I’m a feminist, but… I didn’t like Barbie dolls

I’ve never been into Barbie dolls. I had one, but my brothers played with her more as GI Joe’s girlfriend. They popped her head off a lot because she was taller than the GIs and there were haircuts, of course. My Barbie was never going to stay pretty. But I remember my bestie cousin, Carla had more than one and was dying to play with other girls who were also into Barbie. I felt jealous she was playing with those girls and not me. Why didn’t she want to play hide n seek or explore the neighbourhood with me anymore? I hated Barbie. 

Then my little sister, Mae, was totally into the damned dolls. She had the whole shebang. Hundreds of them, and they came with accessories – mansions, campervans, bikes, Kens. She told me she even had those who are now discontinued like the “Midge” Barbie. Thankfully, I had angsty teenage years as an excuse not to spend time with a primary school-aged sister and her Barbies. (But I still did the big sisterly thing by giving her the first Harry Potter book. And told her about Lord of the Rings. Just a little act to get her away from them. )

Both my daughters were “banned” from owning Barbies.

Both my daughters were “banned” from owning Barbies. My brothers reminded me that the other day after I watched the Barbie movie – with Mae, who was definitely still into Barbies and have been waiting for this film for months.  

I was expecting something light. A bit of ogling at Ryan and Simu, maybe even genuinely laughing at some parts? I didn’t expect the feelings I had when it finally started. From the Barbieland montage with Lizzo doing the whole intro thing to the surprise existential crisis. I was hooked. There were side comments and narrator asides and truly deep digs, “See I can use my logical reasoning while also having so much feelings”, which made me feel so seen. It’s as if Greta sat me down and told me off for not believing in Barbie. I mean, the temerity of her to make this kind of commentary! She was so… right. Greta made the most profound points in the form of neon-pink clad, neon yellow roller-skating “stereotypical Barbie”, was awesome. It was an experience, fo sho.

Please don’t read on if you haven’t seen the movie. But if you have… 

How did you feel when Barbie felt afraid of being leered at? She felt the “undertones of violence” without knowing what it was. This is what we women feel every day of our lives. Right at the back of our heads, there’s always that question: Will a man kill me today? I changed the way I lived so I didn’t put myself in danger. Like scheduling my walks to day time instead of evening, even though that was totally inconvenient because I work 9-5. I pretended I was listening to music while on the train, especially when there weren’t many people on the carriage. Always needing to be hyper-aware, just in case. Or I learnt martial arts for self-defense even though I wasn’t really into it because I’d rather do yoga. 

And that was only one point the Barbie movie made. How about the time the Kens took over? And the first thing they did when they had a disagreement was to have a “war”. Or the Mattel executives being all men? Because as Greta wanted us to know: Not all men. Not all men… And I love men. And have full trust in the men in my life. But, there’s a but. Not all of them will understand the subtext of the Barbie movie and the commentary Greta was presenting about well, the P-word (patriarchy). And as the narrator, Helen Mirren mentioned, she used Margot Robbie’s beautiful face to make it. 

Do I love the doll after watching the movie? No, I’m still not a fan. Do I love my sister for taking me? Of course, she always knows what the most relevant thing. Such wisdom. Also, thanks for explaining the ending to me, Mae. 🙂 I loved Barbie’s first foray into live action, how it was not a cookie-cutter heroes vs villains, but a woman experiencing existential crisis. 5/5 stars. Would watch again.

ISO discoveries

How are you doing? 

I ask myself this question everyday. They said it’s part of a self-care thing. 

This graph is how I have been answering this question since we started the ISO period. It shows exactly how I am – in case you were wondering…  (inspiration @Instachaaz. Check his IG account. It’s so clever.)

I drew this because it shows that some days can be “Nothing days,” where absolutely nothing happens or it feels like nothing happened. The fog of guilt usually engulfs me and the darkness of depression makes me want to…refuse to adult. Then the obligations are like a cold splash of water that temporarily washes away the darkness so that I can function as a working-from-home Mum. The thought of watching KDramas on Netflix at the end of the day is the only light at the end of the ISO tunnel. There are other days though when it seems like things are looking brighter, when it feels like together we can achieve anything. That only lasts for a few hours, though. 

During these mental peaks and troughs I’ve been collecting some self-discoveries. I’m sharing it because I’m hoping that maybe it will start an interesting conversation about mental health, survival and soap operas between us. 

Self-discovery #1: Dealing with Anxiety and Depression

I have a habit of watching melodramatic soap operas when life gets too overwhelming. In 2010 when there were consecutive natural disasters happening around the world I started having panic attacks. It was only me and O then, and I had a lot of time to watch news and think about my mortality and the fragility of mankind. So what did I do to cope? I watched Filipino and Korean Dramas for months… until finally the cloud was lifted (ok, so I also went to therapy sessions). Then I didn’t need to watch these soaps anymore. During my second pregnancy the panic attacks came back. The weight of being responsible for another life really suffocated me. So I started watching “Jane the Virgin”. My bestie recommended it to me (what a life saver). I held onto that soap opera even during my labour. It gave me the courage to bloody do “calm birthing” which pretty much meant doing meditation and yoga for 12 hours until pushing time – no drugs. No kidding. Go and check Calm Birthing out. 

So now we have the COVID-19 pandemic. My yoyo-ing mental state was just starting when my Mum kept bugging me about “Crash Landing on You”. Apparently the hottest KDrama du jour. I put it off for a couple of weeks because I told myself I was done with KDramas. But one night in a moment of unbridled boredom I played it. And well, 4 hours later I was a third through the series at 3 in the morning. These little nuggets of escapist, but often emotionally, realistic stories keep saving me! I’m now on my 5th week of KDrama/Filipino/Spanish/Japanese soap operas marathon. And there’s no signs of it waning. I decided I will embrace this knowledge. That every time I’m mentally panicking and life seems overwhelming, soap operas will get me through it. 

