charlobo-a-go-go

“Hey, did you hear the news?”

Some of you who go to USF or went to USF, more like, heard the news recently about the shooting and death of Hyman Taylor. Go ahead and read it. I’ll wait for you.

My mind snapped back to some of Hyman’s first days at USF. He came to my office to handle some business, sat down on our couch, and closed his eyes as if to take a few for some rest.

“How’s it going?” I asked him. He opened his eyes, smiled, and told me things were well. We exchanged a few more pleasantries and then went onto our own business. This was the context of our relationship. Touching base, greeting, and being folks. He was 6’9”, I am 5’0”. Without doubt that 17 inches of difference didn’t seem to far away after all.

As in any job, loss is inevitable, but I tend to see it from an arm’s length, away from me. It’s someone I heard of or someone I barely knew. I can’t say Hyman and I were homies, but our exchanges I will always remember as pleasant, kind, and punctuated with smiles.

So to hear of his life cut short like this cuts a little because I knew him. It makes me sad because he was part of my landscape like so many students are, but he, literally stood up taller than the rest. So it was easy to pick him out, wave, say hello.

Life moves so fast, and hellos go to goodbyes equally fast. I’m grateful I had the chance to say hello.

Char

6/14 update: this report and update about the circumstances around his death make me even more sadder.

I have a friend, or maybe not so much a friend, that I’ve found myself wondering about here and there. I say not so much a friend because it’s been so long since we’ve been friend-like to each other.

There’s one thing about being civil to one another, and there’s another thing about being stuck in a space where your friendship isn’t so defined and being left to figure it all out. I don’t know one way or another around it, but I’m here, holding onto a friendship that let go of me a long time ago.

Things were fine, really, and then there was a moving on - change of location and relation that became a huge chasm between us. I stood at the edge of that chasm a long time and stared at the other side equally long because what was once familiar wasn’t. What was shared became left behind. What once was “us” was no more.

I at times feel bitter and ask, to no one in particular: so, where did it all go? I have no idea, and I have no desire to chase it to its conclusion, but I can’t deny that this hurts. It reminds me of a dull ache that won’t go away but kicks in when the rain is on the horizon. I want to, at the very least, let this person know that I never stopped caring.

I suppose at some point, I should have enough in me to put it aside or address it, but I just don’t have it in me anymore. Maybe that’s a good thing, maybe it’s a bad thing. But that’s the problem with being left on the precipice. Jumping would solve a lot of issues, but it would also solve a lot of issues.

btw, this is about someone who i am no longer in touch with, so don’t get all crazy thinking i’m talking about you. no really. stop it.

char

I love bags. Purses. Totes. Suitcases. I don’t know why, but I know ever since I was a child, the accoutrements for containing things has always been intriguing to me. Boxes, folders, satchels.  I study their construction, their materials, and their general aesthetic.

I think bags say a lot about a person. Their station. Their position. Their ability to care for something. Their taste (or lack thereof). But most importantly, if you want to know a lot about the person, crack the bag open and see what’s inside.

See, we can get all deep about this and talk about your bag reflects your inner working, etc., but it’s not that serious. What’s in your bag really reflects what’s important to you.

I change my bag every so often depending on what the occasion calls for, where I’m going, and what I need to carry. Some days I need my laptop, some days I don’t. Somedays call for books, some days don’t. Don’t even get me started about what is in my makeup kit. Geez. But there are things that I transfer from one bag to the next: my rosary from Rome, my Moleskine, my phone, a pen.

My bag today is a reflection of my work and creative life, I suppose. I won’t get into too much detail, but if I were to fall off the face of the earth for a time being, I think I’m good.

I’m going to throw this out to you all…what’s in your bag? And…while we’re at it, check this out: What’s In Your Bag?

I was reluctant to post a resolution because I haven’t even really picked one. Or two. Or three. I just went into the new year thinking that, well, I hope I remember to write 2010 on my checks.

really? who writes checks anymore? i do, jerks. although they’re not frequently written.

Anywhoo, I figured I should think of something because it’s mid-January, and I should start my year off with some productivity. Automatically, I’m going to throw out diet because THAT’S WHAT EVERYONE DOES. And if you know me, I’m not trying to do what everyone else does. Although I may want to because my mom, god bless her, said to me this morning “Maybe you shouldn’t go in Petites anymore.” FML.

