Maeko's Blog

As a female it’s hard for me to speak of my own sex without having an unmasked un-sexual preference for it. At times, I can be guilty of esteeming its superiorities beyond the Other Sex. And why not? I am a woman—or at least on the road to growing into one.

There is an undeniable magic in these creatures, women. Not having totally traversed into womanhood—I don’t know when this transformation actually takes place, but I have yet to feel it—I have had the fortune to observe them and witness the specialness that makes them altogether unique and beautiful. There is strangeness in their special qualities, too, for they are creations of irony, paradox, riddles and beauty. Same in their uniqueness, different in their personalities, women share the complexities and simplicities that are commonly bound to all, and yet it is these complexities and how they are formed and applied to each’s personality that sets them apart from others.

What a sense of humour God had when it created women! In men, it created solid forms, things concrete and hard, on the surface at least. In women, it created liquid, things soft, pliable yet strong, with intricacies and delicacies that would shine when rotated in the light, reflecting the glory of the Maker. I would like to think that women were the reason for smiles, laughter, and merriment. Perhaps the first woman was the first to break her lips apart and let the corners curve upward in a beguiling, ecstatic, arc. This is my bias speaking, of course.

But I digress.

The entirety of woman is a paradox. Complexly simple at times and at times infuriatingly simply complex. Different from each other, but very alike at the same time—same in their difference. Strong, yet weak. Hard, yet soft.

She may be simple in her likes and tastes, because she knows what she wants. Simple pleasures thrill her. But by the same turn, she enjoys things complicated, things that bring a challenge, things that test her, that may even bring her pain. She is the same as the next woman and yet almost entirely different. She experiences the same feelings, the same burning desires, simple passions, simple wants, the same frets, the same worries, the same doubt, yet how she acts on them, yet her reasons for them may be totally different. These simple passions and wants may be like a whelming flood, overtake her and drown her in the current. She may be ruled by her emotions, consumed like a fire, in a split second. In the next second, she has returned to composure.

She is stronger than people credit. She must experience the physical pain of pushing a sack of bone, skin, muscle, fat, organs, through a 4-inch slit between her legs, and then she must bear the emotional burden of knowing a part of her has become its own entity, see the thing make decisions that break her heart, and then ultimately leave her, sometimes never to return, never reciprocate her undying, totally consuming love. She is weakened sometimes by her resolve to love this thing and allow it room to grow apart from her. It is this love that allows her to be weak, to give when her instincts cry out to be resolute. She must at times be harder than stone, even when she wants to slacken and allow things to take their course. And many times, she must be the soft place that men and children need, even when she has no energy and inside may be hard like the bottom of an empty barrel.

These riddles of the make up of women make them magical creatures. Creatures of laughter, tears, screams and song. Living paradoxes.

Their enchanting mystery has bewitched men, writers, artists, sculptors, poets, bards and even their own kind for centuries. They bewitch me still. These beings of charm, of opposing personalities, powers that clash. These brilliant people of simple delights, complicated emotions, intricate facets that shine. How can you not love them?

I guess it is the simplicity in me that yearns to be included in their ranks. But I am just a mere girl, and I can live with that for now.

Trois:
I'm deathly afraid of worms. The other night I went to my friend K's house to watch him play videogames, and he and J were freaking out about a bug. I saw it hurtling at sonic speed toward my face, and thinking it was a worm they were throwing at me, I dashed out of the way, screeching bloody murder. It wasn't a worm.

The other day it rained, (Fucking MI) and the biggest worm--it was almost a serpent, I tell you!--was oozing in my path. It was behind my car, so I backed my car around it so as not to have serpent threaded in my tire treads. It's THAT bad.

I HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE worms. I don't care if they're blind and birds eat them or don't eat them but then tear them into pieces and feed ungrateful chickadees who don't give a damn about eating squiggling things. I think they're evil. They have TEN hearts. You cut them up and they don't die. You cut them up and the two pieces go in opposite directions. And they always seem to find their way into my path of travel. Evil, evil, evil little things.

Quatre:
I used to think Good Luck and Fortuity were two different things. I believed in Bad Luck but not Good. And yet I still believed in Karma.

The Whole Thing that inspired my staunch belief in Misfortune and my disbelief in Good Luck: One Year of Shit.

<li>I got dumped by someone I was starting to fall in love with, right before he moved to China. I still think he was cheating on me with some splendid looking Eastern European from his job. I want to tell him to this day that the sex wasn't great and giving him blow jobs was a chore.</li>

<li> I got into a bad car accident that injured my back and will probably bother me for the rest of my life--particularly in the Bad Weather that afflicts Michigan. The driver who crashed into me decided to make a last second lane change and use me as her breaks. I still feel my lip curl when I see Jeep Grand Cherokees on the road.</li>

<li>Shortly there after, I lost my job because my injury prevented me from working or sitting or driving for any prolonged periods of time. I had to undergo physical therapy on an every other daily basis. Hell, at least I got to park in the handicapped spaces.</li>

<li>Because of the extreme amount of pain from the injury and from stress to my psyche, I had a difficult time focusing on my studies and had to drop about half of them.</li>

