(no subject)
I think I've finally woken up from my Christmas stupor. The Hunger Games helped, too, reawakening a need to do and be proactive. I think a lot of the reason why I missed out on the Christmas feeling was that I was looking for something deeper out of it, when all I needed to do was put my hands to work, to participate, and it would have felt good. Maybe I don't have my own sweets project to work on, but that's fine, because it's not my thing. I'd rather help with a meal, learn how to clean a fish, than work with dainty pastries. I can have a different use from my sisters, who already use their talent for yummy cookies and other sweets.
The ginger's skin cut surprisingly smooth with the oversized knife I used. I like the feel of peeling, gliding the blade across a damp, cool, and sturdy surface, of working to wittle something down with my hands. (And no one said that.) It was like when I understood the feel of caring for a plant, at least a little bit, the one that died in our dorm at school. Short-lived though it was, I remember the distinct feeling that this plant had life, and simply rubbing the soil between my fingers sparked a connection back to the earth.
While I helped clean the leaves my mom got from a Vietnamese store, she told me about how she lost her parking garage ticket after paying for it, and how the parking attendant said she had to pay the full price now, twenty-two dollars. She got mad at the fact that he didn't believe she'd actually lost her ticket, and even insisted that she worked at a hospital, just to give her some good-contributing-citizen credit. But he still said, Sorry, that's the policy.
I groaned with her about the stupid policy and proceeded to wash the greens in the sink after I'd pulled them apart from their roots. Then, as she entered my periphery, throwing something out in the garbage, she said regrettably, "It's because I thought of tipping the bathroom janitors."
This took me a second to register. How was this relevent? "You know, just giving them a tip during the holidays, but I didn't," she clarified.
"You think that happened because you didn't tip them?" I asked.
"Mmhm." And she left to pick up my sister.
It was like I should have felt a greater stirring in my chest at the revelation, but maybe I didn't, because it was something I knew about my mom, about the Universe all along. We share this same belief, this understanding about the balance of fortune in the world. Good intentions are good, but they don't mean anything without being met with action. And sometimes, our sense of security in the stability of our lives, the plenty in our house, the possibility of making it up another time, tomorrow maybe--it pauses a generous hand. Maybe the $2 wasn't even needed, nor would it have changed anything. It's a sign of appreciation, though, and that can go a long way. So the Universe sets us back a little when we doubt ourselves, second-guessing our desires--not in a big, overpowering way, but enough to call our attention. To stay awake and notice the rest of the world.
And something else made a little sense to me, a small hope to cling onto. My mother, with her humble roots in the Philippines and her life sacrifices to support a family here, and to do it so well that we have a little extra...she stays awake. She pays attention. So even if one of us falls off a little bit, being selfish or cynical or judgmental, her sacrifices, her intentions, her nightly prayers, maybe it will protect us long enough, good enough from our "first-world" fears and anxieties. Of losing our stability, of losing each other. Or if not to protect, then to help us endure our losses afterwards. At least, these are my fears.
I'm convinced though, Lord, that you love my mother very much, despite her flaws and weaknesses. She's held onto You so tightly, even though she and her family had faced a lot of heartbreak back in the homeland. Of course, my dad gives a lot too, sacrificing a decent sleep schedule ever since we were born, so at least one parent would be home with us at all times. He helps as much as he can, and he's very quiet about everything and brings the humor, but I think it's pretty clear my mom runs this ship. Either way, we'll pull our weight one day, even though it seems like we could never give back enough to both of them...we'll pay it all forward, somehow.
The ginger's skin cut surprisingly smooth with the oversized knife I used. I like the feel of peeling, gliding the blade across a damp, cool, and sturdy surface, of working to wittle something down with my hands. (And no one said that.) It was like when I understood the feel of caring for a plant, at least a little bit, the one that died in our dorm at school. Short-lived though it was, I remember the distinct feeling that this plant had life, and simply rubbing the soil between my fingers sparked a connection back to the earth.
While I helped clean the leaves my mom got from a Vietnamese store, she told me about how she lost her parking garage ticket after paying for it, and how the parking attendant said she had to pay the full price now, twenty-two dollars. She got mad at the fact that he didn't believe she'd actually lost her ticket, and even insisted that she worked at a hospital, just to give her some good-contributing-citizen credit. But he still said, Sorry, that's the policy.
I groaned with her about the stupid policy and proceeded to wash the greens in the sink after I'd pulled them apart from their roots. Then, as she entered my periphery, throwing something out in the garbage, she said regrettably, "It's because I thought of tipping the bathroom janitors."
This took me a second to register. How was this relevent? "You know, just giving them a tip during the holidays, but I didn't," she clarified.
"You think that happened because you didn't tip them?" I asked.
"Mmhm." And she left to pick up my sister.
It was like I should have felt a greater stirring in my chest at the revelation, but maybe I didn't, because it was something I knew about my mom, about the Universe all along. We share this same belief, this understanding about the balance of fortune in the world. Good intentions are good, but they don't mean anything without being met with action. And sometimes, our sense of security in the stability of our lives, the plenty in our house, the possibility of making it up another time, tomorrow maybe--it pauses a generous hand. Maybe the $2 wasn't even needed, nor would it have changed anything. It's a sign of appreciation, though, and that can go a long way. So the Universe sets us back a little when we doubt ourselves, second-guessing our desires--not in a big, overpowering way, but enough to call our attention. To stay awake and notice the rest of the world.
And something else made a little sense to me, a small hope to cling onto. My mother, with her humble roots in the Philippines and her life sacrifices to support a family here, and to do it so well that we have a little extra...she stays awake. She pays attention. So even if one of us falls off a little bit, being selfish or cynical or judgmental, her sacrifices, her intentions, her nightly prayers, maybe it will protect us long enough, good enough from our "first-world" fears and anxieties. Of losing our stability, of losing each other. Or if not to protect, then to help us endure our losses afterwards. At least, these are my fears.
I'm convinced though, Lord, that you love my mother very much, despite her flaws and weaknesses. She's held onto You so tightly, even though she and her family had faced a lot of heartbreak back in the homeland. Of course, my dad gives a lot too, sacrificing a decent sleep schedule ever since we were born, so at least one parent would be home with us at all times. He helps as much as he can, and he's very quiet about everything and brings the humor, but I think it's pretty clear my mom runs this ship. Either way, we'll pull our weight one day, even though it seems like we could never give back enough to both of them...we'll pay it all forward, somehow.