The Chronicles of Paranoia, New York Edition, Chapter 3

Hello dears!

I finally talked to my parents about me defecting from academia! Yay!

First thing, though. A big thank you to Patrick Birde for making me see the light last year and forcing me to come clean to my parents on the phone last November. I think that's one reason my folks seemed completely fine when I came back; it had enough time to sink in.

My mother was understanding, not just because she's my mom and I came out of her uterus. She was a genetics professor for 30 years, so she understood it from a genetics perspective – her side of the family had a lot of artists. Go genetics! So really, Mom, I reasoned. It's not me, it's my genome. Your half of my chromosomes made me not want to be a scientist anymore.

(That defense seemed a lot less pathetic than what I told her last November: "I'm sorry that I disappointed you and that I'm still single.")

I began with the easiest reason: I just didn't fit in. I tried, but some things are just not possible. I'm way too free-spirited and happy to be there. I think only WYA had the charity to take me in and condone my crazy ways. I paraphrased one of my art teachers at The League, too: Arrogance is for the weak and the confused, which have no place in my castle.

(Whee! Can you imagine my castle? It will be pink with balloons, goldfish in the moat, and baby Carebears instead of gargoyles. And every single knight will have a black belt in taekwondo. But I digress.)

Most of us, I feel, fail at or question our first enterprise because of the naivete of youth, or feeling that going through the stress of university makes us sufficiently equipped with going through life. In your early twenties, I think it is critical to be struggling in a new environment with hostile people. It forces you to grow up much quicker, allowing you to figure out what you really want to do and makes you so fed up with your current state that you will want to follow your bliss immediately. I've seen people who've been with the same people and environment for so long; they act as though they are still riding on training wheels. I told my mom that I didn't want to be pushing 30 and feeling like I was coasting along, with nothing much to show for what was supposed to be the most exciting time of one's life.

Being treated like dirt also forces you to seek solace elsewhere, potentially in things you never thought you would do, and become passionate about it. I think that was one reason I really wanted to be out of Manila – I'm way too spoiled here. I need to have every single breakdown imaginable now, so I won't have to deal with them later on. In New York, I was abused, rejected, disrespected, discriminated against, but I ended up trying out things I never thought I would do. Struggle is as important to me as success.

I'm trying to look at the bright side and think that all of the people I've admired (nice scientists included!) initially failed or left their first attempt at something. I'm thinking that failure gave these people motivation and drive when they finally found what they loved to do and pursued it despite societal pressure; no one wants them to be right.

My friends used to chide me that I should learn how to stand up for myself more. They still do; I think they want me to show some fangs every now and then. That will take work; I try, but I keep cracking up. It's just not in my character. But deep down, I'm sure I can be a gossipy manipulative pretentious bitch, yo! I'm sure it just takes a little imagination.

I'm really happy I found taekwondo, though. I think it gives you a certain sense of dignity, and allows you to carry yourself in a way that no one will think of taking advantage of you. I'm not particularly good at it and I guess I'm never going to be great at it; no one starts a sport at 22 and expects to compete in the Olympics. I just love it because as a writer, it's an excellent metaphor, and made me look at my life in a different light. I guess looking back during my lab rat days, I vowed to myself that I will never let any guy treat me like that again. I'll break him in half first.

But it's really useful for me here. In this country, when you're a few shades lighter and/or a couple of inches taller than the majority, you might as well tattoo your forehead with the words "Kidnap Me." This is what I didn't love about Manila – I was driven everywhere. At least my parents never hired a bodyguard. I would have likely made his life a living hell.

You have no idea how martial arts have simplified my life, yo. I walk around the city with my arnis/kali sticks, and no one harasses me anymore. Whenever I leave the house, or wear something that does not pass my dad's Chastity Control, I can tell him, "It's ok, Daddy, I can kill people now." It's amazing! I should have done this before. Maybe everyone will make way for me when I start carrying my sai. I may never have to wait in line ever again.


Lots of love,
Cathy