<li>When I started to believe that things were on the up and up, three months to the day of my accident, in my brand new (new to me) car, I was driving my sister Momoko to her modelling gig in LA and in Northern San Diego, some ass hole in a brand new blinged out truck decides to slam across a lane of traffic (we're in bumper to bumper, mind you, except the carpool lane in which I am), double yellow lines (Hello, that's illegal) and use my front bumper as HIS breaks. At first I thought that I was the one who was in the wrong, who was going to have to pay for all of this, but the investigation clearly and conclusively said it was the fat ass's fault. He who had the audacity to call his wife and say that someone crashed into his dumbass, environment killing vehicle. I didn't ask you to crash into my lane, asshole. My new (to me) car was in the shop for over a month.</li>

<li>I met the man of my dreams on the internet and flew back and forth across the country to see him. Except that my parents didn't like that I met him on the internet, that he wasn't Christian, and that he is Half Asian. They're slightly racist sometimes. And my sister Momo was so upset about me meeting someone that took up all my time with her that she almost stopped talking to me.</li>

<li>During finals week, after which I would move away from SD to Detroit to be with my Internet Lover, I was studying at a cafe when my car was slammed into by a drunk man. He then tried to hightail it out of there but his car was so damaged from having killed my car that he could hardly flee a block. A man at the gaybar next door ran him down and detained him until the cops got there. While he was flung into the back seat to think about What He Did to Other People, he fed the cop two hours worth of misinformation. The cop then harangued him to give him proper address, licence info, insurance, etc. And the offendent had the nerve to say this was a hate crime because he was gay. No, Fairy (don't get me wrong, some of my closest friends are gay, I don't hate gay people at all), it's because you're drunk and you fucking slammed into a parked car! it's not hate! It's LOGIC. My car E was in the shop again for another month. Barely got her back before it was time to move to Detroit.</li>

<li>The day I left, my sister was so mad at me for leaving she fell asleep during the get together and refused to talk to me when I drove off.</li>

<li>A few weeks later, the first accident that was actually my fault occurred, and my faith in driving wilted.</li>

Oh well. Things are back to normal order now. I think I had enough BL to get back to a Karmic Balance.

(Her name is K*rwan. I put that star there so she can't accidentally google her name and happen on this here blog talking smack about her.)

You're one fucked up teacher. Probably the worst professor I've ever had. Everytime we have a disorganised, unimportant lecture that you claim isn't on the test and then have three to five questions (two of which are essay questions), I want to wring your wrinkly, ugly neck with that dried broomstick pile of crap on your head you seem to think is hair.

I hope I never run into a crappy-ass teacher like you again--and going on seven years of college I've had my share of professors I didn't like.

And the thing is... you're actually nice. You just fucking suck at teaching.

Oh and you're ugly.









That did not make me feel better.

(I posted this on maeko)

I'm lazy, pathetic, and I pick my nose a lot.

Guess what? Maeko.org has been redesigned. AKA I downloaded a new WordPress Template and installed it. Duh. But it looks good at least.

Much better than before. HAH

Hi there, so sorry to worry you. What, with the sudden onslaught of emo-jankery. I promise there's a reason--albeit not a very good one--for it.

Whenever someone asks me what I'm going to do with my life, I get depressed. Not that my life is depressing, mind you (or maybe it is, depending on how you define deviation from societal norms and what constitutes a depressing life situation). But whenever confronted with the idea of the future, the first thing I want to do is hide and wait 'til said confrontation goes far, far away. I dread these conversations like I dread doctor's visits, running into friends from highschool, writing a research paper (yeach), or even family reunions (you know how DRAMA Pilipino family reunions are). It's depressing and daunting and nauseatingly frustrating how underdeveloped my ambition is for advancement.

I'm going to be twentyfour, and I haven't graduated yet, don't have an inkling of what I would want to pursue with my English degree at all. When I finally graduate a year and a half from now, what meaningful work can I set my hands to that won't make me want to commit seppuku? I know I want to write but my lack of ambition means I never write articles for school papers to flesh out my writing portfolio with clips and accomplishments, nor do I often submit my work to be published in anything but pithy student or community publications. Can I truly call myself a "writer," even, when I blog sporadically at best and don't even put my hands to a keyboard to compose something once a day? Those who truly love their craft will still practice it when they hate it, they force themselves to continually hone and become.

Am I in a perpetual state of becoming, as a writer? No.

Colour me pathetic.

This is the first entry I've had on this shit, I think. I'm not much for blogging lately; I guess it's a side effect of just being lacklustre about everything in life. I can't get excited about anything--not my job, not school (okay, sometimes school, but it's not as if attending school is generate immediate income merely from attending and enjoying a class), not writing, not reading, not blogging. Where can I garner pleasure from? It's one endless cycle of self-hatred and self-doubt, and plowing further and further into this whirling pit of emotional crap.

I know how I got here. My constant worrying causes me to stop attempting anything remotely beneficial to my circumstances the moment I even think about it, because I'm immediately plagued with the negating feeling that trying anything will result in failure. Why try writing when I know it's going to suck? Why try searching for a job when I know I won't get it? Why even figure out something toward a career goal when I doubt I'm even suited, qualified or even ready for something like it? Please. Why have children when they're going to be brought up in a horrible world? Why why why. Why bother? Life sucks. Don't be fooled by location changes.

I'm such a mess. I wasn't always like this. But strangely, I can't think of a time when I was different.

I'm just being emotional right now. I'm sure I'll be normal again in fifteen minutes.