Latest Posts by hog-mage - Page 4
This is just to make us brown eyed people feel better about ourselves.
You have brown eyes. Eye color is a result of how much melanin, a brown pigment, is in your iris. The more melanin in your eyes, the darker they appear because they absorb more light. If your eyes are blue, it just means there’s less melanin in your iris, which reflects shorter wavelengths of light on the blue end of the color spectrum. Therefore, no matter what color your eyes appear to be, they’re technically brown. Source
Mind over mind
Sometimes the part of my mind that says, “you’re not good enough,” is loud and unrelenting. It says, “Who do you think you are that you think you can be who you are, do what you do, live the way you do,” so on, and so forth. But I’ve learned to stand up to it and say, “You are not stronger than my happiness.” Over and over I say this, sometimes the little voice quiets down in a few minutes, or sometimes it doesn’t, but it never puts me to sleep, because my happiness wins out.
My identity crisis
About once every two years, I go to Taiwan (I'm in Taipei right now) and feel like an outsider, but also, at home. I am Chinese American. Here, I look like everyone else. I'm not a minority. It's only when I open my mouth that the jig is up, because I'm American, and although my mandarin is good back in the states, but here, my mandarin is no better than a kindergartners, and that brings me a lot of shame and frustration. I want to be literate in this beautiful culture. Currently, I understand more Chinese than I can speak. The only mandarin I ever speak is to my parents, and their immediate friends, and they always praise my parents for making me speak mandarin at home. Back at home, in the states, people I don't know see me and sometimes speak to me slower because I'm Chinese, and I haven't spoken yet. They always have a look of surprise when I start speaking English. I feel very much like a minority there, but it's home and I understand. Don't get me started when I get a call from my parents, and I immediately speak in mandarin. They think I'm speaking in tongues or something. But I don't mind. It's a form of pride. I mean, I can speak 2 languages! Most people just know one. I grew up in a small town in Columbus Ohio. We moved there in the early 90s, from New Orleans and my family was one of the only Asian people there. It was hard. I felt so out of place and so alone. I hated all the questions of whether I ate dogs or cats (no), and why my eyes were slanted (I don't know). I was called a chink and my language mocked and made fun of. So much so that I hated being Chinese for a bit. But it's okay now. It gave me a thick skin and an understanding that some people are just ignorant to be ignorant and don't want to learn. It's not my problem. I'm sitting here at a cafe drinking my iced latte in this beautiful city. I have a lot of positivity in my heart right now, but I wish I could express it more eloquently in mandarin, but it's okay, because this is who I am. It took a long time to accept the things I cannot change, but I want to change the perspective. One day, I will write a poetry of love in mandarin, and it will be spectacular. I'm ABC and proud. I am American Born Chinese
This one night
Short Story:
I turned into someone else, someone that I hated and envied all at once. I stared at him, knowing he was my undoing, all at once afraid and in love with him. His years of grip on me was tight and strong, but my more logical side breathed for freedom from his chains.
He had told me that I was his, that I belonged to him, that every kiss, be it forced or done in silent surrender, was his branding of me. His touch was like fire now, pain so intense that I wanted more, just to have a feeling of no longer feeling empty. Sometimes, the slighted touch would make me whimper, wanting more, needing more, needing him.
Every night he is like a warrior, he being the sword, and I, his scabbard. No longer do I resist, it has been years since I’ve last resisted, but with stillness in need and thought, comes the realization of freedom, of it being so close in grasp that I can taste it. The more I succumb to him, the more logical side of me knows that what I’m starting to love; him, his grasp of me, my willingness to stay, my acceptance of everything, is wrong and deviant.
So tonight, here I stand, with my own sword in hand; a chefs knife, from under my pillow, I straddle him, moving against him like butter, he awakes, both his desire and his eyes open to me above him; him staring at my slightly mad eyes. I kiss him, putting all my sorrow, all my love, all my years wasted in his silent threats, and take my revenge.
When I remove myself from his final hold on me, his blood dripping down my chest, I look at him. With every beat of my own heart, I remember everything he’s done to me. I wipe his blood from me, and I remember wiping blood from my own wounds, from the tears shed. I dress myself and remember when he would cut away my clothes with knives, or sheer force of will. Finally, I walk out the door, the door that I was pushed though, time and time again, the door that I walked through willingly, holding hands with him.
The air tastes sweet; new. I am still left empty.
He watched her from the lily pad, falling ever in love. He was invisible to her, his powers enveloping and protecting him from her, or her from him. He ached to touch her, to feel her, to make her want him the same he wanted her. He called her to his world, screaming. She looked toward the water, her hair blowing in the whistling wind.
For as the moon rose, she felt her bones breaking, her animalistic blood pleading for the change, pleading for the soft caress of the moons rays bleeding between her growing fur. As she fully transformed, her howl was her climax.
