Tokyo Godfathers

I just watched the movie Tokyo Godfathers yesterday and I must say, that is ONE GOOD FILM. I've noticed that movie in my local library for years now and I kept telling myself that one day I would check it out and watch it. Somehow, I never did. It wasn't until my friend Vincey mentioned it was good movie that I thought to myself, "All right, I should give it a chance." It was Christmastime and while the movie is not a Christmas movie per se, the story takes place on Christmas Day and so I thought I would give it a shot. Boy, am I glad I did. The film was so good.

Basically, Tokyo Godfathers is this animated movie about three homeless people who find a baby girl in a trash can and they go looking for the baby's mother. The movie follows the people through their many attempts at locating the baby's family and they run into an assortment of characters, trouble, and near-death experiences along the way. I thought the movie was well-animated and the pacing was brilliant. There is not a single wasted scene in the film (none of that filler stuff I hate so much), and there were a few unexpected funny moments. I wish I could make films and tell stories like that.This movie also reminded me of how much I liked to watch films. I've been a little apathetic about watching films recently, but truthfully, they've always been one of my biggest loves. This movie reminded me why--film making is such a unique and multifaceted way of telling a story. That's been my first love all along--storytelling.

Lastly, this film was very timely. I've been depressed a lot lately, but this kind of movie really puts things into perspective. For me, the movie spoke about what it means to transcend your own personal problems because there is something bigger at stake. I mean, here were three homeless people who finally found something outside of themselves to care for, to live for and possibly die for...Here were people who had so many more problems than I'll ever have and they still face each day with a fair amount of resilience. Maybe I can learn something from that.

As people may have guessed, I highly recommend this movie. And not just at Christmastime either.

Making Room

I was at Christmas mass today when the priest gave a sermon to all the children about "making room." First, he asked them what Christmas was all about. One kid said, "Giving." That was about it. Then the priest told the story of when he was a young child and he wanted to sit  at the adults' table when they had Christmas parties. In those years, he told us, children and adults were segregated into different rooms and seated at different tables. Well, he decided that he was going to have to be creative if he wanted to sit at the adults' table so he spilled milk on himself. When his mother rushed over to ask what had happened, he said that he had some milk spilled on his shirt. His mother, however, thought the other kids were making trouble and so she took him over to the adults' table where the adults made room for him to sit.

"What did they have to do for me to sit with them?" the priest asked.
A few children tried answering until one said, "Make room."
"Good," the priest answered. "They had to, what? MAKE ROOM for me. That's what Christmas is all about. Making room. So this Christmas, I want you to make room for someone. Someone you don't like. Someone you don't know. Someone you love."

What I interpreted from that was: You never know who you're going to meet in life and you never know how they may change your life so don't be so quick to judge other people or shut them out. Give them a chance, hear them, and make room for them.

At least, that's what I THINK he was trying to get across. I was never too good at these things.

Secret Santa creeper

So a classmate of mine has been sick for almost a week. She talked about how she felt as if she had the plague and then went to the doctor today. I've always thought she was such a cool person, and since she wasn't feeling well, I thought I would do something nice for her. I knew she liked princesses and so I bought her this book that was my favorite princess story from when I was a kid. Then I wrote her a get well card along with baking her cookies and adding a goodie bag of chocolate and candy canes. I took all this stuff and drove half an hour to look for her house. I rang the doorbell and no one was there so I left all of the things on the front step. The entire time I thought I was being a bit like a creeper. I felt so great about all of this at first. I felt like I was doing a good deed and being a secret Santa. The more I thought about it, however, the more I realized that I might be doing something extremely creepy. I mean, here I was baking cookies and buying gifts for someone I barely knew just because she was sick. Then I look for her house and leave stuff there in an unmarked bag? I suddenly became paranoid that I WAS being a creeper. A Secret Santa Creeper. Then I got paranoid that I left it at the wrong house. What if she doesn't actually live here? I thought frantically. What if she moved? Or what if this is the wrong street, the wrong house, the wrong TOWN? Oh, what to do? Someone might come home, see all the stuff I left, and be all, "What is this?!", then throw it out! Oh dear, then what would I do? Nothing, I suppose. Just be more careful next time. I drove all the way home worrying about this and it wasn't until I checked my messages later that I received some redemption. It WAS the right house, after all, and she liked my gifts! Yay, I did a good thing. Now I can sleep.

