Since it's women's history month, I had to do a very loud shout out to my mother who just received a long overdue promotion! What I love? 1) She was so excited about getting her own office. ("I get a door!") and 2) Mama's got a government job in the Department of Social Services in Santa Barbara. Who says that there aren't government employees who don't work for the people?
Initially studying to be a nurse my mother had to drop out of college to travel with my daddy around the world. Sound romantic? It really was. But relocation didn't stop her, oh no. My mother was able to attend classes at a small business college and soon made her name as an accountant. (Typical Filipino, for real.) I remember when I was in grade school she worked two jobs and hustled long enough to buy herself a Lexus.
But it doesn't stop there. My mother's success is a large inspiration when it comes to dreaming my own dreams. Not only has she successfully put two strong Filipino women through college (and about to graduate a little Filipino man) but she's got everything she wants in life, at least from what I can see. Including that new Coach bag. I know that my father's support was integral to the process and I love his story of success equally. But because she is an Alpha and because she is a Female... I want to holler at the First Woman in my life. <3
Usually, I don't like to create wishlists for myself when the holidays come around. Most years, I don't think I deserve half of what I get . . . but this year, Santa, I've been working really hard to be a good girl. I don't shoplift (as much as I used to). I no longer lie to my parents. I haven't cheated on any tests, played hooky from work, and I try every day to think positively about my life and to give back to the community that so generously gave to me. I check myself with the quickness when I find myself judging others and try to bestow the utmost patience upon those beezies and suckas who so regularly infiltrate my days and nights. I am aware of my impact on the environment and am trying my hardest to do my part to help by recycling and cutting water usage as much as possible (but, Santa, I can't give up my bi-weekly soaks!).
That being said, dear Santa, all I am asking for is lower level tickets to see the Golden State Warriors play. I know that they aren't doing so well this season, but I do believe that if I could just get out to Oracle at least once... my love and support will make a difference. Lord knows they need a little help.
That's it, Santa. Any game and any seat will do, but if I could see Steve Nash, Monta Ellis and/or Baron Davis from a lower level perspective, I will be eternally grateful to you and every other higher power that exists to make people happy this time of year.
It's funny when I think about what life was like for me 3 years ago... This isn't a long time ago, but who and where I am now is so far removed from who and where I was then that it feels like I've been reborn. Me at 21- taking Jack Daniels shot after shot and getting kicked out of clubs for throwing up in the bathroom. I thought I was the shit, barking orders at people who loved me because I was mad with control. At 21, I thought I knew about love. I'd experienced the romance of all romance and had boyfriends lie to and berate me. And, at 21, I thought that love equated to sex, love, money and drugs. If I were the same person that I was at 21 years old, I would be married to a Romanian man old enough to be my uncle and living in a one bedroom apartment in Eastern Europe with two children and no recollection of the English language or my Filipino roots.
But I regress into the past when I should focus on the present and dream about the future. That was three years ago and, as my Magic Trick pointed out, I have come full circle. I still have a lot of development left, don't get me wrong, but the progress has been significant. My co-dependancy issues have been stifled and reborn as an unwillingess to surrender my independance. This has lead to me to push people away, allowing space and time to create long gaps in my relationships. My defense is inpenetrable even though I have come across men (or rather boys) who come so close to meeting my standards. This is the answer to those who have asked me, "Why don't you have a boyfriend?" Because I am deathly afraid of what a boyfriend might do to me and because I have impossibly high standards.
In terms of love and romance, I am now willing to put down my guard for a moment. I am stepping out of my box little by little to allow another person in. Fuck it, I may not be a cupcaker, but I cannot deny the excessive lover in me. She's waiting to be unleashed.
Last Friday, my family at Walden House blessed me with a heartfelt send-off on my last day of work. Its true that one will never see the fruits of his/her labor until the very end. My coworkers and clients let me know that I changed their lives, even if only a little bit, even if only with a smile. It was a heartbreak like I had never known before. By the end of the meeting, I found myself in tears and I realized that even though I'm not meant to work at Walden House, I am meant to be there.
My career has taken a step forward and I anticipate a host of new personalities in my life, whether it be elders in long black robes sitting in judge's chambers or young women on the street who find themselves victims of circumstance. I aim to network and promote myself, to flirt with everyone in order to move ahead, and, most importantly, I will never forget where I have come from.