Side note: Never judge a KDrama by its title. “Crash Landing On You” actually turned out pretty good! Not only was I served the good-looking main leads with the aromatic sauce of adventure-romance, there was also a very generous and in-depth side dish of portraying North Korean life. Peppered by amazing characters – both North and South Koreans. It’s the soft geo-political soap opera a la Romeo+Juliet that I never thought I wanted. 

What I’m trying to say here is that we all need one of those life vests that will keep us afloat during the stormy sea of mental struggles. Don’t think you can do it without any tools or help. If it’s watching YouTube videos, playing Animal Crossing, Zooming friends, Netflix marathons or playing House Party, embrace it and own it. 

Self-discovery #2: Trying to be a good person during the Pandemic

Don’t try.

I’ve been feeling guilty about not giving more. The reason for this is the only thing that most of us need now is financial help. Unfortunately, I’m not in a position to give any with pay cuts, job instability and mortgage to pay looming over our heads. I then thought that maybe being there for others would also help. But as mentioned before, mentally I am not the healthiest, how can I even think of being there for anybody else? What can I do to just make someone’s day feel a little bit better. This was far from ground breaking, but I just sort of focused on doing the easiest and most natural thing for me – bringing friends together. All I do is organise Zoom catch ups. This is really all I can do for now. It’s just the little things right? 

Look, the way I see it is that this pandemic is the first of the quarantining we have to do in our lifetime. Unless we spend more money on Science and research then maybe, just maybe we might end up beating these viruses. We are going to (hopefully) experience a lot of transformations. We are all at the cusp of changing the course of human history, and focusing on the most important things for us right now is the best we can do to prepare for these changes. 

This takes me to… 

Self-discovery #3: The things that are really important to me

I never really thought about the benign question: “What things would you take with you if you were stuck on an island?” until now. I’ve had a bit of time to think about this in the middle of the night while watching soap operas. (See? They are helpful) Besides family…. and human connection I also can’t live without: Music, soap operas and writing. Doesn’t mean I’m good at any of these. I just am happy that now I can say it out loud. No judgement on music tastes, or soap operas. Writing, I’ll always do.

Self-discovery #4: Bettering myself

I was washing dishes the other day when this thought came to me: writing makes me happy. Everything else is noise. A couple of weeks ago I started an Udemy course to learn a new computer language. I was really excited and was showing off that I can be “technical” to Hubby. But that lasted all of 4 lessons and I lost interest. I really should be interested because I’m actually an IT professional. At the same time, I also enrolled in an Open University course for Fiction Writing. These must have been peak days on my “Graph of my mental state during ISO”, by the way. When I was going through the computer language course it felt forced, yet familiar, whereas  writing… well, I danced while sitting on my “office chair”, got the shivers putting into words ideas coming up from places I didn’t even know existed in my brain. Writing gives me a feeling of purpose I cannot explain. I thought my purpose was to be a good mother, a good worker, make a difference that way, but writing makes me feel that I can make just a little of a spark in a little corner of our world. 

On that note, I would like to share this This Humans of NY story that really made me stop and think: 

There’s still a few weeks before this ISO period is over. I’m hoping to squeeze in more Japanese and Filipino soaps before I am back working-from-work. But also, to  make the most of this thinking-time to continue honest conversations with myself. Hopefully somehow I can find more ways to add sparkle in the future. As one of our great modern thinkers said:

“We can pretend that we have nothing to learn, or we can take this opportunity to own the truth and make a better future for ourselves and others.” – Brene Brown

If life was a karate class…

A few weeks ago I was facing a fairly solid built, 6-footer man complete with beard. We squared off for sparring practice. We touched fists then bowed. After that he smiled at me and asked, “Hey, you’re O’s mum right?” I replied, straightening my back, “Yes, I am!” He, still in his kumite dachi, told me that O is his daughter’s role model. I forgot we were supposed to be sparring and, as my Mum heart swelled with pride, he grabbed me with a bear hug (a “clinch”), adjusted his legs behind mine, and turned me over. I haven’t even realised I was flat on my back, until the Sensei was asking if I was ok.

That was at the end of my first month learning karate. I’ve come a long way since then. I now keep my kumite pose at all times, and have accepted that my daughter’s success in karate (she’s a brown belt) does not rub off easily. Anyway, I’m not learning karate to be “good at it”. I’m learning karate because, yes, self defence, but also I wanted to see if I can trust my body to learn. This is uncharted territory for me. I’ve never had to learn anything where I had to coordinate my thoughts with my movements. I’m the type of person who can’t catch or throw. I can never decide if I serve with my left hand or right when I play sports that require serving. Actually don’t even bother asking me to do any serving with any type of ball at all. Also, what is the meaning of off-side?

The other mums made me do it. Learn karate, they said. It will be fun, they said. We were all spending time at the dojo waiting for our kids to finish their classes so why not take advantage of that hour in between?

What I noticed in the past few weeks of getting slammed is how important trust is when learning karate. We’re asked to trust our instincts, to trust the senseis when they say that our backs won’t break if you just bend your knees before you do a “breakfall”. To trust that your sparring partner will only pretend to break your arm while bending it in the “Arm Bar”. That tapping your partner will mean they will stop before they really. do. break. your. Arm. It’s as if trust oozes out of every single karate student when we say “Oss” to instructions that the Sensei throws at us. Trust is a thread that weaves through us, between us and surrounds the dojo like a cocoon.  

I wish life was like a karate class.

