On The Descendants.

I love this movie, The Descendants.

Yes, yes. You probably haven't heard about it, to some it won't even be rental worthy. George Clooney is in it; that girl from Teenage Mom.  Its not an action film or a chick flick. Very Sideways and About Schmidt-like. I watched this the first time when I was with in LA with my mom and again in Boston with this guy I didn't want to watch anything romantic with/knew I can't wait until the DVD came out.

I find this the most appropriate for today. Father's Day, Hawai'i, a parent passing.. I realized the reason I loved it was because even when a parent or a person passes away, the film reminds you it doesn't necessarily clean their slate. Yes, it is easier to "let bygones be bygones" but the thing is that there are actual consequences to the choices that those who had passed away made. They just don't go away after they die. We, the living, have to work through their choices even when they are gone.

For example. My father. Now, I am not saying that my entrance to this world is a mistake, per se. But I wonder. Does my father living a certain life that may not have been parallel to what he may have wanted, take away the credibility of my existence? Yes, yes. Heavy. But my point is that I was searching for a long time if I was meant to be here. Not this, what is my purpose in the world kind of thing but more of, if me being here was an "oopsie" then is there a deliberate reason or telos of why I am here. The only way I can justify this is that dads, moms - parents are fallible. Just like their children.  There is no miraculous shift when one becomes a parent that makes them impervious to mistakes. They are human beings. They lie, they cheat, they lack confidence. But their mistakes are not necessarily their regrets. Nonetheless, I wanted him to explain himself. I wanted to know the truth, give him the third degree. I hated that any information I would get from him, to understand him, was always secondary. From what he wrote, from people's stories, from everything else but his own voice. Side note, there is a quick taping that my cousin has, from an interview he had with my grandmother on a tape. His voice is so soothing. Eloquent. Anyways, I guess the beauty of not being able to speak to him now is that there is no additional info infiltrating in, I can just work with the facts I do have and mobilize it to an idea of him in the present. Makes it easier to juggle. Not fun but easier.

People tell me he loved sitting outside at caffes, spending hours at museums, knew plants scientific names. Unfortunately, my image of him as a father is faint. I'd pretend that he would have enjoyed my presence, my conversations, my thoughts... my hugs, as his daughter. I hate that I am limited to any tangible experience with him. But back to the movie. There is this last scene where it ties in so well with my father's narrative. I would picture myself in the waters of Hawai'i, giving peace to him just like in the last scene. Nonetheless, let the records show, it was my choice to not have gone. I did not want that to be my last image of him. I hope he's not mad at me for not going. But if I could explain to him about that day, it would be: I'm sorry Dad that I couldn't have been 'there' for you. Both when you were here and when you were not. I was limited and fallible in what I knew and what I was wiling to accept in my life at the time. I know you wish you were with me here, too. I love you. Happy Father's Day.

On Sayin I Love You.

I have this profound fetish for saying "I love you" to my friends. Whether they like it or not. I know it sounds juvenile, this amicable puppy love. Its commendable but not of merit. I mean, I get it. It's not the same love 'love' we give to our significant other. I know the difference, I've shared those words in a number of serious relationships (and grateful that I have) but there is something so cute about saying those words to a friend. Especially for the first time. There is this gittyness, this rush of feelings that consume you when say I love you to that friend, dare I say, can be as delicious as saying it to a lover.

Why is it that, just because we don't share the most intimate positions - I mean, conversations - that they are any less important? The beauty of any friendship is that it doesn't need as much diligence as an intimate* one, but its resilience seems to be so much stronger. I joke with my best friend that she's been my longest relationship. She's been there from the very first one and to what feels like my last - though I'm not entirely giving up, quite yet - but we'll see if ever I'll be as lucky :) Anyways, the fun that comes out of love from a friendship, in contrast to the intimate type, is that - monogamy's not necessary. How awesome is that. Love is love. After my break up, I thought that my love from him sort of dissipated to my friends. Like this transfer of energy that was necessary for it to thrive. But one doesn't "transfer" love. It is not a limited entity. As a child, I thought love was given as 'tokens' - that there was a limited amount that we can give to others. How wrong was I. CS had my love and I had his; while simultaneously, sharing and enjoying the love for my friends. Exclusive to that of his. And thank God it is. 

