The technical definition is as follows:

adjective – 1. enduring injury, trouble, or provocation long and patiently.

I know a lot of people who suffer a long time with their burdens. They don’t particularly wish to change, even if they have the time and means. They are content to stay where they are and never change a thing. I used to be that way. I endure only because in order to change the way I want my life to be, it will cost me money. The change I want to happen is to take myself completely out of my comfort zone and start a new life in a new town. Alas, no money. I’m not a fool.

I suppose long-suffering could be applied to people who aren’t selfish enough to care about themselves. They care too much about how other people will react to their path in life that they don’t do a thing, even if they’re supremely unhappy. I see this a lot in families. Unfortunately, when you become a mother or a father, you can’t be selfish anymore.

Anything. I will not get so shitfaced that I have to check my phone to see the improprieties of the night before. I will not forget the hardships that I went through growing up to become the woman that I am today. I will not forget the men and women in the military who make sacrifices everyday so that I can have the life that I have. I will not forget about the future, and how scared I am of it, but how excited I am to see what will happen before I died. I will not forget what it means to remember.

Funny you should ask! I exercised for the first time in the new year. Snerk.

I was jumpy on the way home from work yesterday. It was the combined cocktail of happiness at getting through my day, and the Rock Star I had for breakfast, and the awesome music I listen to on the way home. Instead of eating and passing out like I usually do, I changed into my workout clothes and did my thang on Wii Fit Plus.

It had been well over 42 days since I exercised. I let the holiday blues get the best of me. I punished myself by going a full hour though. I’m used to doing the Wii Fit routines 3 at a time, but not going any more than 30-35 minutes a session. I played a few of the balance games for 30 minutes, then went another 30 using the Wii Fit routines.

I slept like a baby though. No dreams, but all the way through the night. Pretty good. I woke up today and I was slightly irritable, but it eventually went away when I finally kicked my brain into “work” mode about 2 hours into my shift, haha. Shh, don’t tell anyone. I came home, and went another full hour. Yeah, I was dying halfway through, but I did it! My reward? Something I can’t mention in all seriousness. But it was a bodily reaction to the two continuous days of heavy duty exercise, if ya get me.

However, I feel amazing. I can feel the start of a six pack! That’s bananas. I’ve never had one. I was a skinny Minnie when I was a kid, but puberty did me no favors by filling out my curves. Thighs from hell, flabby arms. Gonna keep plugging away and see how well I can get this ol’ lady body of mine into shape!

Is this a trick question? Does the folder titled “my eBooks” mean anything to you? No? Let me explain…

As of right now, I have 18 works-in-progress in that folder on my desktop: a list of articles I want to write, my Great American Fantasy Novel, short stories, scenes for short stories, the eBook of poetry I want to package for Amazon, and even film treatments. It’s kind of ridiculous. I quite honestly could get a foot in the door somewhere by releasing a few of the shorts for publication, but I can’t be arsed to do the legwork. I am also deathly afraid of the rejection, and for letting a passion be my career. I am afraid to put my eggs into one basket, as they say. If I fail at being a writer, I might as well wither away and die. By keeping writing strictly as a hobby that may or may not pay, the pressure is off.

On the flip side, if it’s something I can procrastinate on, I am more than happy to leave it unfinished until the last absolute moment.

At work, we have a monthly project, where we update venues that were assigned to us that month in a communal database. I literally did everything in the first two weeks. All I needed to have done was my supervisors take a look and sign off on it. It is due on the last day of the month, but did I tell them? No, because my perfectionist side told the practical side not to say anything, that I would step back and realize MORE could be done. I ended up finding two or three things that delayed me further because of my own internal audit.

In school, I was the same way. I would wait until maybe two days before an essay is due, get all my thoughts out on paper, save it and move on. The next day, I would edit the inevitable stream of consciousness that was the previous day’s output, and finally come up with something that I would feel comfortable enough to be graded on. I’ve pulled out so many amazing essays that way. It almost forces me to be creative and kind of go crazy with my thoughts. That’s why I love that my degree is in English. All you have to do is engage the material, whether you agree with it or not. Debate the shit out of it was my philosophy, and it was a very good rule of thumb, as antiquated and misogynist as that term really is.

I honestly don’t have the attention span to read a book all the way through. I know, I have a degree in English literature. Unfortunately, embracing the so-called multipotentialite aspect of myself (before I even knew such a term existed) has changed the way I read, period.

Sitting still is an impossibility to me. Actually, it always has been, even when I was a kid. I don’t watch a lot of TV, because it means I’m not moving. I’ll eat in front of my TV, do my nails, play on my iPhone. The only time I’m not doing an activity is when I am curled up under my covers and taking a nap. Even when I do something as simple as walking, some part of my body – whether it’s my head, my hands or my legs – is actually dancing to the music in my head, or the music on my Heartbeats. While I am not particularly a party animal, I get cabin fever if I stay in my house for too long. I’ll find an excuse to leave my house for any reason. I always feel like there’s something to be done. When I’m at work, I am constantly straightening things up, fixing things that have already been fixed, triple-checking to make sure my desk is stocked properly. It’s that I can’t leave things well enough alone. I’m restless to a fault. I’ll start something, get 99% done, and walk away. But when the deadline looms, I force myself to finish it.