Ah Nuts
We should all vote for 4th candidate. Deez Nuts, President of these United States. It would be and honor to be led by Nuts.
A fancy meal
Hilda slays!!
These brilliant paintings were made by Duane Bryers, the artist responsible for my all-time favourite pin-up girl. Hilda is not only sexy, but she has a distinct personality that I don’t see in the other girls of her category. While most pin-ups are simply eye candy, Hilda makes me laugh and marvel at her adorable down-to-earth-ness.
Roar!
My bucket list...
Thus far, I only have down a few. 1. Tell my husband I love him while we're on a mountain top. 2. Write a book 3. Witness a miracle. 4. Go on a ghost tour. 5. Have 2 children. 6. Ride an elephant. 7. Give back to my parents as much as they have given me. 8. Go skydiving. 9. Travel to New Zealand. 10. Build a church.
We mean something...
It's 1:46 AM right now, and I'm just simply not tired. At this hour, I am thoughtful, I see the world through fresh eyes. We are beings living in a big blob of chaos, we have no control over anything, but what we see before us.
Actually, I just got really tired. This being must go to sleep now before things get weird.
Friedrich Nietzsche said...
Love is blind; friendship closes its eyes. ~~ This is true, but is it true for friendship? I don't know. I'm curious as to what others may think about this.
As an adult now for...
14 years, I've learned about the wonders of Farmer's Markets. It's the best!!
Destination: Self loathing
It's easy to lose yourself in isolation. With no one to keep you company but the weight of all you've done and the proof of it in front of you as a constant reminder as you look in the mirror. But everything must go back to normal, or as normal as possible as you gather yourself to face the day. You may be screaming on the inside, but on the outside, you have to be alive and not grimace as you smile. I read somewhere, that if you smile, or make any kind of facial expression for 10 minutes or so, you'll become happy, or become sad. I don't know if I believe that or not, I don't want to try, but I do know that you'll become anything if you will it enough. It's easy to hide, it's easy to mask yourself, it's each to blend in if that's what you want to do, and it's okay. There's no written law that says, "War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength." Unless, this is George Orwell's 1984, and if it is, we should all kill ourselves. Destination: Self loathing, but maybe with a few sunny days ahead. Self isolation isn't always fun.
1:35 AM
There are stars out, high above the world so high, and here I am, unable to hide my dark desires of something absolute. Please, stars hide your fires, let not light illuminate this black heart of mine.
Honoring yourself...
and being truthful to yourself. I haven't really delved into this whole mindset that you can forgive yourself when everybody else has or hasn't. I have so much pent up guilt within myself that it's sometimes suffocating, that sometimes on those rare moments that I have time to think, it makes me dizzy when I think about that one event in my life, or that one memory of a memory that isn't really complete, but you know it's there, but forever fragmented every time you try to recall.
I'm 32 now, and I'm allowing myself, little by little to let things go that happened to me in that past, so that I can gain new experiences, and not let the past weigh me down. But like they say, it's easier said than done. I want to heal, I want to not have guilt and pain so easily manifest itself if I'm alone.
Also, people get this mixed up sometimes. Being alone doesn't necessarily mean you're lonely. People say that so freely, that I sometimes wonder if the lonely they're talking about is them just being bored.
I was asked, "If I don't have this (insert emotion), then what am I?" I asked myself this the other day. If I didn't have that abortion, and the pain, depression, and guilt that came with it, then what am I? It's been 5 years, and I hardly know myself before all that happened, that I have to ask myself, could I ever go back to the girl I was? Probably not. I've built walls, and I've found comfort in things that brings me joy, that probably wouldn't even cross my mind 5-6 years ago.
I was also told once that you change every 5 years or so, and I didn't used to believe that, but now I do. I definitely am not who I was 5 years ago, nor do I want to be. I'm honoring myself by being truthful to this decision. I'm happy, and that's all that I can ask for. It's more than anyone can ask for.
Be well, my friends.
I try to be understanding with every person, and try to view posts from their point of view if they get upset. I'm glad you're so outspoken and so open with your autism. You are lighting the way for more understanding, and leading the way for an open dialogue. That's awesome, my friend.
As for the kiddo, he had another seizure last week at the YMCA while swimming. I'm heartbroken, the doctors don't know why he's getting seizures. Fingers crossed all is worked out soon.
His eyes...
she thought, are beautiful. There is life in there far beyond her reach.
Behind his eyes was freedom, far from the chains of his mind and the complex bondage he was held fast to. If only he could reach out. But he is left with a blank stare and various stimulation that were expressed with a flap of his arms, and twirling, his constant twirling around.
She held fast though, returning each time to look into his eyes, because she knew, she knew there was freedom behind his eyes.
