Reflections.

When I was angry.

Looking back through the journal, I was recalling emotions.

Confusion.
Denial.
Anxiety.
Fear.
Anger.
Bewilderment.
Dizziness.
Rejection.
Bargaining.
Praying.  (okay, that's not an emotion.)
Tumult.
Sorrow.
Anguish.
Indignation.
Depression.
Suicidal.
Sick.
Hurting.
Storm.
Grief.
Ire.
Distemper.
Heartbreak.
Tears.
Heartache.
Flooding.
Numb.
Wretchedness.
Irritability.
Indifference.
Stupor.
Misery.
Lethargy.
Millstone.
Infuriation.
Resignation.
Suffering.
Reluctance.
Emptiness.
Numbness was my best friend.
Emotion-less.
Cloudy.


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.

Perseverance

[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-

Perseverance.

And you're welcome.

Updates for 2014-2015

I said I'd be doing the bucket list last time I posted here- and forgot about it all.

Is that bad? Nope.  That told me that my life kept me busy.

I have increased in volunteering, participating in social justice and reproductive justice activism lately!    However to talk about my social justice activism would make it all about me, not the communities that the spotlight need to be on.  Please read blogs by women of color; participate in groups run by trans people; and listen with no intention to interrupt or go 'but' to stories of disabled people.  

************

I saw the play "Our Town"  in January 2014.     All I can say is.. it blew me away.     If the play comes to your town, go see it!     Yes, it may feel boring- stick to it and you'll realize how accurate it is to your life.

Actors Theater's 'Our Town'

*************

In the past two years, I had been pressured to give/donate some labyrinth paintings I created to organizations or individuals.    I had not felt comfortable with that; yes I even resented that encouragement, pressure.   That included being asked to give workshops on labyrinth mediation/walking for free.    What gives?   Do one really think that art or education should be free all the time?  

When I paint, that includes the cost of materials, frame, canvas, length of time- could cost between $75-200.  Yet when I put $90-350 on the paintings, I am told that I am greedy.  !!!

When I come to do a labyrinth workshop, that includes mileage, cost of gas, hotel stay, sometimes rental of the room, length of time, and time away from my job.   Yet when I check whether they will pay me for the workshop, (usually 200-450), I'm told that they cannot afford that.  Yet it's okay for me to pay to fill up my gas, drive 150 miles, and pay for overnight stay at the hotel. Okay......

So I had dug my heels in and said no more, I'm not gonna donate/give paintings away, nor do my workshops for free anymore.   Did that stop people?  Nope-   others realized the value- I had sold six paintings in the last six months!  To me,that's a big step.  Workshops-  I had been asked to do a workshop later this year, and they made an offer to pay for the hotel stay and my airfare, so to me, that's a fair trade.


In 2014, I had gone to the Michigan Womyn's Musical Festival, in which I had fallen in love with.  For the first time ever in my life, I felt safe. I could walk down the road at 3am, not looking over my shoulder, which I did so- walking under the moonlight!  Camped among fellow spirits.  Only one minus about that was that there were no workshops about infertility/childless choice/not by choice.  I recall telling members who have been attending the festival for many years as they could recall, that there IS a labyrinth built on the land, and to be told "no there isn't, unless you mean the labyrinth by ribbon over there."  I was persistent- following my gut, and I found the stone labyrinth!  It had been built a long time ago, so many old members let it slide from their memories.

I came back in 2015, saddened that it would be the last year for the festival.  Heartened that I got to give a workshop on the labyrinth walking- in end, the attendees got to see the stone labyrinth- lets hope that whatever happens to the land, the stone labyrinth will be always be there.  This time, my best friend Roni came and experienced the magic of the festival.  I also volunteered most of the time at the orientation/welcome area, the Deaf haven and the kitchen.  I realized from 2014, volunteering was where I was most happy, and so I did that again last year.


I walked in the 2014 Zombie Walk in Louisville- it was a blast of fun!    Saw so many zombies, yet so little time to see them all!
















I took a break from writing the book, since I found myself stuck with the 'writer's block' (obviously here too in the blog!).

For 2014 and 2015 Goodreads, of 150 and 200 books, achieved, although realizing that with that pressure in the last year, I found myself disinterested in reading. So for now, I'm not going to read just for the sake of 'Goodreads' goals, but for my own pleasure.

In 2015, I had done some travels-  to NJ, OH, IN, CO and KS.

I had also lost my grandmother, June back in July.  Throughout growing up, she had been there a steadfast anchor for me.  When relatives hesitated in learning sign language, she dived in and became skillful so we can communicate to each other- she made sure that I was part of the family, instead of staying in the shadows.  She encouraged me greatly to start reading when I was a toddler; she fanned the flames of reading within me, non-stopping in handing me books to consume.  In the last years, she had been a shadow of who she was, due to dementia, no longer remembering anyone, not even me the last time I saw her. So when I got the news she died, I explored the mixture of grief and relief at the same time- feeling relief that her suffering had ended, yet grieving that she is gone.    At the funeral, I wrote her eulogy, echoing her values in reading and writing.  I still miss her.

And my VW Jetta Sweetheart, bought in 2003, had bit the dust only two months ago.  I got a new Kia Soul-   more room for camping trips!

Looking back, the bucket list have looked harder than it was, and so I decided for the next five years, I will stick to the five goals.

