What not why.

Where love should be
all I feel is sadness.
Don’t know what’s wrong.
Mother did say life is suffering.

I don’t believe her, I mean
if I don’t think deeply,
let’s just count the cheers & grab the beers,
turn sad songs into funny stories.

Depressions hit suddenly.
All makes sense now, only darkly.
Switching out energy for ammunitions.
Shutting down hope for spiritual communications.

You see my eyes, I’m not here, not really.
Thousands miles away & no place to stay.
Thinking on the hurts & things that went wrong.
Present is dead & the future’s sold for a song.

Hope you have a way to deal with this.
Wherever there are lows the high awaits.
Change your mind by looking outside.
You’ve been here long enough, quit being such a weenie.

It cuts, it cuts, it laughs, it sparks.
Only the worst, twisted, so it works better.
Show me the bridge, I want to watch it burn.
You look like a caricature of a total fucking stranger.

What’s the matter with me. I got your apology right here.
Or I will keep it shut so you won’t use it against me later.
You’ve seen this before so guess this is just a comedy turn.
Tomorrow we can play mimes, memes, or just plain stupid.

Hating me, loving this, I swear this is just a period.
Raising it up, putting it down.
Need them fumes for this barely moving trunk.

Period Talk – April Edition.

Period is a time of consolidation. The various roles I played all crushing down and transformed into the shape of a woman. The ticking clock transports me back-and-forth, from the arena that I built for myself into a familiar little room with gray walls and gray lights. It happens in a kind of twilight under which, the harshness of life is moved to the front of the stage, and the weight is felt for my own mortality. I think it’s a pity that guys don’t get periods, they could benefit from its humbling side-effects.

I trust the outside world more while working hard ignoring my own chaotic thoughts. I seek comfort in the real world, relieved that there are still orders and props intact and there are real people living contently in it still. I’m grateful that the world that I sometimes happily stepped out of is still there when I need it. I can count on salmon bento-box for lunch and the local Japanese bookstore for hardcore Yaoi to satisfy my other craving. It’s easy to fantasize during period.

Yes, consolidations. As I was saying in the beginning, I feel like a little woman when I’m on period. My immediate concern has to do with not getting blood everywhere. It is a dream when I can be productive, but those times are closely followed by a feeling of exhaustion and defeat. Do you see yourself as one whole person all the time? I see myself as several. Nothing too crazy, just different parts of me having different strengths and yearnings. I find myself having to appease them by doing different things all the time like playing music, writing poem, meeting new people, doing new stuff. It can be going really well for 20 or so days in a month with all these characters going on their own tasks on their own slices of time, it’s the blood thing that unites them all. For a week or so, they all come home and be silenced, or they would tell their own stories around a bloody campfire. Then they would one by one set off again. (Sounds like a story from a Japanese horror manga now.)

It’s hard to admit to myself that I sometimes find myself dirty. I don’t want to admit it because that’s what some people think of women and they use that unexplained feeling of disquiet to discard women as an inferior animal. I don’t understand why I can’t just think myself out of these chores and hindrances. Why does anybody have to deal with anything? But maybe I’m just as scared as everybody else. There are things that control our lives which we prefer to forget. We don’t want to be reminded constantly of where we came from and where we are going. We look up to beauty because it hides the awful truth. But it’s OK for me now, I no longer judge things as they first appear, unless I’m on period, then my annoyance is justified because I’m high on life, the kind that will pay you back in kind.

I am a dirty woman, and I’m going to finish that juicy watermelon and re-read that delicious Yaoi that is full of half sentences.

Period talk – Feb -no-edit- Edition.

periodtalkchocolate.png It’s fun going to an onsite interview while on the rag, I’m just one coffee zip away from going total lunatic, that’s laughing with no reason, talking to myself not caring what the outside respond is. Feel like I’m tranquilized. It’d be all good if I don’t have to put 2 and 2 together, much less dealt out an algorithm that deals with real world complex problems, as if I give a crap at this point.

