thought I should let you know that -

Sometimes I still have huge cravings, like right now.

Especially when I have nothing else to do. When the thought just strikes my fancy.
Especially when I have writer's block. It would be so easy to just pick up a pack of cigarettes.  
Especially in Taiwan where my favorite Korean cigarette brand (Esse) is only 80NTD or roughly $2.75 -- compared to prices in Massachusetts or New York, that's a steal.

And I've never found smokers unattractive... maybe because I grew up with my father smoking. Marlboro Reds. Cowboy killers. He'd come home, wrap me up in his arms -- and I'd inhale the scent of leather, soap, and cigarette smoke. It was a comforting memory. One, that I will not discard. He's quit since then, cold turkey.

And when I worked at Lil' Peach, it was just as a part time job - in high school -- that I quite enjoyed. Tips from lottery winners, an extra smile for the regulars who bought me coffee, and a death glare at the freshman who tried to buy dip... or hit on me. I'd look the other way when people used the slush machine and received life advice from the grandpas who taught me how to appreciate cars. If you're curious? I should have been an accountant and I have an unhealthy obsession with Bentley's.

It was there that I learned the "art" of smoking.... unconsciously memorizing names of cigarettes, registering prices when the excise tax first hit Massachusetts, noting the grimaces on the regulars and increase in the demand for free matches... as opposed to one dollar lighters.

Parliament Lights, Camel Signature, Virginia Slims, Kool, Newport 100's, Marlboro Lights, Lucky Strikes, American Spirit, Carlton, and the list goes on and on. I remember running my hands through the packs -- I stocked them after all. I learned who smoked what -- the hipsters with their Parliaments, the old timers with their Marlboros, and those who smoked American Spirit's because they last twice as long. Double for your money. If you were really classy? You'd request the Nat Sherman's. Special order.


It started with clove cigarettes...
Freshman year of college. With Anne, my favorite person from my memories of back then. Clove cigarettes with hot chocolate. Smacking lips and a tingling sensation -- which meant it was like mint hot chocolate on a cold winter's night... or was it an early spring's frost? Barely discernible whether it was our breath or smoke that billowed out from our chapped lips.


It continued with free cigarettes...
At Chinese night clubs and Beijing bars. During a drink mixed with whiskey and iced tea. A nice addition to the madness and frenzy -- after work during happy hour and at dawn after one helluva night.

It progressed with American Spirit's...
In Paris, France. Where I could find a cafe, people watch, write, and smoke. Yes, I was a fake. I am not a starving artist that uses cigarettes to curb my hunger. Nor am I stick thin or urban chic. But it was fun and easy... meeting people outside on the streets, after a loud conversation by the bar, by the Seine, and waiting for the bus to school. This addiction further fed by the fact that my host mother smoked, constantly. I joined her in a cigarette, and then another, and then another. Forgetting what I was lighting -- the click of a lighter, light in my hands and easy on my ears. Lost in conversation, translation, and the Parisian lifestyle.

It ended with one cigarette...
The last in a pack. And this craving that comes up every once in a blue moon.


But, I'll refrain.
Because I really don't want to walk out in this torrential downpour (typhoon warnings, imminent power outage). I don't have the motivation...

And not enough money,
And not enough time.
And I like running.
And I'm not in Paris anymore.
And it was a new year's resolution.
And people in the United States pass judgment like it's nobody's business (hah).
And I really can't be bothered to explain what an 'addiction' implies in Buddhism.
And when it comes down to it... I really don't want to give my brothers a reason to ever start.

And most and least importantly -- I'm determined, dedicated, and damned if I don't make it to the Mt. Everest base camp next summer. BAH.

Happiness

I told someone recently that it's easier to write when I'm not 'happy'... a better writer when I'm alone. Melancholy. Pensive...

It was pointed out to me, that I'm not any less of a writer when I'm happy. 
So perhaps, I just don't feel comfortable writing about happiness.

But why? I ask.

Because... maybe, I'm afraid that writing about such an elusive idea is dangerous. Happiness threatens to disappear just when you seem to have a firm grasp of it. With a ransom note.

If I write, I write to understand. But what if I don't want to understand why I'm happy, the source of happiness. Blissfully unaware. Is still blissful.

Poets, dream of it.

Professors, can't teach it.

Philosophers, struggle with it.
Politicians, prey on it -- sell it.

People, claim it as rightly theirs.

