Flawed Fem

My Flawed Life as a Mother, Sister, and Daughter -To my Family, With fellow women, & In Christ.


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The End

How do you know it’s the end? How do you know it’s a new beginning? How do you know?

The death of a relationship is complex. When you’ve invested your heart, when you’ve bared your soul to someone, how do you suddenly stop? When your times were filled with endless laughter, when your beings were soothed by each other’s presence, how do you press the pause button and wait for the other to come back? When your routine involves a consistency, and the other decides to check out, how do you know if the magic will still be there the next time?

There are people who you can trust and have the assurance of a lifelong friendship. These people may be far, they may not be physically present. But your souls have been intertwined for life. Your hearts have been taken and kept in theirs. They treasure you as much as you do them. You finally see each other and there’s nothing but laughter, warm hugs, and loving glances. You have good memories of the past, and you create even better memories for the future.

Then there are people beside you, always with you. But you never know where you stand with them. Or you thought you knew, and then things change. Without a known reason. With no warning. With no provocation. And it makes you question life. It makes you wonder how much of your heart to open up again. How do you share your deepest pains and utmost joys to someone and then suddenly leave? How does one decide to love today and be indifferent tomorrow?

When life presents me with the end, an unexplainable end, my soul shatters. I am sad, I am nerved. I feel afraid, and I feel angry. When my conscience is clear, and my heart is pure, damning whispers and tempestuous lies seek to break me. When I care deeply and the other is careless, my being is shaken. And I hide: My heart cannot take another heartbreak. My open heart cannot bear another closed off door. The mind fucks, the on and offs, the judging eyes. I am sick of it all.

There is nothing good in the end. It takes my frail heart and crushes it. There is nothing good left in the end. It takes my soul to a dark and lonely place. An inevitable hole of numbness and ugliness.

So where do I go after the end? Where do I find a new beginning? It is easy for me to wander. In the hellhole. Indulge. In self-pity and self-doubt. And withdraw. Put on the brakes. Rest my weary heart. The hard part is the healing, to hold my head and heart higher than the forces that seek to put me down. To forge on, despite the ebbs and flows. Even as I now lay low and still, I must still go forth. To conquer the lies and seek souls of truth and integrity. To fight the temporary highs and find a real and lasting love. To be the light at the end of a hard long dark tunnel. To find peace in the end of an unworthy presence, and see clarity in the beginning of me.

~o~

In the more poetic words of Kesha/ Praying —

You bought the flames and you put me to through hell. I had to learn how to fight for myself. And we both know all the truth I could tell, I’ll just say this is “I wish you farewell.”prayingkesha

 

 

 

 

 

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HIatus

I was in a writing hiatus for several reasons. There’s the physical- the sleep deprivation from a toddler’s sleep regression; the return of migraines over the season, and unpredictable summer plans. Then there’s the emotional- tragic news that hit me hard; and deep-seated conflicts that hit me harder. To say I was overwhelmed was an understatement: I was drained, exhausted, and broken. To say I had writer’s block would be an easy excuse, the reality is that was only a part of the truth. It is true I couldn’t write, but I could not write because I had no energy to write. And it did not stem from not knowing what to write. It’s quite the opposite: it’s from having too many issues that makes it hard to know what to release and what to hold close and private.

If I’ve stated this in earlier posts, please excuse the redundancy. Even as I am all about
exposing my flaws and feminist ideas (hence the blog name;) I created this blog with a purpose of empowerment. I am careful not to throw dirt or throw shade just because I’m pissed. I will use my sadness to learn a lesson, I will use my rage to engage my passion. I will use my ugly disappointments and channel that energy to a beautiful art. That is the essence of this blog. And when I cannot find that light energy, I feel like I’m writing incomplete sentences. When all I have is doom and a seemingly inescapable hole, I could not bring myself to write dark thoughts and end it there. Even if I do not have a resolution, I feel this need to counter the darkness. Even if it’s a sliver, a miniscule glimpse of light, I’ll take it.