I never really understood what it meant to be "in love" with my friends before until this year. I've had great, great friends in the past. From cheerleading to high school, to college and dancing buddies, to the people I met in New York and now Boston. The fun thing about my Bostonian clan is that none of us are really from Boston. It's fun - this immigrant-like family of mine, full of nerds. The range is aspiring. There is a certain spice that each one brings. I love them. Cue barfing noises.. But there is something unique about them than other friends. It's like we're going through a war together. What we all went through this past year together - this current vulnerability that we all are facing and the constructive ways we try to care for one another. Yes, most of the time our means of reacting to stress was consuming alcohol, blah blah. But there are moments in between - I swear - that are so sweet and sincere and generous. I love it. Whether it was getting coffee with me, getting ice cream, beers... hmm now I see why I gained weight these past few months.. for letting me crash at your place, for giving me hugs and/or handwritten notes; the conversations we had were so much sweeter than any pastry I ate. We have went through such a hard time together and there is still so much more to come. Even amongst the very short time we spent together, I am eternally grateful. There is still a long way to go but thank God I am not alone. And I hope that they feel that same sense of consolement when with me as well - I have no problem giving my love and attention to those who want it. 

So, for my friends that had known me for years but may not know my current agenda and for the friends I see every day that may not know my past - I love you. I am enthralled by you. Warning: Please do not misunderstand my love because I give it so freely. It does not mean less to me nor should it be taken for granted. I know I can be overtly generous, in more ways than one, trust me, I wish I wasn't sometimes. It'd be less painful. Yet I will give because I believe you deserve it. Everyone deserves a little lovin. So don't abuse it. I am happy - in gratitude - to be surrounded by so much love. Thank you, Friends. May our love be one heck of an affair. 

Dedicated to you, a Spice Girls cover song but with swag.

* intimate = your standard boyfriend/girlfriend or boyfriend/boyfriend or girlfriend/girlfriend situation

On Newton's Third Law.

Inspired by an old Facebook "note" I wrote back in 2010.

Who is it to say that you or I deserves anything or something? We have been taught to believe that when we do something, a certain effect must happen. The third law of Newton states that a certain force equals an opposite but equal force. Despite how we know this to be true in the physical world, how true is it in the intangible?

Is it that when we do a certain deed or act a particular way, we must await a certain reaction to our actions that compensate for it? For example, if I were to do something good, would I then have to believe that something good will return to me? Or vise versa, if I were to do something mean to another person, should I await the terrible consequence since it'll 'come back' to me in the end? The reasoning behind cause-and-effect bothers me. Frightens me, really. I hate to believe that what I do in the past will have a certain reprimand to it. People guise this as karma but that's not enough. Because the reality is, we've all fucked up at one point. And yet, despite those poor choices, we have been granted some break, some sort of grace from the universe - and even for us sometimes, a second/third/fourth/and counting..

Everything is not quid pro quo with the world. What are we to do then, if our world is so inconsistent? Maybe that's the beauty of it. The reality is, if we were truly 'awarded' for all the dings that we've created in the world, we would be screwed. We're aren't perfect. And because of that, to resolve the inevitable, what are we left with? To forgive and forget when we screw up - when others screw us over. Is that the force that we are supposed to reckon with? Reconciliation?

But Newton said, paraphrasing here, when something fucks you over, you push em right back. That's what the F's stand for, no? F = -F ... I wish I could. "Return to the favor" I never do. Unless I'm driving.. Because even after all that is said and done, particularly the situations I've had to deal with in the past months - whether it was the ex-boyfriend, or guys in between, or even worst, the one crossed the line - I'm still their friend. Seriously. Like I just had coffee with one of them the other day, sent an email to another. Oof and I'm sending back my ex-boyfriend's stuff that he left at my apartment on my bill, after he had left me for another girl. The hell is wrong with me? I actually still genuinely care for them. The hell. Even after all that. Shouldn't what they've done - cheated on me, stopped speaking to me, done things without my consent - come with much more heavier consequences? I should be the enforcer to this, hold back my time and my energy towards them. But I don't. I should equally hurt them as much as they hurt me. But I don't. Why would I provide not only my forgiveness but also a friendship to people who just don't care. About me. What does that say about me?  Am I the sucker, the pushover, the idiot? I would hate to think that this act of benevolence to forgive another makes me stupid. Vulnerable, yes. Stupid, no.