Men don’t have to go to interview while having period, or pregnant, I’m sure they have plenty other things to worry about, I’m learning what those things are, but, at least they don’t have to calculate in the back of their heads when their low time’s gonna be. And I missed it this time big, because the recruiter forgot about to put my scheduling request, 2 times straight, and that firmly landed us in the red zone. How did I know this gonna happen again? Maybe I will remember something this time.

My mind tells me to stay still, under the warmth, enjoy the fog and the intangible passing of time, it tells me that there’s nothing happening outside of my body is as important or as complicated as what’s happening inside.

Got a salmon bento (how lucky am I, as a woman, be able to just go out and grab a lunch that I know from internet search is good for me on period.), also grabbed some dark chocolate and red-bean bum. The first bite into the crunchy salmon, it’s as if my whole body breathed a sign of relief. It was like it’s saying “thank you! thank you! thank you!” And I will be like “no, thank you!” (I wrote this while on the rag as some of you can probably tell).

The new period tradition: period food shopping. Japanese foods are good in general, but heavenly during period, their lovingly prepared salmon bento mentioned before, their dark chocolate, everything seems to designed for women on period, could that be the secret of their longevity? Hmmm?

Word of caution though. If you are like me, you will crave grease and sugar like nothing else. But don’t just eat anything you can get your hands on, get better quality stuff if you can. The same thing works in other area in life, if you substitute the real healthy thing with cheap dubious substitute, you won’t be satisfied.

Women on period especially requires warmth, comfort, nutrition, there should be stickers on fruits and food items that signify it’s beneficial for women on period, there should be open environment for women on period to vent their discomfort and getting support, as it is, we have Period anonymous. Maybe, after women can finally breastfeed in public without causing a minor scandal, we can work on removing the stigma surrounding this other bodily function that is the byproduct of the so-called miracle of life.

I don’t think ill of the recruiter though. She has enough to deal with without people like me giving her a hard time.

—- Fucked up period fantasy stories.

A girl was cursed that every time she lifts her skirt, exposing her privates, the earth itself will rise up to shield it so no man can see it, much less touch it. Still, because the girl is pretty, may men were impaled to death by this strange phenomenal. The girl was so saddened that she decides to not wear her skirt, thus a great mountain range was erected around her, isolating her from the world of men. Until one day, the chosen one heard of this tale and pitied the now young woman and decide to free her from this curse. He ended up transformed into the tree and the poor woman cried a pond under the tree and herself turned into a koi living in the pond, under the tree. The end.

Period Talk – Dec, Dec Edition.

periodicTable.png Stealing time, that’s how it feels to me. Since signing up the woman-fun-ride package I often get the sense that my body is not my own. Ever since hitting (didn’t see it coming for damn sure) puberty I’ve been facing the biological-firing-squad that just keeps on playing this little game of “Ready! Aim! Fire!”, except they keep the communication to themselves of course. Then I’d be down for awhile. Picking myself up is always a learning curve, can’t say I got the hang of it yet but there’s always the next time.

So I went to 日本 (Japan, yay!) at the beginning of December after consulting my very own periodic table making sure I wouldn’t be caught red-handed. What I forgot is that my body is rather like an amusement park it tends to break down under unexpected-traveling load. And why not just happen to happen on the night of our 温泉 (hot-spring) town stay. Nice body I got here, we are in sync like THAT. Guess I shouldn’t complain too much, there are perks in being zombified after all, the stomach becomes a bottomless hole, not to mention all the reactions with people become automatic due to the lowered input rate from the vastly over-rated consciousness. Go team! Of course I bathed in the 温泉 regardless. I figured it’s all organic matter anyway so I wouldn’t want to miss the one chance to do the unthinkable to the locals (It’s only a slow leak at that point, in case you are weirdly grossed out).

Then the firing-squad did it again at the end of the same month. For that I just want to say thank you, so much, for making me not caring as much (or at all) about how I should behave in the parties, in front of all the relatives. It’s just the perfect time of the year to be under the influence of low blood-sugar and low self-control. I had a blast at both occasions. It is the roller coaster ride that just keeps on flowing.

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.