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And so therein lies my problem at this moment. Have I seen the light? There are days when I am hopeful, more days that I’m not. Am I any close to any resolution? The physical exhaustion is relatively easy to remedy. The mental part, not so much. Especially when the resolutions depend on others. When I am at several crossroads, and yet waiting for others take their own journeys and seeing if our paths are truly meant to continue together or apart- that is the struggle. When my heart is torn and confused, when my brain threatens to explode from too much possibilities, none of which are completely desirable. I am stuck. And it is neither all darkness or all light: it is part darkened and part enlightened, and it is a most confusing state to be in.

So where do I go from here? One thing I realized during my hiatus: I need to write. I miss it. My heart needed the release, my thoughts needed to be poured out. And if I am going to be true about my flawed life, well, here I am, naked in my future unknown. Some answers have not yet been revealed, some lessons have not yet been learned. But my heart is open, and my love is true. And wherever life takes me, I draw on the grace of God and the courage of me. And for now, that is enough.

 

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ALL HEART. Sparkly and all 😉

 

 


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Politically Incorrect: Outsider

An outsider, that’s what I am. A rebel since birth, an introspective. I question my beliefs, I affirm my morals. I love with passion, I fight injustice with a bleeding heart.  I am not part of the elite, I am not part of the “in crowd.” I have cupped the face of a few hardened souls, I have held the hands of one homeless too many. Yet as I have tried my damnest to  save lives, I feel helpless in the face of dangerous and dirty politics facing my two worlds. I love my people, but I’m afraid the people that I love has now turned to hate. Hate for their fellow sufferers. Hate for each others’ differences. Hate that has overpowered too many hearts and minds: where change and progress might have occurred, we are now clouded and painfully covered in hate.

I am no saint. I have fallen prey to hate and rage far too many times lately. It is hard for my feminist heart not be affected by misogyny, especially when such is expressed by the highest ruler of the lands. It is hard to sleep well at night when I know my fellow immigrants are being beaten, bullied, and deported due to a flawed immigration system. It breaks me to know that impoverished countrymen in my otherworld fall victim to the war on drugs, and that young potential minds have been wasted and killed in the crossfire. I feel defeated and helpless.blogpi

Yet…there can be hope. For I do not have a one sided view of these tragedies–

I do not blame anyone for wanting to make “America great again”  I understand seeking to improve the US economy, for tax and healthcare reforms. However, I do not believe they can be achieved by bigoted immigration laws and a tolerance for white supremacy. I do not believe in inequity and creating laws to make the richer rich and the poor worse off. There has to be a better way. The current POTUS was not elected by mere hate alone. He has touched upon the disillusion of many, and it is that disillusionment that needs to be addressed. Unfortunately, instead of turning the disheartened into positive changers, it has only increased the hate in their hearts. Hate that has turned to blame and loathing for others that do not look like them, hate that has blinded them to the plight of people similar to their own ancestors’ survival, hate that has made it near impossible to institute any real and logical change in the land of unlimited possibilities.  Yet I cannot react in hate. Hate begets hate, and it is a vicious never ending cycle that has put us in the predicament we are in now. Instead of responding in rage, I want to feel their rage and seek to help. Instead of hating them for hating me, I choose to love, and open myself to these people, so they can see me as more than an outsider, but part of this vast colorful country that we all choose to love and defend.

In my homeland, the war on drugs have taken its toll. Countless lives have been taken, and more will be. The latest victims are young teens, boys whose lives have been cut short by this bloody war. Do I believe it is the President’s fault? Do I believe the drug cartels are the ones killing each other off? Do I also think that the opposition may have a hand in this war? I DO NOT KNOW. Moreover, I also think those are the wrong questions to ask. The more important, meaningful question is how can we help the country alleviate itself of the drug problem? If we abhor the violence, what are we doing to help, really truly help the victims?  Violence makes me flinch. But I flinch even more at people spewing hate in the name of human rights. You do not care about human rights if you only care about the dead dealers/addicts and not the people killed by these dealers. You also cannot call yourself a true human rights advocate if you ignore the police arrogance/violence. You want justice and human rights? Then HELP. Donate to the rehab centers. Volunteer and give to the shelters. Do the hotline for abused women. Drug addiction is a true epidemic, believe me, I’ve seen it. It is a disease, that needs to be treated and prevented, not killed. Love him or hate him, Pres. Duterte has established many rehab centers and helped women in domestic cases. What have you done?