Of SantaCon and Vertigo

I've spent the last two days taking care of my vertigo-stricken boyfriend in New York City. I like this, it makes me feel like we are equals instead of my usual feeling of being weak and dependent. On the other hand, I'm stuck writing my term paper while I'm here and it takes some enjoyment out of being here. Then again, my boyfriend spends most of the day sleeping so I suppose it's the perfect situation to work on a 15-page policy paper.

I also love the Christmas feeling here in New York. I've always thought that it would be romantic to spend the holiday season up here in the Big Apple and now I can get a little slice of it. For example, while I was riding the bus into the city, the passenger next to me pointed out the window and said, "Santa Claus!" I looked and yes, there they were. Strangely enough, there was a whole parade of them. Men, women, and teenagers of all ages, races, and clothing styles walking down the streets of New York with furry red hats and Santa Claus suits. Some of the women were dressed like elves, too and I even saw a man dressed like a reindeer on 84th Street (Miracle on 84th Street?). Later on, I found out that it was part of an event called Santacon where people would dress up in Santa Claus or Christmas elf-themed costumes. I'm not sure if it's part of a charity event or something done just for fun, but it was fascinating to watch anyway. "It's like March of the Santas," I told my fellow passenger. I told Matthew about it and, although he wasn't able to get up and see the Santa's for himself, he said that he believed me. It IS New York City after all. Anything can happen.

Soup

Since Matthew felt so sick, he told me that he wanted some chicken noodle soup. I suppose he wasn't sick in the traditional sense, but he did have extreme vertigo and was bedridden so I obligingly went down to the grocery store and bought ingredients for chicken noodle soup. I found a shrink-wrapped packet that claimed to sell "soup ingredients." The package had celery, carrots, parsley, and a turnip in it and I was unbelievably tempted to buy it. It would make such hearty soup! I thought. Ultimately, I decided against it, and stuck to the shopping list Matthew gave me.

It turned out to be good soup anyway! I couldn't find any parsley, but Matt and I made the soup with his homemade chicken broth. The finished soup tasted so warm and comforting, exactly the way chicken noodle soup should. I told him that I wanted to make homemade chicken noodle soup from now on; it tasted so much better than that stuff from a can. Matt told me that he love soup because it was so versatile. Well, that and the fact that soup could be seen as both a working man's meal or something really classy, like French onion soup.

All this talk about soup reminded me of a Korean soup I heard of once. Koreans made it when they were sick and so I suppose it's the cultural parallel to American chicken noodle soup. I read about the Korean soup in a graphic novel once, but the novel did not publish the recipe and I could never find it on my own. Maybe some day I'll stumble across it again. Either that, or I could ask a native Korean person about the kinds of soups made in Korea.

Number 2: What You're Looking for in a Relationship

Frankly, I was not quite sure what I was looking for in a relationship until I got into my first serious one. Before that, I knew that I did not want kids or to get married (well, I suppose that takes care of #18: Getting married and having kids), but now I might sway on the marriage decision. As for more general relationship stuff, I was looking for someone who respected me, first and foremost. I don't believe I can truly love someone if I don't respect them. I believe this so strongly that if I had to choose between everyone in the world loving me or respecting me, I would choose respect. Also, here are my five must-haves in a partner:

1) Decent and honest. This means that they don't get in trouble with the law. They don't lie, cheat, or steal, and they are not manipulative or petty.
2) Respectful. Something I mentioned before, but my partner has to respect not just me, but my friends and family, and especially wait staff. They don't have to like or get along with all of them, but respect people who are important to me (and yes, wait staff are important to me).
3) Open-minded. Dear lord, I can't stress this enough. I would really love to be with someone who is open to new ideas and new experiences, someone who listens to other people's viewpoints and takes them into consideration. This also means someone who is willing to revise their own viewpoints in light of new evidence and not just hold on to their own beliefs. Lastly, it refers to someone who is willing to try new foods, go new places, and do new things.
4) I forgot, but I'll put it up as soon as I remember it.
5) Dark hair and dark eyes. These are the only physical traits I really like, evident in the fact that every guy I have ever liked has had dark hair and dark eyes. Maybe it's just my culture or what I grew up with. Maybe it's just what I'm conditioned to like, but I definitely like them with dark hair and dark eyes, preferably brown eyes. Aside from that, they have varied in every other variable: height, weight, race, personality, lifestyle, body size and shape, educational level, background, etc.

