It Wasn't Me

It wasn't me.

Him on the beach, furious over me stopping to pet a dog. He said I didn't respect him. He said I was trying to flirt with the dog owner. Me with tears streaming on my face. I thought we were there because he felt bad for yelling at me the day before. Yet now this.

It wasn't me.

Standing in front of the ATM. Only have $20 in my bank account and home is 8,000 miles away. Strengthening myself to ask for cash to strangers. I need another $10 for a ticket back to my apartment in Orange County. I could be there by midnight, and I will just stay at the station until the break of dawn before going on a 3-5 hours walk home. It is better than going back with him in the car.

It wasn't me.

Saying the vow in front of the civil servant. Looking at him with a mixture of pain and fear from the lashing I received the night before, and with intense love that can move a mountain. It will be fine, I told myself. He looked at me and smiled lovingly, trembling as he said his vow. It will be better, I assured myself.     

It wasn't me.

My solo train trip to San Diego ripped me open again. The view of the beach in Oceanside. The place where I stop to get the ATM. The cliffside overlooking the beach that was similar to where we got married. "It will get better, right?" I ask my best friend over the phone as the train passed Encinitas. "It will," he assured me, pretending he didn't hear me trying to withhold my sobs.

The day before was a series of "You don't understand how hard it is for me," "I tried my utmost best for you," and "We're just not compatible," from another ex. I told him maybe I do understand and I care so much for him. I told him I only ask for what's important for me. I told him non-compatibility is a lazy excuse. 

That night I couldn't stop crying, even well into my sleep. The debate had been a repetition of my married life, minus the abuse and the lashing. I had brushed him off and end the debate by saying "I'm difficult." I keep telling myself that as he sat awkwardly beside me on the train home. I am just difficult.

Between the debate with my ex and the San Diego trip the next day, I feel like I am cut open and nasty, gooey pus is flowing out. It's good, I told myself, it is how the healing process work. Only then I realize how much I truly care for them, and how much I love them. Only then I realize how much pain I was in. Yet it doesn't feel like it's getting better soon.

"You just have to stop dating guys who are not as strong as you are," my best friend said. "Or I should stop being difficult," I replied. "That's because you have standard. There's nothing wrong with having a standard." He looked at me in my eyes, "You deserve to be happy. It wasn't you." I fixed my gaze on the floor to hide my tears. It wasn't me.

I am Home

I love my bed.

It's a crinkly old fold-up futon frame with second-hand mattress that gives me back pain on worst days, but I love it very much.

I love my apartment.

It's so small that it hardly fits for one and includes neverending battle against bugs and dust, but I love it very much.

I love my teddy bear.

It's a cheap mini bear with picture hoodie that I ordered on discount on Rite-aid. It's not soft at all and pretty ugly, but I love it very much.

I love my home.

By home, I mean my tiny buggy apartment with the crinkly futon bed and that ugly teddy bear. Can I do better? I can. It's just scary to leave 'home'. And yes, I love it very much.

I am not the same person that live with my family on my idyllic island. I am not the same person that live with my ex-husband and his kids. Those were 'home' too, but now they seemed so vague.

People change and people grow. Experiences and interactions mold and shaped us like the beating and heating on iron shaft to create a sword. Sometimes, it means new home.

My family will always be my home, as well as the people I love the most. That includes myself, too. Please excuse me as I need to give myself a hug and say: "I am home."

Good Morning, America

Good morning, America.

Good morning to the restaurant manager that sat next to me on the 6 am bus to Covina. Your eyes were still blurry, face puffy from the sleep. "What time the restaurant open?" I asked. "9 am," you said, "But I have to be there early to check if the restaurant is clean and ready, and balancing the book."

Good morning to sleepy passengers with all your possessions in the train and on the bus. The cold foggy morning offered the blissful protection against the impending heat of the day, and the subsequent beating on your pride from the judgemental eyes of passing strangers.

Good morning to the lady who sells tamales. You sat there under the tree, knitting something with a pink yarn, and casually advertise your fare: "Tamales, tamales! Champurrado!" It's a cheap, affordable breakfast to many, a warm reprise from the chilly Pomona morning.