So tonight I fall asleep looking forward to starting the first day of the rest of my life. Game face, on.
When I first moved to the Bay Area my first dance teacher was Allan Frias, who has now become one of my living heroes. You may remember him from the first season of So You Think You Can Dance, breaking it down as Big Papa. While he didn't win the competition, he made a big impact just by making it on to the show. If you've ever seen him, you'll notice that he is a HUSKY fella. If you've ever seen him dance, you'll notice that his size doesn't stop him from dropping down and breaking a motherfucker off.
After a few years, I was able to begin a work-exchange program at Dance Mission on Tuesday nights and got to watch Allan's Advanced class do their thing. His choreography always amazed me as it is laced with subtle sexuality and powerful eight counts that draw inspiration from West Indian dance forms. While I idolize Allan, it is his Sucker Free, real ass human side that makes me love him all the more. He sweats like a madman when he dances; he sports Warrior's paraphernalia; and he allows little kids to sit in on his classes every once in a while, free of charge. One night as I was sitting in the back room counting the night's revenue the familiar tickle of California herb came floating in from the window. I turned around and there was Allan, sitting on the fire escape smoking a blunt making choreography in his head. How could I not fall in love with the man?? He is such a celebrity to me that every time we run into each other, I gush as if he were Justin Timberlake.
Tonight was the first night I've been to one of Allan's classes in ages and, like always, homeboy spouted some knowledge that reminded me why I love him (and dancing) so much.
-----
"How do you bump your booty? Use your tailbone. The PADOW is all there."
"I don't care how big you are, you can get down on your hands. I'm bigger than all of you motherfuckers, you're all smaller than me and I can fucking do it. You can do it!!"
"Dance is all about confidence. Trust, cause ain't nobody watching you anyway. Do whatever the fuck you do, but do it confidently."
"Open your pussy, it's okay! Dance is sexual. If you can dance, then you can fuck. It's all about being able to catch the rhythm."
"People often ask me why I became an escort. They seemed to think that someone forced me into it, or that I am desperate for money. Many people look down at being an escort as something that is both illegal and immoral, I happen not to agree. A woman should become an escort if she thinks that is what she would like to do.
There are two main reasons girls become escorts. Number one, I think is the money. You can make a great deal of money, you can make a salary that a doctor or lawyer would in as less as 10 hours a week. Sounds like a get rich scheme, its not. The other is free time. Now that you have lots of money, you will have time to spend it, lots and lots of time".
The other day I told my boy (and future bodyguard) Nicholas that I didn't want to dance for the money.
"No, I just want to perform on stage." Obviously, that was a half truth.
A part of me is hungry for money, as shameful and capitalistic as that may sound. I just think of it in terms of business, not the act of sex or the emotion of lust. When I dance, I would be getting paid for a service that I provide. It would be money earned not given. My money spent the way I decide.
When I was young I spent hours dreaming about romance. Drawing inspiration from TV shows like Dawson's Creek (Joey & Pacey), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Buffy & Angel!!!), and the classic one season masterpiece of teenage angst: My So-Called Life (Angela and *sigh* Jordan Catalano), I was able to create storyboards of drama and fantasy. A True Pisces, I spent late night hours dreaming up Disney-like movies that I played over and over in my mind.
That being said... I'm looking for romance in my relationships. Not commitment or financial stability or even sexual satisfaction. Yes, I enjoy the mindfuck and crackin' jokes, but what makes a friendship different from a RELATIONship... is it not the romance? Now that I'm older and have experienced both good and bad romances, I have a pretty good idea of the kind of man who would play the starring role in my romance to end all romances.
Enjoy, dear readers, the words of 6 women that have achieved my dream and have manifested my perfect romance in lyric form.
#1 Soldier - Destiny's Child
"A rude boy that's good to me, street credibility If his status ain't hood, I ain't checkin' on him Better be street if you lookin' at me."
Yes, yes, he will be the cliche bad boy. I can't help it! I'm attracted to hoodstars in Nikes and not preppies in khakis!! "I tried that good boy game but the doughboy's turnin' me on." (I Can't Leave 'Em Alone, Ciara) And rap sheets are strangely attractive me. I can't explain this one, ladies. Just trust that I'm smart enough not to get into more drama than I can handle.
#2 Whatta Man - Salt N Pepa feat En Vogue
"Never disrespectful cause his mama taught him that."