I have walked away from books for years, left it sitting on my shelf, turned around and devoured it in a day or two. For some reason I am possessed at that exact moment to find out how it ends. It took me YEARS to even crack open “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.” I read the book in a week before I went to see Part 1 in the theater. I saw Part 2 with my best friends a few months later. It was more of a decisive fangirl stand: by reading the final book, it would mean the series was over. I couldn’t justify not reading it, especially since the movie series was ending.

In my past life, I had a casual blog where I poured out all of my feelings. One of them was a recurring location in my dreams. It was my maternal grandparents’ house at 34353 Corum Ct, Union City, CA. No matter the context of the dream, if it needed a home that I lived in, my subconscious automatically put it as that one.

A lot happened in that house. Perhaps that’s why my subconscious assigned such importance to it. Both Lola Purita and Lolo Gemmo spent their last years there. Pretty much all the family holidays, reunions, birthday parties, etc. on that side of the family were held there. It was nicknamed Boni Avenue, which was the street they lived on in Manila.

I didn’t know this until I was a teenager, but if it hadn’t been for my mom and dad (who were by far the most financially comfortable in the 70s out of all of my mom’s siblings, as my dad was in the Navy). It seems like no one ever really acknowledges it because everyone knew Grandpa didn’t really like Mom. She always fought for his love and approval, but she said it was like getting blood from a stone.

I always felt my house at 1728 Chesapeake Ave, Modesto, CA was my castle. I lived in a bad neighborhood. It was the southside of Modesto, so when people asked you where you lived, you proudly said “southside” because you didn’t know any better. You were judged on where you lived. Despite the connotations of living in the southside, I always felt safe there. Maybe because of my dad, the house alarm, and my dog. I’m glad we didn’t move around so much. I don’t think my anxiety could’ve handled it.

The Chesapeake house was my true childhood home. Just as many good and bad memories were created there as Boni Ave. We had the biggest yard in the whole neighborhood, which is why our realtor chose it for us. He was my little brother’s ninong (godfather), and chose it especially for us. I still can’t quite figure out why my dreams assign more importance to Boni Ave. I’m sure there’s something deep about it, but I don’t really look into it. I know in my heart I had two childhood homes: Boni Ave and Chesapeake. End of line.

Obviously I live in Las Vegas now, and it’s where I lay my head, but it’s never really felt like home to me. I’ve been here 8 years but there is a very thin string that is pulling me back to California. Not necessarily Modesto because there isn’t anything for me there. But maybe the Bay Area, or even Southern California. I always thought I’d end up there.

There’s still time, wish me luck!

The first teacher I remember who meant a lot to me was Mrs. K from fourth grade. She had curly auburn hair that she wore bushy, and she was so kind and patient with everyone.

I was the only one who knew the answers and of course she’d call on me all the time. The other kids hated when she chose me, but they were so busy being cool, none of them realized that all of the answers were right there on the page. I didn’t let peer pressure or those bastards cruel taunts of “schoolgirl” haunt my ears for long. As long as Mrs. K picked me, all was right in my world.

I remember winning a class competition where we could switch places with her, and guess who won? THIS GUY. She wrote in my journal (since we had to keep one everyday) that she would vote for me if I ever ran for president. I had been bragging for ages that I was going to be the first woman president. Pretty lofty for a schoolgirl, haha.

Mom asked me if I wanted to give her something for Christmas – something I had never done for a teacher before or after – and we gave her a little Christmas wreath brooch at our classroom’s Christmas party. She loved it, and wore it when it matched her outfit. I guess I had babbled on about how cool she was, and Mom had taken notice. I Googled her just now, and she’s still there! Fourth grade, red track, Mrs. Dorothy Kosiewicz, Fairview Elementary, Modesto, CA.

What a trip!

I absolutely do. What is life but for fleeting moments of beauty through the monotony? I also believe that love at first sight works both ways. If it’s not there, it’s not quite right.

I’ll be honest, I think it’s only ever legitimately happened to me once. It happened at work a few months ago. I was wearing my generic monkey suit, nametag on and everything. It was checkout time, so people were all over the place.

A gentleman came up to me at our desk in the lobby, and asked where to print boarding passes. I treated like him like all of our other guests who inquire about such things. I politely went through the spiel: I needed to see his photo I.D. and his confirmation number, and I could certainly do it for him.

About fifteen seconds later, I am finally able to slow my brain down and take the beautiful creature in. It was like Einstein’s theory of relativity:

“Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT’S relativity.”

I’m sure the quote is ancedotal and can’t be backed up, but you know what I mean.

He was a few inches taller than me, dressed nicely, light-skinned Asian, from Virginia. In moments, I was tongue tied. He had the most unusual name: Lucien Wong. Or Wang. I just needed to confirm his face and make sure the name matched the airline reservation. My short-term memory short-circuited for sure.

I melted. I lost all control over my faculties. He was in a hurry, and of course, as it often does, my computer took forever to kick over to the print boarding pass screen. Eventually the computer simply died and refused to acknowledge me at all. The only solutions when this happens is for him to do it himself at our self-service kiosks down the hall from our desk, or to go to the airport.

I felt a stab in my heart sending him away, not only because my computer failed me but because I felt like that was the only time I would ever see him. It was a good thing there wasn’t a line behind him, because let me tell you, I was twitterpated for days after. I had never felt that way about anyone before. I interact with hundreds, if not thousands of people a day, a week, in a month at my job.

So, yes, I believe in love at first sight. Absolutely, with all certainty and in every definition of every language every spoken.