If life was like a karate class I would have a Sensei who’s a black belt at Life. One who’s gone through the toughest gradings in sparring with their demons. Someone who’s memorised their career katas, while gracefully losing and winning at Life. Someone who earned their black belt having built a school in a third-world country. One who’s a mentor to all. Who will tell me when I’ve made the wrong move taking this job instead of that other one. I would trust them implicitly because of the mere fact that they are a sensei. They are a black belt for a reason. They are always humble. They would show up. Own their shit. Is a leader.

There’d be science to choosing a partner, a friend or future boss. It would be straightforward! All you have to do is look at their belts* and stripes.It would be on display for each person. A badge to be worn and respected. If someone is a white belt you’ll know they will make a lot of mistakes. They would unintentionally hit you, hurt you with a snide comment, kicking you in the guts. They are just learning, though so please don’t take offence. Also, each person would wear multiple belts. Each belt representing different aspects of Life. Of course belts would be earned depending on how you deal with Life. Some would have a brown belt from studying hard for an MBA, but only a yellow belt in emotional intelligence. Others might be a green belt in communicating, but a black belt in generosity and kindness. Choosing a partner, friend or future boss would be as simple as deciding what colour belt combo suits you! Imagine.

I’d definitely go with those who have shown great resilience earning their stripes, though. Going up each belt level with grace, integrity and humility. I would definitely partner with someone who might only be a red belt over someone who would verbally kick me down with toxic words or punch me hard with disappointments (unless maybe they are a white belt). I’d choose the ones who know how to fight their small sparring battles from the big ones that matter.

If life was a karate class there would be great fanfare during gradings. You’d have your nearest and dearest standing at the edges of the mat, watching you lovingly make your Life moves. They would cheer you on with every combo of intelligence shown, with every kata executed. It won’t be easy. You will have to show application through sparring, using your algebraic moves, parabolic kicks and mental stamina to every challenge put in front of you.

If life was like a karate class I’d know who to trust. And I’d know how to earn trust. Because there’d be a clear-cut checklist at the entrance of the Life dojo. All you have to do is make sure those you trust follow it! It would say:

1. Be nice
2. Be humble
3. Be generous
4. Be respectful
5. If you have any injuries let everyone know.

By the way, bowing is a sign of respect. Should bow to your Sensei when entering the mat, should bow to your sparring partner before and after each session. If it was my choice, I would bow to everyone at the start of meetings as a signal of a respectful time together. I would also bow to the barista who make my coffee every day, the train drivers who take me to work, oh and the nice lady who sells Big Issue at my train stop.
Injury in the checklist does not have to be physical. Please note that different gender, creed, religion and outlook in life is not an injury. Please see point #4 in this list.)

If life was a karate class I think more would be authentic. People would readily admit weaknesses and strengths. As I bow, barefoot at the edge of the mat I’d say that I have anxiety issues stemming from my lack of confidence. I will say that I am uncoordinated because I have always been ashamed of my body. My fellow karate-ga would say, “We hear you. We won’t hit you when you look like you’re having a bad day. We’ll make sure you learn how to work around your injuries. We got you!” And we’d cheer for anyone who earns their stripes overcoming their issues. We’d focus on getting safe while clinching each other. We’d aim to make those close to us happy because in karate it’s all about looking out for others.

I wish life was like a karate class.

What I wrote in my journal everyday this year

There’s no perfect way to say this so I’m just going to say it: I’m a serial journal writer. I know at some point most young girls stop writing “Dear Diary” entries, but somehow I missed the memo. I’m now 41 years old and have a husband who gives me Moleskines every Christmas to feed my daily journal writing fix. (He even added a Lamy pen this year. So good! But totally over our Chrissie budget.) I’d like to think I’m adulting by using an expensive diary these days. Also it’s not like I haven’t matured, you know. I have graduated from writing “Dear Diary”. I now start my entries with “Woke up at 4am again..” or simply “Woke up.” And instead of velvet purple diaries with locks that’s supposed to hold all my shame and secrets in, I now force my family to know what I’m writing in my journals. I pronounce to my daughters that someday they will “get Mommy” when they read my diaries page by page. Because I’m pretty sure they would.

Anyway, my box of journals in our garage has been getting a few look ins from me lately. It must be some kind of switch when someone turns 40. All of a sudden I’m proud to see the trail of mistakes, pains, lessons etched in my 30+ journals. I marvel at them stacked next to each other because it’s like seeing me evolve through the years. From my young Dear-Diary-purple-cover-with-a-heart-shaped-lock girl days to angsty and battered Filofaxes then to seemingly more organised Moleskines. Wow, how I’ve grown. (N.B. Moleskines are the best journals ever if one would like to feel they are writing something worthwhile. This is not a Moleskine promoted post.)

I feel that this year, 2018, I have grown up a bit more. Young people these days would say I’ve gone “extra”. Must be the unusually high volume of self-help – or as they now call it: continuous learning – books/talks/presentations/second hand knowledge that I’ve been digesting this year. I’ve grown up extra because I’ve added three things in my journal entries. Every day for the entire year I’ve entered:

1. What I’m grateful for on that particular day
2. What I feel I achieved on that particular day
3. What I need to improve on that particular day

I thought it would be fun to read back my journal for this year. For the last week or so I’ve been hoping that I would find some pattern or aha moment hidden between my entries that would unlock the key to my success and happiness. Haha.

What I actually discovered was that some days I really felt like I achieved nothing. Not just as a person trying to find my raison d’être, but also as a Mom or just as a plain human being. I got disappointed and angry at myself for losing my shit on my daughters and husband. I then salved these disappointed entries by writing that I was grateful for a chance to make up or learn from my mistakes the next day (new day, new beginnings and all that). There were some big moments, of course. I’d say getting our first mortgage, putting the girls in a good school, giving presentations about topics I feel strongly about (leadership and resilience) and toilet training the 3-year-old would be my obvious big achievements this year.