Forgiveness is the only compensation to our shortcomings. For others, for ourselves. Its like a hidden catalyst, a secret weapon in creating a swift, unpredictable change to our current predictable system. Much has happened in my life. Much. That required me to yield such regard. For my uncle, my grandfather, my 'friend' that went too far and most importantly, myself. Should we enjoy/fear what might happen to us because we 'deserved it'? Or do we hope to fall in this net of forgiveness? In the end I strongly believe there is only one option. I actually do not think that because I am willing to forgive others that I'm lame. I get it; it does make me defenseless against the dumb actions of others. Yet, I wouldn't have it any other way. I guess the reason I do this is, is because I know that I've messed up in the past and will continue to do so: act like a fool, fall on my words, regret my actions (goodness, I feel like that now). I just hope when it does, when I do mess up - someone will meet me with same amount of compassion along the way - not that I deserve it but because we all need it at many points in our lives. So, I guess in a way, it all does sort of balances each other out like Newt's said, when one force must equal another. Except this time, the "g" comes not from a direct recompense of equal malice but instead a place of kindness and compassion. That I can easily quite accept. Wouldn't you? A world balanced, grounded in much sweeter restitution. I most definitely would.

On What I Want To Be When I Grow Up.

My father died when I was seven years old. I was told that the cause of death was pneumonia and that was the end of the story or so I thought. It was not until years later after my first semester in college that I discovered a key element to his story. Pneumonia was only secondary to his primary cause of death, AIDS. This single but most important detail cascaded a number of questions. How did my father contract HIV? Why was my mother involved with him? How was it that I am here and healthy?

Uncertain on how to proceed from this, I spent most of my undergraduate career participating in a multitude of student organizations, volunteering in community projects, and even studying abroad in hopes to find rhyme or reason to my familial circumstance. Though personal inquiries of my father were still left unanswered, I found a temporary but resonating resolve through these acts of service. Whether it was building homes in Tijuana or producing a fashion show to fund student scholarships, I relished opportunities to extend my energy and ideas with others towards a larger, more productive goal. Utilizing my talents to create something tangible, while also formulating this interconnectedness with people developed this zeal within. By my senior year, I received the prestigious Senior Oceanids Award for my involvement in community service.

Motivated by this means of charity, I decided to work at Pomerado Hospital in order to make use of my skills in a new medium that is patient care.Working with patients learning to walk again after surgery; teaching a patient how to hold a spoon after a stroke - these simple tasks illustrated for me the subtle but relentless ways our bodies work towards healing itself every day. I saw firsthand the power that comes from a mobile body. Mobility produces functionality; functionality begets autonomy and without this, quality of life is greatly compromised. I realized thereafter that I wanted a life devoted towards enhancing the condition and quality of one’s life was in the role of a physician. 

Moving to Boston, working at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, volunteering at Massachusetts General Hospital and ultimately, enrolling in the MA in Medical Sciences program at BUSM; all were substantial to my professional and personal growth. However, none was more meaningful or impressionable to me than my time at AIDS Action Committee as a hotlines counselor. People called with general questions of HIV/STD transmission, while others spoke of scenarios of some possible exposure to a sexually transmitted infection. More often than not, calls were less concerned with physical ailments and more so for support as a caller waits for her test results or another discovers he is HIV infected. I became accustomed to consoling others through my words and realized that despite the information I could provide, it was my approach on how I spoke to them that made our conversations most productive. I had to assess what their main concern was, understand the expectations of that caller, and then fulfill those needs exclusively through dialogue. I would imagine each caller as a patient; probing for some solution to a certain, health-compromising predicament, and my voice was the only means of treatment. In the past, my ideas and my hands created the environment conducive towards helping others. This time, however, it was my aptitude to audibly observe the needs of another that produced a positive outcome. What was difficult about these anonymous callers was that for that brief moment I was on the phone with them, I would imagine that I was speaking to my father. This was the closest I have worked directly with the community my father was a part of, and with each case I would catch myself saying the words I wish I could have said to him. Saying the words like, your diagnosis does not make you who you are. Viruses are not bias upon your sexual preference. You are not alone, and you are surrounded by those that love you and care for your health.

Looking back on college, I questioned the reasons why my father died the way that he did. I realized now that my attempts to rationalize his death does not, unfortunately, change the outcome. It was in his lack of presence that I discovered my purpose in service, in the medium of patient care, and now in hopes, in the role of a physician. My father is my constant reminder of how valuable a life is, and how unfortunate it is when that life is compromised or shortened in such inopportune ways. My uncle, a physician for decades, told me that the eyes and ears of a clinician were the tools that direct accurate diagnoses and ultimately, better treatment of care. Understanding these details of the human body is imperative to become a doctor but the ability to mobilize this information in an advantageous way for the patient, using those skills of keen observation and effective communication, are as equally important if not more to become an influential caretaker. I want to use my talents to prolong, enhance, or at minimum withhold pain from a life through my words and actions. I am conscientious in cultivating these skills -- seeing, hearing, speaking truth -- and practice their mastery every day, so that I may be the physician I know I can become.

N.b.  A draft to my personal statement. Copy this, and I will kill you. Love, elle

On Boyfriends.