Pay off Debt
Travel out of country
Save
Buy/Build a tiny house.
Re-assess my life and see where I want to go from here.

And for the childless not by choice part in my life?    I realized that I AM a mother in other ways.  To my furkids, I am their mom. I am an aunt spoiling my 3 years old nephew, who now finds himself a Star Wars fan like me, and the twins(boy and girl!) just born to my brother and sister-in-law two months ago.  Being a mentor to several young women is enriching.  So in general, I have made peace with the childless aspect.   Of course, the book about me is unfinished, there is a lot more to write- the plot may change.  And you know what? I look forward to surprises popping up on the next few pages.

Love me

Have been full up to my ears, Ha!  

So hadn't time to check in with my blog for a long while, which is both good and not so good.  

One reason I have to come to a consideration, (which might be a sensitive spot for some readers), is that whenever I write about my infertility, my sorrow, my frustrations, I find myself in a cycle of depression, clockwise.  

And I don't like that.  

I have been out of state several times, including YES, the MICHIGAN'S WOMYN MUSIC FESTIVAL!!!  That experience walking on the Land under the moonlight, seeing womyn drum and dance, and of laughter and tears among us, I cannot really describe it.   How can you describe the color red to someone blind?  This is similar to whenever I try to describe the event. 

I have been increasing busy in activism, including reproductive justice, domestic violence, awareness of Deaf community/American Sign Language, and my beloved passion, labyrinths.  

Does it mean I have forgotten or pushed aside my infertility? 

No. I still find myself feeling sad, but the frequency and length of experiencing sorrow had stretched to the point that it feels like a soft headsmack, when occurring now and then. Not so like the baseball bat slam that I'd frequently experienced in my heart in the first year, or the cold water bath in my face in the second year.   AND I enjoyed holding a baby earlier this summer, which was a HUGE step for me, to the point that I'd keep looking for opportunities to hold her when possible during that week of camping.  

After two years, I feel it is safe to say that yes it is still hard that I am not anywhere near to my goal of having a child, either by adoption or foster care.  Being deaf is its own obstacle, imagine that.   So that's the battle ongoing in my life.  

When I have time, I'll write more. 

So on this note, I will leave this for you-    love y'all, love me.  

Life goes on.

This month had thrown a lot of cold water in my face repeatedly.

 A new medical condition.  Finance struggles.  A dying friend. 

The medical condition- I'm currently working on it.  I'll live.

Finance struggles- I'm currently working on it.  I'll survive.  

The dying friend?  Not so.  

I knew she was suffering in great pain, yet I was telling myself she'll recover.  She will be okay- just give it a bit more time.  

I was at work when I got the call to come to the hospital.  It took me three hours, and I was not familiar with the area of hospitals (why do some hospitals have to cluster together in one area?!). So I decided to park somewhere in an underground garage parking, thinking I'll find out where the right building is once I get to the first floor and ask.   I got on the elevator, and pressed the button for the first floor.  

The doors opened to a scene that I'd rather go without.

Labor & Delivery- registration.   

Pregnant women waiting to check in.

Definitely cold-water shock!    

I quickly left the floor as I could, but I was already reeling in shock.  I was outside, focusing on not railing at the world publicly.   I managed to find the right building (three buildings away).   Walking down the hallway, I found myself overwhelmed with rerunning the visual of the labor ward/floor over and over in my mind, while trying to remind myself "you're here for your friend. You're here for your friend."  

I couldn't think of my friend.  I got to the room, and opened the door- to see her lying in bed, looking really bad.  

It's like something *switched* in my mind, now fully attending to her, forgetting my own emotions.  

Standing next to her bed, seeing her unresponsive, struggling for the next breath, I knew then she was not going to recover.  

Talking with family relatives there, sharing stories and soft chuckles, hugs and tears, I knew then we are there for her, and for ourselves, to remind us death is nearby, a friend, and that life goes on. 

After hours, I leaned to kiss her cheek, not knowing if I would see her again before she passes away.  I returned to the first building, realizing I'll have to go to the lobby where the elevator would take me to the underground parking- the Labor & Delivery.    

I came in the lobby, standing still.   And I realized something.  

Life is everywhere, even being the other side of the coin, Death.   

I took a shaken breath, and went to the elevator, which opened before I could hit the button- to show a very pregnant woman and her husband. The woman smiled at me before passing me.  I went in the elevator, and went down, to my car all in silence.   Got behind the wheel and started driving the way home.  

Stayed up overnight to create a labyrinth painting, in which I named "The Fade."  Looking at it, I was reminded of something I had forgotten-  of the Hopi seeing the labyrinth as new life and reincarnation.  The Labyrinth being the womb itself, in which one comes in and out as new life, reborn.   So the seeing the pregnant women echoing something I yearn for, yet the dying friend reflecting something I had forgotten, in which she will still live in my memories, ever meeting me on my circular path  with remembrance.  

You okay?

A friend just had finished a combination of chemotherapy and medication to treat a type of cancer she's going through.  I was over her house making goulash and tidying her house up, while she was recovering after the appointment.   Over tea, she told me that she is very sick of folks asking her "you okay?"  She was touched in the beginning, but later on, after being asked hundreds of times, she was thinking, "was I reassuring them or me?"   