But what I liked reading are my rare, real, quiet achievements like: “I was a laidback mom”, “Gave a workmate my homemade lunch because it’s a Filipino dish she likes”, “Me and the fam spent time at St Kilda Mums”, “I finished giving good feedback to my team”. These were achievements to me. I counted these as achievements because these didn’t come easily. I am not a naturally laidback mom. I stress. I let work and writing get in the way of being a present mom. So when I do manage to be the mom I picture moms are supposed to be, I pat myself on the back.

Giving, as much as I like doing this, is not easy. It requires so much sacrifice these days. Even an hour of volunteering now makes me feel guilty because Time. Any time I take away from family makes me feel so far away from my “Present Mom” aspiration. It’s funny that me volunteering actually feels selfish this way. But one of the biggest achievement for me this year was getting the whole family to come with me to St Kilda Mums. We bonded over pram tinkering and sorting through donated toys. I kept telling myself: why didn’t I think about this sooner?

What I’ve been grateful for a lot this year were those magic moments with my girls and husband. An entry I wrote was being grateful because one daughter actually finds me funny. I was also grateful because I spent half a day walking with my other daughter. About 80 per cent of my entries were thanking my hubby for cooking dinner most of the time because I was mostly late coming home from work. I was amazed to read that I have been loads grateful for numerous catch ups with friends. This year I’ve managed to catch up with friends old and new more times than previous years. I had amazing discoveries, grand dreaming, joyful dirty chai drinking while sitting next to friends. I laughed a lot, embraced a lot, swore a lot and learnt a lot because of the friends I connected with this year. I’ve been inspired over and over again by my friends’ resilience, having to face far greater challenges than I did. This definitely made me feel more grown.

These magic moments and catch ups were so important to me. I wish I could show my family and friends more appreciation for these. Spending time with them helped me get through a challenging work year because this year I learnt that People Are Hard Work. What I mean by this is that being responsible for others (not your family) is one of the hardest jobs there is. I’ve gone home from work this year announcing that I made a few people upset that day. A good day is if I made only 1 person upset. It was very difficult for me because my entire life I was trained to please people. This is why servant-leadership really resonated with me. First time I heard my lecturer talk about it 4 years ago I actually told him: I’m all over this. This is the leadership style I’ve been searching for all my life! He laughed at me because he said it’s the hardest one there is. He was right, of course. I learnt, though that servant leadership is not about pleasing people. It’s more to do with equal and mutual respect. Also trust – which I also learnt is harder to earn if you never had to earn it before solely on influence and talk. I have been used to earning trust by showing tangible work outcomes – reports, software or papers. This year I needed to rely on communicating my ideas alone. I needed to influence and oh boy! Did I need to learn how to do that! My magic moments with family and amazing catch ups with friends not only kept me human, but it also constantly reminded me that it’s not all about me. Influencing is not actually about what I was getting, but what I was giving.

Besides improving my influencing skills I have so many other things that I need to improve according to my journal entries. I have so much to learn and as this book I’m reading now suggests, unlearn! I want to improve on my writing (entered a hundred times), my focus, my time management, being a Present Mom, my diet, my generosity, my humility, finding my purpose, Brene Brown also said I should be more vulnerable, then Adam Grant said I should be a more accessible/authentic/follower leader, then my friend said that Tony Robbins said that I should manage my emotions and moods more. That many things to improve! And that’s only within a month.

Ok, but my one take away out of all the things I want to improve is that I need to sleep more. It should be obvious, right? Lack of sleep is not conducive to being more focused, a Present Mom, and all round great person isn’t it? This will be my biggest challenge this coming year. To sleep soundly for 8 hours a day and not write “Woke up at 4am…” again.

So, as I enter my last entry for my 2018 journal and open my 2019 Moleskine I would like to promise myself these things for the new year ahead:

• To prioritise sleep
• To try to be kinder and more generous especially to myself (means give myself more sleep)
• To be humble (so that I don’t think it’s all about me)
• To not pretend to be someone that I’m not (should writing be this hard?)
• To connect and show more appreciation to family and friends
• To tick another item from my bucket list

I hope that 2019 will be the year I finally do something I’ve always been scared to do. Hopefully something I will NOT get arrested for,  but something that involves more magic moments with family and friends.

I think about… Women in my life (3 of 3)

This person came to me unexpectedly. She bulldozed through the debris of my partying lifestyle while kicking in my womb. She didn’t warn me. But I was too ignorant for any. Her cry, when I heard it first was like a beautiful alarm tingling from a Hang. It scared me so much that when she was given to me for the skin to skin I nearly dropped her.

Such was the way we met. I was fumbling and insecure. She was strong and solid. She basically pushed her way out, they said. (I was unaware, but that was my first parent shaming) Apparently, I didn’t know how to push. The midwife knew I was too busy to go to all the pre-natal classes. Tsk! Tsk!

When she was a baby I would look at her and stare in disbelief. Did this girl actually come out of me? I always felt that only by her goodwill that I get to try being a mother. Some days I cried because I can’t imagine being the mother she deserved then not being her mother at all! Anxiety would invite itself deep into the night while I fed her . I learnt how to swim because I obsessed for a couple of years not being able to save her – when rising sea levels happen. Yes, she redefined what sleep is to me. I now know my sanity equals sleep – lots of it.

As she started talking – her soul was revealed to me. I was continuously in awe. She taught me how to love unquestionably, but also she taught me how to be scared infinitely. She was a different egg. Oh how she stole me heart. Her laugh, her gentleness, her touch, her brilliance just amazes me. How can a beautiful soul be with me? Why does she look at me with those adoring amber eyes?

I remember being sad. I was mean to her and pushed her away. I said she can live with someone else. So she hugged me and said: No Mommy you’re the only one I love. And I cried all day because I didn’t deserve that.