What is it about Filipino moms and the not-so-direct route? It’s not subtle, it’s quite overt. It’s not even remotely gentle. It’s a slap. Wow. Thanks. Okay, so back to my resolutions.

Here’s what I’ve come up with:

1. Don’t complain - be grateful. In this day and age, it’s real easy to say, FM Boss or my husband is a tool. But it’s also really important to say I am grateful that I have a job. Or my boss could be a total jerkface when this one is quite pleasant. Or at least my husband isn’t a cheating douchebag. It’s reframing. And it’s also reality.
2. Write more. Voila, bitches.
3. Follow through on my projects. Not that I haven’t been, but I want to be able to have my year of creativity vibe back. It was the whole purposeful thing that I miss. I have some cool stuff down the pipeline that I’d like to make real. BRL book #2. Photography. BRL websites.
4. Cook. Christmas present? Kitchen Aid Stand Mixer. Holy shit, it’s so on.
5. Meditate. I’d love to make this one legit.

So there you go. Five easy ones. It’s not cause they’re easy that I’m doing them, it’s because it’s important, and it’s gonna be done, hon.

Char

Table for 20?

I trucked the Little Family out to Richmond/Pinole (I never know which one it is) for dinner with some friends. It was a no-brainer. Something we’ve done as friends for a few years. I don’t even remember when/where we started.

All I know is that it’s always a good time, and all I know is that these are the ties that bind.

The holidays leave me thinking…leave me wondering about what’s coming up or what’s next in my life. The New Year brings loads of resolutions, reflections, and moments whereupon I wonder what new challenge to take on or what thing to redo. As you can tell, I’ve decided to retake up blogging on a more deeper level than the 140 I’ve been giving you. No, you’re welcome.

Anyway, for the last few days I’ve been playing full-time moms; my folks have been away and I have some time off from work. It’s been nice. Busy, but nice. It’s wonderful to see Bambina do Bambina things. Fun to see Husbandido do Husbandido things (pass out in Bambina’s tent…wtf). I’ve lost track of days - I don’t even know what the numeric date is. 2nd? 4th? Monday? Life is delicious like that.

But my routine is still there. Wake up a little early, quality time with Bambina, make coffee for Husbandido, feed parrot. Watch hours upon hours of Sprout. Do Wiggles dances. Geez. No, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It seems simple, uncomplicated. I read books (A Thousand Splendid Suns, The Lovely Bones, Beautiful Struggle, Mountain Man Dance Moves, all the Twilight Books…all in the last month). It’s simple. I tweet. I read updates. Barrel through my RSS feeds. I move through the day fluidly. Certain days it feels languid.

But without the pressure of work and the constant need to produce and serve others, I’m turning inside to listen to myself more and find out not just resolutions, but revolutions and reflections. Three R’s? Maybe.

I am reeling from a friend’s passing. Just a few days ago. I don’t even know how to talk about it or how to put it out there other than this. Over dinner we talked about it in hushed terms, that rawness making it hard to say more than, wow. This whole post, this is the paragraph that I am literally staring at the screen trying to figure out what to say.

Sometimes you don’t have to say anything.

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Last week I had the honor of working graduation with my colleagues, much as we do every single semester. 800 graduates, 6 guests each. You can do the math.

My role is somewhat limited to helping getting people robed and ready to rumble. I also get to line folks up, walk them through what they will be doing, and guide the occasional late comer to their seat. It happens often.

I get the honor of taking the tassle out of the eyes of the graduates. It’s a wrist flick I do that leaves me a little sore at the end of the day, but every single graduate who walks up on the stage gets the flick. A small role.  But one I love to do. Some are gracious and say thanks, and for the first time, someone wanted it in their face. Okay, player.

In the audience for one of the three ceremonies was a familiar face. I was finished walking through the first graduate what their paces would be, and I saw her. A nun. Blue. White headband. Her face registered with me immediately. Her hair was lighter than usual, but her smile was still there. I leaned over one pew and said, “Sister Anne Marie?” And as soon as the words left my mouth I knew I was wrong. “Sister Cristina,” she said.

My 8th grade teacher.

