grace notes

Two things, unrelated

2011-08-05T13:13:00.000-05:00

I wrote and published my first magazine feature, an article in Boston Magazine about the nuclear reactor at MIT.

That same week, after 15 years, Alonso and I were married. As a photographer, he couldn't help but set up some of his own shots--here's pic from the photo booth he made.

A Very Long Engagement Essay Published in Coupling

2011-04-21T12:21:00.001-05:00

I promised some friends I would do more to get the word out about this essay I recently published so here goes. A colleague handed me her most recently published book at a party and would not accept payment if I promised to tell more people about this essay. Also, I ran into a former student from two years ago who says that he checks my blog when he's bored in class sometimes, but it hasn't been updated in a while.

Lynda Barry's Picture This

2010-10-24T22:17:00.001-05:00

If you've ever taken a writing class from me, you know that I love to teach what I learned from taking Lynda Barry's Writing the Unthinkable workshop. Barry has a new book out called Picture This, which is great to have along with What It Is. I went over to visit my niece and nephew today and had Picture This with me. My niece, who is in first grade, looked through the book and took out her art pad. She started making some drawings in pen on good paper. I told my niece that I had taken a class with Lynda Barry once. My niece said, "Tell her that she's a good artist."

Book Review Mentions

2010-08-30T11:17:00.001-05:00

A friend congratulated me on my Boston Globe book review being chosen as review of the day at bookforum, which I wasn't aware of until she told me. The same review was also featured in the weekly Roundup on the National Book Critics Circle blog.

Oh and did I ever tell you my Ilustrado review was highlighted on the Harper's blog back in May? That was cool, too.

Whoever you are who linked to my reviews, thank you. I appreciate it. As a speck of dust in the expanding universe of online content, it always gives me a thrill to know that people have read my writing.

Book Review of Emily Fox Gordon's Book of Days

2010-08-27T22:57:00.003-05:00

I published my first short book review for a newspaper. I think it came out to under 600 words or about 2 1/2 mss pages. I actually filed a review that was over 1000 words (and I remember telling my students that I didn't think I could make it any shorter), but my editor was right about the changes and cuts. I tried hard in this review not to write about myself.

I'm fascinated that the review available online has stats--how many people tweeted it and liked it on Facebook. How did the link know this?

Nephew with his great aunt drinking a lemonade at the bar.

My 4 yr old nephew went back to California. I called him and we reminisced about our times together, the books he'd borrowed from the library when he was visiting. I was missing him so I told him that he was always in my heart. He was silent so I asked, "Do you like that you're always in my heart?" And he said, "Yes." And he was still silent so I asked, "Do you understand what that means?" And he said, "Yes." He seemed like he really understood what I meant by that even though it's pretty abstract. I told his mother, my sister, this and she said, "I'm his mother and I don't even know what that means."

My Renaissance lit scholar friend told me once that in earlier times, love was not associated with the heart. I think love was embodied in the gallbladder.

This same friend asked what happened to my blog, why I wasn't updating regularly anymore. I was feeling self-conscious and unsure about why I was blogging and who I imagined I was writing to. I was feeling wary, especially after reading articles like this, The Web Means the End of Forgetting, about my online presence. Many years ago, I'd started this thing to get over my reluctance to share my writing and wanted to experiment with what it was like to have an actual audience instead of the imagined one in my head. But as my goals have changed over time so has being online. It's no big thing to have status updates and twitter feeds.

By the way, did you catch that story of the man who drove over a cliff while tweeting about his dog? That image comes to me and I'm still figuring out what I think of it. There's something about his tragic story--losing his life as a direct result of activities in his online life--that I keep thinking about. It's not a perfect comparison, but I wonder how much of my life that I lose by staring into a screen. I can't wait in a line for one minute without checking email and others around me are doing the same.

Tonight my mother, father, and I all sat in different rooms doing something on our computers. We could hear each other typing and clicking and breathing. Then my father sat down on the couch and ate two pieces of melon while I answered his questions about my farm share while also reading something, which I haven't retained, online.

Goodbye summer 2010

2010-08-26T10:50:00.001-05:00

I know we're not quite there yet, but this summer is almost over. I have to say it was one of the best summers of my life. I can't point to one thing about why I feel this way. It's not as though I completed any particular life goals or dreams (writing a book, being in top physical health, buying a home, etc. . .), but I worked on all of these as best I could.

I regularly exercised for the first time since my mastectomy through the amazing Pink Program, a fitness program for those affected by breast cancer treatments. I won a shirt from Be Bright Pink at the FORCE conference at the beginning of the summer and wore that shirt for inspiration as I stretched and worked on the parts of my body that had been affected most by the surgery.

My sister thought it would be quite hilarious to take a picture of me next to a picture of me at the FORCE conference. I just wanted her to hurry up.

My friends who have the summers off from teaching look at me with pity when I tell them I'm teaching summer school, but I love the slower pace of summer session. One new and wonderful teaching experience was for Bridge to Engineering Success at Tufts (BEST). At the end of the term, my students made podcasts of a short personal essay they wrote and we listened to some of these together. There's something about the inflections and timbre of the author's voice as they read that can be so moving.

In other summers, I was helping one family member or another through cancer treatments, but this summer everyone was healthy. It's been over five years since my niece was diagnosed with cancer and she's growing up to be an amazing kid who regularly speaks in front of large audiences (hundreds of people) to raise money for places like Camp Sunshine. She says she still gets nervous before her talk, but praying helps her through it. Did I mention she's only seven years old?

Here's what my niece has to say about running on my sister's blog:

Running is good for me because it helps my body get stronger and healthy. It is important for me to be healthy because, well, it’s just good for your body. Because I have cancer, it is important for me to be strong. When I was 2, I almost died from cancer. So, that’s why I ran 2 miles today.

I might run more miles. If you read this, you should do it, too.

Hope you enjoyed your summer, too.

My nephew balancing on a horse. He did this while trotting too--no hands. When he was trotting past me, he had a proud, exuberant smile. I think about that expression on his face all the time. Just seeing him make that smile made my whole summer.

I love this pooch couple that my niece made. She posed them on a tiny bench and took their photo.

Ahem, I'm teaching

2010-08-06T09:55:00.001-05:00

The kids with their Lola.

Two vignettes about the kids in my life:

1. Ovo

I went with my mother and the nieces and nephew to see Ovo at Cirque du Soleil in Boston. They kept saying, "We're going to the circus!" and I thought, "Not sure if this is the circus you're expecting." One of the ushers came over and gave us red booster seats and J didn't want to sit in hers. I told her, "This will help you see better. It doesn't mean you're a baby," but she didn't want it. As soon as the show started though, I looked over and saw that she was on the booster. The kids were leaning forward towards the stage, they loved what they were seeing.

The trapeze show was right above our head and people were on their swings, propelling and flipping above us. In the audience, there were guys dressed as insects holding the nets and other people with green lights on their hats like fireflies. My 4 yr old nephew wanted me to get him one of the green lights. Teenage boys sat in front of us and I remembered that one day, these little children beside me would grow up and naturally lose interest in spending time with me.

People applauded for the trapeze artists. I thought, These people are risking their bodies to entertain us. They're swinging and letting go and being caught. One woman flipped off a trapeze, her body hurtling to where two people made a bridge w their arms. She was to land there. But she fell. The net was there, but it was scary. She was fine and climbed back up. I turned to my nephew to see how he reacted to seeing a woman fall from the sky. He'd been frightened at the show's opening w the strobe lights and loud drums and hugged his cousin hard until it was over.

"What did you think of that?" I started But he was asleep.

Nephew sleeping. This nap cost at least a dollar a minute.

2. Ahem, I'm teaching

My nephew G (5 y/o) is in town visiting from Califownya. I was riding in the car with the four oldest of my nieces and nephews. G said, "Tita, did you know that someone is mean to me in school? He sits next to me." And I said, "I'm sorry to hear that. How is he mean?" And G tells the story of this person who is mean and I said, "Your cousin went through something like that on the bus. Hey M, do you think you can tell G what to do when he's being bullied?"

Both M (6 y/o) and J (7 y/o) started talking at the same time to be the first one to tell G what do to in this situation. I was reminded of throwing a piece of bread into the duck pond and watching the ducks fight over that one piece. J quieted down finally and M sighed and then took a deep breath so she could start. "Well, this is what you do. First, you put your hands on your hips like this and make your face like this--look at my face, G--and then you say, I'm telling the teacher, but you don't tell the teacher, but you sit somewhere else where the person can still see you."

Then J interrupted. "But you're not allowed to move seats--"

And M says, "Ahem, I'm teaching." And she puts her hands on her hips and makes that same face that she told G to make when someone was being mean. And everyone was quiet and I tried not to laugh. G asked, "What else, M?" And M said, "That's it. Just let them watch you to see if you're going to tell the teacher. They'll feel nervous. And if they're still mean, then raise your hand and say, 'Teacher'--but use your real teacher's name (and now G interrupts to list all four of his teacher's full names)--'he's being mean to mean to me.' And you have to say it in front of everyone."

Run for Grub

2010-07-30T08:23:00.001-05:00

Tonight my friend Cathy is running her first marathon to raise money for scholarships at Grub Street, an independent writing center in Boston where I teach. You can catch up on her journey at Run for Grub.

In her Grub Tales section, there are interviews with my wonderful colleagues at Grub Street, including Michelle Hoover, whose debut novel The Quickening has just been published. Cathy interviewed me a while back here.

Run, Cathy, run!

All in a Day

2010-06-30T23:49:00.000-05:00

1. Dropped off Alonso and Leslie at the airport. They're headed to Haiti to work on some stories for Tufts. They are also dropping off a painting for The Smile Project.

2. Skyped for the first time in class with author of book we're reading--Canyon Sam's Sky Train.

3. Went to a friend's reading. He's drawing map of Echo Park in the air.

Another happy

2010-06-14T08:14:00.001-05:00

Liza sprinting to the finish line after 13.1 miles. Her daughter rounded the corner with her and her husband is taking some action coverage.

My sister Liza has been preparing for her upcoming preventive mastectomy (in December) this year. She decided to run two half marathons and yesterday, after months of training and struggle, she completed her first one. She blogs about it on Marathon B4 Mastectomy if you're interested.

Liza had a team of friends supporting her all the way. They trained with her, offered encouragement and support for the past few months, made her things, drove from hours away to run with her, and overall, cheered her on. We can do anything together.

Just some of team MB4M--some had left by this time.

This whole day is filled with BRCA-related activities for me. Top of the morning for my bottom half--ovarian cancer appointments, afternoon for mastectomy-related issues--Pink Ribbon exercise class and then occupational therapy.

Help FORCE (nonprofit serving those affected by hereditary breast and ovarian cancer) by voting on the Chase Community Giving Site:

http://bit.ly/b2vDpb

Oh, happy day

2010-06-11T16:59:00.000-05:00

Some days are sad and some days are happy. Some days are mixed with both.

Here are my latest happies:

Last week, my brother and sister in law had a healthy baby boy with the cutest dimples.
I received surprise packages in the mail from two beloved writer friends who know how much books mean to me. Thank you, Andrew! Thank you, Marie!

3. More leisure time to hang out with friends and nieces and toddler nephews.

4. A great group of summer students.

5. My man got an award from the university (see photo 9 and 10 in the first slideshow).

In any case, the whole thing made me teary. It wasn't just that he was being recognized and appreciated, but employees in less visible roles (machinists, farm workers, librarians, administrative workers) were asked to come up on stage and be seen. People even had those plastic hands that clap for you and kazoos and cowbells to cheer each other on. After, we had sandwiches and lemon bars. Not a bad way to spend a summer afternoon.

I know that sometimes life can be really, really challenging and one bad thing happens on top of and after another. But, lately, life feels good. Hope it's that way for you, too.

A book review and an audio flash fiction

2010-05-25T08:21:00.001-05:00

The Loneliest Thing on Earth (book review)

The Girl in the Red Dress (fiction)

Two recent publications--a book review and flash fiction (2 minute audio file). I was inspired to write the fiction from a detail I'd heard once when people were telling family stories. The book review was just a book review, but it started ballooning into something else--an essay about Filipino novels published in the US from major presses. I was mostly focusing on novels published at "big" presses rather than an overview of novels at smaller presses, but it's come to my attention that I missed a few titles. I'm sorry for that. But here they are--and I'm happy to add others.

M. Evelina Galang's One Tribe (New Issues Poetry Press 2006), winner of the AWP Series Prize in the Novel

R. Zamora Linmark's Rolling the R's (Kaya 1997)

The Kindness Series

2010-04-15T09:18:00.002-05:00

I want to pay more attention to the little things that make me happy. I did this some last year, when I was surprised by a stranger filling my parking meter with quarters and another stranger covering my mocha latte after I walked away sadly from the cafe register realizing I'd forgotten my wallet. There are plenty of other wonderful things that happen, but I want to note a couple that come to mind today.

1. Tulips from the lovely and talented Theresa. She's working on a beautiful and powerful memoir. I hope you all get to read it someday.

2. This email I got through the grapevine:

Asian American Short Story Contest

Hyphen Magazine/Asian American Writer's Workshop

Hi all, I'm looking to sponsor 3-4 people who have short stories for this contest (entry fee is $20 per story) -- basically how this would work is I will register and pay and provide the transaction ID that you would need to include in the copies of the story to be mailed out. Please let me know if you, or anyone you know, would be interested -- I'm willing to help edit or proofread too!

*Note:* I'm not as interested in the prizes as I am in getting people to submit stuff they otherwise wouldn't feel the incentive to put their work out there, so if you win anything, you're not obligated in any way to "split" anything with me at all. Just acknowledgement would be nice :)

As writers we need partners to help us take that extra step towards our goals. I was going to send a story into this contest, but was overloaded with other work and was leaning towards not participating. But on Monday a bunch of emails came in from different people encouraging me to enter. So I did. And I took the sponsor up on her offer to pay the contest fee. I have twenty dollars, that's not really why I said yes. I just loved the idea of partnering with a supporter in this often lonely process of submissions. And guess what? Turns out the sponsor is a former student of mine. And she's letting me take her out for a frozen yogurt next week. Thank you Karen!

There's a 99% chance I won't win the contest, but I already won.