I found a few old posts that I wrote pre-break up and when I read it, I was just flabbergasted on how short-sighted I saw myself, the truth of the situation, and how unfortunate it all was. And, of course, the word "boyfriend"came up pretty often. Is it weird that the word boyfriend is actually something I can't really see myself using anymore? Not just for the moment but in general. I literally used that word for almost 7 years of my life, straight. It's not bragging, I humbly recognize that it was a privilege .. Maybe by declaring that I'll never say that word again, I won't be shocked if that actually happens. I mean, let's be honest. What if I don't fall in love again? This is a completely, plausible outcome. Am I ready for that? The idea of never using that 'B' word again. I might just have to be. 

Now, don't get me wrong, I am not entirely closed off by the idea of meeting someone. It's just that I want that if someone does come into my life - all cute and smart as I imagine him to be - to be cool with the idea that he is not just a 'boyfriend' or 'best friend' or whatever 'friend' version of mine that may or may not include benefits. I want that person to be who he thinks/identifies himself to be and not worry so much of what role he needs to play in my life. I used to be offended when my boyfriend at the time would introduce me by my name and not as his "girlfriend" but, by whatever his intentions was by doing so, I realize the power in him identifying me by my name than so much as the person I am in his life, was all actually endearing. 

Despite my declaration off men, I would want a family someday. With people other than myself, a home, possible kids. A man to hold hands with on a Saturday afternoon. But here's the problem: how do I get there when the idea of a 'boyfriend' makes me want to shake my head at the moment? This may be a problem. I would want to think that I could be in love again. It's a fun, whimsical thought on trying to guess the how and where and who that may be with. How I get there, not quite sure. And what choices would I have to make if that is something I may want in my life not necessarily now but later? Will I have options later down the road? Is it (too) bold to say to the universe that - one day - I want to share my life with another? A "friend" of mine spoke hypothetically about his future partner in life, with this flair of confidence. As if he had already knew who she was but doesn't. He isn't dating anyone, that I know for sure. But I wondered how he imagined her in his head. I was sort of envious, not gonna lie. This notion that he knew he would fall in love again.. how was he so sure? 

So, at the moment, I'm actually attempting to suppress a crush of mine. Why? Though as fun as it's been to have these shamelessly cute feelings, it is annoying as hell. Plus - 1) I don't think he's interested and 2) this is probably, most likely the worst time for me to even get slightly involved with anyone. Let it be said. I need a  breather. It's hard, though. I can't differentiate whether these feelings come from actual value of him or because it is an oh-so-famiiar feeling. But let the records show. I think the reason I liked this guy was because he was the antithesis of my ex-boyfriend. He was focused but with a heart. Sentimental but funny. And as much as I hate to see this go - for both practical and lack of reciprocation, it was my pleasure to have had that feeling again. That reminder.

I did not expect myself to be in a place where I would have feelings for someone, anyone, anytime soon. And yet, I did. I speak so much of the resilience of our bodies, and I think I may have underestimated the ability of our yearning to love (and in return, to be loved - thought not always guaranteed). And though nothing will come from this, except for a minor loss of some self-dignity, I am grateful for the glimpse of these feelings. I never would have thought that I could feel like this again again. Feelings of hope and endearment for someone else. It's nice to know that the heart still skips a beat, the face still blushes with the thought that there could be - someone out there to be.. whatever he and I needs to be.

On the Last Day of School.

Poor Entry. The titles keep on changing on this. It was first "On the First Day of School" then "On the First Day of the Second Semester" and now.. we're on the last day before finals. Awesome. Procrastination is real. Took me a good, what 9 mnths? Not bad, not bad at all.

My first intention was to write entries on those actual days so to capture that 'moment' right before we knew the outcome of it all. And yet, we're all still in that situation even after two semesters. For most of us, we don't know where we'll be as of next year for professional schools, much is relying on how we perform in the next couple days and the MCAT and - heck, for some of us, summer plans aren't even quite settled. All this is fun, aint it? Jumping for joy.

No, of course not. I don't know about you guys but I'm scared shitless. And yes, I know we all can play ducks. Where we are chillin on top, everything looking cool hanging out on the water but really our feet below is kicking around like crazy to keep afloat. I know, I know. Ducks aren't always treading but you get my point.

