all you need is love

i've been on a reading kick lately, of the romance kind.  it's probably not the kind you may be thinking of though.  i've never really been into "classic" romance novels as i've thought them to be somewhat melodramatic (have you ever seen their covers??), and quite... ahem, descriptive.  almost frighteningly descriptive.  the ones i've been plowing through are PG-13 and read more like romantic comedies.  but i guess they would fall in the "romance" genre.

 

anyway, i've found that what draws me to these books is the same reason why i flock to rom-com movies: love.  the sappiness, the cheesy professions of feelings, the guaranteed happy endings.  how many books can be written about love?  how many ways can a person read about love?  how many thoughts can be made and shared about love?  tons upon tons.  and it never gets old.

 

i love it really, that one emotion can hold so much power.

eyes wide open

i LOVE to sleep.  then why does it take so darn long for me each night to actually make it to my bed?

 

i think i tell myself almost every morning (after hitting the snooze a half dozen times and finally dragging myself up to face the day) that i'll get to bed earlier, that i'll give myself a nice 8 hours of rest.  but who am i kidding?  i'll be lucky if i get 7.  or 6 for that matter.

 

even on nights that i am sleepy, i'll find myself up late working, channel surfing, or reading an entire book on my kindle.  even now, i'm sprawled all over the bedroom floor (as not to disturb my husband), typing this entry, contemplating why i'm not asleep next to him.

 

it's because once i'm up there all snuggled into the blankets and warm, a cat (or 2) at my feet, i'll be awake for hours.  thinking.  about what?  sometimes about how i can stop thinking.  about how i can relax my mind, like tricking myself to sleep.  i've even tried the breathing exercises and pretending i'm weightless kind of thing, but i suppose i'm not cut out for meditation.  counting sheep?  ugh.  my mind sidetracks so easily when numbers are involved.

 

so what's an insomniac to do?  i guess i have all night to figure out the answer.

tough it out

i read this quote last night and found it to be very fitting:

 

Tough Times Never Last, But Tough People Do!  --Dr. Robert H. Schuller

 

it's actually the title of his book, which has now been added to my list.  nevermind that the book is almost as old as i am.  the uncomplicated truth in the title alone is enough to grab my attention.

 

i woke up this morning reinvigorated, giving myself a pep talk, ready to take on whatever came my way.  and boy, was it waiting for me right outside my front door!  so i passed the quote on to someone that seemed to need it just as much as i did, if not more, and witnessed the transformation that took place after i'd shared those 8 simple words.  funny (and amazing) how powerful a few words can be.

game changer

i'm watching the opening ceremony of the olympics in all its london-esque grandeur.  i still remember the excitement of the olympics as a kid, plopping myself in front of the tube (sitting only a few feet away as it was much smaller then).  it's funny, up until a couple of weeks ago i still thought the olympics lasted the whole summer, asking my husband why the games hadn't started yet.  he told me they were just 16 days, going on to say, "that's why they call it '16 days of glory.'"  what, sixteen days?  two weeks??  they had seemed to be much, much longer as a child, probably because i actually watched parts of the games (gymnastics!) instead of seeing updates trending via social media.

ah, how the world has changed.  the ceremony even featured a segment about changing technology and our digital age finished off by an appearance by the inventor of the world wide web, tim berners-lee, who typed in a message that was lit up by the audience and seen by the world: "this is for everyone."

a simple statement, but it really captured the essence of what the games are about.  it's a time of countries around the world to set aside their differences and come together for a moment.  i think that is what is so monumental about the games -- nevermind the pomp and circumstance of the lighting of the torch or the medal count or the backstories -- it's a time of camaraderie and sportsmanship; worldwide team spirit.

let the games begin!

the dark side

i've always had somewhat of a fascination with the dark side of things -- what people normally don't openly talk about or particularly like to talk about.  but it's there, underneath it all, lurking and murky, below the surface.

in my eighth grade health class, out of all the topics we were free to pick from, i chose suicide for my class project.  i can even vividly remember the cover photo i had illustrated for my folder, a black and white sketch done in pencil entitled, "... and her eyes saw... suicide."  i drew an anime-like face of a young girl, her eyes as the center of attention, her pupils telling the story.  i often wonder what my teacher must have thought of me at the time, this shy, quiet girl interested in researching such a deep, dark topic.  but that is what it was; an interest, an allure for the unknown, an unmistakable desire to peek, like the pandora's box-effect.  i wanted to see, despite the stigma, no matter how ugly, how frightening.  i had to see.

in middle school i'd also written a play that my classmates voted on to perform, but this was quickly nixed because the administration deemed it too dark (and i suppose disturbing) to present in front of the student body.  i hadn't understood what the big deal was.  the story (what i remember of it) was about a girl who was frequently visited by a strange, dark man.  i played on the usual good vs. evil theme, so i'll let you guess who represented what.  the girl didn't realize until the last scene who she had been conversing with the entire time, that she'd been secretly battling temptation, and ultimately the magnitude of her decisions at the time she had made them.

i can't say that in adulthood this curiosity has subsided.  i have sometimes thought, is there something wrong with me?  does this make me abnormal? crazy?  it's not like i had exceptional hardship in my life; if anything, i grew up more or less sheltered, fairly well-cushioned.  so perhaps that's what drew me to want to catch a glimpse of what i knew was somewhere in the shadows, ironically what i was being shielded from.  i found it hard to process feelings like love, joy, and peace, without heartbreak, despair, and scarrage.  i needed to understand pain before i could truly cherish liveliness.  i needed to understand life when it wasn't so pretty.  because that's what life is... not always so darn pretty.