3. And did I mention the people who commented, either publicly or not, on my story, Alien Hand? Thank you. And thanks to anyone who took the time to read the story.

Back in SoCal

2010-03-31T23:51:00.000-05:00

photos by Alonso Nichols

New short fiction published in Solstice

2010-03-31T17:30:00.000-05:00

Alien Hand
http://solsticelitmag.org/alien-hand/

Here's an excerpt:

Titong remembered the man, a nipa hut builder, whom Titong knew in the barrio. The nipa hut builder had a minor stroke and after recovering, found that his left hand was possessed. He couldn’t make his left hand behave. He wanted to continue working after his stroke and build nipa huts, but while he was hammering a nail into a bamboo pole, his left hand tried to pull the hammer from his right hand. He would wake up choking in the middle of the night with the possessed hand clamped around his throat. When he tried to pick up a glass of water, his possessed hand would turn the glass over and spill the precious water to the floor.

The local healer, the hilot, gave the man a charm to wear and tried to massage the demon out of the arm, but the man’s possessed hand pinched the hilot on the nose so fiercely it almost came off. In defense, the hilot bit the hand as if it were a tough piece of meat, drawing blood, and only then did it let go. A famous physician in Manila, American trained, said the man had something called alien hand syndrome, a very rare neurological disease. There was nothing he could do for it.

I'm Back!

2010-03-31T00:01:00.000-05:00

The blog's been down for a few months. Thanks for emailing to be invited to the blog, I really appreciate that, but the blog was just down for renovations. Hope I didn't offend by making it seem invitation only. Wow, if you're still checking in on me, thanks! Hope you're all doing well.

Recently visited with 4 year old nephew who moved far away. I used to see him every Friday so it's sad that he lives so far now. He hadn't seen his cousins in two months and when he saw me, was curious to know whether his cousins had already grown up in his absence.

We read lots of books together. He loved Ned's New Home and of course, the Mo Willems books. As I was leaving my nephew, I asked if he had any messages to send to his cousins who lived across the country. He answered, "Tell them, never put your hand in a pony's mouth." We don't have horses or ponies so I'm not sure where this is coming from, but I appreciated his certainty and confidence at 4 years old that this was the one message he wanted to convey.

My Novel

2009-12-04T12:11:00.005-05:00

I know, I haven't blogged in a long time. I thought I'd mark today--two years ago on this day I was in surgery. I'm still happy I did it. I don't worry about breast cancer anymore. I never think about how much time I'd have to take off from work if I had to do chemo or radiation. I don't consider dying from breast cancer a possibility. All good things. I started writing a very long associative essay/memoir piece on the whole experience, which brought me into contact with wonderful writing--Marilyn Hacker, bell hooks, Susan Sontag, Hilda Raz, (the anthology Living on the Margins is particularly good). Bathsheba's Breast: Women, Cancer, and History by James Olson is also excellent as a narrative of the disease from ancient Egyptian times to contemporary times.

I'll work on that project again, but for now, I've been working on a novel based on some of my family's experiences in the Philippines. We lived on a compound back then--many of my mother's brothers and sisters and their children. We left for the US when I was three years old, but I keep returning to this place in my imagination. When I think of the compound, I'm reminded of Benedict Anderson's Imagined Communities. Even though that book is about nationalism, my imagined community and the identity that gets reinforced through the stories I've heard about compound life are integral to my identity.

I have over 60K words on the novel so far and I'm trying to make it to the finish line. I just want a draft that I'm really happy with. I want to be able to say I wrote a novel that I'm proud of. That's enough for me for now. I wrote the first draft of this at Camp Sunshine a couple of years ago. It was retinoblastoma (eye cancer) week at camp. There were many small children with prosthetic eyes, some were blind and others, like my niece, had one seeing eye and one prosthesis, which is probably why I was thinking so much about eyes.

So here's the first chapter. (I published an earlier version in the Grub Street Rag last March.)
----------
Chapter 1
Manila 1972
Rodrigo's wife, Baby, peered at him through half-open eyes, the lids weighted down with kohl liner, and said, "Doctors shouldn't have sidelines."

Rodrigo didn't reveal the reason for his outside job: escape. There was no future for him in the Philippines. The dictatorship would continue despite the sham democracy. He wanted things that the poor in Tondo shouldn’t aspire to possess--a boat, a sports car, a house, maybe even a hobby like golf or tennis--but most of all he wanted opportunity, freedom; the pursuit of happiness. Happiness in this life, not the next.

The only problem was his wife. She would never leave her clan and their closed world they’d crafted within the family compound walls. She’d never abandon all that for him. Not even for the States.

Inside Baby’s family compound, there was always a servant or a relative or a child to watch and judge you. Even the animals had their opinions. When Rodrigo hid in a dark corner of the compound to smoke a forbidden cigarette, the cats would glare at him.

Perhaps what people loved about compound life was the very thing that Rodrigo found oppressive. There was always someone around to ask if you’d taken your meal or if you were rested or if you were feeling well. Rodrigo remembered when early in their marriage, his wife came into the bedroom, wide eyed, and said, “Everyone is making innuendo. How did they know I’m ovulating?” At first, Rodrigo shook his head, offended, reminded again of the oppressive intimacy, and went back to studying his medical textbook. But despite himself, in the middle of the night, still dreaming, he reached for his wife. Nine months later, the twins were born.
He had heard that in the States people lived alone, hermits inside caves. There were buildings full of these caves; cities full of these buildings. People even died alone, with no one by their side to mark the time of death, their corpses noticed only when the odor of decomposition offended the neighbors.

Rodrigo followed his wife out of their living room and stepped into the courtyard.

“I can’t participate in the evening prayers tonight and that’s that. I’m really behind on this next order,” Rodrigo said. “People need these eyes.”

“Need them for what?” Baby asked. Her voice rose high in contempt. When she was angry, her eyelashes fluttered. “Suit yourself. But you tell my mother.”

Mama Lola, Rodrigo's mother-in-law, stood in the courtyard, her silver hair pulled back in a bun so tight it lifted her eyebrows. This created an expression on her face that communicated, "I'm looking down on you."

Two servant boys balanced a plank of wood between two sawhorses. Then, Mama Lola clasped her rosary beads and sat in her chair. The servant boys grasped the legs of the chair, lifting slowly and steadily, and set her on top of the plank. Mama Lola pointed her lips to her maid, standing by with a glass of water in one hand and a silver bell in the other. The maid rang the bell.

"The conductress is ready," Rodrigo whispered to his wife's back. "Lady musicians, raise your instruments."

Rodrigo's wife turned her head and hissed through her teeth.
Mama Lola, Rodrigo's mother in law, liked to repeat stories about how once she had been a world-class musician, the conductress of an all women’s concert band. They had won some competitions in Manila and were headed towards greatness. The rumor was that Mama Lola had been composing an original symphony, a possible masterpiece, but was forced to abandon her musical pursuits when she became a wife, and soon after, a mother to one, and later, nine children in all. Even now, Mama Lola didn’t let a day pass without reminding them. “I made all this possible. Without my sacrifices, you would not be,” she’d say.

The other families streamed into the courtyard from their homes on the four sides of the compound. They fanned out in front of Mama Lola, cushioning their knees on banana leaves, small pillows, or folded-up newspapers. The servant boys carried in a wooden statue of the Virgin Mary. Every year, Mama Lola touched up the peach paint on the statue’s feet and hands, which passersby rubbed in affection, or perhaps, as a reminder to the Blessed Mother to listen to their prayers.
Rodrigo bowed his head as he spoke to his mother-in-law. His wife stood behind him, her cool breath on his shoulder.

Mama Lola asked Rodrigo, "You choose money instead of prayer. Son, what is more important—God or money? Your family or your own selfish desires?" She glared at him. He thought if he pressed his finger against the hard line of her eyebrows, it might snap like a dry twig. “You must find a balance between working for this life and earning entrance into the next.”

“Who says I have to choose? I can earn money to pay for this life while simultaneously praying for the next one,” Rodrigo said. "I'll be right over there." He pointed to the outdoor kitchen in the corner of the courtyard. The maids did most of their cooking in this "dirty" kitchen so the strong odors wouldn't contaminate the indoor living spaces. Here, the maids would fry tuyo, preserved fish, and rinse pig intestines with rock salt, squeezing the waste from the white ropes in a cold bath. They burned the hair from the hides of newly butchered goats then chopped the meat into chunks.

"Very well," Mama Lola said. “Why are you so concerned about money? It’s unbecoming, and frankly, unnecessary.” At the compound, all their needs were met. They contributed a small amount for their family’s share of housing, food, and childcare, but it was nowhere near what they would have had to spend if they lived off the compound.

To escape you, Rodrigo thought. "I have to support all the Catholics I'm making," he said. “Number four will be here soon. Maybe we’ll have a boy.”

Mama Lola smiled. "God will not give you more than you can handle."

"All I can do for our Lord is try,” Rodrigo said. As much as Rodrigo resented his mother-in-law, he felt great satisfaction when she smiled. Rodrigo felt his wife’s solid belly push against his back.

Mama Lola studied Rodrigo from his feet to face. "You've gained weight, son. Just because your wife is in the family way doesn’t give you license to eat all you can," Mama Lola said. She pursed her lips and looked away. This meant the conversation was over.

Every night at nine o'clock, all the families in the compound gathered to pray the rosary. If you wanted to live on Mama Lola's compound, this is what you agreed to. You nodded when Mama Lola recited slogans found all over Manila, on signs posted inside canteens or on the side of buildings. The family that prays together stays together. Let God plan your family.

Even the servants were compelled to participate: the drivers, the dishwashers, the team of lavanderas who washed and ironed the families' clothes; the driveway sweeper, the gate opener, the cooks, the yard workers, the platoon of yayas gleaming in the white nurse uniforms Mama Lola forced them to wear; even the maid with the small hands who grew her right pinky fingernail and filed it into a scoop in order to clean the small children's noses. The servants knelt around the periphery of the family members, praying the same way in which they ate and slept and lived their lives: after their employers needs were met first.

Rodrigo leaned over the orange coils of the burner to check if the water in the stockpot was boiling. A maid ran over from where she was praying. "Sir," she said. "Your shirt."
The bottom edge of Rodrigo's white undershirt had burned. He was surprised that the maid had noticed this danger from so far away. He removed his shirt and threw it on the ground. Rodrigo removed from his lip the piece of red thread he was chewing. Bubbles formed on the bottom of the pot.

"Almost boiling," Rodrigo told the maid. She backed away and then took her place again with the others praying.

"Pray for us, O Holy Mother of God," Mama Lola said.

"That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ," the family answered in one voice.

One by one, Rodrigo lifted the eyeballs rolling on the tray and dropped them carefully into the boiling water.

Rodrigo dreamed of directing an eye clinic equipped with the sleek machines he saw advertised in American and European medical journals. Recently, Rodrigo had visited his mentor, Dr. Villanueva, at his clinic. Dr. Villanueva squeezed one hand on Rodrigo's shoulder and swept the other across the dark, tiny clinic, pausing at the exam chair held together with duct tape, the rickety table with the ancient ophthalmoscope, and the dusty box of glass lenses that Dr. Villanueva had surely inherited from his own mentor many years ago.

"This can all be yours," Dr. Villanueva said. When Dr. Villanueva spoke, his breath gave off a foul, ketonic odor. "I will sell it to you."

When he imagined his life spinning out in that dark clinic, he could barely breathe. Rodrigo swallowed. "That would be an honor."

Dr. Villanueva said, "You’re not like your greedy classmates, those traitors. Contributing to the drain drain."

"Brain drain," Rodrigo said.

Every year, half of Rodrigo's medical school classmates left the Philippines for opportunities abroad. "Son, you think our country is going to hell," Dr. Villanueva said. He rubbed his round belly, the buttons straining. "But it's better to deal with the devil you know. Who knows what new and unexpected evils your colleagues will experience abroad."

"Are you calling our great leader a devil?" Rodrigo asked.
Dr. Villanueva stopped smiling. He ran to the open window and shut it. Everyone knew someone who had been jailed or killed for saying the wrong thing. The Marcos dictatorship made you feel as if someone were always watching and listening, waiting for you to betray yourself.

You'd be surprised at all the ways you could lose your eye: looking down into a freshly sharpened pencil resting in a shirt pocket; a drop of water hitting a pan of oil; a tragically aimed baseball or a rock. You might have touched dog feces and then rubbed your eye, the bacteria colonizing until your sight was gone. You might have a glow in your eye that makes you special and find out later it is cancer. High sugar will also take your vision. Rodrigo always had work. He experienced a profound pleasure in his craft: to fill an empty space with his illusion.

Although it was only a sideline, Rodrigo had become known as the best maker of cheap artificial eyes in the city. The wealthy went abroad to Hong Kong for their prosthetic eyes or hired ocularists trained in Germany. But for the commoner, Rodrigo was their man. Starting in high school and continuing through medical school, Rodrigo had apprenticed with Mr. Jerome, an eye maker. Over the years, Rodrigo had taken on his own clients. “We are fortunate to live in a nation of brown-eyed people,” the eye maker often said. Every now and then they had an order for a blue eye, but the eye maker would send those difficult customers on their way. According to the eye maker, blue eyes were the hardest to paint. He liked to repeat, “Imagine if we lived in Ireland. Not only would they expect the hues to match, but they’d ask for the eyes to smile.” And then he’d whistle When Irish Eyes Are Smiling for the rest of the afternoon. Unable to sleep that night, Rodrigo would still hear the tune when he closed his eyes.

Rodrigo's brown eyes were sent to patients all over the island nation. By now, dozens, possibly hundreds, of people wore this painted plastic in their face, and hundreds, possibly thousands, of others had gazed into his artwork wondering if it was real.

Rodrigo enjoyed the process of making eyes the way someone might enjoy cooking or any activity that transformed the mundane into the sublime. First, Rodrigo would press the clay-like material into the eye molds until they dried. Then, he'd paint on an iris and pupil. After, he'd place red threads across the white to mimic capillaries over a conjunctiva. Last, he'd place a sheet of plastic over each eye and melt this together in the boiling water.