Entitled, privileged, unalienable right.

I don't think I'm comfortable with the idea that I'm happy. The asymptote of a curve... tangent at infinity? Or are they constantly just a breath away, approaching each other...as both reach for infinity? None, willing to make that first step. To reach over the line, to shake. In a truce. Unable to attain or live without. Find common ground. A necessary evil in one another. The air that's needed. Breath. Breathe.

Because... maybe, when I write, I write to better understand my emotions at that moment. To rid, relieve myself of that flash. Of inspiration which is usually borne out of reflection, introspection. 

But would I want to shed myself of happiness? Does it become less? Once written down. Or am I aware that I cannot capture it in words. Nor claim that I can even touch it.

Because... maybe, I'm afraid of discovering I'm not actually happy. 

I don't know if I want to know if I'm not happy. Wouldn't I know? I don't want to spend time understanding a concept that might dissolve as soon as it resurfaces.

Because... maybe, it's easier to admit when you're angry, frustrated, lonely, depressed in writing. Writing to cleanse, to rehabilitate, as a form of therapy. Because if you write, you take control, and command. Master.  Overcome what would have overwhelmed.

Channel your energy into more positive outlets -- that's what they tell you to do. But why aren't we encouraged to write -- even when we're happy? You're sad? Write it down. You're happy? Silence.

Because... maybe, I'm afraid of being happy. As opposed to being at peace. Happiness is a much more capricious concept. She sways in front of you, enticing. 

Would you take the hand of a temptress?

Because... maybe, I don't know if feeling happiness is true happiness.

We wrestle with this idea.

If it comes too easily, then it can disappear just as easily. If it doesn't come easily, then it wasn't meant to be. Happiness should come easily...? Because it's natural? Is it? Isn't it?


Do we need to understand what happiness is to us?
Or can I live with happiness without understanding it?

So perhaps, I just don't feel comfortable writing about my happiness.

Pen to paper, late night ravings of an insomniac.

10 things I learned in Hong Kong

1. Skinny is the new black. If I had the face, I'd be a plus-size model in Hong Kong. I may be a size 0 in the States, but these ladies would be swimming in a double 0. If you're into slightly too skinny? These girls are pretty damn gorgeous whereas the guys can't even compare.  I'll be honest and say that if I lived in Hong Kong, I'd totally swing for the other team. As Junjun would point out though, once you've seen one, you've seen them all. Similar styles, haircuts, makeup, and even faces. All Asians look the same... and no, I don't care if I sound racist.

2. Skinny is the new black -- for guys, too. If you're looking for a guy to swing you over his shoulder and bring you back to his place caveman style? Look elsewhere. Not saying any guy needs to be able to do that, but having that option would be nice in terms of selection. To be fair, Hong Kong guys are well dressed and fairly good looking...if you're into Korean boy bands and/or urban hipsters. These guys have clothing and accessories down to an art -- mixing the best of Japanese, Korean, Chinese, and European styles. Whether they have the personalities to match that --- well, that's up to you to decide.

3. People's weight makes no sense. Hong Kong has some of the best selection of food I've seen of any city. How the FUCK do these people stay so skinny? For a truly cultural experience, trek it to a university campus (or by the Hong Kong Heritage Museum) for some quick and dirty dim sum, fried pigeons, chilled tofu dessert, or wonton soup. If you're particularly daring? Chicken feet is always a favorite.

4. Shop 'til you drop. In the last few second after writing that last point I realized that the reason everyone's so skinny is because shopping is a complete workout. There's just simply too many places to choose from and a price range for any type of budget. High end designer pieces can be found within 100 feet of street markets where haggling is a way of life. Hong Kong also makes it completely impossible to go through a day without walking through or passing by a mall. They're in the subways, by your school, and around the corner. Big brother on crack, essentially. Did I mention there's no tax? Even at Armani, Calvin Klein, DKNY, or Burberry? Dangerous. Prepared to be broke as a joke.

5. English will get you anywhere. Speaking English can get you (or anyone else for that matter) into any night club. Drop a New York accent to get bonus points.

6. Picking up girls at a bar must be the most financially draining endeavor for guys. Our tab at Beijing Club? 327 HKD (that's roughly $42.50)... that was for three silver tequila shots... That's disgusting.

