BLOOD is RELATIVE

“Friends are the family you choose for yourself.”—Edna Buchanan

I’ve learned from my experiences that sometimes your family--blood relatives--can be the most disappointing people in your life. If you’re reading my blog, it’s probably not YOU.

My late father kept some of his family in check when he married my mother. He made sure that we were respected. Why did he need to do this? My mother is Korean, and my father is Chamorro. My mother felt slighted when Chamorro was spoken in spite of her presence, but instead of griping, she did her best to learn the language. My mother, new to Guam, felt hurt when family got together in the next house and overlooked inviting her and her young children, but my pitbull father unleashed his wrath on them when he returned from a long day at work.

Love bloomed from my dad’s advocacy for fairness and for thirty years I truly believed I was loved by my father’s family. When he died, several members displayed their true colors. The ugliness in their hearts was there all along. My bitterness could not change it and my acceptance that I was fine without them in my life was LIBERATING.

My mother has returned to Guam, her true home. I remind her to love those who reciprocate love and not worry about the small mindedness of a few. When she left California to the island where she left her heart, only two families came to bid her farewell, the neighbors—the friends who respected and enjoyed her company for the past three years (not family). When she returned to Guam, there was no fanfare, but she had the genuine love of two sons to celebrate her return.

My husband’s family is in town now and I am loving every minute of it, even if my waistline has increased. Rice, rice, rice—Chamorro folk will understand. Saying no to an invitation to the table from an elder is like telling them that you don’t love them. My aunt and uncle don’t see me for being half-Chamorro, they see me for being a dutiful niece. They love my children like their own and they treat me with respect and courtesy.

In an effort to find acceptance and a sense of validity in my own family, I’m at a level of maturity where I know that that does not matter. I find acceptance in the eyes of my children, my husband, my friends and the family members who look beyond my skin color. I find worth in my daily work and I celebrate my life with those who love me, despite our DNA.
ESTA, Later!

My Military Duty is on Spin Cycle

First off, I find it cool and very narcissistic that I could follow my own blog.

I am up late, passed midnight as my family rests. This is my only time to write, to think, to enjoy a recorded show or Pattinson flick. And, more importantly, test my will power and not raid the refrigerator or pantry--even if it's been five hours since dinner. So far, so good. I'll just imagine my cold glass of hanom ("water" in the Chamorro language) is an iced frappucino.

As a wife of a service member, washing his uniform into the next day is an honor. I get to sit and blog while he recharges for another day serving the country. As his uniform spins in the dryer, I am just THANKFUL that he's in port. I'm thankful that his hard work affords me the chance to be a STAY-AT-HOME Goddess.

To my hard-working husband...I salute you.

Esta later!

And so it begins....YATAA!

That’s me. Each day is a struggle, another chance to do right. I’ve been happily married for the last six years and I have enjoyed motherhood. Still, there is something missing. I’ve been feeling out of balance. I’m very into yin and yang and if you know me, I’m at times more yang than anything else. One thing is certain, I am a writer. Writing is my soul. When my fingers tap along, the words come out and help me make sense of my world.

At 36 (I’ve never been ashamed of my age), I still feel like I live in a cocoon. I have certain life accomplishments checked off my list, but I want more. Is it wrong to want more? I feel like I should be wailing the lyrics to Radiohead’s song, Creep—“I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul.”

What is the role of my blog? How much of my private life do I want to expose? Just enough.

I would be happy if no one read my blog, because I am first and foremost doing this for ME. My thoughts and realizations and confusions need an outlet. My writing, my quips, my poetry, my short stories, my novels---heck, even my Facebook posts are outlets.

So, for today, after watching Oprah and her show with Geneen Roth, WOMEN FOOD and GOD, I bought the book. Something I don’t usually do. I’m cheap (let’s call me frugal)—I check eBay and Craigslist first. Of course, happy to find that it was 30% off…I just read the prologue and I want to continue. I need to figure out why I beat myself up with food. Why I blame hormones, why when my energy wanes I get grumpy. I don’t want to be this way. I want to understand why I sometimes clutch onto my defeatist, victim attitude. I have even been “training” for an upcoming marathon team relay (which equates to about 6 miles—not the entire 26.2) for the last six months and have ended up gaining weight. Things that make you go, hmmmm?

So, like the blog title conveys. I am a GODDESS in training. I want to achieve that magic aura or enlightenment, like in the movie, The Last Dragon (by the way, Taimak still looks good for his age). I want ZEN. In the meantime, I am writing like crazy (as much as possible with two awesome children under the age of 4) and keeping in touch with my Chamorro side, with my connection with CHE’LU, Inc., (shameless self-promotion here).

I am working on self-publishing a compilation of 13 short stories (Attitude 13) by October and a children’s book based on a retelling of a Guam legend.

This is the Year of the Tiger, (that’s me and birthday boy) and I am feeling powerful and productive again. By the way, Happy 24th birthday to Robert Pattinson, the muse of my novel and the man my husband allows in my cougar fantasies. Esta later!