I understood her question completely.  I, too, had gone through a phase after the surgery, where I didn't want to be asked if I was okay, all because people wanted to make themselves feel better by asking me, not really wanting to know how I was feeling, so using that yes-no question was safe for them. 

Very few had asked me how I was feeling, encouraging me to share whatever I wanted to talk about. That was much appreciated, and personally touching.

I suspect, from that experience, that had contributed to my awareness of how to interact with people suffering through something very tough for them, including my friend with cancer.   To give what I can, to be open with them, including getting shit (and not taking it personally) from the person hurting, and not to ask them "you okay?"

Sometimes, that's all is needed.

Puppy love

Soon, it'll be the second anniversary of the surgery in a few weeks, and now with the cold weather holding us indoors, this is a time on reflecting what had helped me so far, and is still helping.  

It's pretty tough being single, even in a town that have kids coming out of their ears.  I had been running out of folks who don't have kids- that's Louisville for you.  Family is all over the nation, the nearest 10 hours away.  Childless or childfree friends live in other states- so you can imagine how it's harder during the journey.   What really helped me, are my sweet  'furry little persons with four legs.'  

If not for my Lola and Hairy, I don't know what life would be like, and to be honest with you...?  Something I'd not want to know.  

Unconditional love.  Tail wags.   Tongue licks.   Insists on laying on your lap even when the laptop is there already.    Poking noses into my face while I sleep.  Leaving messes in the crate (thank you!)

White fur all over the red armchair, and brown fur on the cream sofa.  Dog poop bags.  Vet bills.  Agility training (for the lil' girl).  Dental cleanings.    Bringing in mud after long trail hikes.  Laughter.  Nose touches.  Sloppy kisses. My furry kids.  

And I would not ever consider trading them for a child.   The dogs came in my life first, and they'll stay there until then.  

I got both lil' dogs from a rescue. It's funny- I was feeling good that I had rescued them, after they were unwanted, abandoned and forgotten. 

  And you know what? In truth, they are rescuing me.   

PMS and Activism, what a mix!

Happy 2nd anniversary-

You still kick ass, Occupy Wall Street!

Occupy Wall Street/NYC

It has been 2 years since September 17, 2011 when the Wall Street had been taken over by the People (us).   They are still alive in many ways, a variety of fields, such as:

Boulder, Colorado:  Occupy Boulder Flood Relief

New York City: NYC 2nd anniversary

Yahoo news

and more- you can get more info with the link I attached to Occupy Wall Street/NYC.   I only regret that I wasn't able to be there this year.  

That's okay- I can still be an activist, as I'm doing this weekend, then again in 4 weeks in October, and again in November, covering five states.   

And by the by, PMS finally re-appeared in my life two days ago, after being 'missing in action' for a year and half after the hysterectomy.  I suspect I did have PMS now and then during that time, but grief had immensely distracted and numbed me in the meanwhile.  

That's all right, I'm good with that.  

PMS and activism mixed up-  the world, watch out!  

http://nalakagunawardene.com/2008/09/12/remembering-anita-roddick-a-year-after-her-hasty-departure/

Children of Elfquest

I am taking a page from Jody Day's Gateway Women blog, especially the tradition of identifying childless role models (such as Georgia O'Keefe, an artist, and Susan Anthony, a civil right activist), to give my own childless heroes a well-deserved recognition, and of their contribution to the world, the geek world, that is.


That would be Wendy and Richard Pini, the creators of Elfquest. What is Elfquest?  It's a comic book that came to life in 1978, of a story about elves (certainly not your Santa Claus elves or Tolkein's elves) trying to survive and find their place in a two-moon world, after their ancestors were stranded on the unwelcome world.  The main characters include Cutter, the 11th chief of the Wolfriders (yes, the tribe members literally ride upon wolves and live in the woods); Skywise, Cutter's best friend/blood-brother (and smart-ass, if you ask me), and Leetah, the healer for the Sun Folks (another group of elves who are peaceful and living in the desert.)

Skywise and Cutter

 (copyrighted by Wendy and Richard Pini)

The story wasn't limited to them, tho; there is a community of other characters, from the treeshaper Redlance to the glider Aroree, to trolls Pickaxe (yup, you read that right- *giggle*), and to preservers that could pass for winged fairies and humans aren't forgotten either. They range from enemies to an human daughter adopted by elves. War, love, death, life struggles and joy, laughter and tears, and philosophy could be found on pages, giving one awareness of worlds beyond what we see.

For me, Elfquest was a lifesaver.  

In 1984, I was a teenager, in a new house, in a new state, new school, away from everything familiar to me. Even more when you get to think about me being deaf, furthermore isolated and bullied.    I plummeted into depression.

It was one of those weekends I had to go with mom to her work on a Saturday.   There was a newspaper stand, that had a limited selection of books and a rack of comic books nearby.  So I was peering at the rack of comic books for something to keep myself busy while mom was working upstairs.  Used to see covers of Spider-man and Batman, I was surprised to see an unusual cover of  a group of pointed-eared humanoids, walking across a desert.  

( Elfquest copyrighted by Wendy and Richard Pini)

What struck me was their desperation.  Walking in an hostile environment that can bring death to them.  You would presume that one on the cover is already dead.    I opened the comic book, reading about the elves losing their home to a fire, and of choosing to walk the desert, not knowing if there would be cool dark woods on the end.  They took a gamble on an unfamiliar object that Skywise (turned out to be an lodestone) acquired in the caverns of the trolls. I was so mesmerized, drawn into the world. The colors, the words, the pictures, I was lost in the sphere and I welcomed the depth of the story that swallowed me.   