Now, Rodrigo felt his mother-in-law’s gaze. He moved his lips as he pretended to pray along with the family. Mama Lola nodded at him and he felt a shift in the air: those who had kept their eyes open during prayer glanced at him. Behind her back, he called Mama Lola, “the conductress,” because her stories of her glory days irritated him—she used the stories to bash everyone over the head with all she abandoned for their sake—but for a moment, as he watched her sitting above everyone, he caught a glimpse of her talent, her ability to coax music out of individuals and join them together as if they were speaking with one voice. Their belief in the afterlife, in Jesus and Mary, in their prayers accruing in an eternal ledger, united them.

While in this meditative state, he wondered, could they know his hidden thoughts, his wish to excise himself from their family body?

Rodrigo stirred the pot, counting how much money each prosthesis would earn, calculating how many more eyes he’d have to make before he could make his escape. He thought it was beautiful how the eyes bobbed and floated and rolled over: all these eyes that couldn't see.

Congratulations, Father Uwem!

2009-09-18T13:42:00.002-05:00

Remember when I told you to go read, Say You're One of Them? (It was the first anniversary of my preventive mastectomy and I marked it by going to Father Uwem's reading at Boston College.)

And then I interviewed the author for The Rumpus? I guess Oprah liked his collection, too.

Big congratulations to Father Uwem Akpan.

We're in Family Circle this month

2009-08-30T22:11:00.008-05:00

Next time you're waiting in the checkout line, pick up a Family Circle magazine and turn to page 95. Big thank you to the amazing writer Jeannette Moninger and to the devoted and courageous Sue Friedman of FORCE for giving us an opportunity to raise awareness about hereditary breast and ovarian cancers by telling our story. Thanks to Alonso for another great photo.

This is a favorite photo of me with sisters and beloved niece.

Fiction Writer Paul Silverman

2009-08-18T23:01:00.005-05:00

A friend told me about an obituary she read today about short story writer Paul Silverman. He took his life. He'd retired from advertising a few years ago and was writing fiction. He published many stories in literary journals, publications that I read and also submit work to, but I'd only heard about him today.

The Globe quotes an interview he did in the 90's and what he said about advertising writing struck me as true about writing in general.

Most of the ideas we present to our clients get rejected,’’ he told the Globe’s Sunday Magazine in 1990. “One TV spot for a client, typically, involves at least 10 different ideas. We’ve come up with 40 concepts before a client decides on one. And you never see the other 39. . . . So most of this business is rejection; many people, outside of the advertising business, don’t understand that.’

That reminded me of a quote I love from Art and Fear by Bayles and Orland, ”The function of the overwhelming majority of your artwork is simply to teach you how to make the small fraction of your artwork that soars.”

I encourage you to check out Paul Silverman's website and stories. I like what he says about literary magazines:

"I’m making my intro mainly a plea for everyone to rally behind small magazines. As independents and pioneers, they can print pieces that are way outside the range of the few behemoths still taking short fiction. Without them, the short story wouldn’t stand much of a chance, because new voices would find themselves deprived of a place to speak and grow. In the world of the stage, it would be as if all the regional and local theaters had closed their doors, leaving only Broadway."

His website is beautiful and his stories are lovely. I'm getting to know them one by one. I wish I'd known about him earlier so I could have written him a note of appreciation, but this posting will have to do.

Joey's Special Eye (Now Available Online)

2009-08-18T07:00:00.000-05:00

(photos clipped from here)

Four years ago today, my niece had an enucleation. In honor of this day, a post on the coloring book I wrote about this topic.

The EyeCare Foundation publishes and distributes the coloring book, Joey's Special Eye, that illustrator Rob Harrell and I made. A couple of years after I wrote it, it's still out there. According to the EyeCare Foundation newsletter, 5000 copies have been distributed all over the world and US (for a nominal fee or free) to children and families affected by retinoblastoma (Rb).

You can read the PDF of Joey's Special Eye here.

My sister Liza bought a hundred copies herself and distributed them to families affected by Rb at Camp Sunshine.

The photos above, proof that people who needed the book had them in their hands, moved me. Those photos were taken in Mexico and now I'm thinking we should have versions in other languages. I'm glad the book is out there and people are reading it, but honestly, writing it made me feel good.

When J had cancer, so many organizations and people poured out such generosity to us. For example, people at Songs of Love donated their time and talent to write and record a personalized song for J. We stood around her bed during one of her chemo treatments and cried listening to it. There were all kinds of people who offered comfort and support and resources. I remember when J was diagnosed--it felt as if my family had fallen into a deep, dark hole. We didn't know what the future would bring. Friends, family, and complete strangers offered their hands to lift us out of the hole. It brings me great satisfaction and joy to know that Joey's Special Eye can offer some comfort and information to families experiencing Rb.

In the newsletter, the EyeCare Foundation writes,

"We will continue to distribute Joey’s Special Eye on request and online as long as supplies last. You can help us continue this wonderful gift by contributing to The EyeCare Foundation. Just let us know that you want your contribution to support this ongoing effort. This opportunity is an opportunity to bring a smile to a child faced with this life-changing albeit life-saving event."

To donate online, click here or write to The EyeCare Foundation, Inc., 115 East 61 st Street, New York, NY, USA 10065.

By the way, on the theme of ways to respond to tragedy, see the video story on Songs of Love founder John Beltzer on 60 Minutes.

Learning to Make Up

2009-08-06T22:43:00.003-05:00

My nephew, listening to an ear. His mother reports that later that night he wanted to smell a nose.

I wanted to write this down before I forgot: Last week, my three year old nephew and I went to the zoo. We took a ride around the zoo in a cart painted to look like a train. The thin plywood door seemed to be closed only loosely with a magnet. At one point, my nephew stood up and leaned against the door. I thought he was going to fall out and I snapped, "Sit down."

He isn't used to me speaking sharply to him and the look on his face was as if I slapped him. He looked really hurt. I told him I was sorry I yelled, but he needed to sit down to keep safe. "I'm mad at you, Tita," he told me. "You're being rude to me."

"It's for safety," I told him. I reiterated that he needed to sit down while the train was moving, but he stayed angry with me for the rest of the day and kept his distance.

The next time I saw him, a few days later, I looked him in the eye and said, "I'm sorry I yelled at you when you stood on the train. I felt so scared. I thought you were going to fall out. I'm sorry if you got hurt by my angry voice. I'm so glad you sat down. Can we make up?" He nodded, put his arms out and hugged me.

About half an hour later, my nephew approached me. "Tita, I'm sorry I stood on the train. Can we make up?"

I couldn't believe he had done that--had figured out what part he played in our conflict, acknowledged it, and wanted to move on. As my relatives know, we can be very stubborn folk. I've witnessed legendary family feuds in my clan go on for decades because we're loathe to make peace.

With my nieces and nephew, I'm trying to teach them some skills to deal with conflict and express their feelings. I'm no expert on how to do this, but so far, so good.

Happy August! I haven't been blogging much because I've been plugging away at my novel, which so far, is a lot of fun to write. By the way, check this book cover out. I'm so honored that the amazing writer Pauline Chen chose my essay for this anthology.

Moonlight Photos from the Dune Shack

2009-06-29T23:43:00.005-05:00

photos of C-Scape Dune Shack in Provincetown, MA by Alonso Nichols, May 2009

Paul Talusan Med School Class Speech

2009-05-18T21:23:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was a proud day for my family. My brother gave the class speech at the Boston University Medical School commencement. His classmates gave him a standing ovation before he even took the stage.

Turns out my brother-in-law Jorge gave his class address at his college graduation from Connecticut College. But that was before YouTube. I think that was even before the internet(s).

Twice Seen

2009-05-17T22:48:00.003-05:00

A couple of years ago, I participated in this cool project, Twice Seen. I wrote a short short story in response to a photograph by Thomas Gearty. My words were imprinted in Braille on a plastic sheet over the photograph. The piece was on display at the Museum of Fine Arts one weekend and it was fun to visit the exhibit.

I don't remember even writing the piece to be honest. I remember agreeing to write the piece and then when it came time to write it, thinking I shouldn't have agreed as I was in the middle of trying to figure out if I would have a mastectomy or not. Anyways, I don't entirely know what I was getting at now that I read it again, but at least to me, it evokes how I felt at that hazy, stressful, sleepless time in my life. I just remember this strong image of a giant taking one of those houses by its electrical wire and swinging it through the air in big circles, everything inside destroyed.

Rejection Season

2009-05-14T21:50:00.007-05:00

It's that time of the year when my rejections from literary magazines come rolling in. I send submissions out in the summer and fall. While responses trickle in all year, there's usually a bunch of them that come all at once at the end of the school year. The good news is that this rejection season, my relationship to rejection has transformed.

First of all, the rejections don't hurt nearly as much as they used to. I understand that rejection is the price of doing business as a writer. I don't take the rejections personally or as a global indictment of me. The piece wasn't right for the magazine at that time.

Second, the rejections give me an opportunity to look at the essays or stories again and figure out if I think the pieces are "done" or not. Maybe the piece wasn't right for the magazine because the piece wasn't developed enough or maybe that story just wasn't a keeper no matter how hard I worked on it. I practiced and learned something by writing it and now it's time to move on.

Third, I think sending work out regularly is a sign of strength. I'm writing new work and revising it and seeing what happens. I'm participating in this part of the writer's life and I feel good about that.

I really liked this essay, "The Effort Pays Off" by Laura van den Berg, whose story collection, What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us, will be available in October. She writes about being on both sides of the process, as an emerging story writer submitting work as well as a reader for a literary magazine.

Here's an excerpt:

As someone who has a tendency to spend too much time looking outwards for validation, I learned that if I kept relying on external praise to keep me motivated, my writing was bound to suffer terribly. I had to learn to look inward. I had to care enough, and believe in myself enough, to make up for all the people who didn’t. I should note that this quest for self-reliance is ongoing. It doesn’t come naturally to me, this kind of confidence, but as long as I have enough confidence to keep writing, then that’s really all that matters.

And more for my random acts of kindness account: At our favorite local sushi place, Hana Sushi, on Mass Ave near the Cambridge/Arlington line, the chef has been sending a gift to our table the last two times we were there. First, an unexpected bowl of edamame. Last time, maki. If you go there, you have to try the Angel Hair Pasta with Tuna. Spicy, creamy sauce over cold noodles and raw tuna. Yum!

On Parenting

2009-05-12T14:20:00.004-05:00

Two interesting articles from writers I admire:

1. Why I give my 9 year old pot by Marie Lee
(in the new Double X web magazine)

2. The Long Way Home by Debra Gwartney
(in NY Times Modern Love)

By the way, I just reviewed Debra's memoir in The Rumpus here. And yeah, today's my birthday. I'm mailing a submission out to a literary magazine, finishing up a grant application (crossing fingers, wishing on a star), and tonight fetching my free meal coupon at Minado's.

I've been tracking random acts of kindness: last week, the woman working at the grocery store in Wellfleet gave me a 10% discount for no apparent reason. This was awesome seeing as I bought a book--Annie Dillard's The Maytrees (which takes place in the dune shacks).

Rainy with a chance of Sun.

2009-05-06T14:33:00.003-05:00

By guest blogger Alonso Nichols

Today has been lovely but yesterday was rainy, windy and cool in the dunes. Luckily, we had a nice warm fire. Last night the ocean was so loud it sounded like Ahab was gonna stop by and ask to borrow a cuppa sugar!

We did see whales spouting on Monday!

For more on dune shack life, read Oona Patrick's essay in Post Road Magazine:

Dune Shack Post #2

2009-05-06T14:27:00.002-05:00

Alonso here guest blogging for Grace. A few additional images from the dunes by Grace and I.

Dune Shack

2009-05-04T14:01:00.003-05:00

Been doing a lot of writing so this blog is only photos, taken mostly by Alonso.

Random Acts of Kindness Part II

2009-04-30T12:27:00.010-05:00

I love this photo of my niece on her 3rd birthday. Her mom said no gifts (although no one listened except me and I felt bad that I didn't have anything for her). I happened to have a sweet potato in my car that I was going to plant at my parents' house. Instead, I gave the sprouting potato to my niece. She fell in love with it. Yes, a sweet potato. She carried the potato in her arms all night and called it, "Dolly Doll."

Kindness and generosity and beautiful things are around us all the time, we just have to notice.

The Meter Fairy
Found a parking space in Davis Square, but didn't have any quarters. My four year old niece Mia was very hungry. We walked a few blocks (this takes a long time with a small child) to get her something to eat and find some change. The line in Mr. Crepe was very long. It started to rain. We got back to the car and some kind person had filled the meter with quarters.

$6 and my Starbucks card
In February, I was at AWP to present on a panel. There were thousands of participants. For most of the conference, I was in the audience in a giant ballroom with hundreds of other people. I had pneumonia and was not feeling well or like being there. When I got home, I received something in the mail--$6 and my Starbucks card, which had about 83 cents on it. Some kind person had seen these items fall out of my purse and somehow given them to a colleague who then mailed them to me.

New Life
Two new babies were born in my family recently. Both boys, both so new. Welcome, babies!

Names: In Memory of My Cousin Edry

2009-04-15T12:56:00.006-05:00

At Easter dinner, my brother Paul complained to my mother, "I don't know what my grandparents names are." It's true. I don't know either. I'm not completely positive what my mother's name is to be perfectly honest. Is her legal name Arcel or Araceli? Dunno.

As Filipinos, we have so many names. We know each other by our intimate names, our nicknames. If you're born female, you may have Maria (abbreviated "Ma." in front of your name like "Ms.") and a second first name. For example, "Maria Theresa" is "Ma. Theresa." That doesn't mean she's called Theresa. People may call that woman Sa Sa, playfully repeating a sound within a name. My cousin Agnes is known by Nessie, a repetition of the last three letters of her given name.

In my clan, we got our names as babies. Our names may change throughout our life or they might stay with us. I know adults who go by Bong Bong, Ling Ling, Bing, Ding Dong. . . My brother is called, "Doo Doo" (referencing, yes, dirty diapers).

There's usually a story involved. My cousin, who has children in their twenties, is still called, "Opis." My mother explained that when Opis (who is also known as Jojo, but this is another nickname and I don't know his legal name) was a toddler, he would always ask where his father was. "The office," people would tell him. And Jojo, with his little boy voice and accent, would say, "Opis?" And somehow everyone started calling him, "Opis."