A freedom that would break free for an instant, and he would focus and be free from the chains for but a moment, and stare back with recognition, with a single word on the tip of his tongue, but would never be uttered; “mom.”
His eyes, she thought, are beautiful. There is life in there, far beyond her reach.
butterflyinthewell, hello friend, I hope you get this. This is my 3rd attempt trying to post this, but every time I’m almost done writing, my screen goes blank and my whole text disappears. I want to say that I hope I didn’t offend you, and I had no intention to offend anyone. This poem when I wrote this was about the autistic boy I’ve been working with (I’m an ABA therapist and Respite care worker) who recently had a seizure (his first one) out of the blue, and I watched as his mom stared at him with such love while they were eating that it very much warmed my heart, that the image has been sticking with me for weeks, and I had to write it down.
When I wrote that his mind was in bondage and in chains, I wanted to include my own experiences teaching different autistic children on the spectrum how frustrated they get usually because if they’re completely non verbal, it must feel infuriating to them because all the words they want to say could be on the tip of their tongue, but unable to fully go over the edge to form words, but the love AND freedom is in the way they express themselves, in like you said, “flapping of the hands, laughing, spinning or jumping,” as a form of communication. And again, I hope I didn’t offend, it was not my intention. My experience with this boy has been amazing, and I know that I’m on his mind, because once when I went away for a month on vacation, and came back, he did stare at me, and sat on my lap, and I knew that I was loved and trusted. I still smile at that memory, because I love him and his whole family.
I guess, now that I think about it, it’s not much of a prison if you have loved ones around to keep you grounded, and those willing to help you out to the best of their ability, and to know that you have a whole community backing you up. Thank you, friend, for calling me out so that I can experience other peoples experiences. Again, I hope I didn’t offend you too much, it was not my intention to upset you. But this was a great learning experience in how people deal with obstacles in their lives. Thank you for also sharing part of your story.
His eyes...
she thought, are beautiful. There is life in there far beyond her reach.
Behind his eyes was freedom, far from the chains of his mind and the complex bondage he was held fast to. If only he could reach out. But he is left with a blank stare and various stimulation that were expressed with a flap of his arms, and twirling, his constant twirling around.
She held fast though, returning each time to look into his eyes, because she knew, she knew there was freedom behind his eyes.
A freedom that would break free for an instant, and he would focus and be free from the chains for but a moment, and stare back with recognition, with a single word on the tip of his tongue, but would never be uttered; “mom.”
His eyes, she thought, are beautiful. There is life in there, far beyond her reach.
His eyes...
she thought, are beautiful. There is life in there far beyond her reach. Behind his eyes was freedom, far from the chains of his mind and the complex bondage he was held fast to. If only he could reach out. But he is left with a blank stare and various stimulation that were expressed with a flap of his arms, and twirling, his constant twirling around. She held fast though, returning each time to look into his eyes, because she knew, she knew there was freedom behind his eyes. A freedom that would break free for an instant, and he would focus and be free from the chains for but a moment, and stare back with recognition, with a single word on the tip of his tongue, but would never be uttered; "mom." His eyes, she thought, are beautiful. There is life in there, far beyond her reach.
It's him
as he makes me feel like I'm about to fall, or burst into flame, or turn to liquid all at once. Every part of me belongs to him.....but he also belongs to me.
He asked, "Are you ok?"
She trembled when he heard his voice, she wasn't expecting him, and she jumped when she heard his voice. It was all just too much. This pain, this fear, this uncertainty of it all. Was she sane? She didn't know. Broken, perhaps? Perhaps.
"Are you hurt," he asked from behind her.
With tears threatening to fall, she straightens her back as much as possible, so as not to slouch where she stood.
"I'm not," she whimpered, hating that she sounded so vulnerable. She took a long and uneven breath, and shook her head. This was difficult. "I just, time....I need some time. I just need a little time."
"It's alright," he said, placing a strong hand on her shoulder. "I'm right here."
A few moments go by, and she hears the blood rushing through her body, and she looks to the ceiling, unable to speak, but wondering, if giving up would make her existence go by smoother, as she felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder.
When you and your crew all find something funny for once.
Source: I Miss The 90s
Chameleon
I'm different faces for different people, and at the end of the day my personalities are exhausted.