I am not here to convince you of my beliefs. I am not here to condemn anyone of their beliefs. But I am here to challenge you of your beliefs. Whether you are left or right, Yellow or DDS- that you stop seeking to be right, and seek to find unity and progress in our differences. That your beliefs pushes you to help- to build, not destroy; to lift and not to stomp on others.  I am using my pen (or phone) to exercise my power to lift you. I am using my meager savings to help those who need it more. Use yourself for others. That is the most powerful political statement one can ever make today.

 

 

 


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M.O.M. (Mother series 3)

For a woman who loves herself least, and loves God and her family most. MOM.

She was a simple girl. She is a simple woman. A gentle soul who seeks to help others throughout her life: She was a beauty queen by chance and a star dancer by passion, and in both instances, it was her humility and kindness to her peers that made her so well loved.  She was a teacher who has so much compassion for her students/ children.  She was the oldest of 6 who stepped up to be her siblings’ caretaker when her father died early in life. She was the new wife who moved to the city and became her husband’s mother’s dutiful daughter, through the good and bad, caring for her in many sick and difficult times. She lived out God’s love and light, even through her own tears, even as her family struggled through finances and death.

She is most patient with her children, 4 unique souls, with distinct personalities, with different sets of challenges. She is not perfect, but amidst moments of frustration, she finds a way to transcend anger and show kindness. She seeks to understand us even as we misunderstand, dismiss her. She remains steady, even as we rebel, then and now. Her faith in us never wavers, her heart for us continues to beat strong in the storms. She never fails to teach us about God’s love, and how that defines her love for us.  She is our first glimpse of heaven, with all the comforts of an unconditional love.

Her goodness knows no bounds. She has a big heart for the downtrodden. She has a sincere empathy for the poor and disadvantaged. She is unusual in her ways as a boss, whether it’s in her workplace, or at home. Unusual because while her colleagues show a short fuse towards the less educated workers, she instead bears and teaches them skills. While other homeowners treat their help with contempt and high demands, she befriends them, and treats them as equals, as human beings deserving of basic rights and respect. Her goodness reflects her righteousness. She lives a life of integrity and value. She always tries to do the right thing, even if it causes her undue hardships. She will fight for her children, her mama bear instinct always seek to protect us from harm. She is simply a light force that shines beauty in dark realities.

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This is my mom. A woman of extraordinary beauty and light. Her open heart invites sharing life, and I cannot help but live for our chats, ranging from the mundane day to day, to the big ideas. She is my yoda, simple in her speeches, yet wise in her insights. Even as we relate differently now, in spite of conflicts in views, my relationship with  mom remains the most beautiful thing I have in life.  It is her sacrifices that gave me life choices.  It is her faith that pushed me to live my dreams.  It is her nurturing soul that has enabled me to live. So today, and for the rest of my fortunate life, I would like to live a life deserving of her sacrifices. I would like to honor her with my faithfulness, to protect her as she has held me, to comfort her as she has calmed me, and to pass on her Godly light to my own children. I would like to thank God every day for giving me her, and for giving me the highest honor of being called her child. Happy Mother’s Day Mom!

 

 

 


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Work Mom (Mother Series Pt.2)

 

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Boss Mama is the beautiful woman on the left~ (not to be confused with Ms. Shiny Face rt.)

I have not talked to her in years. I have not seen her for a while. Years have passed. I’ve worked in a variety of work and under many bosses. But she was different. She was more than an authority figure to me. She was a mentor, a friend, a role model. She was my work mom.

 

I was on my way to grad school thousand of miles away.  I can only take a job that allows me to do part time work while I was studying for GRE and doing my school applications. My friend told me they needed some help in her workplace. It was time limited. It was the perfect fit.