Why so many different names? To show your relationship with someone? To establish intimacy? To escape discovery?

My name when I was a toddler in the Philippines was Bubut. I'm not even sure how to spell it because there was never any reason to write it. We moved to the States when I was three and we didn't see my relatives for many years. I was in middle school when I was reunited with my cousins who had just immigrated from the Philippines. My cousin Edry, at first an intimidating presence because of his size, said to me, "I know you as Bubut." He had memories and stories about me that I didn't remember and hadn't heard about myself because we lived so far away from any family. I didn't see baby photos of myself until I was graduating high school. There I was the proof that I had been born in the Philippines, crouching in my diapers in tropical settings.

Edry knew me as Bubut and until we were reunited, I was fixed in his mind as a toddler. In middle school, I didn't like being called Bubut by these relatives who, in my mind, were strangers. I asked them to call me, Grace. But I always wondered about this person they had known back in the Philippines, this Bubut, this Filipino version of myself. Bubut was someone they adored, I could see that on their face when they said my name. But I had almost no memory of this person.

I got to know my cousin Edry (which I've learned recently is not his given name) over the years at family gatherings. When I moved to California for graduate school, I had occasion to see him more often. I can't forget visiting him one time and seeing a project he was working on--he had taken a Pontiac Firebird and gotten a shell to turn it into a Camaro or Corvette(can't remember which). There was something about that image that has stayed with me all these years. Lift the hood and you'll see something else. This project of turning something, a Firebird on the inside, into something else on the outside seemed related to the transformation one goes through as an immigrant. How we try to change our identities throughout our lives; how despite our best efforts, we can't what is inside.

As the oldest in his family, I was always impressed with how responsible he was. He was a true leader and was wise. He was also very gentle and had a great sense of humor. His face may have seemed serious, but it always felt good to make him smile or delight him in some way. I didn't have to work very hard at it. He would just say my old name, Bubut, and I could see his face light up.

On Easter Sunday around 7PM, a strange thing happened. I felt suddenly very sad. I was overcome, overwhelmed by the feeling that seemed to come from nowhere. There was nothing to be sad about and I was surprised by how sudden the feeling appeared and how intense it was. A few minutes later, I received a call that my colleague from Tufts had died. The next morning, my mother woke me up to say that Edry had died. He hadn't shown up to Easter dinner the day before. Was that feeling related to my cousin's passing? Probably just a coincidence. But in my clan, we've always told stories about the souls of our loved ones communicating with us somehow before they passed. I have lots of these testimonies and stories--knocking on windows, phones calls from the dead, even text messages.

I wish I could fly across the country to be with my family, but I'm not able to. Edry is the first of us cousins to pass away. He and his family have always been so good to me and my years in graduate school would not have gone as well without their support. Like my colleague, he died too young.

Since I'm thinking about Filipino funerals, this brought me some comfort in humor, especially since I can't be physically with my family. An excerpt from "The Brothers,"a short story by Fil-Am writer Lysley Tenorio that first appeared in Manoa:

“I hate the way Filipinos die,” Eric once said. It was the week of Dad’s
funeral. “Nine nights of praying on our knees, lousy Chinese food, and
hundred-year-old women asking me where my girlfriend is.” The busi-
nessmen were worse. On the last night of Dad’s novena, one guy—he said
he was related to us but couldn’t explain how—tried selling life insurance
to Eric and me. He quoted figures on what we could get for injury, dis-
memberment, and death, and even took out a pocket calculator to prove
how valuable our lives were. “Promise me, Edmond,” Eric had said, “when
I die, take one night to remember me. That’s all. No kung pao chicken. No
old people. No assholes telling you how much you’ll get for my severed
leg.” He came close to crying, but then he managed a smile. “And make
sure Village People is playing in the background.”
“‘ymca’?”
“‘Macho Man,’” he said. “Play it twice.”

Writer's Luck

2009-04-09T11:56:00.002-05:00

Instead of writer's block, how about considering writer's luck?

Check out what Vicki has to say on the eve of the publication of her first book:

Luck is always somewhere in the writer’s back pocket, tucked inside a corner like lint or an undiscovered penny. Look for it, cherish it, hold onto a belief that it’s possible. Luck takes words and makes them print and puts them in the hands of others, your readers.

I try to set my expectations low around writing itself and writing activities, but I've had a lot of lucky experiences.

I've been trying to read all sorts of encouraging things lately, including Art and Fear. See here and here for some quotes.

Here's a quote I like by way of Kevin Kelly Cool Tools:

The function of the overwhelming majority of your artwork is simply to teach you how to make the small fraction of your artwork that soars. One of the basic and difficult lessons every artist must learn is that even the failed pieces are essential.

This speaks to the way I've been writing for the past few years--wear my library card out by reading extensively (was up until the wee hours last night reading about the living displays of Filipinos at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair), fill up many notebooks with scribblings, notes, and imaginings, type up the pieces from my notebooks that seem to have life, and then go through the drafting process.

My sister on New Demographic

2009-04-08T20:30:00.003-05:00

My brother in law posted a link to an interview on New Demographic with my sister (who just gave birth and is somehow also giving interviews). She talks about her role in diversity initiatives--which is very important--but it tickled me to see how close in resemblance our profile photos are.

See my faculty profile page:

Well, we are related and do look alike. And we share the same photographer (Alonso). And it's actually the same dress (Liza borrowed it for the shoot).

I recently read the convocation speech Liza gave at her alma mater in the fall. Check it out!

"My Story" essay published in Audrey Magazine

2009-04-06T09:21:00.002-05:00

Find my contribution to Audrey magazine's My Story here.

I've been writing about my decision to have the preventive mastectomy in different kinds of publications--a newsletter, a glossy Asian American women's lifestyle magazine, and literary magazines. Thinking about the audience/readers/venue gives me a different slant on the same event.

Baby Boom

2009-03-24T09:23:00.005-05:00

my sister, who is in labor as I write this
UPDATE: my sister had the baby--a boy named Evan

My nieces love to dance to Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies." Lately, I can't help but hear, "All the Pregnant Ladies." There seems to be a post-election baby boomlet or something going on, at least in my circle. 9 people are pregnant--this includes both of my sisters, my sister-in-law, 2 cousins, and 4 friends. And one friend is starting her family by beginning the adoption process.

As so many women around me are having babies, this question inevitably comes up for me. It's a tough issue and one that Alonso and I have struggled with for several years. I always thought I'd be a mother, but at this point, probably not. I was talking to my doctor about scheduling my cancer preventing ovary removal surgery this summer. If I really want to parent, I can adopt or foster later, but I realized lately that I get a lot of my parenting needs met by being an active aunt, or Tita.

I spend time with my nieces and nephew at least one day a week. Lately, it's been M and J for outings on Saturdays, but before that I'd been able to fit in Fridays with J and G for lunch and the museum. I take them to art, dance, or music classes; plays and concerts--last Saturday I took J and M to see The Rainbow Tribe dance troupe at BU. Alonso, as Rainbow Tribe's company photographer, was taking photos. There was a wall display of the studio photos he took of each dancer that J was very interested in. J, who has started reading in the past few months, read Alonso's name as the photo credit on the 8x10 glossies. When she saw Alonso working, she asked if she could go with him. She wanted to push the button on the camera. "I want my name on the wall, too," she said.

And after my "Tita Dates," I go home, exhausted, and read a book or hang out with friends or work. To quote a song my nieces are always singing, I enjoy "the best of both worlds."

Book Review of Paul Yoon's Once the Shore

2009-03-23T13:58:00.003-05:00

Check out my book review (along with an author interview by Stacey Swann) at The Rumpus' new "original combo," which is described as a "burger and fries, only more nutritious."

I didn't realize how much time and energy it would take to write a review that I'd feel proud to sign my name to. But I loved Yoon's work so much that I was moved to write about it.

Conversations with Small Children

2009-03-18T04:43:00.008-05:00

UNICORNS
J (age 5): I had a shot here (points to arm), but I'm not afraid of shots.
M (age 4): Well, Lolo (their grandfather) is afraid of shots. He's afraid of pointy things. He's even afraid of snakes.
J: I'm not.
M: I bet Lolo is afraid of unicorns. Because they have a horn. And the horn might poke him in the eye.
Me: Unicorns aren't real. They're only in our imagination.
J&M: No, they're real.
M: And Lolo better watch out because if he sees a unicorn he's going to be scared of its horn.

GREEN MEN
J: Excuse me, Tita, I want to see a leprechaun today.
Me: Those are imaginary. We only see them in our imagination.
J: No, they're not. They're real. My friend saw green footprints. But I really, really want to see one.
Me: Why do you want to see a leprechaun?
J: Because he has a pot of gold.
Me: What are you going to do with a pot of gold?
J: Buy stuff.
Me: Like what?
J: Like a mouse, a helper mouse, to help the leprechaun.

MAKING MONEY
J: I wish I could work.
Me: Why?
J: So I could have my own money.
Me: Your father gave you $5 last week before we went to the Aquarium. You bought what you wanted. That's your own money.
J: But I want to work so I can make my own money.
Me: Okay, so what do you want to do?
J: I don't know. How about do good things for people?
Me: Usually when we do good things for people, we don't ask them to pay us. But how about ask Lolo to hire you. Ask him if you can put stickers on his folders for his patient charts.
J: Stickers--I like stickers.
Me: When we were little, me and your mom and all of us put stickers on Lolo's patient charts. Back then, Lolo paid us a penny for every chart. Maybe his rates have gone up, but I wouldn't count on it.

Sweet photo of baby giraffe by Alonso

2009-02-26T22:30:00.005-05:00

Alonso took some of these photos. Molly, the 3 day old giraffe is so cute. Her mother rejected her, the poor thing.

The Rumpus Interview with Uwem Akpan

2009-02-26T18:57:00.001-05:00

Here's the first author interview I've ever done.

“After the phone call from The New Yorker, I walked more than a mile to church to thank God. But then I told God I would talk to Him another time and darted home.”

Sea Creatures by Alonso

2009-02-18T20:11:00.003-05:00

(photo by Alonso Nichols via Tufts Journal)

Check out the slideshow Alonso did of sea creatures made from glass. From Helene Ragovin in the Tufts Journal:

The treasures are a collection of some two dozen glass models of invertebrate sea creatures. Fashioned painstakingly by hand in the late 19th century by a father-and-son team of artisans in Dresden, Germany, the intricate figures were once a state-of-the-art teaching tool for biology professors. Tufts owned a set, provided by its early benefactor, P.T. Barnum.

AWP Adventures

2009-02-17T18:50:00.005-05:00

Back from AWP (Associated Writing Program) conference. I have pneumonia (been to the ER twice in the past three weeks with breathing problems) so I didn't get to participate in the conference as much as I would have liked. Luckily, my writer friends like to write:

1. From fellow panelist and wrapper-upper of the panel, Marianne Villanueva, Kanlaon: A summary of the panel I was on, "Archipelagos of Dust."

2. From The Rumpus, What I Learned at AWP

3. From Elizabeth Kadetsky, on her aunt and sneaking into a VIP party.

4. From Luisa Igloria, who came up with the panel in the first place and put it together, in the Lizard Meanders.

I was a guest in my friend Joanne's classes at Illinois Wesleyan and led the students in some writing exercises. They wrote pieces about illness for a literature of illness and healing class that she's teaching. I still remember some of the images: a daughter watching her father wash his mother's hair; a man who has just had a heart attack trying to console his daughter in the minutes after he's recovered.

My photos are taking too long to load; I'll post them another time.

My Asian American Experience Class

2009-02-06T12:41:00.003-05:00

This photo accompanies an article about AP credits at Tufts. I've been enjoying our class discussions on the construction of racial identity, hearing about their topics for independent research (from Asian gangs in Providence to the bamboo ceiling for Asian Americans to violence against Asian women at US military bases in Asia), and reading their memoirs.

And, great job on the photo!

Paired Pieces from The Rumpus

2009-02-05T18:19:00.003-05:00

These are long pieces from The Rumpus. When you have some time, take a look. Novelist Dan Chaon writes an essay about his wife, the writer Sheila Schwartz, after her death from ovarian cancer. Chaon (whose fiction I've admired for a long time) writes:

“Don’t worry, I’m not dying,” said my wife Sheila.

But she was.

This was about three days before it happened, and she sat up in her hospice bed and gave me one of those complicated looks she had: comforting and teasing and scared and stubborn. She was a master of maneuvering through paragraphs of thoughts with a single expression.

“I’m not,” she said, “dying.”

“Okay,” I said.

And here's an essay by Schwartz, Three Cancer Patients Walk into a Bar. I'm not living with the daily fear of breast cancer developing, but I'm very aware about my susceptibility to ovarian cancer, which is almost always not detected until it's too late. I, of course, have the option to still do something about this, but it isn't an easy decision.

I like how Schwartz plays with the essay form, but I most appreciate her candor and directness. Here's an excerpt:

Oh, I had my mammograms. I had my breasts squished and squashed like dead jellyfish. I saw my problematically dense balloons held up to the light. I saw the mysterious white smoke blowing through them, the geologic calcifications. Here is the spot we find questionable. This is the area we’d like to revisit. If you can come back in six months we’d like to see it again….maybe propose to it, maybe decide to lop it off…. but it didn’t matter. The gene I had didn’t apply that way. It was more inventive. Sneakier. It surprised me–and them. Though it probably shouldn’t have. It’s well-known that the one mutation causes both kinds. Breast, ovarian: a cancer which impregnates, imbueing your insides with microscopic life growing willy nilly, coming to fruition more rapidly than you dreamed possible, faster than a real pregnancy though you might think, for a fleeting moment, that you are. Your stomach, after all, bloats like early pregnancy. Your back aches. You’re as tired as the first trimester, though too old for these symptoms. Or nearly too old.

Singing Party

2009-02-05T14:28:00.000-05:00

Look what I found on exhibit in the library. These photos are on display for reunion classes here at Tufts. There's a display for my reunion class of 1994, but I thought this photos was worth noting:

Caption: Singing Party 1959

The technology has changed, but we half a century later, we still enjoy a good singing party:

Yay, Magic Sing!