This year is going to big. Has been and continues to be. By the end of the year, we would of hopefully been invited to those very coveted interviews for medical school. Little secret, remember those people we saw during our first semester - the people on tour for their interviews?  I was envious of them. How they were in that part of the process, closer to the dream. Closer than I at least. I understand that we all have different paths and how we get here of there does not have to be so linear. And that, of course, is the beauty of our story. But. It's hard not to judge this whole process when its about comparison and scores and where you rank on this iron-clad ladder for medical school admissions. Also, side note, I wanted to kick their asses. Because I prematurely judged them for not knowing how lucky they really were. How oh so lucky. But the ass that needed the most kicking was obviously myself. So I used them as friendly reminders of how much more work I need to put in, for myself and for my dream.  

I remember sitting at the Keefer Auditorium listening to people who completed their first year, telling us the number of hours they studied, to read before class, to not fall behind.. It all seems so trivial now. What they should've just said was, Get your shit done. Well. And how ever way you do that or works for you, figure it out fast and do that constantly. And also how we all secretly wanted to beat one another and at one point had said "I didn't come here to make friends, I came here to do work!" And yet for the most part, we did both. Cuz Lord knows had I not had the support, the hugs, the coffee breaks - I would be insane. I'm pretty close to that now but imagine without my friends to keep me straight. Crazy. Absolutely crazy.

I believe we're good for it. All those hours and hours of work put into class, libraries, bed rooms until 2 in the morning. The amounts of coffee consumed, conversations we've had with one another to settle nerves or motivate us. All that and then some. None of it is wasted. We are finally learning what we want from ourselves, asking our selves, our bodies, our minds to work and expand and become something that it needs to be in order for us to be where we want to be. We have a glimpse of the life we want, and we all know we want it that bad. With that, let's kill these finals. Fourth quarter, two minutes on the clock. Time to make our mommas proud.

This year is going to be a big. I can feel it in the core of my bone marrow.

On Going Too Far.

You went too far. You messed me up. I had a groove, I had confidence. I felt good. But you? You went too far, you took something that wasn't yours, touched something that wasn't meant to be given to you. I hate that you do not see the lines that were crossed, the situation you put me into, and the facade we play to play it cool. You thought you could do what you do but why? You fucked up, dude. It's crazy how in a moment. Feeling my worth, just slipping away. One attempted gesture, at a time. 

I volunteered the other night, and the subject of sexual abuse came up. It's weird. For all that I went through, it was for the first time to put that word "abuse" as part of my vocabulary to tell my story. I never thought of it that way, never wanted to see it that way. And there it was. Honest and real. 

And my whole justification of it was, I've been in worst-er situations and that this is nothing in comparison to what I had felt when I was a child. This now as an adult, I play off as "no biggie" and I justify it for you that we do stupid things when under the influence. But. No. I'm old enough, smart enough, wise enough, know my worth enough to know that this shit is not cool. Why are we not compelled to not think of it as a 'big thing' because - until it happens to you - you don't know how it feels. This feeling of no control, the lack of ability to decide what is happening to you. Your body. Trust me, I know it is easy to belittle this, I want to belittle this. But now, I can't. Not anymore.

You're an ass. And I'm angry. You're not supposed to do that. You are my friend. A person I trusted. You went too far, crossed boundaries. How can I trust you?! Knowing you were willing to do what you did. You disgust me. I forgive you, because I think it's your stupidity, lack of foresight, lack of understanding the consequences of your choices that brought you here. Don't you dare do this to anyone again. Please understand this. Your attempts were not welcomed. You hurt me by doing this. You really did, and I pray that you never put someone in a situation like you did with me again. Ever. Respect the women that brought you in this world, the women as in your family. Respect them - those that you know, those that you don't. Because. They are someone's daugthers, someone's sisters, someone's best friend. You just DO NOT DO WHAT YOU WANT TO DO without the consent of that other person. You hear me? Never. Again. 

Funny thing, my most recent posts have been so superficial. The irony. The quest of attention via aesthetic needs, yet that coveted attracting-attention can bring all this. Unwarranted attentiveness. I know this is sorta reaching, but lately I've not been taking care of my health. Not big things, no heavy drinking or drugs. Just not working out as much or eating junk food. I know, I know. Not a big deal. But part of me thinks it's me trying to sabotage how I look, so I won't get that attention I don't want. By gaining weight, making it seem "less sexy". It's stupid, I know. But really. I feel protected in it, almost. Yet I'm the most happiest, the best when I'm taking care of health. And for now, I don't know. I'm trying to resurrect this feeling of self-worth with ballet classes. 

This weekend, I get to re-perform my piece to VagMo, which is like visiting a good friend. That space that this show provides me is, amazing. I am the voice, for even a moment, of the women that shared similar stories. That show has meant so much to me and hate to see/let it go. But until the next medium of where I can express and be part of something bigger than myself, I have at least this. My own monologue, here to share with you.