Saturday, April 22, 2017


When I was angry.

Looking back through the journal, I was recalling emotions.

Praying.  (okay, that's not an emotion.)
Numbness was my best friend.

The thing is that I couldn't put a finger on when I started thinking there is life after infertility.  I believe it was when I realized somewhere, somewhen, maybe with meeting my nephew Eli for the first time at age of 2, or when it was when I was headbutting against an anti who was eager to bully a grieving woman coming in for a D&C for her dead fetus (wanted pregnancy, by the way), or when I realized the Deaf community is behind in its access to full education and almost no voice in politics.

 Somewhere among those, the spark was re-lit within me. When? I don't know and I do not see any point in trying to nail that moment. That does not matter.  What matters is how I chose to live again on my terms. 

Even more when I look at my Pinterest account (don't everyone have  nowadays?), I do see how the collections change with me through the time- there are collections on Infertility blogs, Infertility posts, grief and anger memes, "what if" collections- and there are collections on Geek art, comic books, Tiny houses, racial justice, intersectionality.  The first collections were prominent in 2011 to 2014, while second group of collection started popping up around 2013. Swinging forth and back between the collections.  I see the last time I had posted something in first group (infertility) was in 2015 when I found out I would be an aunt again. "Congrats on being an aunt again. And you're still infertile" was the last post. And I recall looking at that post and was thinking to myself,

"Do I want to feel sorry for myself? Go back into the void, wrapping myself in the comfort of numbness and darkness?"

And my answer.  "Fuck that.  Life is too short."   And made a new collection about 'Womanhood' of how I interpret womanhood- not by the womb to create a baby, but by the capability to create life out of love, passion and perseverance.

And there's a collection in which is basically my 'picture-diary', with the earliest images being dark, stormy, anguish, like crying woman, thunderstorms, cliffs, abandoned buildings, screams, and quotes like ""Don't judge my path if you haven't walked my journey".

Now with recent additions to that collection, I see there is hope, life, passion, wilderness, depth, reading. Michfest. Labyrinths. Protesting.  Art. Self-love. 

And that tells me that I'm healing.

Monday, April 17, 2017


[This was written in 2015, a few weeks after the post that got that anonymous attack in comment to me.  Decided to publish it- don't see any reason on why I should not, anymore.]

Recently, I had noticed I had a comment waiting to be moderated.   

The hostile anonymous lurker had sent another comment, "test on"- apparently to see if the comment would go public right away.  Obviously not.  

What that tells me: 

1)  Testing to see if the comment would go through or not, still anonymous, that tells me she is a coward, seeing if she'd troll again.

2)  She is still lurking around.    To see if I am still writing.   

I had thought long and hard; there was two options:
  a)  writing less and watching what words I put down.  
  b) discontinuing the blog.

That made me brought to mind, one remarkable experience I had during graduate school.  I had written a post on another blog (on hiatus while I go through the CNBC experience), which opened a jar of worms among the Deaf community, even more on the campus.   I tossed out a challenge for Deaf folks to look inward to themselves: their being hypocrites about preaching Deafhood, yet discriminating against other Deaf folks.  A week later, a professor in my graduate program pulled me aside, asking to talk with me privately.    Before he opened his mouth, I knew what he was going to say- since many folks did not like what I said in the post.  The bottom line was that he asked me to desist writing; he was concerned about 'confidentiality' (never mind that I did not identify anyone in the general incident, and I got permission from the victim who experienced the discrimination before I wrote the post), and whether it is proper for me to be in graduate school.   Subtle threat, indeed.   

I stared at him in silence; I was shaking in my feet yet I told him, "I have the right to speech. I got permission from the victim, and this is a good time for healthy dialogue for us to discuss about Deafhood and what it means to us all, not just one group. I am sorry but I will not stop writing." 

He looked at me for a pause and then walked away.  

I knew I probably had blown my chance to stay in graduate school.  When they had evaluations later (in which they decide whether the student can stay for another year, or be asked to leave); I was told that I'll stay. 

Nevertheless, from that experience, I noticed I was very cautious writing posts in that blog.  I found myself double-checking and over-analyzing.  I experienced some anxiety attacks whenever I wrote a post.  It took a long while before I could write without feeling anyone is looking over my shoulder.

Now, with my blog struggling to live with CNBC blog-  guess what? 

You're not stopping me.    

I picked the third option- I am still writing.

 I owe myself, so many things, which includes experiencing my feelings, recognizing my thinking, and exploring my flaws.  I also have the right to grief, to anger, and to joy. I have the responsibility to accountability, to emotions, to empathy and to humanity to show that I hurt, and I laugh.  I have the duty to myself to write what feels right to me, and to put a spotlight on the less-understood topic of living after infertility/childlessness, even the part on reacting to news of pregnancy variable to individuals and unpredictability of emotional responses.  