Modern Book Publishing

2009-01-29T20:32:00.002-05:00

Bino alerted me to this story in Time magazine about book publishing. I read with Lisa last year at Four Stories and I was thrilled to hear about her success. For you writers out there, the article is worth a look. Her career was not over after self-publishing her novel on iUniverse, in fact, her book debuted #5 on NY Times Bestseller list.

What's Happening in this Image?

2009-01-24T19:06:00.003-05:00

My nephew Gavie came to visit the other day. He loves to sit on my lap and read with me. We read a Tagalog alphabet book that Kirsten and Paul gave all the kids this Christmas.

But lately, he's been picking up my New Yorkers and getting a lot of enjoyment out of those. He loves this photo of Barney Frank:

We went through the latest New Yorker cartoons and I asked him, "What's happening in this image?" It was fun to hear his interpretations. He kept wanting to return to this cartoon and he started playing with the cartoon, tracing the arrows and adding sound effects. It was as if he was inside the image.

That reminded me of something Lynda Barry wrote about in her cartoon/essay, "The Two Questions." When I was at Lynda's workshop a couple of years ago, Writing the Unthinkable, something you should do if you have the opportunity, she spoke about how writing or making art can suck you in. She talked about how her brother, as a child, would draw pictures and then crumple them up and throw them away. It wasn't the end product that mattered, but the experience of creating.

As I head into another semester of teaching writing, this is something I want to remind myself and my students: Don't be attached to what you're making, but pay attention to the experience of creating. If you're completely inside your stories and compelled by the images in them, chances are your reader will be too.

Also, congratulations to my brother in law Jorge Vega for a great reading at Grub Street last Friday. He projected images of his latest comic book, 9 Months, onto a wall. Alonso, who Jorge introduced to the crowd as "the only other brown man in the room" provided technical assistance. After the reading a lot of people came up to Alonso and congratulated him on his fine work. Alonso kept saying, "I can take no credit for the comic book." Fans thought Alonso was being humble, but it's true--Jorge (who looks nothing like Alonso) should take the credit.

BRCA essay posted on FORCE website

2009-01-23T07:43:00.003-05:00

Here's the second of three pieces I've written and published lately on my experiences with the breast cancer gene. I submitted a version of this essay to the New York Times Op-Ed page in the fall and got a really nice note back from one of the editors there. Too bad the economy tanked and there was news about the presidential election that week, otherwise, I might have had a chance. I was inspired to write a NY Times Op-Ed after reading this one by Jessica Queller (which became the book, Pretty is What Changes.) Anyways, you can find my essay here, but here's a clip:

Although I’d seen the effects of cancer up close, I wasn’t fully convinced of its power. Mary spent the first year of her son’s life prone on a couch, flattened by chemotherapy. She left his first birthday party in an ambulance, and she was in the hospital while I watched him take his first steps. My cousin was pregnant when she was diagnosed with breast cancer, which has since spread to her brain. None of this was enough to convince me to do anything but surveillance.

Then I met Linda Pedraza.

And be sure to scroll down and see the commentary, Prevalence of BRCA Mutations Underestimated in Asian American Women by Sue Friedman and Cara Scharf.

Filipinos for Obama

2009-01-20T18:14:00.004-05:00

My friend, from his FB profile pic. What a handsome fella!

Forward, making its way around email, on the "Filipino Obama."

I feel foolish on this inauguration day. I remember clearly a few years ago, standing in front of my classroom, and students were discussing whether they would see the election of a woman or African American to president in their lifetime. I remember thinking, very strongly, probably not. I'm glad I was wrong, but embarrassed to have had such a limited vision at that time. I'm not the only one who didn't dream big enough a couple of years ago, but I'm thrilled at how life has exceeded my expectations.

Jumpstart Your Writing Weekend

2009-01-11T08:32:00.002-05:00

It's stopped snowing and the streets look okay. See you all at Grub Street for class at 11AM. We won't have an intern today so please bring your own hot drink if you want something other than what's available at Grub. Also, we'll only take a half hour for lunch. Looking forward to seeing you all today.

Degrees of Donald Faison

2009-01-07T12:19:00.010-05:00

As I recover from another cough and cold (I have had one after another since Thanksgiving), I watched Scrubs. I think my brother turned me on to the show. I was surprised he liked it because he's in medical school. Why would you spend your time off from work watching a show about your work? But then again, why would I watch a show about a hospital while I was sick?

While watching Scrubs, which stars Donald Faison as Dr. Christopher Turk, I thought about encounters different family members have had with Donald Faison (DF) and thought the coincidences were entertaining.

Here goes:
1. When my sister first met her future husband in the mid-90's, she described him to me as "like Murray," played by DF, from the movie Clueless. My brother Paul watched this movie often: A. he was in high school and B. he had a crush on Alicia Silverstone.

2. More than ten years later in March 2007, my sister was hanging out in Times Square with her mother-in-law and saw DF, but didn't approach him. The next day, she was back in Times Square, this time at the giant Toys-R-Us and she saw DF again. This time, she approached DF and told him that he looked like her husband and asked him to sign an autograph for Jorge.

3. A few months after that, my sister's husband, Jorge, made the top 50 in Platinum Studios' 2007 Comic Book Challenge. He travelled to San Diego for ComiCon to pitch his comic book idea to a panel of celebrity judges that included, yes, Donald Faison. (3 minute interview with the two of them below)

4. Jorge won the comic book challenge and was signing autographs on his comic book, Gunplay, next to DF a year later.

5. My sister and brother in law also attended the launch of Gunplay and met DF, too. There are also photos of them with actors Alyssa Milano and Milo Ventimiglia (from Heroes), but those photos don't support my theory.

6. Did I say I had a theory? I have no theories except that tracing coincidences is a fun way to spend an hour. There's no meaning to it, just delight in connecting dots.

7. More randomness. My cousin Cindy Gido Arcenal (and wife to Fatlace mogul) recently posted a photo of herself in Las Vegas standing in a group with, yes, DF. She was in Vegas for a basketball game and was walking in a casino and randomly ran into DF.

8. We found out through the family grapevine that Alonso's cousin wrote a screenplay, Next Day Air, which will be released May 2009. Guess who's starring in that film? Yup, Donald Faison.

9. I haven't seen the film or read the screenplay, but from what I've heard: Art imitates life imitates art, etc. . . You'll see. The film is a comedy, but the reality is a tragedy.

10. These are all unconnected events revolving around one man, Donald Faison. I've listed these together so that they might appear to have connection and meaning, but really, they are mostly the result of chance. Explanations? I have a large family. Life is funny and even magical sometimes. I don't see cause and effect here. Delight in coincidence, yes. Meaning, answers, theories, no.

But perhaps my imagination is not large enough at the moment, given that it's all plugged up with this head cold.Do you have any stories like this? Share them in the comments.

And here's a bonus pic of my cousin (who shares my name) just because I think it's cute. She ran into him at an airport.

My first nonfiction book review

2008-12-27T09:49:00.002-05:00

A friend asked if I'd contribute to a new online magazine, The Rumpus. I wrote about a BRCA-related book. This is one of three forthcoming essays about my recent experiences with hereditary cancer. I'll let you know when the other two are published.

An excerpt:

I read Blood Matters on the one year anniversary of my preventive mastectomy. It was difficult to read it without thinking, “This time last year, I couldn’t get out of bed without assistance. This time last year, I was milking drains; I was held together with glue and tape; I was miserable…”

Here's my book review. Leave a comment over there if you please.
Review of Blood Matters by Masha Gessen

Passing you to my sister for a great essay on faith

2008-12-26T00:22:00.002-05:00

Here's an excerpt, but you can read the rest at her blog:

People often ask me what impact faith had on me when my daughter was diagnosed with cancer.

My daughter was 2-years old, and I had just started working at a Catholic college. While my practice of faith was pretty sporadic, I still believed in a Greater power (be it She or He). But, when she was diagnosed, I struggled. I was mad. Pissed! What kind of God would do this to a child? What kind of God brings an innocent child so close to death?

When others found out about my daughter, I received hugs/cards/emails all with the phrases “We’re praying for you” or “Trust that God will guide you” or “God will be with you.” Really?, I thought. Because this feels awfully f-in lonely. My family members wanted to pray over me for strength, invoke God during church, or offer up community prayer circles for my daughter. I found this just pissed me off. But, I never said anything because I knew the religious piece served a different purpose: it helped to comfort those people. Heck, if praying makes it easier for YOU, then go for it. If praying makes you feel like you’re doing something, then go for it. But, for me - nope. Not here. Not now. Not while my child is wearing a paper thin gown with an IV hooked up to poisonous chemicals being delivered by a nurse who is in a full body armor to protect herself.

I didn’t pray to God. But, I did wish for hope.

Blurb Books

2008-12-19T17:22:00.004-05:00

A couple of years ago I made some children's books for my nieces and nephew on Blurb. You can preview them below. It's fun looking at the old pictures. I would read the kids their books and because they were just wee back then, the story is simple to appeal to one, two, and three year olds.

The quality of the books is as good as books in bookstores and they are a lot of fun to make on a snowy winter day. The software was free and easy to use; people can order a copy for themselves off the site; and the price is reasonable.

No mouth, Gavin!
All the Family
Mia Jewell

Review of Shoot into the Crowds

2008-12-12T21:39:00.003-05:00

Review of my short story, Shoot into the Crowds, at One Real Story.

Okay, so the reviewer spelled my last name wrong. But what a nice thing to say:

After reading this story, I find myself at a loss for words. When you find something truly special, what can you say?

Aw, shucks. And I didn't even pay him to write that.

First Year Writing Revision Workshop

2008-12-09T18:02:00.008-05:00

In the spirit of using less paper, I'm posting the handout for tonight's first year writing revision workshop (for those of you who made it in person, hope you enjoyed the cupcakes). Maybe it will be useful for other readers. If you have other tips, feel free to add them in the comments.

FIVE Tips for Revising Your Paper for First Year Writing, Expository Writing, and/or English class

1. FOLLOW DIRECTIONS

I will state the obvious: Read the writing prompt (the paper directions) carefully. Make sure you pass your paper in on time. These seem obvious, but are the bare minimum to getting the grade you want.

Exercise:
Write a checklist and make sure you've adhered to all the addressed the assignment's requirements, tasks, format, page/word count, and other practical matters. Follow the instructions and fulfill the basic requirements of the paper. If the professor says to use MLA format, don't use APA. If you don't understand the paper prompt, ask your professor, query three of the students in class, and/or ask a writing tutor.

2. GIVE YOUR ESSAY THE ONE SENTENCE TEST

Can you summarize what you're trying to accomplish in your paper in one sentence? If not, perhaps you don't have a clear understanding and need to do more research. I recommend asking yourself this question in the final stages of revision, not in the beginning stages.

Exercise:
Complete this sentence: I am writing about X in order to learn about Y so that others may learn about Z because. . .

3. ATTEMPT ONLY ONE OR TWO TASKS AT A TIME.

Exercise:
Print out your paper and read it with a colored pencil or pen. Go through the paper and just pay attention to making your paper more concise. Go through another time and pay attention to all subject-verb agreement and other common grammar errors. Another time, look solely at structure.

One thing at a time. Once you've marked up your paper draft, enter the changes into your computer file, print it out, wait a few hours or days, and return to the draft with a fresh eye.

4. MAKE IT FRESH

You don't want to write a boring paper. Your teacher doesn't want to read a boring paper. How can you write a paper that is fresh, original, and energetic?

Exercise:
Number your page 1 to 10. Write ten possible first lines. Write ten possible closing lines. Let yourself write whatever comes to mind. Don't edit yourself. Just be inventive. Did you write anything that has given you new ideas, surprised you, or made your listeners pay attention?

5. PUT IN THE TIME

Writing well takes time. Be realistic about how much time it takes. Don't expect a good grade if you start your paper a few hours before it's due. Give yourself plenty of time to write and rewrite and reflect.

Exercise:
Make a writing date with a friend. Sit in a comfortable place, do your work together for an hour without speaking to each other, and then check in about what you've done.

Congratulations on your NEA, Joanne!

2008-12-08T23:42:00.003-05:00

I've written about my dear friend, the poet Joanne Diaz, on this blog many times.

We met when we were in the 8th grade, lost touch, and then met again when she knocked on my dorm room door (Hill Hall) my first day as a Tufts undergrad. We lived together after college on Porter Street in Somerville (near the hospital). She wrote a poem about our life on Porter Street and someday when that poem is published, I'll be able to share it here.

Anyways, like many of my writer friends (that means you, Michelle and Vicki), Joanne is having one of those great writing career years when all of her efforts over the years is starting to pay off. And the latest news--Joanne Diaz was awarded an National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) fellowship in poetry! 25K to support her writing and the only poet in Illinois this year to win an NEA, according to her department chair. Read his blog about the news here.

This Day Last Year:

2008-12-04T00:00:00.006-05:00

I was having a bilateral mastectomy. I hate to admit this, but I've only in the past few months read some of the emails and notes and comments people left me. I knew people had written to me and I knew who they were, but I couldn't bear to read what they wrote. It would force me to feel too much, even if that feeling was love from other people. I was too overwhelmed. So I knew that people had thought of me and that made me feel supported, but I wasn't able to read the actual notes until recently.

I've been reading the notes and going through the many cards, opening them up like gifts and enjoying them very much. I'll probably post Alonso's photos from last year and post some excerpts from the creative nonfiction project I'm doing about mastectomy at some point soon. My sister Liza did a great job blogging my experience in real time here.

This is what I'm doing to celebrate this day (besides a full day of teaching): I'm going to hear Uwem Akpan read at Boston College. You have to read his work in the New Yorker or buy his collection of stories. The work is so good. It's thrilling to read his work (and I read a LOT). Akpan is a Jesuit priest and a grad from the creative writing program at UMich.

Check out this excerpt from An Ex-Mas Feast, a story about a family living in abject poverty. In the story, the parents give their children glue to sniff in order to kill their hunger.

Our dog growled outside. Mama snapped her fingers, and the dog came in, her ripe pregnancy swaying like heavy washing in the wind. For a month and a half, Mama, who was good at spotting dog pregnancies, had baited her with tenderness and food till she became ours; Mama hoped to sell the puppies to raise money for my textbooks.