Good morning to the senior who sat next to me on the bus. You had to leave at 4.30 to get to your job by 8.30 or earlier and won't be back home until after 8 pm. All for a job who won't even provide coffee for the office, let alone other amenities.

Good morning to the 70-year-old man who kindly greeted everyone at the stop with "Bless you, brother!" You asked me is it hard to operate that whatchamacallit smartphone, as you spent the last 10 years in prison and was way behind in technology.

Good morning, America. Good morning, I say, to these people with toils and hardship ahead of them. Neck deep in life's challenges, there's simply no time of dreaming. So much for the American Dream. So much for the feeling you got it good. So much for feeling, period. You just have to keep on swimming.

Yet you smiled. You chatted happily with me. You are alive. Your eyes full of gratitude that you make it to another day, or full of determination that you will make it another day. Some of you are the walking dead, though. For that, I wept for you. 

Good morning, America. I love you.

Online Dating Labyrinth

Online dating sucks, and I think being a man in the online dating world is not pleasant. There, I said it.

Being on online dating websites on and off, I see the insecurity in full display. The carefully curated photos, for instance, emphasized their strength (good abs, cool car, fancy vacay, even the house they owned). It's akin to the girls' thirst pics and filters.

Then there's the keyword. Nice words to describe they want an Instagram model. Words to describe how financially stable they are, or how satisfying they are in bed. Words that speaks volume of how shitty they've been treated in the past.

I would read the profiles and just feel sad for them. The ones that I met told stories about unending bot messages, sex-for-hire offers, the fine dine demands. You also need a nerve of steel to keep messaging all the people, knowing you might not get any reply.

And then the actual date. A lot of times I see the doubts and the awkwardness. The more experienced ones will carry themselves at ease or hide their feeling better. Some were surprised at the basic hospitality I showed them, and this breaks my heart the most.

For those who are just in it for the good times, it shouldn't be much of a problem. For those who want a relationship, it could be painful. Add girls like me in the mix, who looks nice and normal but has major commitment issue, and it's a perfect recipe for distrust and heartache.

In retrospect, the exact same thing happens with girls. I can't tell for sure because I never date a girl before, so I can't really read them. However, I think the premise is the same: Here's my offer, what's your offer? We do the mating dance and ritual like our animal cousins, ours was just done online.

A big chunk of it is expectancy. We expect a certain someone with a certain characteristic, and too often we weed out vigorously and missing out the hidden gems. Sometimes it is necessary because we are not comfortable or just not interested. Yet we hope and expect. And sometimes we get angry over it.

Another chunk is how ourself reflected to others. In online dating, with such a minimum time together we can easily come out as the worst of ourselves because we don't feel any obligation to accommodate our date more than what we are willing to give. Guys come out as *ssholes and girls come out as b*tches.

Online dating sucks but we still do it. It's an answer to modern fast-paced lifestyle and can be a blessing if you manage to find the hay in the stack of needles. At the time being, though, you will get pricked and beaten down and feel like you are the most unattractive person in this universe or that people are sh*tty AF.

Don't let the bitterness get to you, though. Be nice and genuine and it will shine through. Whether it is enough to the people you want to impress, that I cannot say. I just don't think it will hurt to be the best you can be. And if you really are just not nice and full of yourself, well… umm.. yeah…

You are all Prince Charming looking for that one perfect girl with only a glass shoe as a clue, and we girls are all Cinderella trying out all shoes to find the perfect one to wear. Here's well wishes to our endeavor and hope we'll find what we're looking for. Cheers.

[Yea some of us can also be Hannibal Lecter and/or human version of financial/emotional Praying Mantis. Not really wishing you well on that. Do no harm, fellas.]

Rain in Los Angeles

The rain drips drips drips in the forbidden city

The pavement slippery with water and filth

The fog rises amidst the skyscraper

Lingers like an entity guarding its treasure

And are we not all treasures, precious?