I was startled awake when a hand laid on my shoulder, shaking me, and I looked up, blinking in an attempt to adjust myself back to the harsh reality to see that it was mom. She was telling me it was time to go home and to put away the comic book.  I begged for her to buy the issue for me; she refused as usual.  Images flew through my mind while I was staring out the window in the car; Cutter worried about his injured tribe member; Skywise's confidence in his lodestone even that he only got it a few hours ago; and the doubt on whether the tribe would survive the walk through the desert, with two wolf deaths.  They may be a tribe, but they were also a family.

I wanted to be one of that family.  I forgot that I had a plan to kill myself that night.  

Instead, I was considering wildly on how to gain all that Elfquest issues, knowing that mom  wasn't keen on me reading comic books.  It was a week later when we went to WaldenBooks (anyone remember that book chain?), I found that Elfquest are available in graphic novels!  I was freaking out- "I MUST have those!"    After convincing mom that I'd do all my chores without complaining for 30 days, she is to get me all graphic novels she could find.  You can picture anyone a parent would think to herself, chuckling "that kid won't go through, it won't happen."   

I did do all my chores, even extra ones without complaining!    On the 30th night, I reminded mom of our agreement, showing her the calendar with checked days, that she had to get all the graphic novels. 

Mom knew she was beat.  

After floating through the school day, waiting impatiently at home, and peering outside to see if mom had arrived, my heart was pounding.  I was right there at the door when mom came in, and I exclaimed, "wherearemybooks?!"  She handed me a Waldenbook bag, in which I quickly drew two graphic novels, Elfquest Books 2 and 3.  After being told that the two others (1 and 4) weren't there (of course, I grumbled!), and rushing through dinner, I ran to my bedroom to devour the books.  

(Elfquest copyrighted by Wendy and Richard Pini)

It was basically in the wee hours of the morning (3 o'clock if you have to know) when I looked up, dazed, finished with the second book (Elfquest Book 3). 

A spark was lit in my soul. 

I wanted to live.

If the elves can survive the challenges, so can I.  If the elves could live through hardships and still live day by day with eyes of joy, so could I.   I drew hope from the illustrations, breathed in perseverance and courage from the characters, and welcomed life.   I wasn't alone anymore. 

When I found myself forgotten and bruised from bullying, I opened the book to remind myself, Winnowill (a villain) tried to control the Wolfriders because they were different. Humans tried to erase them from existence. The elves refused to be victims, and so I had the choice too, to refuse being a victim.  I refused to tolerate bullying; I spoke up.  Bullying stopped, (and hitting one back, certainly did help.)    

When I felt darkness of depression upon me, I buried myself under the blanket, with a flashlight and the ragged-corner books, welcoming me back to the two-moon world. 

It took two another years before I finally got the Book 4, and another year for the Book 1 (I know I should have started with Book 1, but damn, that was always out!)  My beloved Grandma managed to find a copy, Book 1, for my Christmas gift- the best present ever!  

I must make a confession. In a few years later, I was a college student, aspiring to meet Wendy and Richard one day. I was visiting an interpreter friend who lived in Poughkeepsie.  I was telling her about Elfquest, and of my dream, adding that the couple was living in the same town.  You know what she did?  She asked me for the address- I kept saying "No, no that'd be RUDE of me to show up at the door...! They would think me an insane stalker!"  

Next thing I knew, I was at the door, dragged out of the car by the friend, to the door.  I stood there, frozen in excitement and terror.  The friend prodded at me "go ahead, ring the doorbell." I was overcome with racing thoughts: "ohcrapohcraptheyaregoingtocallcopsonmeohcrapohcraptheyaregoingtothinkmecrazy!" 

So she pushed the doorbell.  

Then, Richard was there.  It had been over fifteen years ago, and I still remember vividly to this day, his curiosity about two strange women standing front of him, both signing with hands (although one was voicing for me).  The friend had to poke at me to say something, in which I rushed out my name, where I came from, how much I love Elfquest, rambling all in one breath. Bless her heart, the interpreter friend managed to get it all out for Richard to understand what I said.  Richard took it all graciously and smiled, asking me if I'd like to come in.  Would I ever!!??

He showed me around in the place, the room where he was editing pages for Elfquest: Kings of the Broken Wheel.  He showed me how to put a speech balloon in a panel. He printed out an Elfquest cover with Cutter and Rayek in front, with Cutter saying "Hello, Julie!" and handed it to me.  I was drowning in awe. When I thought we would have to leave, Richard asked if we would like to meet Wendy. 

I was FLOODED, oh yes oh yes!   So we walked down the street, to a cute house.   We all entered, and Wendy was coming out of a room, smiling. I felt like a guest, with the gates to Elfquest just swung open to me. She showed me art she had done, which took over the room from floor to ceiling, and items that fans had sent to her, including two cloth dolls, Cutter and Skywise and a real elf-sized sword, New Moon, Cutter's sword! She encouraged me to pick it up, and it was surprising heavy yet light, and I was so delighted when I realized the pommel could be taken out, revealing the hidden key!  I rattled off many names, even minor characters, in which Wendy admitted she couldn't remember every single character and their names (that ought tell you how much  of this obsession was back then!).  I asked her even if there'd be a deaf elf, in which Wendy said there was, a mother of a major character.  I was glad to hear that, since as you know, dear readers, I'm deaf.  The interpreter friend's fingers were flying fast as I talked about how Elfquest changed my life, and how happy I was to meet with them at last. Richard and Wendy were wonderful hosts! 