And see this story, My Parents' Bedroom, about a family during the Rwandan genocide. Here's the mother instructing her child:

“When they ask you,” she says sternly, without looking at me, “say you’re one of them, O.K.?”
“Who?”
“Anybody. You have to learn to take care of Jean, Monique. You just have to, huh?”

For Linda

2008-11-25T03:03:00.002-05:00

Bench across from Tisch Library at Tufts, Nov 2008
Thank you for all you've given me, Linda!

Read this: The Suicide Index

2008-11-19T23:30:00.003-05:00

I've been staying up late reading The Suicide Index by Joan Wickersham. It's SO good--it's exciting how good it is. But I'm not the only one who thinks so--the book is a National Book Award nominee. Like another memoir I enjoyed recently, The Two Kinds of Decay by Sarah Manguso, The Suicide Index plays with the memoir's form (the book is structured like an index), but I enjoy it mostly because the writing is candid, courageous, and thoughtful.

Check out an excerpt first published in Agni, What About the Gun? It's really short and powerful. The final image in the piece is amazing.

Reunion

2008-11-16T22:47:00.004-05:00

I went to brunch today with women I had not spoken to or seen in 18 years.

18 years!

That's how old we were when we last saw each other. Half our life ago.

We went to middle school through high school together. After high school graduation, we parted ways. I moved to California, then Oregon. Social networking brought us back in touch and we set a date to meet. In preparation, photos of us as children and teenagers were scanned, tagged, and posted.

This morning, we travelled from north, west, and south of Boston to meet in Kenmore Square. I wasn't sure what we'd say to each other. Like the teacher that I am, I prepped possible discussion questions in case there was a lull. What was the best thing that's happened to you since the last time we spoke? What are the highlights of your life since 1990? Where are you in your life and how did you get there?

But of course, our meeting wasn't as difficult as I imagined. We slipped back into conversation easily and spent the afternoon doing what I love best in this world: Telling stories.

Let's not allow another 18 years pass before we see each other again, I said.

18 years? my friend said. We already have another reunion scheduled for December.

Random Acts of Kindness

2008-11-14T00:22:00.005-05:00

I left the house in a rush today and noticed that my new pants (newly hemmed) were a little too short. This made me feel very awkward and nerdy--to see my high waters blowing in the wind. I ordered my coffee and breakfast at the cafe.

"We're not taking cards right now," the cashier said. "Do you have cash?"

I shook my head and tried not to look sad as I sat down at a table, my pants flapping above my heels, showing too much of my sock pattern. I waited for my friend to arrive and wondered how long I could sit there without buying anything.

And then the cashier called me over. "The man in the gray sweatshirt just bought your mocha cafe au lait," she said.

"What?" I asked. The cashier repeated and pointed. It made the coffee makers happy, I could tell.

I walked over to the man in the gray sweatshirt. "Did you buy my coffee?" I accused.

My voice sounded edgy, but come on, this is Boston, where we don't make eye contact or smile at strangers. My mind raced. I wanted to pay him back in some way. Should I get his contact information so I could send him money? Should I go on and on about how grateful I was? What do you do when a complete stranger buys you a fancy coffee? I tried to memorize his face.

"Random acts of kindness," the man said. He shrugged. He took his drink to go.

As I sat, enjoying my drink, I thought about the man, about kindness to strangers, and tried to accept the gift.

Thank you, man in the gray sweatshirt, whoever you are.

Thank you, Joanne Diaz

2008-11-04T11:43:00.005-05:00

from NBC

Joanne Diaz published a new poem, Thank you, Brian Williams (he's the NBC news anchor) and it's a great send-off to the current administration. Diagram is a really cool magazine and you should consider submitting to.

Here's a taste of the poem, but you should read the whole thing:

Join us for an amazing concert of Filipino and Cambodian Musics

2008-11-04T11:20:00.006-05:00

Cool profile in the Tufts Journal about my sister's work. It's a mouthful to talk about what Mary does--ethnomusicology, kulingtang, Magindinao, dayunday--and the writer, Marjorie Howard, does a great job translating.

The Tufts Festival of Southeast Asian Music, sponsored by the department of music, presents music and dance of the Philippines and Cambodia, featuring kulintang, on Sunday, November 23, at 3 p.m. Also part of the festival, the Boston Village Gamelan will perform on Saturday, November 22, at 8 p.m. Both performances are free and will take place in the Granoff Music Center’s Distler Performance Hall.

My Reasons to Vote

2008-11-04T11:12:00.002-05:00

You Gotta Read This: How to Work a Locker Room

2008-11-02T15:31:00.001-05:00

My friend Michelle Seaton (fantastic print and radio journalist as well as soon to be book author) just published an essay, How to Work a Locker Room.

Check it out in the print issue of The Pinch. You can read an excerpt if you go to the current issues and click on excerpts from creative nonfiction. It's an amazing essay and you can see from the very first lines how the voice of grabs you immediately.

It's a great essay that weaves together professional hockey, psychological trauma, what it's like to be a woman journalist in an intimate male space. About the locker room, Michelle writes, "Sweaty men with bad diets have been undressing in this room for decades."

I love this essay because it does what good writing allows me to do as a reader--step fully into someone else's life.

New short short story published!

2008-10-24T14:28:00.003-05:00

A couple of years ago while I was eating dinner with a student from Ghana, she told me a story about a tragedy that had occurred at a soccer stadium. I couldn't stop thinking about it and wanted to write a story.

Check it out at ghoti magazine:
Shoot into the Crowds!

I got Shuffled!

2008-10-23T21:22:00.004-05:00

Shuffled! is a weekly column appearing every Thursday (sometimes later in the day) here on BPRLive. Each week, we welcome a person from the APA community to share some thoughts about the music they listen to.

Skip all the bio/intro and check out my essay. Leave a comment at the bottom of the article.

It's a really fun exercise for all you writers out there. Take your iTunes, shuffle it and respond to the songs that come up. Others who've been Shuffled! are Adrian Tomine, Alexander Chee, Giles Li, David Mura, etc. . etc. . .

Here's the beginning of my essay:

Just a Girl
No Doubt

My first job out of college was in publishing. I expected my life in publishing would be glamorous and intellectually stimulating, but my greatest challenge was keeping awake. During my lunch hour, I’d nap in the parking garage, reclined in the front seat of my car.

This was before the Internet. Can you imagine killing eight hours of your workday without blogs, online shopping, and Facebook? If people didn’t have respectable office jobs, when would they find the time to read articles like this one?

Sarah who?

2008-10-21T08:15:00.006-05:00

my father and Jo

A couple of weeks ago, I saw this and this:

I am not into politics but when i saw Sarah Palin's interview with CNBC last night, it changed me. She is one lady with excellent common sense and she deserves to be elected as Vice President of the United States of America. Good choice, Mr Mc.Cain. Hoping for a good reform in Washington when you two starts serving next year.
Posted by Ed Talusan August 30, 08 10:40 AM
Great job in picking Sarah Palin. She has great common sense. Go out and vote for McCain/Palin in November. Time to reform the system for good!!!!
Submitted by: ed talusan
4:22 PM PDT, August 30, 2008

We were never encouraged to talk about politics in my house (leftover trauma from the Marcos dictatorship where you or your family could be hurt for saying the wrong thing) so I was surprised to see my father's name signed to political statements on public forums. I emailed my siblings and sibling-in-laws and asked, "Is this our father? And if it is, can anyone encourage him to stop leaving messages of support for the Republican party?"

We didn't agree with his opinion, but thought it terrific that my father was getting his voice out there, participating, and engaging. This bit of information opened up another side of him that I didn't know. We were all speculating. We have Obama stickers on our cars; my nieces (5 years old and under) jump up and down cheering his name when Obama's on TV.

And then my sister called my father and asked, "Are you leaving messages of support for Sarah Palin on newspaper websites?" His hearing is starting to go so my sister repeated this, shouting into the phone, "Political comments. Sarah Palin."

"Sarah who?" my father asked. "I can't hear you. Who?"

"Forget it," she said.

My sister did a little more digging and found my father had left messages on some boards, but they were more of the "my boat engine is broken" and "my car has a funny noise" variety. She found out the identity of the person leaving the messages--a police officer on the West Coast.

To my friends out there who are canvassing and helping out with the campaign, thank you!

Mia, and my sister in law, Jenny

Alonso and Jo

Happy Ether Day!

2008-10-17T10:51:00.009-05:00

As part of my research in medical and surgical history and the history of mastectomy, I visited the Ether Dome at MGH. Ether Day was actually yesterday, but I couldn't make it over until today.

The bonus is that my brother Paul was recognized for 5 years of service in the pathology dept and I got to applaud for him as he received his pin. One woman, who wasn't able to make it to the ceremony, had worked at MGH for 50 years. 50 years!

Ether Day celebrates the first public surgery using anesthesia. On Oct 16, 1846, William Morton, a Boston dentist, let a patient breathe ether from a sponge (I saw the original sponge!) and John Collins Warren removed a tumor from the patient's neck. After, the patient reported that he felt no pain and the People's Journal in London proclaimed, "We Have Conquered Pain."

the sponge

Writing Asian America--Seminar at Boston BASIC Conference 2008

2008-10-10T23:18:00.039-05:00

In my efforts to go paperless, here's my handouts for my presentation at the Boston Asian Students Intercollegiate Conference 2008. For all you participants at today's workshop, welcome. For my regular readers, maybe these will interest you too.

With blogs, newspapers, literary magazines, and glossies, Asian American literary production and media is flourishing. When I was growing up, the only Asian American TV news journalist I knew was Connie Chung. I actually wanted to be Connie Chung (this will be an essay for another time and will include photographic evidence). In college, I admired journalist Helen Zia. And for my literary heros wereMaxine Hong Kingston and Amy Tan. In the late 80's, I published a couple of articles in a Filipino American newspaper out of San Francisco, Philippine News . I subscribed to Filipinas magazine when it started in 1992, but I hungered for publications that addressed the Asian American experience rather than just Fil-Am life.

In 2000, I began to read AsianWeek and published a couple of book reviews there. I read and enjoyed A magazine until it folded in 2002.

The web has made it possible for many API* writers to get their voices out there (including mine on this blog). Here's my compilation of some Asian American publications, both online and print. In the comments, let me know of some I've missed. I'm focusing on Asian American venues, not ones that are specific to a country of origin or ethnic group. I've quoted from the magazines' missions.

Print Media

Newspapers

AsianWeek

AsianWeek, based in San Francisco, CA, is the oldest and largest English language newspaper serving the Asian/Pacific Islander American community. It is the only print media using audited circulation and U.S. Census tract demographics to target this most affluent multicultural market.

Glossies

Hyphen Magazine

Hyphen is a national magazine for urban, in-the-know Asian Americans. Covering arts, culture and politics with substance, style and sass, Hyphen has become a media must for one of the fastest growing populations in America.

*I recommend a subscribing to Hyphen.

(Both Mochi and Asiance are at BASIC if you want to talk to representatives in person)

Mochi Magazine

Mochi Magazine is a quarterly nonprofit print publication that provides a community for Asian American teenage girls to access sisterly advice and to explore their cultural identities. Articles written by peers in high school allow girls to see how others cope with similar issues, while those written by college women, young professionals, and other role models provide forward inspiration.

Asiance Magazine

Asiance Magazine caters to the glamorous, aspirational, 18-34 year old, English-speaking generation Asian American women defying boundaries & upbringings while pursuing careers & ideals not initially deemed respectable by the Asian Community. Meet the women who are transforming their culture in a country that welcomes and inspires it!

Audrey Magazine (An essay of mine was just accepted here--I'll let you know when it's published)

Audrey is the premier bimonthly English-language magazine highlighting the stories that interest Asian American women nationwide. Each issue is packed with glossy photos, as well as entertaining and informative articles on the latest fashion and beauty trends, celebrity news, health, dining, home décor, relationships and more. Audrey launched in March 2003 in response to the growing demand for a high-quality publication that serves Asian American women.

Giant Robot

From movie stars, musicians, and skate-boarders to toys, technology, and history, Giant Robot magazine covers cool aspects of Asian and Asian-American pop culture. Paving the way for less knowledgeable media outlets, Giant Robot put the spotlight on Chow Yun Fat, Jackie Chan, and Jet Li years before they were in mainstream America's vocabulary.

JADE Magazine

JADE Magazine strives to be the voice of English-speaking Asian women around the world by creating a forum to shatter the myths that exist about us, as well as providing a needed medium for the open discussion of our views, ideas and concerns. We highlight and showcase the talents and successes of Asian and Asian American women in all arenas. JADE Magazine is a celebration of our unique experiences; it will empower our identity and style.

13 Minutes
Bicultural Asian American Fashion, Culture, and Entertainment

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Online
Publishing online is a great way to participate in the writing world. You can do this anonymously or with a pen name or your real name. Many people have individual or group blogs, electronic magazines, websites, Facebook and MySpace pages, and other publications. Most print publications above have online versions with frequently added and online only content.

Just a sampling of Asian American sites I read:

8 Asians

8 Asians is a collaborative blog of Asian-Americans and Asian-Canadians. But once you look past the fact that we fill out the same bubble in a census survey, you’ll see that we don’t have much in common, and as you’ll soon see, that’s not such a bad thing. We’ll be posting about whatever Asian issues are currently relevant in our lives, whether it be pop culture or current events or politics.

Angry Asian Man

I'm not as angry as you think. Yes, racism angers me. But I'm not here sitting in front of the computer, hating whitey and plotting revolution. This is just a subject that has always interested me — pointing out racism and noting any and all appearances of Asians in mass media and popular culture (the good and the bad). It's something I care about. So I've created a little space on the web for it all... I suppose the angry part sometimes scares people, but rest assured, I'm a pretty civil, reasonable guy. Just don't cross me.

These are from Tak Toyoshima, Secret Asian Man. See his site for more:

Model Minority: A Guide to Asian American Empowerment
GoldSea: Asian American Daily

AsianNextAsian Am sports and athletes
API Movement Magazine

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As an added bonus, Best of Publications for People of Color
PrintColorlines

Currently in its 9th year of publication, ColorLines is the leading national, multi-racial magazine devoted to the creativity and complexity of communities of color. ColorLines features the best writing on the issues that affect these communities.