Everything was just swept suddenly aside by her crying.  When I hear her cry, my whole being crumbles. She’s now older and can now make me cry just by her look, pout, words, and absence.

Thankfully, I learnt to manage the heart on my sleeve. I am now ok that she goes camping for days and I won’t see her or be there to watch her experience things. We’ve redefined our relationship. She’s now the cool person who tells me what’s right, I’m now the uncool adult who can’t dance to her music. I just wait until she’s happy to share anything with me. Her day, her annoyances, what she’s learnt, how she thinks of people.

When she sings, I know she’s happy. When we talk we laugh at our in jokes. Inside I cry my tears of joy. I wonder if she’s going to cherish our laughing moments as much as I am while it’s happening? I wonder if she’ll ever know that parenting her is so delightful, but also painful?

She’s hands down the top 3 most amazing people I’ve met. And I can’t wait to see her flourish and make a difference – well, more of a difference. Someday, she’ll learn that she’s been making a difference since she was born. I’m so happy that I named her after the kindest person I know. My dear Tita Marvs, what a soul. What a woman.

I think about… Women in my life (2 of 3)

The art teacher started her creative juice squeezer with: don’t be scared, be bold!

I stared at the canvas with intrigue, my tongue sticking out while I sized it up. My boldness, not the canvas. What is there to be scared about? My instincts told me that we were going to be alright. It’s been about 10 years since I attempted boldness and painting at the same time.

While the art teacher explained the colour palette for the painting, S sauntered into my thoughts. My Wifey, bestie. She always does that. Appearing in my thoughts whenever I’m attempting something ridiculous. Like the time I wanted to move from Sydney to Melbourne. I remember the day as clearly as the white canvas in front of me.

I was in a work assignment. Life of a consultant was like playing that Quantum Leap dude. Every time I get assigned to a new site I end up with a new facade and role. At this site I was the arty, Asian geek who knew photography. I noticed S right away sitting just at my 10 o’clock. With S, you either piqued her interest and you know it, or you’re not even there. Everyone bowed to her – whether they knew it or not. I remember staring at her. Her porcelain skin framed by her dark, luscious curly hair. I don’t know why, but I had this urge to be witty in front of her instantly, succumbing to her intelligent vibes as if hypnotised by Medusa.

I knew she was trying to be haughty and distant at first. My first strokes on the canvas were shaky, but I learnt to flick and blend the colours, like I did with my witty comebacks to her then. Before you knew it, we were giggling like we’ve been doing it since our primary school years.

In years to come I eventually called her Wifey because at the height of our single lives we noticed that our friendship just got stronger while a carousel of men kept passing us by. We knew one cold night that there might be a chance that we’d be each other’s pseudo partners – Wifey’s going through loneliness in our own parallel miserable universes.

After my witty comments and IT Geek persona, Wifey started inviting me to all sorts of interesting social events like the Bring-a-friend Astronomy club night. Led by the Big Russian Man who dragged a telescope the size of two men from the back of his pick up truck. He announced that he made it himself out of drain pipes and proceeded to show us Saturn in its most beautiful pose. I must have mentioned enough astronomy words because Wifey invited me to more of her cool tag-along social events.

I remember the early days of our friendship were a lot of silences peppered with awesome discoveries about each other. I marvelled at her flat. I sit there quiet, in awe while Wifey told me about her love of insects, books, fractals, aliens, Buffy and her science-ing was ridiculously contagious. I loved the smell of her drinking coffee with canned milk. Her seducing me with delicious Russian delicacies: hangovered, dazed chicken with potatoes cooked in a confused sherry. Beloved chicken liver, in a bed of blinged up onions is our hidden pleasure food.

I loved hearing about books she’s read and I’m always full of book lists after I’ve seen her. I love that she spends her days collecting knowledge and lets her curiosity lead her to places I never knew existed. She is a great writer because she respects others’ writing and the process. And I’m the one in the background prodding her on to keep writing because I selfishly want her to publish, so that I can brag that I am friends with the great speculative fiction writer, S. She’s also a great writer because she goes beyond this world, crosses a dimension that touches what it’s like being a woman in this universe.

She convinced me to move from Sydney to Melbourne without even knowing she did it. She convinced me to move from the north side of the river to the south side of the river. I have been following her for almost 15 years now. I don’t see myself stopping any time soon.

We’ve been through a lot. City moves, house moves, pregnancies (all mine), family dramas, new degrees and various relationships. Our relationship is so fluid that we only really see each other a handful of times in the year, but I know she’s the first person I would call if anything major happens to me. She would be the first person I would tell both good and bad news about me. She would be the first person to come to my aid during my anxiety attacks – totally shit scared about the world. She would drive all the way to me and my daughter to make sure I felt safe, protected and not alone.

Our best times, funnily enough is when we wrote to each other. We wrote when we were far apart from each other, we wrote when we’re sitting next to each other drinking wine and watching people. Most of our truest feelings written on paper napkins from bars called Dogs Bar or Pause. These days we look back at the correspondence to remind us of important turning points in our lives. And the happy times of our lives together. After all these years, I now know why I love her so much. She makes me proud to be a human. She gives me hope that we have a reason to be here. And I’m so happy she made my life canvas much more colourful and complex.

 

 

 

I think about…Women in my life (1 of 3)

My Inang has been appearing in my thoughts recently. For months I’ve been wracking my memory bank of traces of her. The more I dug up the more I realise that damn, she’s the most unfeminist feminist I know! She’s the first piece to my leadership puzzle, which I’m slowly putting together as I cross my mid-life crisis.

When I think of her the word Boss pops up. She had a Herculean presence at less than 5 foot tall. She wore those flowery perfumes. The smell left an indelible mark in my memory that I now get headaches from. Her scent was only the start of her overall personal brand. Her immaculately ironed dresses were worn like a Shar Pei wears their excess skin. It’s as if she was born with it on. You can say she was a woman who took pride in her appearance. With my unwashed hair, stained blouse and cheap flats as my standard work wear I think she would have disowned me.

