Sometimes I wish I can have as much energy as you.  I don’t know if it’s insecurity or a need to be liked, but you haven’t stopped talking since you got to the office.  Your energy is great for the office, we need folks like you.  But it can very distracting.  I don’t process outloud.  I like to work in silence, which is ironic to me because I know as a kid my teachers had issues with me talking too much.

I’m trying hard to like you.  You are falling into the category of folks where I like you initially, but then I get to know you more and you get really really annoying.  I don’t know if it’s my trusting nature, but this tends to happen a lot.

I don’t know if it’s a generational thing.  A millineal phenomenon, college students like you, all follow this pattern.  The need to incessantly talk about themselves to prove their own importance to the world.  It’s really nothing new.  While the academics categorize this phenomenon to people born after 1983, I think folks born before that year did the same thing, just in silence.

I know you have amazing potential.  I just need to find the courage to show you how to utilize the big energy that surrounds you.  I need to learn how to tune out your banter and pick out the meaning in your words.  It’s there, somewhere.

There’s a million thoughts running through my mind.  My own frustration in figuring out what I need to do for my sanity gets clouded with the hulabaloo of the office.  I don’t know how I was ever able to get things done in my previous positions.  I somehow was able to do it, but the culture here is so different. 

i have more to say, but I just can’t find the words.  I’ll get back to this later.

L

I write to you because I am avoiding work that I should be doing.  It’s my way of procrastinating, which if you read this and knew this, you’d get mad at me.  But not really mad, more like Mama mad.  Mad because you want me to succeed & you know that procrastinating isn’t necessarily going to lead to success.

But Mama, I know you tried to hide it, but you used to procrastinate a lot too.  You make fun of me for having so many projects, crafts, books to read, involvements, pretty much everything else under the sun so as to not clean my room.  But Mama, I learned it from you.

I feared you as child because I loved you too much.  You miraculously cooked meals on Sundays that would last us to Weds and by Thursday night it was time for El Pollo Loco or Pizza Hut.  Dinner with the family was a staple, even when you and Papa worked 40 hours and then some to make sure we had a house over our heads, food in our bellies, and tv to numb our minds after a rough week.

Mama, you had your hobbies too.  The sewing machine, quilting books, and cross stitching materials grow dusty in our family’s spare bedroom, which you called the library.  I never understood that since there was only one tall bookshelf in the room.  With our family albums on one shelf, your accounting books on another, and Papa’s mystery novels crammed somewhere in between.  Saturday mornings and afternoons were left for hobbies for you, cartoons for me, and bad action movies for pops.

When you got sick it’s like our world stopped.  I know our family was strained because of the stress you were under.  Unemployment boded over your head and you tried to hold it together for us.  I got to be selfish.  Playing with my faux independence while attempting to finish a degree that sometimes you wanted more than I did.  Stress, worry, and too much bad food led to your stroke.  And when dad said you had one I didn’t want to believe him.  I didn’t think it could happen again in my lifetime.  I cried more tears than the South China Sea and the Pacific Ocean combined.  It wasn’t fair that you would share the same fate as Lola ‘Sabel.  That the queens of my family tree would suffer this way.  It wretched my mind trying to figure out ways to find myself.  I didn’t have the luxury to be faux independent any longer.  Worry plays into reality and reality doesn’t let fleets of revoluntionary fancy or whim take hold.

Now I know I didn’t become selfless over night.  I know I’m not selfless now.  I’ll admit this, greed is a vice I know I still hold.  I don’t blame you Mama for this.  In fact I don’t blame anyone.  Because what I interpret as greed, some may interpret as a hustle.  You taught me not to rely on others to bail me out Mama, even when I knew I had you at my side.  You taught me that I had to fight for myself because no one else would fight for you.  You taught me to earn what was mine and keep it close.  You taught me to be suspect of strangers, a tough lesson to learn since I have always been so trusting.  You taught me to hold what is dear to me with the utmost respect and reverence because who knows how, if, or when it will get taken away.  You taught me that life is never easy, but if I was patient, it would be spectacular.  But don’t wait too long, because sometimes you got to find it before someone else takes it.