He will love his mother. Mama's boys are taught how to respect, love, and fear women and will thus, be respectful, loving and fearful of you. =) I just pray that his mother doesn't have a complex when it comes to her son and she'll be able to let him go peacefully. Don't worry, mothers... I'm a good girl!
#3 Infatuation - Christina Aguilera
"Mama used to warn me not to rush love with another She said, 'I'm not tryin to lecture I just care about my daughter' 'Ay Mama, you seem to forget I never will let a man control my emotions' But when he smiles I feel like a little child and when he says 'I am full blood boricua' Reads the tattoo on his arm."
The entire song is a play by play. It will be love at first sight, fa sho, because i believe that the intensity of attraction plays a big role in romance. Though, right now the "boricua" is replaced by "filipino." For some reason I am in love with my Filipino brothers right now. Especially the ones that remind me of my father (but not in an uncomfortable way) and especially the ones that have interesting ink. This dialoge is also exactly what my mother tells me every time I talk about boys.
#4 Love Rain - Jill Scott f/ Mos Def
"He was brown, deep Said he wanted to talk about my mission Listen to my past lives (Word?) Took me on long walks to places where butterflies rest easy Talked about Moses and Mumia Reparations, blue colors, memories of shell topped adidas He was fresh, like summer peaches Sweet on my mind like block parties and penny candy Us was nice and warm, no jacket, no umbrella, just warm At night we would watch the stars And he would physically give me each and every one I felt like cayenne pepper,red,hot,spicy I felt Dizzy, Sonya, heaven, and Miles between my thighs Better than love,we made delicious He me had,had me he He made me tongue tied I could hear his rhythm in my thoughts I was his sharp, his horn section His boom and his bip And he was my love."
I had to put the entire first verse because it rings true. A romance should always include exchanges of passionate thought, belief, and experience or what I like to call mindfucking. A man who has no passion in other areas of life other than relationships is dull, boring, and tends to become a little too codependant for my taste. You can recognize a man who has passion by his ability to recognize your own. Mos Def does a poetic job at his reply so check his lyrics if you have time. Also, anything that can be described as "delicious" has got to be romantic.
#5 Underneath Your Clothes - Shakira
"All the things I deserve for being such a good girl."
All good things are worth the wait and hard work, right? Nothing comes easy or quickly. And I believe that one day, I'm going to get the man I deserve. Never lose faith, hopeless romantics... dreams come true everyday!
Micaya is an old dance instructor of mine from Dance Mission Theater in San Francisco. She taught me that one can NEVER be too old to dance, to always bend my knees, to NEVER act like a diva ("Leave your ego at the door and learn"), and that "the beat is God." I take her words to heart as I continue my journey to the dream.
I also watch these videos to remind myself that I have to be disciplined in my study so that I don't end up looking like these girls....
You know how some people tell you not to touch a knife or a gun until you fully comprehend the power that it holds? I shall not get up on stage until I've got enough power, confidence, and bravada to work it like a boss.
I love how she made the performance into a little vignette. Slash, I've seen the outfits that Agent Provaceteur sells and holy shit. What I would give to dance in one of those outfits.... Not really practical for a pole dance, but hey a dancer doesn't have to twirl the whole time does she? Burlesque strip teases look like hella fun.
Seeing Ground Zero on September 11, 2008, sending out a prayer at St. Patrick's Cathedral, and getting a free Jazz show at City Hall Square: Priceless.
One hour bike ride through Central Park for two: $20.
Riding through Central Park in the rain: Priceless.
Late night cab ride from Brooklyn to Jamaica then ANOTHER cab ride from Jamaica to Great Neck: $70
Getting a private dance lesson from a self proclaimed "hoodrat" from Barbados: Priceless.
Admission for one student to the Museum of Sex: $8.25
Seeing a turtle masturbate with a staircase: Priceless.
One paperback copy of The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene: $18
Having 5 hours of quiet on the flight home to just read: Priceless.
Missing 6 days of paid work: $692.16
Spending 10 days in New York City with my best friend: Priceless.
Researching pole technique, possible outfits, and the vibe of a true Gentleman's Club.
While it was a hands-on experience, I was surprised that the security guards weren't really doing shit. Up in the VIP room my girl was able to snatch a fistful of ones that were flying in the air. If I was dancing in the VIP room I would get a freakin' bodyguard or something. That way someone's watching out for me and my money at all times.