But let me describe her values and drive as a boss. She bore more than 6 children. Big boys which became 6-foot-plus-tall men. When I used to walk with her, a wee girl usually dressed as her mini-me, I tried to keep up with her uneven strides. She walked fast for someone with short legs. Someone seemed to always be trailing behind her. Either me or one of her towering sons being shadowed by her protective motherly gait.

She loved tacky jewellery. She would make me wear them too. I could never carry it off like her, though. She wore it like Cleopatra with a cursing, loud mouth that resonated to the end of the street. She was my childhood Queen shouting orders and ruling. She owned that Main Street in the town where my father grew up in.

My earliest memory is of her on the floor cutting up material that will be easy for her seamstresses to sew it together. Whenever I smell dye off of fabrics I remember cheekily grabbing off-cuts to play with sitting right next her. Or getting pampered and fed with food while listening to the orchestra of sewing machine wheels and needles whirring. I had such sheltered summer days when I used to stay at hers during school holidays.

My Inang was ruthless with her dealings with the fabric sellers, the designers of clothes, her clients and anyone who dared haggle with her. A champion negotiator who never backed down. Feared for her blunt and harsh words sprinkled with colourful curses. But also respected as a provider. Generous, but not soft. Laughing, but serious. Open, but also closed with what’s really going on inside her intelligent, uneducated head.

How did a person who barely completed her primary school studies own a clothing business (which she named after me, by the way), have various employees and also bring up 7 men all at the same time? I tell you it’s all about survival. It’s all about being wise, strong and knowing who to trust.

My father always talks about how difficult life was for his family, and he tells his stories with a tinge of grudge. He grew up amongst educated, “richer” cousins and relatives. All because my Inang had to stop her studies so as to support her 9 other siblings. Who then became doctors, lawyers and errrmmm politicians (a fact I seldom acknowledge as my mother’s side is from different political principles). So my father grew up poor, but has the best survival skills just like his mother. He again is an accidental feminist without knowing it. He tried teaching me how to cook once when I was in high school. He wanted to teach me so that I can survive when I eventually move out. There’s no line about getting married or finding someone to cook for. He said: “You need to learn so you don’t starve.” And because I was a little shit I replied: I won’t need to learn. I’ll earn enough money to have a cook. (Which hasn’t happened and I’ve been earning money for 26 years now.)

My Inang passed away 8 years ago. My parents flew all of their children and grandchildren from Melbourne to Angono, Rizal to pay respects. People flew from US and other parts of the Philippines just to pay their respects. The Main Street she used “to own” was closed. The wake spilled from her house to the streets for 3 days. This, of course is a normal wake in that town, but it was noticeable that hers was bigger than usual. Whether people liked her, loathed her or loved her they turned up and wanted to be part of the biggest wake of the year. It was a gathering to be seen in that town.

I, along with more than a hundred people walked more than 2 kilometres from the church to the cemetery. And as usual we were trailing behind her and following her all around town where she lived all her life and refused to leave during her living years.

It was a poignant moment when I realised how big of a boss she was with so many people walking along with her. What a remarkable woman. And I really hope that her sons and grandchildren always remember her like the boss that she was.

Dear Amy Cuddy

Dear Amy Cuddy,

I just read the New York Times article.  You know, the one about discrediting others’ work using “P-hacking and replicators”? It floored me. I mean, I don’t really know anything about you except for the Power Pose TED Talk, but after that article, well, I cried. I’m sure you’ve heard reactions from others, but maybe not, so I’m writing you this letter.

What I want to say is that it felt so horrible thinking about what you went through. I can only imagine what that might be like – being personally attacked all over social media, within your professional community, and all your work discredited – because of 3 men who had no better idea than to disprove others’ work to make themselves look better. It just felt heavy reading that something you have been working on and put your entire professional energy to can be crumpled by a blog post based on a study that was itself unfounded. I just can’t believe the unfairness as I’m sure you have thought and felt too.

I cried because when I saw your TED Talk months ago as part of those “quick TED talks to make you feel happy” I  saw your talk not as a scientific study, but as you sharing your own journey to overcome powerlessness. I have been practicing the power pose because you are right, we women tend to assume the coiled up pose to seem less imposing, more submissive, rather than leader. But your talk made me feel that with one simple step I can be who I want to become. It helped me go through 4 rounds of interviews for a consulting company, and be offered a senior position that they originally thought I was not cut out for.

But you know what, I wasn’t compelled to follow that small, simple advise because of the research or studies you mentioned in your talk. I followed it because of you. Your reason for coming up with it, for wanting to help others who’ve experienced body-recoiling events in their lives. I wanted to do the power pose because I saw that you came up with it, really unscientifically, and used science to back it up. Because isn’t that what motivates us humans? Listening to our human instincts and making sense of it. The power pose was your moment of becoming . It was your answer to your own question: “am I supposed to be here?” – after your traumatic car accident. I wonder how nobody in media has put emphasis on the amount effort that would have taken for you to overcome that and still end up in the powerful, helpful and relevant.

To be honest, I haven’t read anything about you until this morning. I am a layperson just focusing on that little bit of change one day at a time. I am not a scientist, but I’m a big fan of Science. I wont pretend that I know statistics, though I know that can be fraught with human biases at times – just like any other human made things in this world, right? So I was surprised how much you have had to endure, how you’ve been attacked personally and professionally for something everyone else has been taught in Science to practice.