As for smaller things, I just want someone I can have great conversations with and who can show interest in my interests. They don't need to like them, but it would be nice if they could have some polite interest or at least not put down my hobbies and passions. It would be nice just to have someone I can spend lazy days with and interaction between us can be easy. I hope that's not too much to ask. So far, my current boyfriend fits this pretty well. :)

I'll probably go back to this list and revise/update as time goes by. Stay tuned for changes!

Visualizing Success

All of this visualizing success business made me wonder: what do I define as success? As I thought about it, I surprised myself when I realized that I didn't define success as being famous, wealthy, or rich. I defined success in very simple ways. For example, I pictured myself as a success and I immediately saw myself living in a small house sitting on a giant green field under a deep blue sky. I pictured waking up early every morning and taking my dog (because I will have a dog) for a brisk walk. I pictured eating healthy and being physically active--doing yoga and being limber. I imagined myself going to work counseling people and loving it, even the challenging and difficult moments (because I will have those). I imagined myself pursuing my passions. I would write every day and practice the piano. I would spend free time on my hobbies and cultivate my interests. For this, I would take dance lessons and cooking classes. I would sew and garden and do woodworking. I would learn how to design my own clothes and sew my own dresses. I would make my own furniture and assemble a computer. I imagined myself in a strong, healthy relationship (that's you, Matt!) and we could cuddle every night and watch goofy shows. I imagined walking or biking everywhere I went, using public transportation so I would never have to drive again (that's for New York!). I imagined keeping a journal and do self-reflections every day. I imagined going out to plays and pampering myself with deep-tissue massages (okay, so deep-tissue massages are just as much pain as they are pamper, but it's still a good choice!). Lastly, I visualized pushing myself and seeing what limits I can overcome. And, just as importantly, I will take care of myself and know when to rest. Like right now. Good night, world. I'm going to get my sleep so I can start on my way to becoming...A SUCCESS.

Kicking the Habit

I just realized today that I have a habit (or a strange addiction, if you will) of thinking badly about myself. Like how some people drink too much even though they know it's bad for them or like any other addiction (gambling, drugs, shopping, food, etc.), people may continue onwards even if they know it's ruining their life, their social relationships, and their well-being. In a strangely similar fashion, I keep feeding myself negativity. I keep telling myself that I'm going to be a failure even though I know it's not true and that telling myself this is hurting my self-esteem. Well, now that I'm aware of it, I'm going to kick the habit. From now on, I will visualize myself as a success. When I told that to my friend Alison, she put two fists into the air and told me to do the same. Apparently, a teacher taught her to do that for two minutes every day and said that it will release endorphins and help people to picture success. I told her that it was the same pose Olympic athletes did when they won a gold medal and she said, "That's why it works." I put my fists into the air and we just stood there in the hall, pumping our fists and dancing. Maybe this is a placebo effect, but I really did feel better. I passed this on to my friend Susanna and she thought it was amusing, but she was supportive anyway.