Underneath the thundery sky and chilling cold

The promise of eternal grief and constant agony

Yet we look up as the rain drips to our face

This is our city, this is our life

The little that we have and the most we dare to hope

The losers and the winners and the lost and the searcher

Here underneath the wet autumn night

And where are you, my dearest?

Are you looking at the tropical rain filled with passion?

Are you looking at the desert gust near the thirsty cacti?

Are you standing in the plain in the magnificent storm?

It is time to cool off, my beautiful, and let the water flows

Let the raindrops carry your earthly pain away

And for a brief moment, born anew

The sons of earth and the daughters of life

Soon we will meet under the dripping rain

The promise of haven in a mad, mad world

Until then I will wait for you patiently

In the rain at the forbidden city

I Am Ary

My coworker gave me a souvenir from Greece, and let's just say it's NSFW. I am so happy right now I can't concentrate. 

I am aware that it sounds immature to get ecstatic about a pack of NSFW playing cards. It wasn't about the crude nature of the cards, though. It was about being comfortable with who I am, and having people who are comfortable with who I am.

I can be the crass, sex-driven, promiscuous vixen.

I can be the sweet mannered, loving and caring girl-next-door.

I can be the dependable, quick thinking mom of the group.

I can be the Social Justice Warrior and stand up for what I feel is right.

I can be the board gamer that live and breathe dices and cards.

I can be the swing dancer that twirl from one partner to the others.

I can be a sister, a friend, a lover, an enemy.

I can be all that. As a matter of fact, I am all that.

The cards sent me giggling in euphoria because it's a reminder that I am all that. I am unique and fun. I am sexy and caring. I am lively and thoughtful. In the world filled with 7.7 billion people there's only one Ary Yogeswary, and that's me. It feels really good to be me. I can dig this.

Winning The Base

I still found "Hillary won more than 3 million votes" post in Instagram. To be precise, quoting Wikipedia: "While Clinton received over 2.8 million more votes nationwide, a margin of 2.1%..." 

2.1% from 100 people means it's 49 people vs 51 people, with 2 people difference. 2.1% from 1 million people means it's 490K people vs 510k people, 20k people difference. The number of people increased, but if you put the percentage in perspective there are almost the same amount of people voting for the two things. 

This is the reason why you can't overlook the substantial amount of people that actually vote for him. You can be as loud as you want to "Dump Trump" or posting as many 'Trump's evil-doing' as you want, but all it will do is making the silent voice seethe and retaliate against your cause. 

Not every Trump voters vote for him because they too like to grab 'em by the pussy. Some vote for him because they feel he has a better understanding of what the US needed than Hillary. Some because they are more uncomfortable with Hillary than with him, the poise of a rich white woman is less relatable than loud-mouthed crass that could easily be someone they know.

Not everyone who refused to denounce Trump is knee-deep in adultery and third marriages or hate LGBTQ and Muslims in such wrath. Some don't even vote for him at all but decide that his policy is something they can live with. You will be surprised on how many legal immigrants are in line with his immigration policy. And some just decided patriotically that now he is the US president they should support his policies, or at least be more objective to them.

The future vote will be an ugly vote again, and one that will potentially be lost if there is no change in attitude. An article on The Hill stated 45% of sampled people think there's an anti-Kavanaugh bias in the media, while 20% think there's pro-Kavanaugh bias, and 35% see it as neutral. 45% is a lot of unhappy people that feel things has been done unfairly. 

Combined that to 49% popular vote that Trump received, and you will realize how despite the noise in the media and all the celeb dis-endorsement Trump is actually in good position for 4 more years in the office. Numbers don't lie.

You can think of it as you being a martyr in this harsh, cruel, despicable world. Or you can try to see what and why other people feel what they feel. You can try to persuade people with proper facts instead of a knee-jerk reaction. [And when I say persuade, it means listening to their concerns and try to alleviate them instead of shutting them with "But you must understand!"]

As much as you think you are in the right, without properly assessing Trump's base in terms of numbers and reasons/things that sway their votes you are in danger of getting 4 years of Trump [and the senators/representatives that will back him up]. Just because it's trendy to hate Trump, it doesn't mean the silent ones won't fight back.

