Period Talk – October Edition.

sink-or-swim.png You know there are periods that just take care of themselves? They just seem to roll right along into your live with a polite announcement by way of a little bleeding in the neither region, and you go “Oh! welcome stranger, let me take good care of you while you are visiting.” “Oh no no nonono, it’s no bother at all, make yourself at home.” At the end of several days they just bounce away like balls of blood-tainted cute crumbled trash and you are like “Bye bye! Hope you had a good time and see you soon.” Yeh, this is not one of those. I liken these to mega-fatigue-inducing blood suckers. Such events comes with their own preludes: something like a productive and very tiring but uplifting workweek or an exhaustingly fun communal event where you can forget for a moment what a low-energy state even feels like. Then it hits you.

So I like to make bed at night. I feel like we are so fortunate to have safe and oh-so comfortable chamber dedicated to our nighttime activities. I’d layout the soft duvet and already can feel myself laying in the enveloping warmth that’s waiting for me. This is my period talking, the same one that makes me dream of chocolate milkshakes and have such a demonic craving of anything salty and sweet I feel a certain kinship to zombies while grabbing a bag of sea-salt potato chips and enjoying them with such pleasure I think I’m in love.

It’s a basic love, a love that can be mustered while in a state of bodily discharge and mental exhaustion and the senses are left to roam the ruins. The wind feels good on the skin, time does not matter, the feeling lasts forever. I can’t fight this, my body needs what it needs. I have learned that sometimes you are the baron of your body, other times your body tells you to fuck off and smell the grease. I don’t feel guilty any more. My body has served me well all things considered, it can have some chocolate milkshake, a whole bag of chips at a time and half day sleep schedule if it can’t help itself. I’m on board. Enjoy the flow.

P.S. Saw the movie “Venom” during period, looks like Tom Hardy was having a medium intensity one himself. Eat up bro.

Period Talk – September Edition.

Don’t feel like working on anything that I would not recall doing once I’m off this bloody period. Things have to stick for them to be worthwhile you see. I even forgot how to spell “worthwhile”, worthwell was what I was writing down. It made sense as my thinking went, worthwell. Except it’s not a word of course. What’s a word anyway.

This girl who was my high-school classmate lingers in my mind for some reason. We were not friends. She was too pretty for me. She’s too pretty to have any friend really. She’s so pretty that her face was in the illustrated book for our art class. It’s not just for our school either. And there’s a curious phenomena of that particular picture of her smiling face being cut out from the book as we received our hand-me-down books.

Her face stuck with me, and how unhappy that face usually looked. She used to cry in the girls’ bathroom. I tried to comfort her, pretending to know what she’s going through. But it might just be jealousy. Jealous at how boys would stop in their tracks and gaze at her as she walked by. Jealous at how teachers would be extra strict with her. Jealous at her opportunity to represent the school for a radio contest. But she was not happy, she did not have friends. On that, we did relate. I hope she’s very happy now. She’s smart, she’d have it figured out.

I don’t do makeup because I’ve learned that attentions are usually bad. I don’t dress in skirts either, for several reasons. One, you have to watch how you move and sit. Two, it leaves me feeling vulnerable. Three, it’s not period friendly. What’s the reason for wearing skirts then? Freedom I suppose. For me it’s always been a luxury to indulge in now and then. Maybe I’m overthinking things, I’m always overthinking things. Call it a habit.

Oh, yeh, makeups. I don’t quite understand why people would want to wear makeups. They smell good maybe. It’s a form of self-expression I suppose. But I suspect a lot of women wear makeup as a form of deterrence. It made them appear, and probably feel more confident by making themselves looking perfect and ready for battle. I wonder if that’s the way to go actually. My mother asks me why I don’t wear pretty dresses and my mother-in-law says I should wear some lipsticks and blush. I myself am not sure. I’m rather just who I am: unsure, un-remarkable, unnoticeable, already a fake, and too tired to pretend otherwise. Maybe I’m still doing it wrong? As the flow goes.