Colorlines is outstanding. Subscribe to them if you want to know all the important issues for people of color in this country. Outstanding reporting, conferences, social justice, and community building. (And hey, they reprinted my Book of Life and Death short story in the May/June 2008 issue)

OnlineRacialicious

Racialicious is a blog about the intersection of race and pop culture. Check out our daily updates on the latest celebrity gaffes, our no-holds-barred critique of questionable media representations, and of course, the inevitable Keanu Reeves newsflashes. Carmen Van Kerckhove is co-founder and president of New Demographic, a consulting firm that helps people learn about race and racism without having to endure the misery of diversity training.

My sister Liza contributes to Anti-Racist Parent, part of the Racialicious family.

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Literary Magazines

Kartika Review
Newest kid on the Asian American literary block. They are always looking for work. I published an essay, The Myth of Filipino Magnetism, in the summer issue.

MiPOesias
Asian American Issue 2007
This is a special issue and includes a diverse selection of the finest Asian Am poets writing today.

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General resources:
Asian American Poetry and Writing
Asian American Writers Workshop
Asian American Resources Workshop
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Places to Start Publishing in Asian American Publications

1. Asiance Magazine University

Is your University representing Asian Americans adequately? Any happenings that you want to make known? Want to form an on-campus group? Want to link up your sorority with another school? Well this is the place! This is your one-stop shop. With the integration of our community over the next few weeks, you’ll be able to interact with students all over the world. Make sure you don’t leave without signing up!

Enjoy articles written by current University students for University students. We welcome and encourage any suggestions for the University section of Asiance. Please email us at university@asiancemagazine.com

2. Submit to venues looking for your work.

Editors from the Kartika Review give you some unsolicited advice about submitting your creative work for publication (this is good advice I've seen across most publications although you should always check the submission guidelines for each place you send work to as they all have slightly different preferences):

Your cover letter: short and sweet. I personally would like to know if you have an MFA (if so, where?). Or if you have prior publishing credits (if so, where?). But that’s basically it. You don’t need to tell me what your story is about, or how great you are. Please please please don’t boast (i.e., hold off on the adjectives when describing your own work and/or achievements). Your manuscript will speak for itself.

3. Blog
Use free blogging software from blogger, Wordpress, or tumblr.

Represent yourself. Write your own story so that someone else doesn't do it for you. Make a community through your writing. But most of all, participate. Engage. Don't be invisible (even if you want to be anonymous or use a pen name.)

Happy October 2008!

2008-10-01T01:02:00.010-05:00

Paul and Joli, Race for the Cure

I didn't mind Octobers and felt good about buying pink ribbon products until breast cancer touched my life. First my sister had breast cancer. On her birthday, my entire extended family and friends did a breast cancer walk in honor of my sister (who was too sick on chemo to attend).
Mia walking for the Cure

And then there was the October I spent in and out of tests and procedures for suspicious findings in my own case. And then there was last October, leading up to my mastectomy surgery, that was an anxious, stressful blur. So I'm not a huge fan of all the pink ribbon reminders of this.

Nothing against breast cancer and breast cancer industry awareness. Nothing against celebrating and honoring women. Women used to blame themselves for this disease and only talked about it whispers so I'm glad that breast cancer is out in the open. But the reminders for me, at least this October, my first October post-mastectomy, don't feel so cheery.

Even when I check my email, the ribbons are there:

Barbara Ehrenreich (Nickled and Dimed) wrote a fantastic essay in Harper's, "Welcome to Cancerland: A Mammogram Leads to a Cult of Pink Kitsch." Check it out here.

The Breast Cancer Action Network is asking people to "think before you pink."

Be well, Richard

2008-09-30T23:52:00.005-05:00

I went to Camp Sunshine in June for the annual week for families with children who had retinoblastoma (Rb). I walked in the door and a man with neatly cut hair and a warm smile was also checking into camp. He studied me for a moment then said, You wrote that book, Joey's Special Eye.

"Yeah, but it's not really a book. It's just a story in a coloring book." I waved my hand. I was sweaty and tired from the 3-hour wrong turn we took in New Hampshire (the camp is in Maine, not New Hampshire, Liza). I smelled of Chicken McNuggets. Also, attention and praise makes me squirm and want to run away. It's very hard for me to take it in. To deflect attention from myself, I asked where they had traveled from.

The man said, It's real book. Don't discount it. That book meant a lot to our family.

I thanked him quickly and ran away (I know, I know, I'm working on not doing this). I've thought about that moment a lot since then.

Later, I found out that his child had needed an enucleation (like Joli did) to treat Rb and the family had read Joey's Special Eye together for many nights in preparation. When Joli was still in cancer treatments a few years ago, I heard that the EyeCare Foundation was looking for a volunteer to help with ideas on a book. Immediately, I told them I had more than ideas and would love to write it. People extended so much kindness to us when Joli had cancer and I wanted to pay it forward. And the book did what I wanted it to do--give some comfort and information to families that needed it. It is a real book. I'm glad that the first book I published made a difference in some lives. It's gone into a second printing and if you want a copy, you can email the EyeCare Foundation.

But here's the sad thing, the thing I don't want to say: The man who reached out to me, whose child had Rb, is now in need of some support, prayers, and thoughts himself. I found out today that he was recently diagnosed with a rare and aggressive cancer. He's recovering from surgery right now. Here's what his wife says on their Caringbridge site:

So statistically speaking, things are pretty stacked against us at present. We are trying to keep positive and dispel any negative thoughts. So for prayers today add in there that we be granted the strength to keep positive as that will be a struggle for us.

It sounds like such a small thing to do in the face of it, but it really does help the family to leave a note on the guestbook. I know they'd appreciate the kindness:

PS Kindly pass along the link to this site with anyone you feel would be interested in having it. The more prayers and positive energies the better...

Small Worlds

2008-09-30T01:33:00.003-05:00

I visited the Asian American Center today and an alum happened to be there. He was visiting from the Philippines and had read my blog and my writing in Tufts magazine. He asked about Alonso. He named the characters in a story I wrote.

I write this blog and I feel like I'm writing to myself. Sometimes I forget that people who I don't know read it. It's an odd and delightful feeling to meet them face to face.

It was amazing to sit there in that room and know that the lobbying efforts he did in his college days directly impacted the creation of the Asian American Center, which contributed so much to my growth as a college student and who I am and what I'm doing today. He said that in the Philippines, so far away from any reminders of this life, he sometimes wonders if it had been a dream.

Look Past All the Warts

2008-09-29T21:35:00.002-05:00

My brother in law Jorge (of Gunplay and Comic Book Challenge fame) has become an indie comic publisher!

Family friendly Kaeru Boy is about a frog boy and has been getting thumbs up in comic reviews. Not so family friendly, 9 Months (which features a pregnant gunslinger) has also been getting great reviews.

I read Kaeru Boy and I can already see it as a Saturday morning cartoon. Gavin Ito leaps off the page (ha ha).

Filipinos for Obama!

2008-09-27T11:17:00.003-05:00

From my friend Noel, Obama's sister shares a message with the Fil-Am and Asian Pacific Islander (API) community. I went to my first debate watching party last night. The first time I voted was in 2000 (that ill-fated election) and the upcoming election is the third presidential election that I'll be eligible to participate in.

Just the two of them

2008-09-25T22:30:00.000-05:00

The two older nieces are in school so now I'm down to two little ones for my Tita (the word for "aunt" in Tagalog) time.

PLAYING INSIDE

Jada insists that her baby doll wear a brain "hat."

Jada hugging a tree. Yes, that tree is wearing a knit sweater.

Gavin reaching up with a stick to poke the trees' eyes out.

One sentence image

2008-09-23T00:25:00.001-05:00

I went to the Ocean Science Exhibit Center at Woods Hole and came across this letter, written after the Titanic was discovered in 1985, from a relative of a man who drowned in the Titanic. Someone who survived the sinking recalled that:

. . .the last time she saw Patrick, he was kneeling on a table singing, "Nearer My God to Thee."

These few words made an image which made a story in my mind.

In honor of Special Needs Mama

2008-09-22T19:29:00.003-05:00

Over at Literary Mama (where one of my students just had an essay accepted), my friend Vicki has written a testament to her son in "Saying Goodbye."

I never met Evan in person, but felt I knew him through Vicki. It's Vicki's final Special Needs Mama column.

Here's a taste:

Even the most anticipated ending can leave us lost, confused. Imagine an ending that comes without warning or preparation, one that is shocking, sudden, and unexpected.

BRCA project

2008-09-21T23:11:00.003-05:00

I've blogged about the long narrative essay I'm writing about the history of mastectomy and breast cancer, genetics, and my experiences with the BRCA (breast cancer gene). I showed my writing group the first 40 pages of this project and they gave me the thumbs up. I've been doing lots of fun research that is taking me in all kinds of directions--including field trips.

On Oct 16, I'm going to attend Ether Day celebrations at Massachusetts General Hospital (the first mastectomy with anesthesia took place on the same campus where I had my mine). I'm also going to visit the archives at the Schlesinger Library at Radcliffe and the Countway Library of Medicine on a search for historical writings about breast cancer.

I haven't figured out how to do it, but I want calculate the rate of first person accounts on mastectomy and breast cancer since 1811, when Fanny Burney wrote one of the earliest memoirs about mastectomy. Burney endured this surgery without anesthesia. These were the days before antiseptic conditions and she survived infection.

Here's an animation that I found that was a really interesting way of explaining the BRCA gene mutation:

Yay Alonso!

2008-09-19T20:51:00.005-05:00

After some years of struggle (we're talking 3 or 4 part-time jobs at a time--from teaching Spanish to student services to individual tutoring and more) Alonso has landed a staff photography job.

The visionary, driven, energetic photographer Melody Ko founded and established the photography department, but has since moved on. Alonso would not be where he is without her generosity, mentoring, and encouragement. She's been integral in his growth as a photographer. Check out some of his images.

We will miss Melody a lot here. . .

Calling All Ye Asian American Writers*

2008-09-16T22:12:00.003-05:00

You have less than 2 weeks to enter Hyphen Magazine's Short Story Contest.

The stipulations:
1. Open to all writers of Asian descent living in the US or Canada.
2. Deadline Sept 29--4 copies mailed.
3. $10 fee

The winner of the 2007 prize was Preeta Samarasan whose first novel will be published by Houghton Mifflin this year. She will be judging this year's contest along with Monica Ferrell. They've extended the deadline and they are looking for some great stories. Sometimes I like to enter contests and send work out to magazines just to have a deadline.

Spread the word!

Hyphen is a great magazine--it's beautifully designed, well written, and has a sense of humor. It's inspiring to hear what's going on in Asian America. Check them out!

*A reference to the essay by Frank Chin, "Come All Ye Asian American Writers of the Real and the Fake," in The Big Aiiieeeee!: An Anthology of Chinese American and Japanese American Literature, (Edited by Jeffery Chan).

What Joy Looks Like

2008-09-15T22:12:00.002-05:00

By the time they turned two, all my nieces and nephew could sing this song:

Five little monkeys jumping on the bed, one fell off and bumped his head. Mama called the doctor and the doctor said, No more monkeys jumping on the bed!

Sometimes the monkeys were dinosaurs or caterpillars, but the plot was always the same.

Life After Death

2008-09-15T21:38:00.000-05:00

(I'm really busy right now with school start up and have been neglecting the blog. But I saw that I had a backlog of blog entries I wrote and never posted. Here's one of them.)

In June, I went to Darin Strauss' reading at Newtonville Books for More Than It Hurts You. He didn't read from the book, but from this piece, aired on This American Life a few days later. Have a listen care of jimmy liew.

Strauss starts out the piece with, "Half my life ago, I killed a girl." He writes about the aftermath of this moment, which occurred before his first year at Tufts (where I also went and now where I teach). Also, Strauss blogs about the piece on his blog at Newsweek here.

Filipino House Party

2008-09-06T23:16:00.009-05:00

I asked my students to write image journals of their first week of college to use in a writing exercise later. I'm doing this exercise too, here, taking notes for a new short story that takes place at a Filipino party. I've always wanted to write my own Fil-Am version of Junot Diaz's short story Fiesta, 1980 (which you can find in his collection Drown or anthologized).

1. Sis and mom hanging out in the hallway talking. Behind them is the bathroom with sign printed from the computer that says "Bathroom," made especially for the party.

2. Big aluminum pans of pancit, fried egg rolls, ribs, lechon.

3. Mother and daughter, holding on their laps paper plates soggy with food.

4. Playroom.

5. The used oil from the egg roll frying is saved in a jar that used to hold sweetened chick peas.

6. Sitting around eating halo-halo.

7. Breaking out the magic sing.

8. More singing.

9. Guitar hero.

10. Mahjong.

11. You know the party's over when the bathroom's out of order.

Happy 3rd Birthday, Gavie!

2008-09-04T17:08:00.003-05:00

Photos by Alonso Nichols

Giantman Returns

2008-08-30T16:03:00.000-05:00

To celebrate the beginning of another school year, here's a link to a 10-minute radio story about the phenomenon of Giantman at Tufts in the 1994 (the year I graduated). It first appeared on This American Life by Hillary Frank, who produced this story on "an answering machine and a shiny red boombox."

I heard the story while driving to Louisville, KY this summer. I was at Tufts when Giantman appeared, but I had never heard of it. When I returned from the road trip to teach summer school at Tufts, I noticed this on two buildings (Tisch library and one of the residence hall walls).

This sentiment has stayed with me, especially now that a new class of students have arrived to college:

When you're a student it still feels like something exciting might happen at any moment. Life feels full of all this potential. But when you get out of school, that potential just doesn't seem to be there.

Two things I learned today from hanging out with small children

2008-08-28T21:09:00.007-05:00

1. It's not personal

Two boys, about eight years old, were digging trenches around their sand castle. Jada watched them. "I want to play with the boys," she said.

"Go up to them and ask if you can join them," I said. She's two years old, as tall and slender as one of their legs. With her head down and her eyes looking up at the boys she asked in a quiet voice. The boys conferred with each other and went back to their digging. Jada came back to me. "The boys said no. Why don't they want to play with me?"

As the youngest of the four cousins, Jada isn't used to hearing, "No." Her Ate, her older sister, is always standing up for her and making sure she's included. But this time Jada was on her own.

"It's not personal," I said. And then I remembered, she's only two.