As demeaning or immoral as the whole occupation sounds, I think that some of the dancers really find their job fulfilling. To put it bluntly, some of us females are just freaky like that. At one point I was watching someone get a lap dance near my table. I immediately made eye contact with the guy and, without taking his eyes off me, he spanked the dancer's ass on both cheeks! I'm talking bare assed discpline. It was the hottest thing I had ever seen.
There was a good population of females in attendance that night too. On the way to our table, I was knocked over by a group of huge black women trying to get to the stage so that they could tip their favorite dancer. Speaking of the dancers...
The dancers were just how I like them - round, meaty, and classy. (With the exception of those dancers who opted to wear nipple tassels. They looked gaudy.) My favorite dancer wore a purple leotard that was ripped up in strategic places. It left something to the imagination as she danced and was easy to take off once it came time to strip. Homegirl had an ass so fat you could see it from the front. There was very little pole dancing, unfortunately. It was Stripper Idol Thursday aka Amateur Night and I wanted to see what a novice pole dancer looked like on stage. One dancer held herself vertically upside down and was able to slap her thighs together mid air!! I noticed that the poles on stage were a lot higher than my current ceiling so I'm probably going to have to start with twirls and save the Cirque du Soleil acrobatics for later. Gives me time to build muscle. =)
And finally, Sin City was also the ONLY spot I hit up in New York City that had good-looking men. Maybe I'm attracted to well-dressed men with money or maybe the Bronx just got the swag that I like... I don't know. I would've given some of those fellas private dances any day of the week. Holler.
Nervous, yes, because I'm an East Coast first-timer.
Excited enough to bring 5 pairs of shoes, three of them stilettoes. I gotta knock them Brooklyn boys dead, ya dig? Bring a little West Coast swag.
Prepared to never come back because I fall in love with Big City Lights so easily.
--- Isn't it beautiful? It's not mine, but by the time I hit quarter century, it will be.
For the past year I have been harboring dreams of becoming a stripper. Well, maybe not a stripper . . . shall we say an exotic dancer? A burlesque performer? A champion pole dancer?
Hate on me all you want. My sense of self, while not entirely complete, has progressed from that timid middle school girl that hid behind oversized jackets that covered my frame to a slightly Narcissitic young woman sporting cut-off wife beaters and a pair of killer stilettoes (see above).
I do not sing. I do not rap. I do not play instruments. And I am certainly no model. This I have come to accept over the years. But there is one dream that I am not going to let go unlived. This is my new obsession, my objective: performing on a titanium pole in stripper shoes. Again, hate on me all you want. Let society's stigma of half-naked dancing influence your judgments. I don't give a fuck. This is my dream, not yours. And my dream will not serve to objectify me.
That being said... my next big purchase (after, of course, the canvas art of Mos Def for my apartment) is going to be a removable dance pole and a set of mirrors for my living room walls. Now, I don't plan on making any money off of this dream. (Unless my boy Mac Boo makes it as a rap superstar and hires me to be backgroud eyecandy. Love ya, Boo!) I plan on living my dream in private for the sole purpose of personal self-development. I love to dance. I love to be sexy. I love when people watch me do both. Like I said, narcissitic. Not to say that I'll take my dream to the streets and offer it up to casual passersby or post performances on youtube for all to see. I wouldn't subject innocent bystanders to that. Oh no, this will be the special treat. The icing on my future husband's cupcake. Pa-dow! Some women can bake pies, others hem slacks. I'll be the only wifey on the block who can twirl. I've already got my first song picked out: In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins... that drum rift in the middle of the song is just sessy.
But, more important than whoever my Prince Charming may be... is the fact that when I picture that beautiful pole in the middle of my kitchen... I can't help but laugh. I can't help but think of all the fun that I'll have with it. I can't help but say to myself, "eL, you're fucking awesome." My dream isn't the most practical application of my hard earned money, yes, that much I will admit. But, neither are my tattoos. I'll leave practically to my mother.
"You're gonna blog about this tomorrow morning, I bet."
----- The first thing I see when I walk into to the room is the pole. Red, lifted, inviting. I dance around the idea of jumping on that circular stage, wrapping my legs around the metal pole and doing a private dance. . . but this is a public place. And even though the security guard standing in the back of the room has already given me the thumbs up, I remain grounded. I stay in the audience with the rest of the spectators, sip on my beer and laugh at the life before me. I stopped believing in magic a long time ago, but with a Coke in his hand and a chuckle on his brow, my favorite Magic Trick restores my faith in human connection. These moments remind me that true relationships come from experiencing life. So we tap drinks and wait for the show to start.