I'd like to share a quote from the well-known and well-loved author,  Nicole Sparks:

"You can't live your life for other people. You've got to do what's right for you, even if it hurts some people you love."    (The Notebook)

In a way, the comment had sparked a recognition in me that I am not knocked down; and that I have strengths, both known and hidden, and I'm much  loved by friends and family.

So.... Thank you, lurker, for giving me that opportunity to find something I had overlooked about myself for a long while, forgotten but not anymore-


And you're welcome.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Looks at all the fucks I give.

(October 2016)

I know that there has been a lot of gaps since the last post, but then again I figure there's not much readers left to read.

That's all right.

This laptop is about to roll and die anytime, in which I had brought back from death a few times. Went out to buy a new one, which is right next to this laptop- as I'm working on transferring information-  a lot of work, least to say.  Fun while going through blogs, websites, finding things I had forgotten about (like Twilight: When Darkness Begins, a favorite young adult book series I loved, and am still working on recollecting).

My dogs are still around; after years, I finally figured out what's the magic word for Hairy when it comes to the command "sit"....  'Sit" and sign "sit" isn't working-  it's "DOWN" that does the trick.    You could imagine the comical expression on my face when I gave up and exclaimed "Down!" and Hairy promptly sat!  All that months and years, only to find it's the word 'down' that works.  Well, better late than never!  :)

Had knee surgery, and so currently working on strengthening my knee with a lot of hiking.  Lola is lovin' all that- that is when we aren't getting poured on by rain- so much rain lately in the last two weeks!

I am an aunt again!   TWINS-  a nephew and niece who were born last November.  Was thrilled for my brother and sister-in-law at same time I knew I wasn't ready to meet the babies.   I thought I would feel a pang of guilt-  nope.    More an awareness that I am not really into babies, more and more I got to think about it.  More I stand aside to observe how there is this fanatic obsession about cute infant outfits, baby showers outcompeting others, showing off bumps and trading 'more-vomit-than-your-baby' stories, all that.

That drew me to realize that it was the society's drilling into us all that motherhood is prerequisite of us to be considered a significant citizen; that fertility is more important than intelligence and capability of individuals.

You know what?

Let's say I'm done with that.  

Spring into Summer

(Wrote this last May 2016.)
It has been raining for the last few days, colder than expected- one'd think we're starting into autumn, not summer.    Not wanting to get wet, one gotta think how to keep busy.  Lucky, as an introvert, there is a LOT of things one can do indoors, including books, hot tea, books, movies, books, cuddling with dogs, books, doing vlogs, and books.  Did I forget books?  Haha!   

I had stopped feeling obligated to follow Goodread goal of reading a certain number of books since I noticed that had put pressure on me, making it less enjoyable to read.  Now that I am reading, I find myself consuming more- go figure.  In the past I had enjoyed reading historical romances, science fiction, fantasy and graphic novels; the tastes have been shifting, I notice, to memoirs, feminism, reproductive justice and racial justice/cultural studies, and books on tiny houses.

In reading books or attending local workshops, I'm leaning toward intersectionality in goal of understanding my privileges, how I function in the system.  Would you imagine that as an infertile person, this is even so noticeable how the system values fertility and motherhood primarily over individualism and self-identity?   Baby showers.  Baby cards.  Maternal leaves. Number of children.  Getting away with having days off for children, compared to childfree folks being expected to give more time at work.  I mean, I could tell you how often I would come to work and end up working until 7pm or 8pm, while co-workers with kids get off at 3pm or 4pm.  They could leave earlier if the kid gets sick, but if I ask for a day off, I get the stink-eye.

Ironically enough, with them using up their vacation hours here and there, they could not get away for a week or two weeks, as I could.  As it is, by June, I'll have 80 vacation hours to use, so I just need to figure what I can do with the two weeks.  New York.  New Orleans.  Taos. Or even Greece.  Hmm! So, I guess there is a bright side to having plenty of vacation hours that are not wasted on children.

I had not thought of being childless for a long while, I confess.  It is because social justice issues demand attention here in local, including reproductive justice access and radical justice fights. Recently I had started working with police on how to interact with the Deaf community; the responses have been positive to the point that the workshop is becoming demanded by multiple branches of police here.  That and other social justice involvement have been my priorities lately.  And you know- that is where I feel needed, necessary in my role in the society, and one does not have to be a parent to get the feeling.

Even with that, I am still reminding myself that there are people who love me, and I like who I am nowadays.  If I fuck up, it's my problem.  If I accomplish something, it's my success.  And  to keep my expectations low- after all it was society that had taught us to have subconscious expectations of parenthood, and many of us had struggled with seeing ourselves as failures. We aren't failures. It's the society that is the failure, placing motherhood on the pedestal, punishing us if we don't achieve the SOCIETY's expectations.  Fuck that, pardon my language- fuck that.  

We do not have any obligations to anyone but ourselves.  Be who you are, and you're doing the best you can.