"The boys said no," Jada repeated. "Why they said no?"

I told Jada that there were many reasons that the boys said no. Maybe they just wanted to play with each other, or maybe they only want to play with kids they know or maybe it's because they are so much bigger than her. The list goes on. Whatever reason, it wasn't personal. I tried to get across to Jada that there wasn't anything wrong or unacceptable about her. They just had their own needs to tend to.

"Find someone else to play with," I told her. "Keep on asking until you find someone who says 'yes'."

I thought about this advice I gave to her as I received my latest literary rejection letter in the mail. The rejection stung, but I recovered much faster than I used to. A literary rejection doesn't mean I'm an awful writer or my piece stinks--it just didn't fit that publication's needs for whatever reason. I'm going to keep on sending work out (improving and revising) until someone says 'yes.'

2. Try, learn, and try some more.

Joli loves to catch frogs at the river we go to. I spotted one, a big one the size of my thumb, floating on the top of the water. "There it is," I whispered. "Go and get your bucket."

She ran and got a small purple pail. She splashed into the water and the frog swam away. Joli was disappointed. "I can't do it," she said. "Will you catch the frog for me?" She tried two more times and both times he swam away.

"No," I said. "You do it. You're the one who wants the frog." I explained that she should watch the frog's behavior because he tended to repeat his pattern. He'd wait a few minutes and then reappear in the same spot in the mass of floating pine needles. He tended to swim down when he was startled so she try to get her pail under him. "He's repetitive," I told her.

"What's repetitive?" she asked.

"He does the same thing over and over again," I said. "We all do." I was going to launch into a lecture on Freud's theories on the repetition compulsion, but was silent.

After a few more frustrated tries, Joli finally caught the frog in her pail. She was triumphant and turned to me and said, "I got him, Tita." And then the frog jumped out of the pail.

"What can you do?" I asked her.

She ran and got another pail, a bigger one. After a few more tries, she finally caught the frog and played with him all afternoon.

It's a great thing to be able to learn and adjust and try. There's tremendous benefit to being able to do this. I used to think I needed to succeed straight out of the gates and felt ashamed when I didn't. But I've become comfortable with trying and having that be good enough. As Beckett says, "Go on failing. Go on. Only next time, try to fail better."

What is something you want to fail better at?

Goodbye old cell phone!

2008-08-22T22:32:00.002-05:00

I've had this phone since 2001, when it was already a year old model. I wanted something that didn't break easily. In the past 7 years I've used this phone, I've dropped it dozens of times. It would come apart into two pieces and I would put it back together again. The numbers rubbed off. Pieces of the rubber deteriorated. The plastic chipped. Sometimes the sound would just plain not work. I went swimming with the phone once. When the chlorine water dried, the phone powered right back up.

My siblings have given me their cell phones; my mother offered a Blackberry for my birthday. But nothing could entice me to give up my old phone. But I recently received a gift that I couldn't say no to and my old phone is history.

Sent from my iphone.

BRCA essay part II

2008-08-21T22:51:00.003-05:00

8776 words/35 double spaced manuscript pages on my BRCA essay so far and I still have more story to tell.

I'm trying to keep going and ignore these thoughts:
1. I'm being self-indulgent.
2. No one would want to read this essay because it's so self-indulgent.

By self-indulgent, I mean that I'm just writing about what I'm interested in. I can't imagine an audience or a reader. Am I writing this for my paternal cousins (who might also carry this gene)? Am I writing this for someone who has gone through this experience? To my nieces to read in the future? I guess I'm just writing it for me.

Do any of you struggle with these thoughts when you write?

Just found out my friends at FORCE: Facing Our Risk of Cancer Empowered--a vital community and resource has a blog. Check them out!

BRCA essay

2008-08-20T15:39:00.004-05:00

I've been forsaking everything (writing feedback to students--sorry guys, enjoying the last days of summer, the dishes, the garden weeds ) these past few days to write a long essay which includes these threads: the history of the mastectomy, interpretations of the meanings of the breast throughout the ages and through art, the BRCA breast cancer gene, and as always, stories of my growing up.

I stopped by a friend's house, but left early because I wanted to get back to the essay. He asked if I was on deadline and who was publishing the essay.

Actually, no one, I said. I just feel this urgency to write it.

Maybe it's because one of the books I'm referencing is a month over due?

Someone asked me recently if I ever thought about getting paid for the writing I do. I don't really think about that at all. Maybe that's why I'm not in a better financial situation than I'm currently in. I guess I just never expected my writing to be something I could actually make money doing. I'm sure it's possible, but maybe I just don't know how to do it. It's something I'll think about this year for sure. For now, I'm just enjoying writing a lot. Shouldn't that be enough? To follow a line of thinking and your own curiosity and discovering something in your writing that you didn't know before you did it?

What do you think? Why do you write?

August afternoon in Davis Sq

2008-08-19T09:10:00.004-05:00

(photo by Jack Diaz)

From the camera of Jacko--who was taking spy photos all afternoon unbeknownst to me--Joanne and I looking at a video of Jay doing a magic trick with his tooth. Alonso and Jay in the back drinking smoothies. Best wishes to Jo on her new job and Jacko for new beginnings.

How We Wait Through Winter

2008-08-17T12:13:00.004-05:00

An essay I wrote about Joli, about the moment when we found out she was going to have chemotherapy, was published today in the Survivor's Review: How We Wait Through Winter.

She's doing great--here's a photo of her at her last birthday:

Honoring my niece--survivor girl!

2008-08-16T21:44:00.006-05:00

In honor of my niece and the anniversary of her cancer diagnosis a few years ago when she was two years old, here's a poster of her showing her tumor for a Spanish language public service announcement about retinoblastoma (Rb). Here's her mother's site, a resource for Rb in New England.

I was thinking about the late Randy Pausch, who "taught" my class last year while I was recovering from my bilateral mastectomy (I asked my students to watch his Last Lecture in lieu of class). Watching some footage of him reminded me of how I felt the day Joli was diagnosed, how we had no idea how it would all turn out, how we only suddenly had now and we better it enjoy it, squeeze as much fun as we can from the hours we have together.

I love this photo of my corn seedlings (another beauty from Alonso's camera), a few months before Joli's diagnosis. Alonso and I would rush home every day to watch these seedlings, attentive to the changes in our absence. The apartment was really sunny and the corn grew fast. We listened carefully in case we would hear it grow:

Spanish basketball team photo

2008-08-13T18:06:00.003-05:00

I could blog about this, but I'm trying to finish writing a new short story called about a girl whose father disappears after the club he owns burns down. I want to get the story to my writing group in time for them to read it for our meeting this Sunday.

So I link to my sister and to Bino, who comment on this photo much better than I could:

Liza
Bino

The last time I went to Spain, I saw some crazy racist snacks. So I leave you with this--Racist Snacks by Rex Navarette:

List of books by Filipino American writers since 2005

2008-08-11T11:32:00.002-05:00

Award winning writer Bino Realuyo spent a rainy summer day compiling the books of Fil Am authors published in the past few years. He arranged the covers on a beautiful page and made it easy for us readers to find. It's an act that inspires a feeling of community.

When I was in college, the only Filipino American novelists I had read were Jessica Hagedorn (Dogeaters) and Carlos Bulosan (American is in the Heart). They and other pioneers have paved the way for so many of us today.

At the bottom of the page Bino says, "It means so much to me that you have visited. Live in the most authentic way possible. Maraming Salamat. Good luck on your voyage." Bino's blogging about education and social justice at "the freirian goes to harvard."

Asian American Power!

2008-08-09T08:16:00.005-05:00

East Meets West bookstore in Cambridge, an independent, volunteer-run Asian/Asian American bookstore (photo from Boston Progress website)

After that ignorant girl's ching-chonging that marred my day with my nieces (the moment vandalized like the spray paint on the sculptures in Minnesota), I attended the Boston Progress Arts Collective reading at East Meets West bookstore. Poet Ed Bok Lee was the headlined a memorable night that included performance pieces about tigers and cranes, a thank you song to America, a freestyling medical student and beat box, and an ode to a green lawn. It was just what I needed to feel better after being reminded of all the ways my nieces and I are other, foreign, and unvalued.

Since the church abuse scandal a few years ago, I've been on a hiatus from practicing Catholicism. I used to attend Mass every Sunday, every day when I lived in Oregon. But I realized as I sat among the warm, generous people last night at East Meets Words, listening to people tell their stories, that spaces like that could be a kind of church for me. When I'm among other writers and artists, appreciating writing and art, I feel alive and connected in a way that going to church used to give me. It's so important for us to have spaces where we feel safe and held.

My essay, The Myth of Filipino Magnetism, was just published by the Kartika Review, a powerful new venue on the lit mag scene. Here's what Sunny Woan, editor in chief, has to say about my essay:

Kartika’s essay sections, both past and the present Issue 3, have had phenomenal Filipino/Filipina representation. Talusan’s piece is worth noting, however. If it were possible, I’d want to hug this essay. It’s feel-good and showcases a little bit of everything, from personal experience and addressing identity issues to history, sociopolitical commentary, and the seamless cohesion of it all in solid prose. In slating Issue 3, none of us could pass up “The Myth of Filipino Magnetism.”

The Kartika Review, only in its 3rd issue, has featured emerging and established Asian American poets, fiction writers, and essayists from our community along with terrific interviews with writers like novelist and former Ploughshares editor Don Lee, National Book award finalist Gene Yuen, and this month, Yiyun Li.

Thanks to Joanne Diaz and Noel Alumit for helping me with my essay!

8-8-08/Ching Chong

2008-08-08T03:36:00.007-05:00

(They weren't dressed like this when the incident happened--and even if they had been, would that mean we were asking for it?)

On 8-8-88, I was in high school, attending a UB-40 concert at Great Woods in Mansfield with my girlfriends. When I roamed around with my girlfriends, I know we laughed a lot and were loud and the adults probably thought we were obnoxious. When I was that age, I couldn't imagine twenty years into the future--8-8-08. Yet here it is all the same.

I spent a great day with my nieces--I took them to the Children's Museum where we talked to a beekeeper and sampled honey from the comb, a meteorologist from NECN talked to us about weather, the raptor lady showed us her owls, hawks, and vulture--and this was all before lunch.

We went to lunch--a pizza and sub shop on Main Street--and I was trying to convince my nieces to take one more bite of salad before they sipped their orange soda. Besides us, there were about ten local high school or college age girls in the shop--giggling and speaking in loud voices--the way I used to with my girlfriends.

Jada (age 2) was sitting on my lap and she felt warm and I was trying to figure out if she had a fever or not (turns out she did). Joli (age 5) was eating tiny triangles of pita bread and eyeing the orange soda. I was shoveling Greek salad into my mouth because all that activity had made me hungry.

And that's when I heard it. The ching chong sounds. The noise of someone trying to approximate a Chinese language. It's ignorant; it's obnoxious; it's familiar. As I looked up to see if this was directed at us, someone shushed the person making the noises. The place cleared out quickly and only three girls remained and they ate their pizza silently. Every now and then one of them would look over at us with guilt and shame, but no one said anything more.

From the way this played out, which has happened many times before in my life, I don't think the girl making the sounds saw us and realized we were there. I think she was chiming those sounds to be funny and make her friends laugh--maybe they were doing what Rosie O'Donnell did on the View when she pretended to be a Chinese newscaster. I don't think the girl was directing her racism at us, but despite her intentions, I was impacted by it. It also happened so quickly and out of direct hearing range that I don't think Joli or Jada heard it or were hurt by it.

Something like this happened a few years ago at a similar sub shop, but in a different New England town. That time a 13 year old boy was making the sounds. I ignored it for a while and the sub shop owner told the boy it was time for him to leave. I felt shame of my difference and foreignness, but then I just felt angry. I had come into the shop with my boyfriend and was enjoying our conversation and then I was forced to confront this. I told the boy that Chinese people didn't talk that way. "That hurts my feelings," I said. "Oh," he said. "I didn't know." We talked for a little while longer and by the time he biked away I felt like we had an understanding.

Hearing the girl make those sounds and the way they looked over at us and the shame I felt for my black hair and Asian face--my meal was pretty much ruined. I couldn't stop playing the scene over and over again in my head. What should I have done? The girl who did it had bolted out of there; my nieces probably didn't hear it. Was I failing my nieces for not saying anything? Or did I spare my nieces the humiliation of a potentially ugly exchange?

I'm still fielding questions from my nieces about their dog dying a few weeks ago, is this also the summer I have to explain to them how sometimes when they are out in public they will hear people make fun of Asians/Blacks/Latinos/Puerto Ricans/Filipinos (their racial/ethnic backgrounds)? Is it really time to tell them that people will hate them, discriminate against them, and discount them without ever speaking to them?

Here's the video the amazing Beau Sia made in response to the ching chong incident on The View, called, An Open Letter to All the Rosie O'Donnells. Rosie didn't understand why everyone was making such a big deal out of her harmless attempt at humor, but it is this same brand of humor that took all the air out of the nice summer day I was spending with my nieces today.

And here's more Beau Sia:

Visit from Alonso's family

2008-08-01T17:48:00.002-05:00

We were fortunate to have a visit from Alonso's brother, wife, and kids. Alonso is an identical twin--a mirror twin--the fertilized egg split relatively late. Alonso is right handed and his brother is left handed. If the zygote split a little later, they would have been co-joined!

Lion video

2008-08-01T17:06:00.003-05:00

From my cousin Gil, 2 1/2 minute video about a lion. The soundtrack is over the top, but the footage especially at 1 minute, made me tear up.

From http://www.bornfree.org.uk/blog/:

A remarkable video documenting a reunion between a lion named Christian and two men who had cared for him early in his life has been making the rounds on the internet and in the media and I wanted to share some additional information about this story because it is very personal to me and central to the being of Born Free Foundation as an organisation.

This lion used to live in my garden.

Christian was bought from Harrods pet store in London and came, via a furniture shop and my garden in England, to live in Africa (Kora in Kenya), where he was returned to the wild by the world-famous George Adamson.

My late dad (Bill) filmed this great adventure.

The film is extraordinary and exemplifies the spirit that underpins Born Free - every individual matters. Even way back in the 1970’s, this was our way of giving Christian a shot at freedom.