Isn’t it sad that I’ve read two of Adam Grant’s books – a behavioural psychologist who hasn’t published his Scientific findings, selling millions of books that have no evidence behind it, but not yours? (Will correct this soon) How he isn’t vilified by the “P-hacker and replicator” instigators but you are? The article revealed the underbelly of the scientific research culture – misogyny and bullying rife just like in politics and other aspects of our society today, which just doesn’t give me that much hope. How can we think that our future is bright if the very people who should be studying our advancement are too busy knocking off each other?

Anyway,  I heard you’re writing a book again. I cannot wait for it. I will buy it and I will read it because of you. Because evidence or not you made me believe that simple changes can lead to big things. Thanks for that. Oh and you are definitely supposed to be here.

Cheers,

ColoroutofLiner

 

Alpha

My 10 year old daughter was watching a movie she shouldn’t really watch. She was away from school sick and I was supposed to look after her. Which meant that we were both in the couch. Me in front of my laptop doing work, she in front of the TV enjoying her day off.

The movie she was watching had a couple who were having an argument about the “alpha in the relationship”. The woman says: Of course I am the alpha! The man says: No, I am the alpha! Then the exchange continued a few more times. I was just halfway through rolling my eyes when my 10yo turned to me and said: Of course the woman is the alpha, Mommy. Women are always the alphas. She then rolled her eyes (where does she get that from?) and continued watching.

I’d like to say that this story ends well. That I savoured that pride of raising a girl who is confident, intelligent, talented and unaware of the gender inequality women are currently facing around the world. But we know it doesn’t.

I gave myself a second to bask in my daughter’s gender loftiness, then had to tell her: No, honey there’s no alphas in any happy, equal relationships. And if there were, women aren’t usually the ones who are the alphas. She gave me the sad face and the expression of hope – for me not to go into my feminist diatribe again with her.

That day I didn’t. I let her watch those movies that reinforce the gender stereotypes. I told myself that she is now sufficiently aware about these things. We have gone through enough critical thinking exercises for her to question what’s presented in front of her. I have read loads of books about women empowerment with her. My husband and I share equal household duties and spend equal time with our children. so that our daughters see that the stereotypes can be wrong. That we can “fight it”. We consciously use the gender equal language in our everyday conversations. We read those articles about raising strong girls, and so on and so forth.

This should be enough right? To raise girls?

Shouldn’t I feel like I’ve helped the future of the world by raising a girl who is aware of feminism? Shouldn’t I congratulate myself for having a daughter who thinks it’s possible and even the norm for the woman to be the alpha?

I didn’t really know why I was uncomfortable with this. Yes, I might have exceeded the feminist role modelling by her thinking women are alphas (extra much?), but it was more than that. I wasn’t happy with how my daughter now thinks it’s an us vs them between the genders (That’s not how it should be). I wasn’t happy that my daughter thinks she has to over-compensate, show how strong she is because there’s a very unequal world out there!

This small exchange with my daughter might have triggered what I am now calling the “early onset mid life existential crisis” (EOMLEC) phase of my life. I think this was a long time coming and have been brewing in the background. I guess it started surfacing since my 40th birthday in July. I tried to exorcise the feeling by writing a lot in my journal. But there was work, everyday horrible news, the state of affairs in this country and the useless, painful marriage equality “vote” that continuously made me ask: What do I stand for?

I went through this questioning phase with my husband and my best friend. I dragged them through my EOMLEC rabbit hole to figure out our core values together. We read, wrote and talked about it. Even my work life did not escape these questioning. What are my beliefs? What are your beliefs? How does that relate to your values? What makes you angry? What makes me happy? Does that say something about me? Should I be worried? What if I’m not who I thought I am? ARGH!

Eventually I calmed down (or have I?). I came across this article about Constructivist learning theory and disequilibrium. That article gave sense to what I was going through! I wasn’t having an EOMLEC, I was experiencing disequilibrium. I was experiencing it because I needed to make sense of the changes around me. What I was doing was learning to adjust to my daughter’s view of the world, I was learning to adjust to my new job, I was learning to adjust to what’s happening in the world, and I was learning to adjust to being 40!

My big a-ha learning moment came during one of my conversations about values with my best friend. She casually said: Feminism is not your value, that is maybe just one of your beliefs. Equality and the goodness in humanity are underlying your feminism and THAT is your value.

From that moment I knew why I was uneasy about my daughter’s alpha statement. It’s because I didn’t want to just teach her to be a strong woman in a world where women are not alphas. For the future of humanity, I need to teach her to see the world where everyone is equal and that there are no alphas. That being alphas in any relationship should never be a topic. That being a feminist means being a humanist. I also want to teach her to respect differences in opinion, thought, beliefs and values because as Elif Shafak pointed out diverse thinking is the enemy of the binary thinking – the us vs them, the black and white. Diverse thinking leads to more learning and more understanding.

I was learning so that someday my daughter will say: Of course there’s NO alpha in the relationship, Mommy. They are equal and should respect each other.

I’ve since come up with a list of my values*. After I wrote them down, I had this feeling of ease. Pieces of me falling into place again. For a brief moment I was in a learning equilibrium. And I realised that doesn’t last, so next time I’ll celebrate and cherish it with my daughter.

*My values are:

1. Believing in humanity – and our ability to be good to each other
2. Fairness and equity
3. Learning and being part of a learning process

The post

Imagine you are bored. You’re at home sick with flu, or at a beach somewhere splayed on a hammock, or in a lecture room listening to Accounting 101. Then your smartphone gets your attention. Facebook notifications were illuminating the screen. You looked away, bit  your lip, resisted. Your eyes squinted, an excuse started bubbling in your head: What if it’s an event invite? That I NEED to RSVP to now?!

And that’s how it started.

It ended with me getting called “touchy cunt”.

Let me tell you the long story.  I was reading an interesting book. 1984 in fact. When I needed a rest from reading the torture bits in Room 101. So, I checked out my newsfeed on Facebook, using my phone while lying sick in my couch. Saw some great articles about the new French president and his wife, read funny tweets and Takei’s Reddit posts when BAM! I saw it.