Standing outside, waiting for the friend to unlock her car door, I was in a blissful mystification. She laughed and said "Now, are you sorry that I dragged you here?"   

So it had been 28 years since Elfquest entered my life, shifting the path from despair to life. 

This year, Elfquest is celebrating 35 years, with so many books, with a variety of artists and writers all in the two-moon world, but always watched fondly by Wendy and Richard Pini.   Thanks to Wendy, underground comics were growing popular (not of the Marvel or DC universes).  Their having a company of their own with the Elfquest story, independent of the mainstream comics, contributed to people aspiring to create their own stories, such as A Distant Soil, for one. There were so many comics that I couldn't include 'em all here.  And to add, Wendy was the ARTIST and writer with her husband being co-writer and editor, which was unusual in the 1970's.  Comic artists had always been men, until Wendy Pini's entrance into the comic book world (as Red Sonja- cosplay- which is another story! LOL) 

Now what does childlessness have to do with the couple?  They chose not to have children.  They chose to give life to characters in their mind, to put word of whispered stories onto pages,  and to introduce the two-moon world and the pointed-eared ethos to a world used to caped superheroes. So Elfquest was created...and shall we say "And they're off!"  One'd think that the couple would feel absence of children as they get older.  You'd be wrong.  

So many readers have seen themselves in the stories; many explained how Elfquest had affected them personally- even saving some lives (and mine). So many stories mirroring our lives in ways you could not imagine.   From the elves' story, we rediscovered humanity in ourselves, and rekindled hope in seeing what life can offer us, with new eyes.  So many of us have been inspired, that even some of readers are introducing their own children to Elfquest, giving the stories a new generation to live on.  

And that's where Wendy and Richard find their joy in.    As Richard said in this article "Elfquest- 35 Years and Beyond", after being told over and over by fans describing how Elfquest influenced their lives, even saving some of them, Richard said, "Any time someone says 'you inspired me' or 'you helped me'-- you're our kids.  You are our spiritual and creative and artistic and wonderful kids.  And thank you all for being that... You are now our family, our tribe."  

His quote helped me realize something- we do not have to rely on parenthood, to find our place in the world.  There are other ways to leave a mark on the world, as Georgia O'Keeffe did with her painting, Susan Anthony with her activism, and Wendy and Richard with their Elfquest.  There are other ways to be a family, a tribe, to raise and/or teach children and individuals. 

So from my heart, I thank you, Wendy and Richard.   You saved me and many, and in turn, you can trust that Elfquest will be safe in our hands, our heads and our hearts.  

( Elfquest copyrighted by Wendy and Richard Pini)

Stay mum or not.

I wrote this post six months ago- overlooked it it'til now.  Sorry about the delay.  

There was someone I have felt close to. She too dealt with infertility- the bottom line is that she said she had made peace with her infertility, not being able to be a mother; now she's in her early 60's. I have known her for more than fifteen years. I had looked up to her for many things, seeing her as a mentor for the religious path I have been on for over 20 years. Now on my childless path, I had looked up to her through the months going in and out of the hospitals, and when it struck me that I wouldn't be able to be a biological mother. I I still vividly remember when I was crying on phone, she said, "Go ahead and cry, cry it all out of your heart. Listen to me, don't obsess about it too long. Don't waste all your time on this. I got over it soon enough, and so will you." 

When I found myself still down 3 months after the hysterectomy, I started to think something was wrong. After 8 months, I was thinking "am I obsessing over it? Am I not letting it go?", drowning in self-guilt and self-doubt. It took reading blogs like Life Without Baby, The Road Less Travelled, Real Life & Thereafter, Serenity in Chaos, and books like "Silent Sorority" by Pamela Tsigdinos, "I'm Taking My Eggs and Going Home: How One Woman Dared to say No to Motherhood" by Lisa Manterfield, and "Unsung Lullabies: Understanding and Coping with Infertility" by Janet Jaff, Martha Diamond and David Diamond. There are more blogs and books that I could read, but to me, those blogs/books I listed are more significant- helping me realize that:

"Grief is not a straight path, it's a continual cycle, very much like a labyrinth with its countless turns and stripes short and long. Uphill, downhill, it's all that."

"Not everyone experiences infertility alike. No one walk the same path. Each person goes it her way, with individual coping, access to support, and courage on their own time."


That was the catharsis for me; I had to let go of my expectations and society's expectations on how I:

"should complete my grief,"
"should move on,"'
"should shut up, be quiet."

I have been an advocate for women power, Deaf community, HIV/AIDS education, awareness of child abuse, domestic violence, more, for long as I could remember. So, returning to advocacy, as a tool to help myself heal, while noticing how infertility, childlessness and childfree life are still overlooked and/or judged in society's eyes, I was thinking, Why not? This is something I can do. Empowering people and empowering me. I walk the walk, and I can say "have been there, done that- and I got this stinkin' T-shirt."