You taught me how to laugh when it seemed like there was no joy.  You taught me how to smile through painful tears.  Mama you taught me how to live.  You still teach me something new when I see you.

And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.

L

It’s 3:34am as I start this letter. So please forgive me for my words.  I want to apologize now, at the beginning of my letter.  You see I’ve hit that wall, that state of delusion when you’ve been up too late working on one thing for over five hours, constantly trying to get that one thing right.

Yes, I’ve been working on FPAC stuff.

Vanessa Vela Lovelace, you are my hero.  You inspire me because I have no idea how you were able to do this work, day in and day out, for forever.  I don’t want to put an actual tangible timeframe on it because I really don’t know and I feel like if I try to quantify some time it will be inadequate and not do you justice.

I remember we once had a conversation about being quote,unquote “professional filipinos” and yes i know the fact that i wrote out quote, unquote and then used quotes was ridonkulous, i still wanted to write it.  It sounds nice.  It flows beautifully in my head.  Especially this late in the day.

As I was saying, before I went on my tangent about quote,unquote, this whole idea of being “professional filipinos” always freaked me out.  I related to you because I felt like you and I were both on that same page.  We didn’t want the title.  We didn’t want to have that pressure.  We didn’t want to deal with the bullshit associated with it all. But as I sit here, at my desk, in my office, in my apartment, I feel a sense of amazing accomplishment.

I feel proud of the fact that I took the leap of faith and stepped into the shoes of a “professional filipino” (shh don’t tell anyone i admitted that okay!).  It’s really hard to admit that, but it’s true.  2 years ago I made the decision to leave my then secure job with benefits and a 401k to pursue my dreams.  2 years of grad school came and went and now the economy sucks and I can’t get a job at a university.  But my 2nd love, my career mistress, came to my rescue.  Maybe not even came to my rescue, but was there all along.

This whole festival director business is a lot of pressure.  It’s hard to live up to the folks who have been here before.  I’m trying my damndest to heed your advice.  Apply what I’ve learned throughout the years.  Applied what you’ve learned through the years.  Applied what everyones suggestions were through the eons and eons of festivals.

Knowing that you are around to hear me bitch, to give me advice, to be real with me.  It’s a comfort.  Because who else can say they’ve got a goddess of a woman as their ally?  People may front and say they know someone like that, but I am lucky to know the real deal.

Yes, you are a goddess.  Your heart and soul are somewhere, weaved in the malong of the filipino american community.  bleh that sounded kitschy.  Let me try that again.  Your heart and soul are somwhere, imprinted onto the streets of LA.  okay…that was less hokey.  At least that’s what I think.  *shoulder shrug*

Who else, but a goddess, could continue to do the work you do?   Could have the amazing babies who’s smiles light up the rooms they stomp their not so little baby feet through?  Could have the presence of a lion, but the grace of a swan?  And dude, I know you may think that grace line was cockamammy, but to me it’s true.  Folks who think you don’t have grace, are morons, who are not privey to your eloquence with words, time, space, and everything in between.

As I rub the tiredness out of my eyes and try to express why you are amazing, I find myself lost.  I can’t fully explain this.  I hope you know that I appreciate you.  I hope you know that you are appreciated.  I don’t know how to say some things in person.  The emotions behind words are too much for me so instead I stand quietly on the side or talk incessantly about random shit.  Coping mechanisms that many folks use.

But yeah, you are dope.  I’ll try to relay this to you tomorrow at tuesday night, while we share a cigarette and perhaps eat one of my baby cakes.  You have to try these baby cakes.  They are technically vegan since I don’t use eggs or milk or oil to make them.  The secret is diet soda.  I know it sounds odd and gross, but it makes delicious and inexpensive and healthier cake products.  I say baby cake because I don’t like the association with the word cupcake.  It’s neither baked in a cup, nor is it a grown ass person size cake.  So I’ve coined the name baby cake.  And they are surprisingly moist, unlike some other mini cakes that we’ve had in the past.

Okay, I’m rambling more than writing.  I will sign off at 3:54am pacific standard time.

So to recap this letter, for the spoiler and such.

You are dope.

You are a goddess.

You are my hero.

Ms. Vanessa Vela Lovelace.

You are so freakin awesome my 869 word count doesn’t do you justice.