Now the true question is, do you really want to dump Trump or do you just need someone to hate? If you hate Trump for the crass he is, there's nothing we can do about it. If you hate Trump because of his policies, get your homework done. 

Mark which policy could be made better with understanding all the potential consequences and pitfalls (i.e. don't just "We want free healthcare but we don't want to get taxed!"). Mark which one you expect to be done by the next president and which one that you should whip your congressman and congresswomen to achieve.

Sure, we all hate Trump, right? That is, we all plus 3 million extra people who vote for Hillary. It's a lot, but so does his base. Be smart about it. Trump won in 2016 because people underestimate him. You want him out? Then do your homework and stop assuming. This is a battle that won't be won just because Chrissy Teigen and JK. Rowling said so.

Atalanta

#Atalanta

"Will you just stop running, Atalanta?"

She looked at her boss with an annoyed look. "If there is anything I don't do," she said dryly, "it's running. You know I can't even power walk to save my life." 

He gave her *the look*. "You know what I mean," he tossed a stack of papers on her desk. "Every time your relationship tanked, your work tanked."

She pouted, but the bright eyes behind her glasses showed remorse. "It is not my fault," she started, "You know what happened with…" 

"Yes, I know," he cut her off. "I also know that you need to stop preying on people." She looked at him with cold fury. After a long pause, she responded, "I do not prey." 

"Atalanta…" he said gently. She hated that. She hated that concerned look. She hated that soft, calming tone. She had seen he used the voice and the look many times to interrogate their captives, and she knew how effective it was. 

He looked at her, reading her face. "This is not an interrogation," he said. She looked up to the ceiling in frustration and then dropped her chin. She knew that too. Which made it worse. 

"You know why your code name is Atalanta, right?" he asked. She still gazed intently to the floor, not wanting to see the piercing green eyes. "Yes," she mumbled, "I am the fastest hacker you got…" 

He nodded. "That, and because we see the potential in you." She looked at him in disbelief. Personal praises were almost non-existent in their department. To think about it, she couldn't remember anyone ever gets one.

"Don't look so shocked," he said with a grim smile. "Will you stop reading my mind??" she said in annoyance. He shrugged. "I told you to practice your poker face."

"Atalanta," he said musingly, now conveniently perched on the edge of her desk. "Atalanta, because it will take the willpower of the Gods and the help of the Gods to stop you." She blushed. 

"You are a good woman," he said, "But you know that none of your suitors is a match for you. Yet you still take the race and speared them when they can't catch up with you."

She looked at her shoes again, angry and ashamed. "Maybe there's no need for you to take unnecessary races anymore?" he asked kindly. "Or if you do, spare their lives. It will ease up yours as well."

She sighed. "I promise I won't tank my work again. There. I said it. Will you leave me alone now?" He gave her a stern look. She squirmed in discomfort, dutifully looking down at her shoes again. Such nice, black, pointed flats. 

There was a long, awkward silence. She knew she couldn't get away from it. "I know that you care," she said quietly. "And?" he asked. "And I know," she answered, "that's not just because I am your worker. You actually care."

He chuckled. "Not the answer I was looking for. And not so loud. I have a reputation to keep." Now it was her turn to chuckle. He was a scary one, but there's no doubt among any of his team member that the chief actually cares.

"You deserve better. The time will come when a man will be equipped with gifts from Gods themselves in order to win you over." She looked at him in his eyes, trying to find lies there. 

"I am not lying to you," he said with a grin. "Will you just stop reading me?!" She gritted her teeth in frustration. He shrugged again, "That's what we are trained for. What do you expect?"

She let go a long sigh and looked at him. "Do you mean what you said?" He looked at her back. "Atalanta, I will personally deliver the golden apples from the Gods myself to that suitor, or take it by force if they refuse to help." 

She laughed. "You are crazy," she said. "No, I am not," he retorted. "That's our department specialty, anyway." She laughed harder and he smiled at her.

"Why?" she asked. "I reward the people who are loyal to me," he answered. She took another deep breath. "Promise it will be okay?" she said in a timid voice. "Atalanta," he said solemnly, "I promise."