Period Talk – July Edition.

part-the-red-sea.png There was a hackathon weekend during my period the past month that I skipped. I was tired and could not get up at 7:30am to catch the 8:00am starting of the event. The other reason would be because it’s an all women event. What can I possibly miss right? For a technical hackathon with all ladies, surely it’s not as exciting as if there were more men than women… I’m a sexist against my own gender. I’ve observed in the society what and more importantly who holds the power. I’ve been let down by other women who try to impose their value on me, just another mere female that is lost and weird and needs guidance. They are so kind-hearted, I hate it. They are so supportive, I hate it. They are so selfless and cheerful, I hate, hate it.

I played action figures instead of dolls (they creep me out). I played adventures instead of dressed-up tea-parties. I’d rather be dead than looking proper and prim and ready to serve just because. In my mind, what society wants with a woman has nothing at all to do with me. But I also seethe, oh, how I seethe. When I see dedication page on the books: “For Joanne”, “For my wife without whom …”, “For mom whose love…”. When I have a dedication to write for my book I will say “For my father who loves me enough to show me how the world really works. For my hubby who doesn’t care what I do as long as I will agree to having his kid one day.” Let the flow be real.

Period Talk – June Edition.

period-tango-slim-2.png “I’m nothing if not confused” many a person uttered that line with such finality you’d suspect they’re gonna be alright. That fatalism brings its own solution as I resigned to spend my weekend with the “guest” who for once knocked on my biological door on a Friday. Kindly enough. I thought it would be easy too. A bit chatty and uncommonly “sociable” are the side effects of being a bit high from internal chemical somersaults and blood-loss. It’d be fun with the in-laws.

Except, I over-slept. Still in bed at 11 o’clock on a Sunday while I should be serving tea for these other guests. I was in a cozy, hazy dream and only vaguely aware of my companion’s “subtle” cues of should-be-obvious-but-not-to-me noises as he got up at 10:30am. I guess I should be the one with the tea and breakfast ready. My bad. I wish I didn’t have to see that glance from the in-law’s eyes. The utter disapproval or disgust that she must have reserved for me all that morning. It mirrored my own. I wondered how much a failure I am for not being a good host, a good “daughter”, a good companion to an exceptional and long-suffering son.

The wound is a familiar one. You’d think I’d have learned how to take it by now. Then again, maybe not. I realized something though. It is my fault. For still looking for others for validation. For still blaming myself for being who I am. For still taking this passive-aggressive crap as a matter-of-course. I am my own human-being. I will live with it. In the meantime you can serve your own tea, pretty please.

May your flow be smooth.

Period Talk – May Edition.

period-tango-slim-2.png What Strange sceneries, even as the walls are closing in. Normal tasks that require focusing is out of mental reach. Instead I have this pulsing gray matter that goes away as I lay here. It refuses to settle down and rest even, sigh, I’m in the driver’s seat no more.

What do you say when you can’t say anything. Not because there’s nothing to say but because there’s too much. No time for pausing. And the frustration makes you have to let go. The grinding is just too much. Every second you are pushing against an invisible current. Somehow time conspires and pushes you out of the door and into the rabbit hole. You are left adrift in a loud, colorful foreign land fraught with danger. You just want to go home, you just want to rest.

But nobody knows what you are going through because they do not see. Even if you show them the bloodied bed-sheet they pretend it’s a flower thing. It is not a flower thing and fuck the bees. Period is messy, literally bloody and exhausting. Ever time I have it it’s just like the first time, and several times a day during that period I hate being a woman. Why do I have to go through this? Oh, right, they say it’s because of a sin. Well, fuck that, I’m going to take advantage of this “gift”.

It’s not quite getting high, for you do still have several degrees of control over your mind just enough to observe the fun experience. But the faster time flow has been activated. It’s like when you are recovering from a fever and you are floating between groggy land and a chaotic construction site. You can’t focus for shit, but guess what, free-association is all the rage.

Something tells me that we are all bags. Compared to grass we are a mobile entity. This is very important. Which means we are not bound by some patch of earth, we are master of space. But where should we go? Since we are less connected with nature we have to rely even more on nature for clues, and that gives us the ability to observe and reflect. Oh, you go the same way as I? Perfect, now we can be neighbors, let’s not kill each other on our first try shall we? All because we are bags of things that enable us to move around. I feel like a bag.

And other inspiring thoughts, most of which I don’t remember, mercifully. Oh, and music playing is actually much easier during period. You can say it really flows.