Truly,

Lainey

or lack there of…

on the car ride home i had ideas flowing through me.  i imagined that as i walked through the door i would head straight to the compter and pen some amazing letters to who knows who.  but then i stopped.  went to the bathroom.  read a little bit.  cleaned up my desk.  and then began to procrastinate on myspace, facebook, and gmail.

the ideas are still there, but now i’m too lazy to write them down.

i’m tired and bored.

damn you motivation. you aren’t doing your job.

L

You gave me quite a scare with your text.  I thought the bottom had fallen out entirely.  I know you are in a major bout of depression right now.  Words I say won’t matter because you need to mourn.  But I meant what I said in my email to you this morning. 

You will always be one of my heroes because you are brave enough to pursue your dreams. 

Not many folks can say that.  I know for a fact that I can’t.  I’m scared shitless at the fact that I’m not gainfully employed in a position that equates the extra letters that are supposed to go after my name.  And even though I know I will work with students and be quite happy doing that job.  A piece of me wants to do something else for a living.  Write, paint, craft, who knows.  But I fear that it will always be left in the hobby realm, the side realm, the 2nd business realm.

But you, you are not taking that route.  You are taking a tremendous leap of faith pursuing animating as your career goal.  And fuck.  I know you’ll make it.  It will take time, but you will.  You are one of the most talented people I know.  And I’m not paying you lip service.  You really are.  When we were kids the only thing you ever seemed to want to do was draw.  Everything you did had some kind of artistic flourish.  It’s made you who you are. 

And while you could’ve finished with a sociology degree or you could have been the greatest office manager known to the world.  You didn’t follow that map.  As I use the cliche, you paved your own path.  It’s true.  You did.  You always will.  And that it why I look up to you.

That’s why a lot of people look up to you.  Your brother, your cousins, your friends, even strangers look up to you.  People you don’t know look up to you.  Granted they may be short people, very very very short people because you are not that tall, but still, short people nonetheless look up to you.  Well…because they have to.  But damn. it.  you know what i mean. 

How can pursuing a dream be wrong?  Maybe if the dream is a heroin infused nightmare or a coke littered daydream, but that is not your dream.  It isn’t a haze of narcotics!  Yours is a real dream.  A goal oriented dream.  A dream that will get you far in life.  A beautiful reverie that can not be duplicated because only the pencil sketchings of your own hand tell the story. 

Best friend Jen.  You will make it.  There is too much passion within you for it not to happen.  And I say passion, not talent.  Because we all know how immensely talented you are.  But talent can only get you so far.  Look at my cousin Charlie.  He’s talented as fuck.  The member of the family who can wow you with his musical ability, making all us cousins angry at him for making us look bad in front of Mr. Able, our piano teacher.  The music sounded so beautiful coming from his hands, but it was an empty beauty, a hollow beauty, a perfect replication of soul without soul.

So to get to the point of my familial metaphor.  You are not a replication of soul.  You are soul.  The passion in your work bleeds soul, eminates soul, kicks soul’s ass.  You make soul hang its head in shame because of your abundance of passion. 

It’s true.  You know it.  We all know it.  Passion knows it.

You’re amazing.  Believe me.  Believe it.  I do.

L

this is going to be an awful postcard.

because it will tell you nothing of importance.

but acts a placecard for my own sanity in this writing game.

last night i finished “The Centaur.”  This is the first chatper I’ve completed since the novel writing session was put on pause.  And I say put on pause because really, it was.  There was no end.  At least not for me.  The unfinished story plays out in my mind, waiting to be penned.

Now there are certain things that need to be done. a) upload edited pieces, b) remove pieces that don’t work or redit them so they do work, c) finish remaining chapters. 

And yes, while Edren said I have all the time in the world to finish, the Virgo with Ascending Scorpio and Moon in Libra in me keep me on task.  And keep me worried.  I’m a worrier.  I’m a list maker.  I’m a ball of collective frantic thinking.

This will all get done.

it will somehow.

L

I know you are a cliche. Everyone, meaning everyone in that way where you say everyone when you have no one to put the blame on…but I digress, yes Everyone says that you are always around the corner. And in my crazy world I think that if I turn a corner there will be a physical representation of a new horizon waiting for me. The cartoon, specifically Disney, specifically Lion King version of a new horizon.