when i want a taste of unpretty, i turn to novels of the twisted variety.  anything by augusten burroughs, for example.  recently, i discovered an author by the name of gillian flynn.  the first book i'd read of hers was sharp objects, which my coworker passed on to me.  i wasn't sure how i'd felt about it; it was quite unexpected and shocking to say the least, but it was a story that stayed with me long after i'd finished and passed the book along.  there was a grit and rawness to the storytelling that i'd enjoyed.

a couple of weeks ago, when i was desperate for something good to read, and i mean not-wanting-to-put-down-for-a-minute good, staying-up-til-all-hours-of-the-night good, i stumbled upon gillian flynn's new book, gone girl, as it was one of the top kindle downloads.  i downloaded a sample and started reading.  i was immediately hooked.  it had the same sharp, abrasive writing as her first book.  and from the very first page, it had the psychological mind-screwing suspense i was craving for.  i mean, check out the opening quote:

"Love is the world's infinite mutability; lies, hatred, murder even, are all knit up in it; it is the inevitable blossoming of its opposites, a magnificent rose smelling faintly of blood."  -Tony Kushner, The Illusion

my kind of book.

the story is unbelievable yet believable, a bit unnerving, bone-chilling.  there are twists and turns until the very end, and even then it doesn't end.  it seeps into your subconscious, begging you to think: do we really know the people closest to us?  and if we found out who they really were, what would that knowledge make us do?

it keeps me up at night, wondering in the dark.

homefree

word of my aunt's passing spread like wildfire through my mom's family as news generally does, across miles, across countries, across the pacific.  but this time it was different.  it wasn't another wedding, or baby, or successful business venture.  it wasn't anything to congratulate anyone about.  it wasn't even anything to smile about.  it was simply very sad.

i called my mom, and she was her usual pragmatic self when it comes to these situations, plans to fly back to taiwan already set in motion.  i found myself listening to her reflect upon the last 30 hours of my aunt's life, and the last time she spoke to her sister which actually was while she was in the recovery room with me.  i hadn't realized at the time that the phonecall she had received was from her brother who was with my aunt in the hospital.  i was grateful that my mom had had that precious, precious time with her, even though my aunt had been unable to cognitively respond.

though news of her diagnosis only came a week ago and the prognosis was not good, i was still surprised by how quickly the disease had progressed.  how quickly she was gone.  it was like before i had the chance to even fully understand the magnitude of the situation, it was already too late.

unfortunately, with me growing up in the u.s. and my aunt living overseas, i never really had the chance to know her.  the last time i saw her, thankfully, was my visit to taiwan a couple of years ago, and she embraced my husband and me, using the little bit of english she knew.  though she has been unwell most of my life and sadly most of hers, she found a way to make us smile, just happy we were there and happy she could see us.  and that is how i'll remember her.

i also hold another memory close, not of mine, but of my mom's.  she spoke fondly of my aunt, saying that when they were growing up that she was so carefree, uncaring of what others thought of her, always going with the flow.  and so, my dear aunt, i'm happy you are free again, no longer suffering, and smiling down upon our family where you are.

may you rest in peace always.

third time's the charm?

how does that expression go? third time's the charm? let's hope so.

i'll be honest, i wasn't expecting to go back for outpatient surgery for at least another 6 months, let alone 6 weeks. but that was what the doctor ordered, literally, at my post-op follow-up appointment after we returned from ireland. another procedure in 6 weeks.

this time, it was again at the same facility, and my arrival time was much earlier than the previous times since i was the first patient. although i'm not a morning person, i was grateful for this because it took out alot of the waiting that makes me nervous. the staff noticed in my chart that i had been there not long ago, so would preface with, "like last time.." or "you know the drill." yup, i sure knew the drill.

prep flew by, as after i met my nurse, was examined by my anesthesiologist, was set up with my IV (apparently i have "really tough skin" in my hand, and i'd be lying if it didn't hurt a bit) and shared a word with my doctor, i was up out of my chair again and walking down the hall towards the OR. i was in OR #4 this time, same bright light, different staff. i was directed to scoot my butt along the crease on the table, looked up at the screens and overhead light as my arms were being worked on. i was told i would have a warming blanket, which was nice, and felt it inflating. then the sedation was started, and the warmth spread through me quickly. i focused on blinking like i was trying to stay awake, even heard my heartrate rise incrementally as i struggled (irrationally) to fight the urge to doze. but before long, i felt the enveloping sensation, the ringing in my ears, the fuzzy feeling, as the darkness closed upon me.

then all too quickly, my name was called and i was being wheeled into recovery. "wonderwall" by oasis was playing, one of my favorite songs. my recovery nurse was actually the same nurse i had for prep the last time, and i told her so. she remarked that no wonder my husband and i looked familiar. then there was my mom, my sister, and my dad. "gang's all here!" i felt like saying. after i had something to drink and eat, i was up again and redressed. one of the other nurses recognized me, as she was the one i had for recovery twice before. as i was being wheeled out, she exclaimed, "thanks for keeping us in business!" and gave me a high five. it's crazy how the surgicenter has become such a familiar place, that i'm not the only one who remembers.

no matter how many times i go through this, it doesn't get much easier; the process maybe, because i've gone through it before, but emotionally, i don't think i am ever truly prepared. it's hard, i'll admit that. it's tough when so much is out of your control. and i, for one, have issues learning to trust.

but there is alittle hope in me still. hope that someday, i can look back on all this, all this wanting and waiting, all this physical... crap as being worth it.

third time's the charm? fingers crossed.