7. Cleavage is a no go. Especially as an Asian girl. Prepare for stares and a lot of come-ons in some places. Westerners (i.e. white people) won't be harassed nearly as much. Why is that? The perpetrators? Mainly East Asian and South Asian men actually. Am I generalizing? Yes. But it'd be a lie of omission if I left out that observation.

8. Everyone's directionally challenged. Everyone drives on the left side of the road, but foot traffic is a mess. Escalators go up on the right side, yet walking down into the metros? Keep left. When crossing the street, prepare to see your life flash before your eyes -- or just a beautiful green Bentley. On a related note, I'd learn to drive stick with my left hand just so that I could take some of the cars I saw in HK for a spin. Being a valet for any hotel on Nathan Road would be pretty damn sweet.

9. Everyone's language confused. English, Cantonese, and Mandarin. Take your pick. There's also just as many tourists milling around the city. So, if you're really lost? Look for a tour-guide with the country flag you need for directions in a specific language. I was never at a lack for Vietnamese tour guides.

10. Bring an umbrella. For both the rain and the water dripping from buildings lined with AC units. And if you really want to fit in, bring it for the sun. Whitening cream is a close second to sun block when it comes to necessities of an Asian girl.

I'll sum up by saying -- I could live in Hong Kong for a few years, but not forever. It has the best of both worlds; the east and west, history and novelty, lush mountains and tall skyscrapers, foreigners and locals, with just a splash of anarchy. But... at the end of the day, I think I'd end up just as schizophrenic as the city.

Modern Love I

Soundtrack: Modern Love - Matt Nathanson

She said this talking
Kind of wears me out
And all these salesmen
Baby, make me tired


They're no good, to tell you the truth, she said
I've been gettin' used to liars
They send me love songs , with store bought words
They make promises, like politicians
We stumble
And disconnect
Over and over again


This modern love is not enough
She said, watch your back
I'm nobody's girlfriend
This modern love is not enough
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
They said one big exhale never did me no -- good


I'd let em in, I
Oh man, I'd let 'em win
I'd burn my house down
Just to hear them scream my name
I've carried hopes
And heavy daydreams she said
But I'm done with sleeping
Take the phone calls
Take this circus
Take the drama, cause baby it's worthless


This modern love is not enough
She said, watch your back
I'm nobody's girlfriend
This modern love is not enough
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
They said one big exhale never did me no, good
One big exhale never did me no good


------------------
Let's be honest, this song should have been my theme song for the last two years; two years of which I never spent more than three consecutive months at a time in the United States.

If you know me, even just a little bit, you'll know that I'd make a terrible girlfriend. Between my wanderlust, inability to commit, and workaholic tendencies... it'd be terrible to date me. Trust me. 

"... it's impossible to date you."
"if things were different... if we were in the same place...."
"you're only goal is to travel the world and.... "
"... you're not the type to settle down..."
"you're not running from anything this time right?"
"stay still, for just a second..."


Is it always my fault?To tell you the truth? It's almost reassuring at times that I'm the one at fault for all the failed attempts at romance. I owed no one allegiance, loyalty, commitment, or trust. No excuses. No reasons for my inability to stay in touch. No explanation for this overwhelming desire to keep moving forward, faster, flying. Life flows by. No pain, no regrets.

To meander aimlessly through lighted city streets, up mountain paths, or down airplane aisles. To flip through my passport with passing fancies about my next destination. To spend time with friends - city to city - one adventure after the next. Flings and friendships formed, without a thought as to whether we'll both be in each other's tomorrow. Freedom to flirt and enjoy a stranger's conversation, to fall in 'love' simply for the chase. To pick myself up again during a game of tag and run. I wasn't necessarily running away from attachments, I just never stayed long enough in one place to form anything significant.

I was happy by myself, truly.


"I'm not looking for a relationship..."
"I don't want a boyfriend..."
"I can't have anything serious..."


When did those words start to slip so easily off my tongue? Some time between China and France, most likely some time mid-flight over the Pacific or at a layover in Kuala Lumpur. During a sunset over the mountains of Borneo or mid-cigarette in September.

Just because I was up front with my intentions, doesn't free myself from all blame. Just because I was honest, never meant I was left without a sense of guilt. I'm nobody's girlfriend. Right? I thought.

Chalk it up to self-preservation. If I keep traveling then it's not me, it was the situation. Neither person was to blame. If we like each other, why not? Right. Isn't that enough? I thought.

Heartbreaker, player, flirt, tease, and more than once? "undateable". Right. I thought.