So in time, I would share a post or meme about infertility here and there on Facebook, occasionally...testing the waters.

Mostly, I'd get a few likes, two or three comments affirming or at least, asking how this happened to me and/or how they could help someone infertile in their family or among friends.  

I felt emboldened, to share some more posts, although I drew a line at 'oversharing' because even I don't want to focus on infertility alllll the time in my life. I keep a balance as possible, mostly advocating and supporting causes, (including fighting against domestic violence and oppressing women). I like to share positive memes, introvert memes and geek memes- What can I say? 

Anyway, there would be some dry weeks without a post about infertility, then 2-3 posts a week. I did notice when I would experience depression (trigger of pregnancy announcement, or a glimpse of a baby), I'd start looking at infertility and/or grief posts/articles to validate and comfort me, normalizing what I'm going through. From there I'd find a good article to share in goal of making the word infertility public; to share that infertility exists for someone in your life- if it's your sister, your cousin, your best friend, or your teacher. Or at least you know that you're not alone in this.

A day before Infertility awareness week, I was already 'down' due to a friend who had recently have her baby. I congratulated her about her son's birth and sent her a baby gift earlier that week. That's the best I could do, while hiding her (which I tend to do with friends/relatives- when they announce being pregnant, or going through pregnancy, I hide them. I say nothing. It's for my self preservation.) Anyway, looking forward to advocating awareness about infertility, I had already shared a article about how to be supportive to infertile friends earlier that week. That day, I noticed I had a private message from the dear friend. I was quite aghast of the horrid tone in the message, chewing me out for being open about my grief,, posting "8-10 posts about infertility DAILY", "taking up all her new feed with all negative posts", "it being a friggin' year of this." And right after that, she de-friended me.  

I was quite flabbergasted. I even had a friend check my page to see if I truly post infertile stuff "8-10 daily" as I said in one recent post; turned out that accusation wasn't true. I had to talk with a good friend who is also an IFer. More we talked about my response to the email, it drew upon me.

It wasn't about me. It was about the friend's own pain of her infertility.  

I tried to put myself in her shoes- back then there'd be not much support in 1980's. No support groups on Internet, or at least forums to talk it out. It would have been lonesome for her and other women back then. It might be presuming of me to say this, but it might be easier to sweep it under the rug, to pretend that it didn't hurt anymore. I could be wrong, although.

Me, I chose not to pretend that it was 'all fine'. After struggling thinking I should put a deadline on my grief, and learning I didn't have to. The journey is mine, not anyone else's.

I chose to face my grief, and I chose to be public about my childlessness/infertility- in goal of removing the sting of taboo, normalizing and shrinking sense of stigma from the word 'Infertility. More I speak up in advocating, more women (and men) have contacted me privately, thanking me for putting the spotlight on this issue. They are not ready to open their hurt to the world, yet they appreciate that they are not alone anymore.

So that led me to realize that the friend possibly experienced re-opening wounds of her infertility; maybe that she hadn't proceeded through her own grief. Hence, it's pretty easier for her to lash out at me outward, instead of looking inward of her own pain.

That furthermore led me to realize three things-

I had hid certain people who go through pregnancy, for self preservation.. Why couldn't she have hid me for her own preservation?

I moved some people to close friends or favorites, where I could see their posts while NOT seeing others' posts. Why couldn't she selected close friends in new feeds where she'd see their posts, not mine?

She could have de-friended me; well she did. After sending me that horrible email, that was. However, she could have done this all along before now then- why waiting a year and some to do so, doing it as a dramatic exit?

I don't know the reasoning behind this. I just wish she could have talked with me about her reactions, her perceptive about me sharing posts about the topic she is not comfortable with. The email's message was absolutely unnecessary. I feel sympathy for her, and what she had gone through; I also understand how she chose to face this devastating trauma. However, I am not definitely happy how she projected herself upon me, putting a deadline of grief/healing on me, and when I didn't, she chose to think that something was wrong with me. She forgot, I'm NOT who she is.

How I address my grief, how I choose to draw strength from advocacy and helping people, refusing to 'sweep under the rug', that is certainly not wrong for me.

That's the difference between her and me.

http://cdn.ebaumsworld.com/thumbs/video/1990574/82280914.jpg

Awesomeness

I wrote a post for another blog about my first time volunteering; that's why I hadn't written one for this one in a week.   It had just been posted this morning, and I got a LOT of comments (all positive). That surprised me!

I hadn't yet determined whether I'd want to share that since the post is not related to infertility- but then again my blog is about my journey, isn't it?

Well, the bottom line is I feel good!  No, not that word.     I feel...  AWESOME!

Walking the walk

As long as I could remember, I had been an advocate/activist.  Even as a very little girl, I was an ambassador for an organization that encouraged lip-reading and speaking, not sign language (staying away from the Deaf community, making one 'hearing').  Mind you, it was my mom who volunteered me for that position, and of course my face was on newsletters at local hospitals and audiologists' offices back then in the 1970's.   How funny it is that I'm immersed in the Deaf community nowadays.  And that wasn't the first time in advocacy....  Nope, that would be when I was a very very little baby.

Mom had pushed me in a stroller when she marched with other women fighting for equality.

(from Washington DC ARCHIVES)

Mom talked with many (teachers, representatives, senators, board of education, everyone) to encourage passing of Education of All Handicapped Children Act (which was passed in 1975), which was then renamed the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA).  Just one of ten thousands speaking for support of this act, which increased education for children with disabilities. 