The post.

I usually don’t engage in public figures’ posts or comments. I thought those who do are sad… or bored. Both of which I was. So I put my opinion out there. Dared to IMHO, nicely and diplomatically oppose this renowned feminist’s views. Let’s call her Catherine. Didn’t think much about it. Typing my reply was almost a reflex reaction like when I see people trip I instinctively ask if they are ok? I continued on reading “Best of Lists” when I heard the DING of notification. Someone commented on my comment?! Who could it be? I was amused at the thought, but my smile was wiped off my face when I read the comment. It was unnecessarily patronising and snarky. I was so disappointed that the commenter’s  profile pic had “atheist” on it. I am an atheist, why so mean to me? It’s as if I came to someone who tripped and they told me to fuck off. Before I can get over the comment I see that someone pressed the Like button. As in the bystander who openly sniggers or laughs because I dared to show my vulnerability by helping the person who tripped. And the bystander was Feminist Catherine! Before I can even recover from that she posted another comment calling me and others who did not agree with her: touchy cunts.

And that’s what happened.

I didn’t expect that. I really thought this feminist and I were on the same wave  length. I see that she’s divisive. I get that she needed to be to drive home some point. Maybe she thought normalising the one English word most derogatory for women is an ironic twist to her flavour of feminism. Or maybe she just thinks it’s funny because if she can hurl that horrible word like it was the F-word then she must not be so affected by it. Definitely a strong woman right? No.

I immediately unfollowed her. I rang my bestie who’s apathetic to this feminist movement at best. I tried explaining to her the experience, my feelings about it and all we came up with at the end of the conversation was: Feminist Catherine is mean.

It would be days and weeks of me tinkering with my thoughts; numerous talks in person (not on Facebook) about my divorce from feminist Catherine (I’m not a fan anymore); reading about the c-word and its etymology before I finally understood the significance of what’s happened. It changed me. It forged me into a different feminist. It made me evolve – I’d like to think.

I realised I changed as I was crying while watching this movie called The Staging Post. I was sitting next to my friend who just heard the whole “touchy cunt” story. There’s a scene where a young refugee man was openly crying in front of his friends as he spoke about his mother who was forced to marry at a young age and his sisters who would never get the education he received living in Afghanistan. He was lamenting that he left them while he’s trying to seek refugee status at the staging post in Indonesia. Imagine this young 20-something man having the awareness, empathy for the women in his life with the most gentle attitude. The way he spoke about them and the women he’s met at the staging post, how happy he was that the women are able to be a little more liberal while living in Indonesia. They are able to teach, play soccer and contribute more.  He doesn’t just talk about his own suffering and hardships instead he constantly thinks about his mother and sisters and respects the sacrifices they’ve done to get him where he is. At the end of the scene he exclaimed through open tears: No woman should endure what my mother and sisters endured!

I turned to my friend and told her: that’s the kind of feminist I want to be.

Yes, I’ve been vocal about unequal pay and leaning in at work. I’ve had my fair share of sexist jokes and patriarchal injustice. But just like feminist Catherine I haven’t seen nothing yet. Most of the women who are experiencing terrible suffering or making total sacrifices are too busy to call anyone the C-word on Facebook. Yes, we women in the Western world have our own reality, and our own battles with not having equal pay, very poor chid care support from the government and still poor representation in the CxO levels in companies. These are all real problems and things that we have to be vocal about. Could we somehow be that young man at the staging post and be more empathetic to those who are different from us though? Both women and men?

This whole experience made me realise that we have to cast our net wider when we are thinking of feminism. It isn’t just us here in Australia, UK, US, etc who need feminism. All women and men from poor to developing countries do too. Maybe if we spent less time being divisive, the fight won’t be such an uphill battle. This lady made perfect sense when she said the feminist far left is making more enemies than allies. Was that the goal? To fight and make more enemies? To create a wider rift between not only men and women, but other women who don’t comply? What are we really doing here? Are we just trying to make a cheap point – all the time? Or do we really want changes to take effect?

The language that I see and hear with Western feminism is angry and weary (fight like a girl, cunts, queens) – it makes me feel excluded and attacked. It smells of privilege or the demand of it. I realised that the feminism I ascribed to always said: Look at me! Look at me! For example my post about going back from maternity leave is all about me not getting my perceived privileges as a valued employee of a company. For me the law said that I get my role back, but with that I also demanded the respect that I had before I left and expected everyone to remember how good an employee I was. I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe we have to start introspecting and figure out what kind of feminism we really want to pass to our daughters and sons.

Of course my Utopia is that my grandchildren (too soon for my children now) to not have to think about feminism, gender or inequality anymore. It would either be a future where its a perfect meritocracy or a future so bleak that gender inequality is the lowest in everyone’s priority – Maszlo’s hierachy still withstanding. If we go with a more positive outlook, I imagine that being a boy or girl should not matter anymore in terms of getting education, choices in life and love, government subsidies, privileges and leadership. I imagine that as humans most of our energies and intellect would be spent on intergalactic travel, forging relationships with our alien friends, starting new colonies with Musk’s juniors… we as humans would eventually realise that it is better for all of us to be equally collaborative. That there’s strength in numbers via empathy and equality. I like that young man in the Staging Post movie because he knows that for him to be happy he needs to know that his mother and sisters are going to be ok. He does everything to have a voice in spite of his status or lack thereof, not because he’s fighting the regime or culture in Afghanistan, but because he would like to educate and open their eyes more to women’s plight.

So that would be my kind of feminism now. The one that opens eyes. The one that educates. That listens and gives time to those who don’t understand feminism. The one who’s goal is to unify via empathy. The one that proudly says: Yes, Feminist Catherine I am a touchy person.