Number One: Choosing a College Major

This is the beginning of my exploration about the list "20 Things Not to Worry About Before You Turn 20". I liked the list so much that I'm going to make a blog post about each one of them as it pertains to my life. The first one, not worrying about "choosing a college major" really made me wonder whether I had chosen the right major and so I did some research on the "best" college majors. These were rated based on how easy it was to find employment after work, starting salaries, median salaries, and the expected growth in demand for these jobs over the next few years. Over and over again, engineering, math, and sciences topped the list. My own psychology major did not even come close. I briefly thought about majoring in statistics, but when I read a sample curriculum in a statistics course, it just boggled me. There was stuff there on doing mathematical analyses and something called biometry. As someone who is neither scientifically nor mathematically-minded, I knew that none of these majors were right for me. While they may have paid well and helped in finding employment, I knew that I would struggle taking those classes. What's more, I never would have been happy doing a job like that, no matter what the prestige or pay. In the end, I took a step back and really appreciated my major. It was analytical without being cerebral (unless we were talking about the brain), it was generalizable, and an easy subject to talk about with other people. I mean, how easy is it to talk about nuclear engineering with the average person? Psychology, on the other hand, can generate fascinating topics as well as be simple enough where the lay person can understand with just a little bit of background knowledge. After much thought, I was thoroughly appreciative of my major and the path it led me. Now I'm studying to be a social worker, and believe you me, it's much easier to understand social work if you've taken psychology before. Plus, for a long time, I've dreamt of counseling people and so psychology and social work seem like the best way to go. I'm glad I made those decisions after all.

Being Good Enough

I was reading through a list titled "20 Things Not to Worry About Before You Turn Twenty." Most of the things on the list made sense and felt comforting. For example, they had: "Don't Worry about choosing political beliefs or siding with a political party. It's the issues that matter, not the party" or "Don't Worry about knowing whether you want to get married or have kids." Then I ran into one that struck right to my heart. It was the one about being perfect and it included a picture where someone had written on the palm of their hand "You Are Good Enough." For some reason, that brought tears to my eyes. I don't know. I've been emotional and crying a lot lately, but those simple words "You Are Good Enough" really hit home. All my life, I've waiting for someone to say that to me, to tell me that I was good enough and that I didn't have to keep trying, to keep working. My parents never did. They were always, "You need to get good grades in school so you can get into a good college." Then: "You need to finish college so you can get a good job." Then: "We're disappointed because you didn't make anything of yourself." So I went to grad school and even then, I don't know if that will be enough for them. I've never met anyone in my social life who said that to me, either. Not my friends, not my relationships. Or maybe I just don't see myself as good enough so their words fall on deaf ears. I'm crying as I'm writing this now, the tears streaming down my face, and I don't understand why. I don't understand how such simple things can make me cry. Maybe I am being too emotional. Or maybe, just maybe, there's something to this after all.

Honesty

I was reading an article today on how a 14-year-old Utah student shot himself in the head in front of all his peers. His classmates said that he might have killed himself because of the bullying from school, but school officials said that he nor anyone else ever reported bullying. The students then replied that the bullying may not have been physical but verbal, which is much harder to see. My first reaction to the article was extreme sadness. Someone had just take their own life and it might have been from bullying. I then remember being bullied all through grade school and my second reaction to the article was, Man, if I had a gun, I would have killed myself at 14, too. Then I thought, Uh-oh. That's not a good way to think. Then I remembered something else I had read. On a list of 12 Things You Should Never Lie About, one was your mental health. I remembered all of my issues with anxiety and depression, stemming from all kinds of things and it made me think that I should really have this checked out by a professional. And soon. I looked up therapists today and tried contacting a few of them. Hopefully, this will the first step on my long road to recovery. It's like Margaret Paul, Ph.D. once said, "You will continue to feel empty as long as you continue to abandon yourself physically, emotionally and spiritually. When you decide it's time to take responsibility for yourself and learn to open your heart to love, you will no longer feel empty within." I know that this may sound cliche to some, but I've lived the last ten years of my life hating myself and I know how her words are true. If I'm going to be honest with myself, I need to admit that I do have a problem and it does need help, especially before it's too late. 