I snuck over to her pew between some columns and told her in gushing terms how I thought she was an amazing teacher. All the things I remembered, her putting crosses at the top of my papers. Her kind way. Her smile. Her patience with a smart ass kid from the other side of the tracks. Her guidance. Her peaceful way. I was in awe of her as a kid, and to an extent I still am. I thanked her profusely, and told her she was an inspiration to me as a teacher. Yes I was a smart ass, yes I often got in trouble, but I worked my ass off to be the best I could academically and I didn’t slack in that department. She always encouraged me to work hard. For her I did just that.

She noted my gown (I’m required to wear one for work these days), and asked me if I was going to get my doctorate. I told her I already had one. Almost 10 years now.

She said, “You certainly look like you’ve come a long way since then.”

I have.

I became a teacher largely because I have teaching in my blood…my family has generations of teacher. I hope I’m good enough to do it, and one day I hope someone finds me in the crowd somewhere and tells me Thanks. I guess that’s what’s makes teaching worth all the hard work, and that’s what makes investing even a few moments of the day to a kid can make the world of difference because in my life it certainly did.

I teach because I know there are kids out there who are hearing the wrong things - that they are not good enough. That they are in the wrong place. That they are a mistake. You think I’m playing? I teach because I can give those kids the time and energy and effort. And more often than not that’s all it takes. You can water a plant, but you gotta give it some sun to make it grow.

In the end I ran off to get my card in my office to give to her. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye because that’s the territory. Busy, running around, and so focused that it’s hard to remember all that you have to do in such a situation, but I’m so glad I had the chance to say thanks. I’m so glad I had the chance to have a wonderful teacher. It helped me to have a good template to follow when it became my turn.

Char

I went to a wedding today; my cousin Mazie and her man Randy hooked it up for life. I like weddings, mostly because I know the hell of putting together a good event. Most of my grown life I’ve put together event after event after event. It just doesn’t stop, but truthfully, nothing makes me happier than seeing an event come together like that.

Seeing family is probably my favorite thing about weddings; people get older, kids become grown ups, and my peers all are more concerned about their kids getting some shut eye so they can get back to their drank. But I love it anyways. I do hate, however, those pithy remarks from Aunties and Uncles, usually Aunties, “Oh you’re so fat now.” *sigh* I guess it’s a Filipino trait: kindly tell the truth. But HIT ‘EM WITH THE TRUTH IN THE GUT. Even though you don’t mean to be mean. You’re just sayin’.

Cary and I are approaching our 5th year of wedded bliss *eye roll*. Just kidding. It’s certainly been a learning process for the both of us. We are now parents learning how to adjust to thinking, acting, and sleeping differently.

I’m going to leave off remembering the day we got married, five years ago. It was exhausting, and a deliciously exhausting day at that. I feel like it was just yesterday, the smiling faces, the singing of songs (we made the tables sing songs), and the laughter. That was my favorite part. Just laughing the day away with my love, my family, and my friends. Wish you were there.

Char

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she has to stop what she’s doing and say, “Okay. It’s time. I’m done.” With those words, she picks up her things, whatever her things might be, pushes back from the table, and with one final glance, she walks away.

That table, her things, those could be anything. A dinner table, a work desk, a bed. Her books, her laptop, her nail polish. But it’s at that moment where she has the most power: her mind’s made up. Such a pregnant moment, it seems more appropriate to be heavy, laden with something, but in truth, it’s that point of separation that releases her from a burden. So lighter, it would seem, is a more appropriate choice.

Where am I going with all of this? Well, to those that know me, and there are few who know me well enough to understand this part of my life, I have blogged for almost 10 years (this will have been my tenth year) under a pseudonym, enjoying the ability to post with reckless abandon and joy about anyone, everything, and every place. And since then, there’s been a part of me that’s always wanted to be out and about, to live out loud, so to speak. It’s not that I wanted to hide behind something in order to write; those years of blogging were really about building a persona and being able to be a story teller with a perspective that few people saw.

It’s time, in essence, for me to be who I really am. Part of me exists still with who I used to be, and the other half continues on that forward progression, just fast enough that I don’t lose sight of my past, yet steady enough to keep on a trajectory to the next manifestation.

I don’t know what the future will hold, but I am moving towards it. I promise to write. I promise to share. I promise to be myself, and that alone is a powerful statement.

So this is it. I’ve pushed back from the table, so listen to my heels click clack down the hallway to the next destination.

Char