Marches for Reproductive rights.  HIV/AIDS education/prevention, Take the Night Back, GLBT rights, all in 1980's and 1990's. Been there, done here while growing up.   When not pulled in the Radio flyer red wagon, I rode a bike.  When not on a bike, I walked in my sneakers.  I was a walker, a cheerleader, and fundraiser for many causes. I sat at booths to explain about equality, HIV education, and access to communication for the Deaf.  

When I was a freshman at Gallaudet University in 1989, I even got an opportunity to talk with my Representative  and two senators at the U.S. Capitol, explaining the importance of passing the Americans with Disabilities Act before it was passed in 1990.  

In the last two decades, I had been advocating for vulnerable adults' right to be listened to, and to be respected,  and not to be babied.  Being a mother hen, I was fiercely championing for individuals with intellectual disabilities to increase independence in housing and employment, much as they are able to.   Trembling in my shoes, I stood up to abusers, while shielding women.  I held hands with victims of rape as they were being treated behind the hospital curtains during the sexual assault examination.  Was a legal aid advocate; victim advocate; and medical advocate in numerous fields.   While doing extensive studies in graduate school, I encouraged free-thinking, exploring beyond limitations and civil right to marriage (marched with fellow graduate friends in protesting Prop 8 in 2008.) 

It was over a year and half years ago that I stopped activism. 

That was when I had struggled with my own reproductive issues which included surgery and struggles with my own identity.  

Through the decades of being confident and assertive, now I found myself extremely vulnerable.  After years of knowing who I was, I wasn't sure anymore who I was.  If I was not to be a mother, what was my gift to the future?  If I am not to have children, why should I care to make that the world is livable, with civil rights to everyone?   Cannot I leave a mark on the world?  

All the fierce passion, all joy of empowerment,  all my desire to better the world, and I never had a chance to be a mother after all.  I felt cheated. 

I was angry.  I stayed in the darkness of rooms, refusing the sunshine, rejecting the world's cajoling of sharing news crying for help in many areas, especially women rights and reproductive rights nowadays.

Right.... Reproductive Rights, I never got to practice that myself.  

Can't help but see the irony there.  

Last month, I was surfing on Facebook when I saw someone posted a meme "I Stand with Wendy Davis!" That name wasn't familiar to me, so I checked  Facebook, Twitter and Google and discovered her goal of filibustering against the new abortion regulation bill in Texas. 

Wendy Davis, June 25, 2013

The neglected ember, within my spirit, sparked with interest in seeing what Wendy was doing.   More she stood in her sneakers, more she spoke, the more the world watched her.  I found out many women sent her their experiences to her to read aloud, more I was reminded of something I had forgotten during my grief.

It's not about me.   It's not about you.   It's about ALL of us.  One for all, all for one.  Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno.    To better the world, we better ourselves.    To advocate for people, we advocate ourselves.   In my way, I have been advocating for infertility awareness in the Deaf community for a while. That was a small step for me.  

So with reflecting what Wendy Davis is doing, with noticing how thousands of women showed up at Texas to protest, with showing up in North Carolina, and with recalling Occupy Wall (Restore the Fourth) protests (still alive!), I felt like the world had just slapped me, as of going "du'oh!"  

I realized, I do have children in a sense-  my nephew (and future nieces/nephews), my cousins' children, my friends' children.   If not of my womb, then for them, for the women, for the vulnerable adults and elderly, and for the children who need the world more than we do, especially in this political environment.  

After reading a blog written by volunteers who advocate safety and empowerment at a local organization here, the volunteers are the witnesses and warriors to a constant war on the sidewalk almost daily.  I was reminded of the one thing I had been interested into doing, but hadn't taken the opportunity to do: To walk the walk, to participate in the battle. Not to stand in sidelines.   I contacted the writers recently and inquired about volunteering.

Well, I'll be wearing an orange vest locking arms with fellow volunteers in the wee hours of Saturday morning, to keep clients safe, protecting their right to choose for themselves, without politics or religion butting their noses in.   

I might be infertile but I'll always protect reproductive choice, all choices.  The advocate roars again! 

  

(from the movie Ace Ventura)

Once upon a time.

I am not much a television watcher, did you know that?     At most, I'd have one or two TV shows to watch (i.e Ghost hunters and Walking Dead), and if I miss an episode or two, that's not a big deal for me.   So when some friends found that I love 'Fables', a comic book series about fairy tale characters who found themselves stuck in the real world (Earth) among us, I was told that I should watch "Once (upon a time)" TV series. The TV series is similar to Fables in characters, but the difference is Fables were chased to this world from the dictator who took over many worlds, destroying all magic but his own, while in Once upon a time, it was a curse upon the characters by the evil queen, who wanted her happiness above everyone else. There was only one who escaped that curse, Emma Swan, a daughter born to Snow White and her prince Charming, now an adult. She was placed in the real world, as a baby before the curse took over. However, she does not believe in magic, yet she's the heroine expected to rescue the characters out of the 'real life' back to their story-tale world.  Anyway.... I started to watch the series.

And I got hooked.   