Another summer in Taiwan can't prove me wrong. Right? I thought.

But now? I'm tampering with thoughts as I tread, slowly sink, and become totally engulfed. There is no good reason. At this point in our lives, we're not meant to be in relationships. Right. I thought.

------------------
So...where do I even start in approaching a situation where -- say, I actually enjoy someone's company -- long enough to form some attachment?

Good question.

beauty is in the details.

the slipping and falling -

of figures
of fabric
of fictitious flimsy fancies.

furtive glances,
to make sure we look as uncomfortable as we feel.
the hesitation in front of the mirror
flitting of wide eyes,
to stare at the stranger staring back
hushed whispers

"... how do they wear this everyday?"
"... just get so angry..."
"... I mean, I could never..."

truth be told, these thoughts have echoed in my mind too.
in awe, anger, admiration, and anxiety in the unknown

wearing the abaya and shayla...
to school, to the mall, to dinner, to the airport,
and more importantly
what happens when you go to the bathroom?
no, really - I'm curious.

my hands gingerly finger the black material,
alternance entre -
smoothing and grasping.
a stumble and a hop, as we straighten and re-adjust
like newborns.

a dilation of pupils as black figures emerge into white brilliance.
a smile transpires as we laugh, joke, and take pictures
comfortable in our shared discomfort.

truth be told, we envy your grace in the abaya's and shayla's
truth be told, we quickly immerse - awash in a transformation

not disingenuously asking questions
intrigued by this new-found identity
still foreigners in an alien costume,
but content with sharing this bit of your life.
assimilation.

distinguished only by the attention to detail -

delicate lace,
gemstone designs,
trimmed in color,
cuts, angles, and ties
a balance of sheers and shadows

if you look closely,
you'll notice;

coach purses,
louis vuitton handbags
and the occasional fendi wristlet.

a digital SLR camera,
slung carelessly over one shoulder,
an iPhone in the other hand taking an instagram

peep-toe shoes and bright leggings
henna tattooed hands

mischievous intent
hidden behind demure smiles
quick laughter with light sarcasm
biting comments with thinly-veiled skepticism

their vibrant personalities -
arguably their most lethal accessory

carefully manicured hands
balancing elegant sunglasses
that cover smoky eyes

these women are beautiful.
what lies underneath is the same...
their abaya's and shayla's that fail to cover themselves,
in the most important ways.

what's more important - what is within and what is shallow?
what should we value - pride in culture or vanity in fashion?

but let's not jump to conclusions -
it's not necessarily a question of freedom, religion, or culture
nor an emphasis on the individual or self expression

the question

if we were to choose;
whether or not to wear the abaya and shayla...
would we choose the abaya and shayla?

truth be told,

the answer

"maybe"
just not with the Emirati heat.

sorry, Deenah.
but I promise, next time in NYC :)

It's been a while dear,

How have you been?

Such an open-ended question. An invitation of sorts - to reply, "I've been good." But that moment before those words materialize, do we hesitate to answer? Truthfully. Comma. There's a world of thoughts I want to impart.

I'm a 20-something dreamer, wanderer.

Truthfully, we're all a little lost. But to calm your fears, and any of mine; "I've been good."

We have the world before us and enough of a past to say we've lived a bit of life. Enough to know there's still so much more and enough to understand. That life is fleeting and moments are eternal. Life thus far - a bit of yours, a bit of mine. Overlapping dreams and memories. Paths don't really cross. They meld into this existence, this consciousness.

How have you been?

A loaded question. A simple answer. There's a bit of truth behind "I've been good,"
Because we're living, pushing forward, struggling, carrying on.

We've lived enough to know that we've grown into our likes and dislikes. We have a better understanding of what we want from life, from others, from today. Compartmentalize. Pressing, urgent with mundane, yet necessary. Work for today, and thoughts for tomorrow. Work, food, sleep. Love and happiness.

Let's spend some time,

Missing who we were - when the things we knew to be true, came so much more simply. What is good and right - what is wrong and destructive.

We have vices now - questions of morality and values. We are less, and more. Ignorance is bliss, but we've become ourselves with anger, sorrow, peace, and joys.

Grateful for knowing that even though things are less complicated than we make them out to be - that the reason we worry, is because we care.

Tottering between yes and no - I hope for the best. Not old enough to be cynical and not young enough to be naive. Here's to life. To me, to you.

Love, life, happiness,
Tc