New Diet

I'm starting a new diet today! Two events led up to this. One was a health education video that we watched at my internship, telling people how to lose weight by cutting out sugar and sweeteners and trans-fat. The other event was shopping for pants. Since I tend to eat more during the winter months, I pack on the pounds and my tightest pair of jeans don't fit anymore. In addition to that, I had to retire another pair of pants because it was getting holes I could not mend and stains I could get out. And so I decided to go buy two new pairs of pants to make up for the lost ones. (Don't worry, I still kept my tight jeans; I just have to wait until I lose weight to wear them). As I was trying on new pants, however, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realized that my thighs were just GINORMOUS. I'm not one to pay that much attention to my thighs, but this was unavoidable--they were as big as country hams! They jiggled and shook, like a big bowl of fat, gelatinous lard. It was terrible. That's when I decided to take what I knew about health and dieting and apply it to my life. I was really going to do it this time. I was going to lose the fat. I allowed myself one last splurge day where I ate pizza and ice cream and chocolate. The next day, all of it was out the window. I threw away the rest of the ice cream (Sorry, Matt!), cleared out all my old food, and set aside some new space in the fridge and pantry. This morning, after I did my homework, I looked up healthy ways to eat and I made a list of new diet foods. I have lots of fruits and vegetables on there and lots of whole wheat stuff. There's nuts and berries, lentils and legumes. But no chocolate. No pizza. Actually, no junk food at all. I cut out sweets and sugar. I cut out candy and carbs. I even cut out certain drinks like alcohol (which I wasn't fond of, anyway) and sugary fruit juice. This is a new routine for me and I'm going to eat healthy so I can be healthy. I want to look good and feel good. The only thing I really hated cutting out was dairy products. I love cheese and milk and butter. Dairy products are the one reason I would have a hard time being a vegan. But hey, if it's suppose to help me then I'll do it. Plus, cutting out dairy products is supposed to control inflammation so maybe it'll help with my acne and skin. The websites I looked up also suggested finding a substitute for dairy and so I tried out almond milk. I was hesitant at first, wondering if I should buy a whole carton of milk if it turns out I don't like it, but I'm glad I did! I LOVE almond milk. It has just a slightly sweet flavor and a nutty aftertaste. Appropriate for milk made from almonds. With everything else on my list, I left the grocery store feeling like one of those health nuts. My shopping buggy was full of Total cereal and oatmeal and frozen berries. It was like I was on the South Beach diet or something. Or becoming a vegan. Well, except for the honey I bought.

I also talked to Matt about my new diet, prefacing it with, "Now, before you start in with your..." But he was supportive of it. I told him the reasons why I was doing it, and instead of nay-saying or shooting me down, he was actually supportive of it. He worried that I didn't eat enough and he didn't want me to give up dairy products entirely. "There's something about giving up dairy products that can make you lactose-intolerant, and, if it does make you slightly lactose-intolerant, then I don't want you to give up milk forever." I told him that I already allowed myself a little pat of butter a week, and so now I can have a glass of milk, too.
"Oh, I can butter my toast today!" he said in mock voice.
I laughed. "You make me sound so...Charles Dickens," I told him.
Well, I'm sure Charles Dickens never ate like this, but I suspect he never had thighs the size of country hams, either...

Everthing signifies

I was walking with Matt along the streets of New York when I jaywalked across an intersection with a "Don't Walk" sign. I almost got hit by a car (yet again) and as soon as I got to the other side of the street, I froze. I realized that Matt was still on the other side of the street, waiting patiently for the "Walk" sign. That's when it dawned on me that I had done something impulsive and reckless. I could have been injured. I could have been killed! Or worse, I could have dented someone's car with my amorphous body shape. When Matt crossed to other side and we continued walking, I voiced my concerns to him.
"I've become one of them!" I whispered frantically.
"Become one of...?"
"I've become one of those New Yorkers who just don't care and walk out into the middle of the street!" Matt laughed. "Lots of people do that."
"Yes, but I don't do that, and now I'm changing! I'm becoming one of them!"
"It's okay," Matt reassured me. Then he became reflective. "I noticed that when little things happen to you, you tend to freak out and think that it's some fundamental change in your personality or behavior."
"I..." I foundered for a word, a reaction, then: "OH. I do do that." (Ha, I said "doo-doo.")
Matt continued. "It's okay. Crossing the street like that, it's just something you do. It doesn't have to mean anything."
"It doesn't have to mean anything..." I repeated, letting the words sink in. "It doesn't have to mean anything!" I shouted, elated and exuberant. "You're so right, Matt. When I do something, it doesn't have to mean anything. I'm going to write a blog post about this!" And so I did. (I know, so meta, right?)
"Everything signifies," Matt told me. "In literature," he amended. "But in life, it doesn't have to mean anything."
"What does 'everything signifies' mean?" I asked him.
"It means that everything means something," he told me. "But only in literature," he repeated. "In life..."
I nodded. "It doesn't have to mean anything."