But the truth of the matter is, I live in a cliche. As cheesey as that sounds. I find it true. I’m coming to the conclusion that life is a lifetime of ridiculous cliches. Cliche 1) You never get out of the petty high school gossip bullshit. Cliche 2) You always want to have that older kid take you, the underdog kid, under his/her wing and make you a star. Cliche 3) Happily ever after is what little girls and boys aspire to. Yes I said it boys aspire to it to, that’s what Angels in the Outfield taught me, another Disney answer to questions of life.

But again I digress. Why am I writing this letter to you, New Horizon? Because I feel it. I feel it in the air. I feel your presence all around me, bleeding through my fingers in words. And because it’s the first of the month, not only is rent due, but my monthly trip to astorlogyzone.com. Now my previous history with Astrology was relegated to the Daily News and Los Angeles Times horoscope section my mother would read first. My catholic raised self did not understand why my mom read such “nonsense.” Well truth be told I think it was because my mother needed something else besides jesus and his homies to get her through the rough work week. She may not admit this to herself, strict catholic that she is, but we all need a little something else. That potential edge to get us through the day. For some folks its that toke of herb, that sip of whiskey, that call of coffee. For Mama it was reading what her Pisces forecast had in store for her.

Here’s what my forecast had for me:

Virgo Aug. 23 to Sept. 22
The new moon boosts the opportunity to find a comfortable social milieu with greater camaraderie and deeper, more heartfelt connecting. Of course, it’s all based on your willingness and efforts. Hand on doorknob. Turn. Open. Walk through. Easy as pie.

Whoa.

New Horizon, could you have hit me with a ton of bricks? I mean seriously? That’s the windfall I’ve been feeling right about now. I don’t know what kind of clarity has come with finishing grad school or simply getting to another place in life. But damn… New Horizon, you are fuckin here. And you are yelling at me. Screaming at me. Placing the prize within my reach. And by prize I mean new relationships. Or the ability to cultivate better, stronger, or deeper connections. Hot Damn. That’s what’s going on right now. And you knew it.

It is an amazing sensation. And don’t get any dirty thoughts. Although I know you know those amazing sensations are indeed amazing. There aren’t enough words to express how I feel in an awesome place. Seeing things fall into the right place. It’s like I’m playing a chess game with the scary dude from Ingmar Bergman’s film and I’m winning. And not winning because I’m Bill and/or Ted and I have beat you with my oddly californian laid back wit. No I’m winning because it’s supposed to be that way.

Dude, New Horizon. You are kicking my ass with opportunity. And I’m trying to take it. Just don’t leave me in another cliche, standing in the dust of your shadow.

K.I.T, Take Care Cause I Care, Have a great summer,

L

Hi! Long time no talk, how are you?

Okay now that I’ve gotten the initial pleasantries of letters out of the way, I want to tell you something.

I read your xanga. I think you still know this. I’ve most likely commented on one of your entries in the past. Xanga, Myspace, Facebook, these online social networks allow me to hold on to the last vestiges of friendship with folks, friends, acquaintances from another lifetime. While I know I should cut folks out of my life, curiosity gets the best of me. Simply put, I still want to know how folks are doing. I still want to feel connected to you, to them, to anyone who I once had a meaningful conversation with, shared a pint and some french fries, laughed at who knows what.

Your xanga posts worry me. Most of them revolve around your romantic relationships. When I knew you, you were attached to someone you thought you were going to marry. That person is no longer in your life and you consistently write about men who seem to treat you like you mean nothing to them in the day and something more in the evening.

Kim, you are an amazing person. I know we haven’t seen each other in a while, but I know you are amazing. You give more of yourself to your friends, but I always knew you to stand your ground, to not be pushed around. I don’t want to say “Everything’s going to be all right” or “There’s someone out there for you” because I’m not sure if that’s true. What I do know is that at one point you didn’t put your happiness in other peoples hands. You created a world of satisfaction all on your own.