I love the plot, the characters, Snow White (Mary Margaret), Red Riding Hood (Red), Prince Charming (David), Jiminy (Archie), etc,  the real world echoing the story tale in many ways like Archie/Jiminy being a psychologist (if one gets to think about it, Jiminy was certainly a counselor to Pinocchio in the story!) and who knew Rumplestiltskin can be both ugly and hot at same time?!  

Rumplestiltskin (Once upon a time)

And I think I'm in love with the main character, Emma Swan. Her ten years old son, whom she had given up as a baby, had found her in Boston and asked her to save him and the people in Storybrooke (can anyone see the pun there?!). Turns out his adoptive mother is the evil queen, now the mayor of the town.  Emma decided to stay in town, to get to know her son and figure what is going on in the 'strange' town.   Why I like her?   She's very strong-   she was shaken to find out her son found her, yet she decided to stay among strangers.  Some folks try to change her, manipulate her, try to destroy her, just because she's 'different.'  And in one episode I saw (and managed to find a gif of it), it just nails it all for me.     

Emma Swan (Once upon a time)

On the infertility journey, I found that people have expected me to stay who I was, to stay 'exactly the same' as one remembered, as if the journey never happened.     It does not mean for the worse. It means there are lessons on the journey that will change one, and that's something we can't lie about.  One can choose to come out stronger, as Emma did, to stick out and say "Hey, I decide for myself, not you."  

Unplugged

Due to a local cable/Internet service provider transferring to a bigger one, my Internet had been 'funny' for a week and half- I couldn't predict when I'd have Internet..one day it'd be up for an hour, then it'd be up for 7 hours after two days of no Internet.  After tolerating it for a few days, I gave up and decided to go unplugged for a few days.

The days ended up awesome!

Hiked in the swamp nearby-I had known it was there since I moved here 4 years, but never had the opportunity 'til now.  And.. I didn't get any mosquito bites, could you believe that?!

Walked the Big Four Bridge, that had been renovated from a train truss bridge to a pedestrian bridge- opened three months ago. Pretty awesome- can't wait to walk to Indiana when the other end is completed!  

Art is one of my passions, so when I saw a guy starting to paint on a building wall, I stopped by and asked if I could watch the process.  Turned out this is for a center for survivors of domestic violence- to give hope and inspiration.  Watching the guy paint was magic in process- beat that, Harry Potter!  

Rediscovering my love to crochet.  

Exploring local restaurants, including the most loved BBQ- Smoketown U.S.A (would you believe the owner/chef originally came from Russia?) Very friendly, he chattered on and on with us despite we didn't understand each other. That didn't stop him from checking with us, encouraging us to eat more- and was happy to give me one of his cakes he made personally, turned out to be orange soda cake. I hadn't tasted orange soda since I was a child. What a memory trip, for sure!  There was a whisper of a new breakfast cafe, it's not yet known. So I went exploring at SuperChef's Breakfast, and saw that they had red velvet pancakes.  !!!  I had to try that...and you know what?  DIVINE!

On my bucket list, there are museums that I aim to attend, but hadn't "the time to go" 'til now. I attended the Vent Haven Museum (the only museum in the world about ventriloquism).  I can say safely, it's SO creepy!  The wooden faces, eyes following your movements...but AWESOME!  I also went to the Underground Railroad Freedom Center- very sobering but good way to increase awareness of slavery in United States (1619 to 1863) and about today's slavery (forced labor, child labor, prostitution, bonded labor, and trafficking).  

There were some rainy days (including one flash flood warning, which indeed flooded the bridge just down the road from where I live).  I managed to go there to check, and I saw a muskrat, first time in my life!  I love animals, hence biology and zoology are another passion of mine. Another moment of awesomeness!    Anyway, due to the rains, I couldn't go outside much. No fear! Books called!  The book pile had grown, and grown for months, and I couldn't make a dent in it 'til now!   

There is a young neighbor with a 4 years old boy-  Some months ago, I had lightheartedly offered to babysit the boy if the mother needed a break or something- and she hadn't taken up on my offer 'til now-  a rainy day, of course when I couldn't take him out!   We ended up painting,, drawing and making oatmeal cookies (with chocolate chips- he wanted 'em). Later on, he stopped by and gave me this sweet note.  

Those days were certainly to savor, being mindful and staying in the moment.    And best of all, at no time, were there any inkling of being aware of infertility, or being childless.   

That helped me realize something-   I had stayed on Internet overmuch for a year and more- to escape into the world web, nursing my wounds, with the word "INFERTILITY" in red on my forehead. Don't get me wrong- I'm very thankful for the blogs, especially some dear bloggers who are now my friends- but hey, did you know that when I finally got back online, I saw I had 68 unread posts on Bloglovin'?   

At first, I felt bad about being behind in reading, and then it drew upon me, many bloggers have their lives- some are traveling right now. Some are writing a book or developing toward an infertility documentary.  Some are doing DIY crafts- or cooking new dishes. Some are dating.  Some are raising their children and debating about dishwashers. In other words- they have their lives that are not revolving around Internet.  And the days without Internet showed that I can survive just fine being offline, and that it's not the end of the world.  

So in mind of that, I'm looking into camping, hiking and fishing at some parks nearby, including Mounds National Park in the state next to Kentucky.   Making more dents in the book pile.  Making blankets and crafts, now that some neighbors noticed me crocheting, some had asked if I could make them blankets.  And hanging out with some friends, including some in other states.    And it's okay to be offline for a long while!