I went to work not expecting a lot. It was an in-between job and I was just happy to be earning some extra money. But it turned out to be more than a job. I met lifelong friends, I learned about work ethics (good and bad), and met the mentor who would shape my view of an ideal boss: The first time I saw her, she came with no fanfare, no swagger to give any indication that she was the boss of the department. Instead, what I saw was a woman who commanded respect, not because she had an arrogance about her, but because her soft and firm stance exudes class, decisiveness, and confidence in herself and her people. Over time, I saw how a woman of few words worked more efficiently than the men over her. She didn’t bark orders, she just executed them. She didn’t rule by force, she managed with mutual respect. She didn’t use fear to achieve results, she motivated and inspired confidence and teamwork among her team, pushing us to be our best and most effective at work.  We regard her as our leader, but never once did she ever made us feel like she was higher than us, never once did she utter dreaded clichéd statements like “I’m your boss and you do as I say”; “I’m your boss, I’m not your friend”.

She was not a loud person, but her words speak clearly and loudly to all of us who had the pleasure of working with her. Her humble nature revealed a wisdom far beyond her years- it reminds me, many years later, after I have become a manager myself, that good leadership does not come with a bragging heart, but it is through Godly humility, with a mind willing to learn, a heart able to respect, and a soul inspired to do the best work she can that defines a good leader.

So this month, on Mother’s Day (Mother’s Month- I call it), I would like to pay tribute to my work mom. To my/our work mom- you may not know how deeply you touched all of us, but we are all better people because of you. You molded me and taught me the value of leadership through inspired motivation . You are the epitome of kindness and godliness. You gave me the gift of authentic friendship and mentorship. You gave me the gift of you. Thank you. Love you always work mama~

 


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The Child I Am

CHILD SERIES #3

“I truly believe that the privilege of a lifetime is being who you are.” -Viola Davis

Without intending to, I had unintentionally started a Child series, writing about my
children in my first two posts. Different child, back to back periods in my life. So to round
it up, I would like to end right back at the start. As the Child I Am.

The Child I am. I am the child of my earthly father and mother. Their blood runs
through me. Their essence becomes me. I learn what I want or not want as a young girl
surrounded by male siblings and cousins. My identity as a woman was formed in
response to my family traditions- demonstrated by the fears, guts, and faiths of my
mother and grandmother. My mother uprooting herself in the city. My grandmother
taking pride in her work, when women don’t work. My mother juggling work and rearing her four kids, being truly present in both. My grandmother travelling around the world in her 50s-60s…I am feminine & feminist through their independence, their support systems. Their capacity to love, their love boundaries. Their many strengths, and their valuable flaws.

The Child I am. I am the child of two lands:
To my motherland- I bleed when she bleeds, I rise when she soars to new heights. I
have become aware of politics in my teen years, but it is only in the recent years that
my heart for social justice has grown deeper. Ironically, it is being away from my home
country that I have begun to search my soul and feel regret for being blind to the poor
man’s plight, and deaf to their desperate cries for justice. I had to be ripped apart from
my comfortable life and as I start to live a life of hard work, I have begun to appreciate
the same hard work my countrymen have done. Yet I succeed, while most of them perish in the cycle of poverty, corruption, and blind religion.
To my adopted land, my second mother- I have dedicated many years of social work to
you. And what I had only hoped to do in my motherland, I have achieved here- to do
good work with your homeless, oppressed, and sick. You have made me more aware of
race, and a vast array of cultures, which both exhilarates/excites me and frustrates/cuts
through me. And as much as the current political air angers and terrifies me, I continue
to hope and pray for my children’s sake, for their future’s sake.

The Child I am. I am a Child of God. Above all else, I define myself in Him.  I am loved just as I love. His love is unconditional. And in spite of my imperfect love, I am filled with His grace and mercy everyday. I am wonderfully and uniquely made. Even as I am not without doubts. Even as I question my existence. Even as I am nagged daily by mother’s guilt. And even as I am a human forever bound by flaws–  My Father’s Spirit inspires me to live supernaturally. To aim beyond my limits. To live a life on fire. To bear the fruits of patience, kindness, and love:
“So my Lord, I bring this offering;
A stubborn heart of stone
And ask You, in its absence
Please exchange it for Your own.”- Beth Moore

The Child I Am. Of many mothers. Of two fathers. Of one Spirit. They have mold me. They have become me. They have formed The Woman I Am.

 

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A symbol of Me ~Live Love Laugh~