I wonder where that Kim went. I know she’s still around. Your relationship woes aren’t irrelevant, nor are they extraordinary. It sounds like the same woes that four cougars discuss on the daily in Sex in The City. Life is more interesting than that four group of women who propose that it revolve around cosmopolitans and bickering. It feels like some women have concluded that the world developed in Sex in The City is the world that all women should strive to achieve. Seriously? Why? You are more attractive than the Carrie’s, Samantha’s, Miranda’s, and Charlotte’s of the world Kim.

I want you to realize this. I hope you see it. I may be a million miles away, but I think of you and hope you are happy. Because of all people in this world, you deserve it. As does everyone else.

Take care of yourself,

L

I’ve edited the novel. I control + C and control + P the whole shibang on a word document.  Edited some things out.  Fixed some spelling errors.  Made it flow.  Do you need me to upload the new versions or can I send you the manuscript in the word doc?

I’m working on the final chapters.  It’s tough, trying to get back in the groove of that style of writing.  In my head I had put the unfinished story to rest.  But in my imagination, the story has kept going.  I’m trying to reconcile that now.

I’ve told this to Edren over numerous smoke breaks.  This experience has been amazing.  When I first started I was in the middle of processing emotions, tragedies, and issues that I had kept bottled up inside.  Did you know that I couldn’t even talk about my mom’s stroke without crying still?  I never let any of those emotions go.  The writer’s workshop coincided with my first trip to therapy.  Those first three months were extermely cathartic and draining.  Expelling all those demons through the sound of my own voice in therapy and through writing in the first session was a tolling experience.

I can remember sitting, writing, and tears suddenly falling.  I didn’t want to face the reality that I was finally letting that pain go.  I had to, but I wouldn’t let myself do it.  I was caught up in the theory that if I let all that negative energry go, I would forget those expereinces ever happened.  It sounds ri-donk-u-lous, but the human mind wrapped in emotion is a tough present to unwrap.

When I reread what I penned down and what you’ve shared, I am flabbergasted.  I can’t believe I wrote thsoe words.  I can’t believe you’ve written your words.  I can’t believe I took that step.  I can’t believe I once said no.

This has been an amazing experience.  I thank both of you for it.

L

Today was fun.  I was a little apprehensive with our museum playdate.  Only because hanging out with someone new always pushes me out of my comfort zone.  I usually find ways of avoiding one-on-one hang out sessions with new friends.

During confirmation I was getting really close with my friend Erika.  We would joke around confirmation class and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.  Neither of us was that into the religion thing.  We both were of the understanding that we were doing this a) because we had to and b) because our parents made us. After months of classes Erika invited me over to her house to hang out.  And while my lips said, “Okay!”  My heart said, “Oh no, how am I going to get out of this???”

You see, I’m super friendly with folks.  And I think I make friends pretty easily, but it takes a lot to up my involvement with people beyond the superficial nature of hanging out because we so happen to be in the same place.  I eventually didn’t hang out with Erika.  I made up some excuse about how my parents wouldn’t let me come over because they had stuff for me to do at home.  I’m pretty sure she saw through my weak excuse.  I’ll never forget the look of confusion and rejection she had.  I just didn’t know what to do.  I lost what could have been a really close friend and my own insecurities held me back.

I regret that.

So yesterday as J, M, you and I were all at hanging out and distracting each other, the fact that I brought up hanging out at LACMA shocked me.  It may have even shocked you.  When I woke up this morning a part of me almost flaked because that same self-conscious me started to emerge.  I finished a book.  Took my time getting ready.  And picked up the phone to see if you were still up to go.

The amazing thing was I didn’t hesitate when I picked up the phone.  I didn’t worry that you may have decided to flake on me.  I didn’t worry that I was going to spit out some measly excuse to flake on you.  The day happened as we had planned even with a detour to Canter’s for some fine jewish deli food, discussion about our old college lives, and sharing about our partners in crime or potential partners in crime.

It was a great way to end the day.  I didn’t over think. A quality many of the characters I love in books have.  I went with the flow, enjoyed some art, and smoked a couple of cigarettes.  Now I don’t expect us to be the best of friends, but I’m glad I made some hedgeway in my own life.  I didn’t let my insecurities rule me and I went wherever the conversation went.

I was unafraid.

So here’s to more days like this!

Thanks,

L