I know that this was a confusing and seemingly pointless blog post, but it does mean something to me. It's given me insight into a fundamental part of my character. Like my supervisor told me several times, I'm analytical and so I tend to over-analyze things. Now, with this revelation, I can sit back and relax more. Everything I do does not have to be scrutinized for some hidden meaning or unconscious motive. Matt's words really helped me to let go. It doesn't have to mean anything. Even this blog post doesn't have to mean anything. And you know what? It probably doesn't. :)

Sharing the forgiveness story

At my internship, I shared my story of forgiveness, both the one about my mother apologizing to me and the one about the man searching for his middle-school teacher. I was given some time to talk at a group meeting of my internship and I opened up this topic just in case people wanted to build on it. Immediately, there was a response. One woman said, "You know what? I thank you. I thank you for saying that. I'm going to go home to my family this holiday and apologize to them for anything I did to them." Another woman could emphasize with my story about my mother apologizing because she said that her mother was not emotionally supportive either. She said that her parents used to say to her, "Why are you saying all those things? You're so stupid." This woman has a better relationship with her parents now, especially with her mother. She said that her mother still calls her stupid, but every once in a while, she'll get a "I love you. You're doing okay." The woman said, "I take that and put it right here [points to her heart]. Things between us aren't perfect, but every time she says, I take it. I take whatever I can get." This makes me think about how many people grow up in emotionally denigrating families. It makes me think of how others went through so much worse than I did and it makes me thankful for my own family. Now, don't get me wrong, my parents also called me stupid when I was a kid, but they were there. That might sound like a flimsy excuse, but it's true. My parents weren't perfect, but they did the best with what they had and THEY WERE THERE. That's more than I can say for a lot of people. I may resent my mother, but other women wish they had a mother to fight with. The last woman to comment on my forgiveness story expressed this exact sentiment. She wished her mother was there. More accurately, she wished her mother was still alive. Her father died when she was four or five and her mother died when she was thirteen, leaving her alone to take care of her newborn son and to fend for herself. That must have been tough. This woman talked about how her mother wasn't always the most sober person in the world, but when she gave birth to her son, her mother said, "You take care of that boy. We're going to take care of your son." Little did they know she would die shortly afterwards. Then the woman burst into tears, saying over and over again, "And I still love her. I still wish she were here. She wasn't the best mom, but she did her best with what she had, and I. Wish. She. Were. Here."

That really moved me. No parent lives forever (although some seem like they do), and I say that even the most "unqualified" parents somehow still manage to at least "be there." Suffice it to say, I'm glad my parents were there.

Forgiveness

I was reading an article the other day where a man was looking for his middle-school teacher because he wanted to apologize. Apparently, he had done something to the teacher when he was still a student and now felt remorse. So he went on a search. For 39 years. Looking for this teacher. Yes, this man searched almost four decades.

As I continued reading the article, other stories came out, stories of people looking to right past wrongs, people seeking forgiveness and redemption. The article mentioned how apologizing to someone wasn't just redressing past injustices, but it was a way to ask for a second chance.

This article just reminded me of the post I wrote about how my mother apologized to me. Sometimes, that's all someone needs. Other times, it's a good first step or a way to start over. I know of people who deserve apologies from me. And an explanation. The concept of explaining and redressing actions is not new to me. I remember having a similar revelation over a year ago. Because of this realization, I looked for everyone I dropped from my life, apologized for ending things so abruptly, and explained to them why I did it. Now, I still firmly believe that some of these people were dropped for good reason, but I felt that, as one human being to another, they deserved an explanation at least. So that's what I gave them. I often write about how short life can be and a second chance should not be something that you wait on until you're nearing the end of your life. I may die next week and I don't want to leave this earth without doing the best I can to right my wrongs.

By the way, the man eventually did find his teacher and reconciled with him. Cheers all around. :)