My favorite Tarot card is the Tower, specifically from the Aleister Crowley Deck. It always has been for many reasons. One, it’s about the total destruction of old beliefs. Two, it has fire, which I consider my personal element–all my tats have fire in them, or the representation thereof. The picture to the right is of the Rider-Waite deck, which is not one of my favorite decks–but the picture is free domain.
There was a period of time where I drew the Tower every time I did a reading. I considered getting it for my last tattoo. I reluctantly decided against it because while I really resonate with the destruction theme, ultimately, it’s not a mesasge I want permanently inked on my body.
Slight digression: My last tattoo will be of a phoenix with the face and body of an Asian woman rising out of smoldering ashes (yes, there will be flames somewhere in the tat). It will be on my left hip/thigh/rib cage. I will track down Ben, my tattoo artist (he no longer works at The Ink Lab) because he is the best, bar none.
Ok. Back to complete destruction–which is where I’m at right now. I am in the midst of scrapping thirty-eight years of plans, beliefs, behaviors, ideas, and other such shit. It’s scary as hell because so much of what I base my persona on has to go. For my entire lifetime, my core belief has been that I am a detriment to the world, that I would be better off dead, that I was a waste of space, that I was unlovable, etc. I would make choices that reinforced these negative beliefs, and then I would withdraw even further.
It’s hard for me not look at the lost fifteen years because there are no do-overs in real life. My therapist had a great point, though. She said, “If you keep looking back and not doing anything to change your future, you will be sitting here ten years from now regretting the loss of twenty-five years.”
Damn it. I hate when she fucking says things like that because she’s right. Damn her. She’s also right when she brushes aside the zillion philosophical questions I pose to her. See, because I have a high intellect, I am able to use my brains to avoid actually doing what needs to be done.
So. Short, sweet, and to the point.
Writing fiction nourishes me. I love blogging (y’all know that), but the creativity of my fiction really sustains my soul. That is number one on my priority list.
Two, getting healthy. I have let my eating habits slide over the past few years, and I have reached the point where I am conscious of how much I dislike the way I feel–and, to be honest, look. I know what I need to do; I just have to fucking do it.
Three, dating. I hate it, and I am really bad at it, but I want to see if I can actually do the dating thing without getting weird about it. I have never been comfortable with getting to know people in real life, so it’s about time I learned how. Especially as it’s a tad bit easier to initiate the sex if I actually know someone’s name. On second thought, no it’s not, but it might make for a more satisfying connection.
Before that, though, I am contemplating moving to my favorite city in the United States–New York. I hate crowds, and I hate noise, but I love New York. Go figure. I’ve only been there once, but we were simpatico from the very start. There is a feeling in the air that just resonates inside of me. I felt alive as I walked the streets of Little Italy, in the Smithsonian, in Central Park, down Broadway. I didn’t care much for the Bay Area, but I got the same warm accepting feeling as I walked down the streets of El Cerrito. Of course, that could be because I was getting constantly hit on, but whatever. It was nice not to be looked at as some kind of–ok, not going to use that word. Oddity. Some kind of oddity.
It’s not just about race, even though that plays some part, obviously. It’s about a vibe, a feeling, a diversity that goes deeper than skin. There is a sense that I can just be in New York. I mean, there are so many different types of people there; I am bound to find a couple hundred like me.
And to a complete one-eighty, I have to acknowledge the charisma I possess. It’s something I’ve fought all my life, but I have to admit (listen to me. I’m saying it like it’s a bad thing) that people are drawn to me like moths to a flame. I’ve tried to deny it for most of my life, but I cannot any longer. One thing about the internet is that you can walk into any forum and get an immediate sense of how the culture of that particular forum works. Looks don’t matter. Clothes don’t matter. The only thing that matters is what you say and how you say it.
What I have noticed is that when I choose to participate in a forum (which isn’t that often. I’d rather observe than participate), I invariably attract responses. Sometimes, it’s because I’m one of the few females on the board, like with UniWatch. Many times, initially, it’s because of my handle. I have used a variant of asiangrrl since I first started visiting the interwebz, and it’s quite the conversation starter–for better and for worse.
It makes me uncomfortable to admit that I can easily engage people like that. Over at BJ, I hold down the nightshift with a few other people, and there is a lot of attention directed my way. In the past, I would have demurred, denied, and denounced any such idea. I would have been almost offended by the idea. Why? I could spout a dozen reasons, but the bottom line is, if I accept that others are eager to talk to me, then I have to discard so many of my preconceived notions about myself.
That’s a daunting task. “What I say doesn’t matter.” “Buzz! Wrong answer, thanks for playing!” “Nobody cares if I die.” “Ehhhh! Try again!” “I am disgusting.” “Hahahahahahah, yeah, no.” When the resounding answer is, “You’re fucking wrong, Hong,” it’s hard to ignore.
I don’t know why, exactly, it’s easier for me to accept the negative things about myself than it is for me to accept the positive. It almost hurts for me to admit something good about myself except for my brains and my humor. I think it’s because once I admit I do have worth and value and all that touchy-feely shit, I actually have to do something about it instead of just languish on my fainting couch, swaining around bemoaning how delicate I am.
This brings me to my biggest fear of all, but I am exhausted so I’m calling it a night. I will continue in the next entry.