"There's a lot of dudes here," he observes.
My eyes sweep the length of the bar and wander up the VIP stairs. Something purple catches my eye. Or was it something shiny? A beautiful ebony woman sitting alone at a table, wearing sunglasses indoors and bobbing her head steadily to the beat. She had no facial expression, but the rhythmic motion of her neck spoke volumes. I point out her beauty to my friend and he teases me, daring me to tell her she's beautiful.
"Or buy her a drink," he says. In an instant I understand what it's like to be a man looking at a woman. It takes a good amount of courage to approach a beautiful stranger. It takes self-confidence to be able to verbalize a thought to someone you barely even know but to whom you are undeniably attracted. It is definitely not so easy for you boys.
"Guys just gravitate toward you," he explains. "You don't even have to get up for someone to come and talk to you. Girl, you've got it easy."
I nod my head even though the situation only happens every once in a blue moon. It is easier for girls because it's not so often that we, as women, feel the need to actively search for a dance partner. All we need to do is get on the dancefloor and the prospects come in droves.
Fast forward half an hour later, San Quinn is on stage and I am sitting up against the wall swaying side to side. This is my first live contact with the artist, he introduces himself as a neighbor from the other side of the hill, "but I got love for Pacifica too." This is the place it all began.
Then San Quinn says the thing that I've been waiting the whole night to hear.
"All right, I know there are some beautiful ladies in the house tonight and I want to invite you all to come up here with me. We're going to have a little showdown. Whoever can break it down the best, I will buy you a drink."
After 5 live shows in the past 3 weeks, I finally got my chance. At first I was hesitant, shy at the idea of getting up on stage. I mean, I wasn't even wearing my dancing shoes! Not to mention the fact that I would be up on stage with women in hootchie freak-um dresses getting paid to shake their asses. I had to collect myself. Did I want to put myself out there like that? Am I that kind of girl to just "break it down" for a free drink? So I ran to my security guard to ask for guidance and without even a second thought, he takes my hand and leads me past the dancefloor and practically throws me onto the stage. I am the first one up. Looking out at the audience below me, I start to feel a rush that I hadn't felt since I was a child. The bright lights and buzz of an almost invisible crowd send electricity up and down my body. I kick off my shoes and throw them to the back of the stage. By this time, I am relieved to find a bevy of women surrounding me, I am no longer the only one.
I find the perfect escape in a white girl wearing a cast. Pointing to her disability, I yell into the crowd, "Homegirl's got a cast on! She should win!" Slowly, as San Quin begins the next song, I inch my way so that the girl with the cast is directly between me and the audience. I am still dancing, no doubt, but this way I feel I cannot be seen. Things are going swimmingly, swaying my hips and making use of my quiet swag, until out of nowhere San Quinn reaches for my hand and pulls me center stage. Fuck, I didn't even think he was looking. But there I am, eye to eye to the Mighty as he's in my face - eight bars dripping from his lips.
Then, here goes the hook followed by the verse and no longer am I worried about what people are thinking cause I got San Quinn at my feet.
"Let me see you just wind it up, wind it up, wind it up... Let it go!!
The way you're moving, cutie, you're cute too
All eyes on you, all men salute you
Rock it if it's positive,
Tonight you're looking confident
I wanna touch, I wanna clutch
Take it as a compliment.
You got that heat girl
You got that fire
You the life of the party girl
I can't deny it."
-Wind It Up, San Quinn
At the end of the song, I snap out of a trance. I revert back to the nerdy Asian girl who just came for the music and rush off stage. I never got my drink from San Quinn but the dance was enough. Holllllllerrr!!
The12thLetter is a focus primarily on two of my dialectial passions: crime/punishment and power/struggle. Sprinkled with music, lyrics and the Filipino culture, its a tribute to my journey coming up in San Francisco. Most of what you'll read are snippets of my experiences on the City's streets and excerpts focused on criminal justice related issues.
Ask not why the Universe directed me down this path.
From My Head
The icon of a Pisces is two fish, each swimming in opposite directions. They symbolize the dual nature of a Pisces.
This blog showcases my rougher personality, a place where I am less inclined to be docile and more in touch with reality.