I'm not a good person
Around this time 5 years ago, I found out I was pregnant, and I made the not so hard decision to have an abortion. I was 26, still living at home, and the guy I was with wasn't in the picture. It was 4 months since I last saw him, in that seedy hotel, where I very much felt like a whore. You see, I was the other woman. I didn't care that he was engaged to another woman. I really didn't care. I didn't even care about him. I didn't even like him. I just wanted to sleep with him because it was fun. Since it had been 4 months since I last had my period, I went to the Chinese doctors office to see if I could get acupunctures or any herbal remedies that would give me my period, because back then, from the time I got my first period back in middle school, my periods were very inconsistent. So inconsistent that I could go months before I'd get my period. It didn't even occur to me that I was pregnant. On that day, I remember distinctly it was Friday April 29th, 2011 because it was the day that Prince William married Kate, and I woke up early to watch the wedding. So ironically, they're great day, is my worst day ever. I remember my mom and I driving to the Chinese clinic, and we waited in the waiting room, and I was called up, My doctor asked if I was sexually active, and I lied, saying no. She asked me to pee in the cup (I did), and to wait in the waiting room. I waited for 10 minutes before the doctor came to get me to tell me what medicines I should take to get my period flowing (or so I assumed). I asked if my mom could come along, because if it's pills or other medical terms said in Chinese, my mom could translate to me. The doctor gave me a weird look, said yes, and we followed her into the examining room. "So, the reason why you're not getting your period is not due to your usual inconsistency, but that you've tested positive for pregnancy." "What?" "You're pregnant." "She's what?" "She's pregnant, she tested positive." After finding out, my mom was very silent, very much in shock, as was I. I put on a fake smile as the receptionist who told the doctor I tested positive congratulated me on my little bundle of joy. I thanked her profusely, and smiled ear to ear. But on the inside, I was dying; in shock; in denial. In the parking lot, my mom suddenly in a burst of manic anger, pain, confusion, and worry, honked the horn for a good 5 seconds. I looked at her red face, and wanted her to hit me. But she didn't. We drove home, her asking me questions, and me telling her as much as I could. I was in denial, I thought the test was bullshit. The first thought in my head was, "I need to get an abortion." When she got home, she immediately called my dad (he was in China at the time). It's funny, to this day, he and I have never spoken a word about my pregnancy. Then she called my brother (who was/is living in Taiwan). I didn't want her to call my brother. I kind of feared him, and I love him more than my parents, and his opinion of me is everything. I hate disappointing him. She handed the phone to me, because he wanted to talk to me. He asked me, "Hey, what's going on?" And I, in my normal voice said, "Not much." Denial, denial, denial. Followed would be a weird weekend. That Friday night, my best friend called me to say that she wouldn't be able to go to my house to watch a movie, and she could hear in my voice that there was something wrong, and asked me what was up. I told her, and she was beyond shocked. She said she would see me in the afternoon, and we would get our own pregnancy test. The next day, we went to CVS and got the most expensive test, and took it back to my house. The 5 minutes after peeing on the stick and waiting is like dangling on a cliff. One strong gust of wind can push you off, or some how lift you up back on the ledge. After 5 minutes, and then another 5 minutes to actually look at the test, because fear does that to you, I was pushed off the cliff. It was positive, I was pregnant, I would be a mom in 5 months time. Then my mom came home, and we told her that I was indeed pregnant, and she asked me what I was going to do. I immediately told her, out loud, and no longer to myself, "I'm going to get an abortion." I spent the rest of the weekend looking up preterm clinics in Columbus, but there were non. Which was good I guess, because what if I ran into someone I knew, right? On Monday, I finally found a place in Cleveland, but they had a few stipulations. By Ohio law, you have to have at least 2 visits to get an abortion. The first visit will last 3–4 hours. On your first visit, they make you fill out paperwork, make you take an ultra sound, give you a private counseling session, and a consultation with your physician. The second visit will be the actual abortion, depending on what kind you have. It can take up to 2-6 hours, and then you rest in the recovery room. Also if you're more than 17 weeks along, it will take up to 3 visits. By the time I booked my first visit (they were booked), I would be at the 17 week mark. I called them that Monday, and didn't have any open appointments until the following Friday. So that day, my best friend and I went together, and I looked away as they gave me an ultra sound, and I told the counselor that the father of the baby didn't know he was the father, and that I just wanted (quite bluntly) to get this over with. And then the next Friday, my mom and I went back to the clinic where they prepared me for the procedure, and then performed the procedure on Saturday, and then sent me home, feeling empty and unfeeling. I have more to say about this, but this is what comes to mind as the 5 year anniversary of my worst day passes me by. I'm glad that I had this done. I'm not happy that I had an abortion though, it's not something I brag about. It's just something I did, and because of this, I still have an empty feeling in me. I'm depressed, and I'm okay with that, I slightly welcome it, because this is my punishment by God. I'm afraid that I may end up in Hell, but that is justified. I allowed murder, and I wanted it to happen. People always say that things happen for a reason. That's not true. They happen because they happen. This is not some paradise where everything is rosy. Life is hard, and life gives you tough choices. I might've chosen the wrong choice, but I'm relatively happy now, and I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to my unborn child, but I'm afraid that it's not good enough. I'll be honest here. I wish all this had never happened, but I would definitely make the same choice again. That baby, would not have been loved, or taken care of. You can't love something when you don't love yourself.