this is LA

My mom asked me how long I wanted to spend in LA; "like, a week?" she asked. Probably what happened next was I said "sure, sure" as I resumed my own marathon of watching season 3 of The Big Bang Theory. I hadn't put much thought into coming here, or packing here, since why on earth would I leave without my laptop. What was I thinking.

I should have known better. Because, this being my third time here, my schedule is not jam-packed with sightseeing. Like yeah, walk of fame, I've seen you and you're completely uninteresting. And if I went on a bus tour of celebrities homes, I'd probably throw up in my mouth (I tend to strongly dislike celebrities as a whole. I can like them on an individual level, but round them all together on the red carpet or at any awards show, and my eyes start bleeding because it's all artifice and a giant sense of entitlement. How does it feel to have your hair, makeup and wardrobe cost more than a college education, I've always wondered). Anyway, the other issue is that I lack the transportation to get anywhere, and this is a week like any other, after all, so my aunt is working until the evening. So here I am. In this apartment. Hanging out. Well, the truth is, maybe if I were more intrepid I would take some initiative, buy a day pass for public transit and go places. But talk about a challenge. To get around via bus routes is to be a local, I swear, because it is massively confusing. That's why, as extremely easy it was to use the U- and S-bahn in Germany, I steered clear of buses almost entirely.

This is not the glamorous side of LA. This isn't Rodeo Drive or Beverly Hills, but the multi-ethnic beating heart of the city. My aunt, uncle and grandparents live in a small apartment (by the way, thank God it's not summer so I don't see as much of my friend la cucaracha) and I'm 99% sure everyone else in this complex is Mexican. Mexicans and Filipinos... Jaysus Mary and Joseph (or the Filipino variation: 'sus Maria) how packed must the Catholic churches be on sunday morning. Actually that is a spectacle I totally want to see--I should go. Anyway, I'm sure LA has a whole lot more to offer if your family isn't, more or less, broke.

But my 23-year-old cousin from the Philippines floats around from my aunt's place, his mom's, and his friends', and he's been trying to keep me company. So far I've seen the Griffith Observatory (pictures to follow), which gives you a spectacular view of the city, and a good view of the Hollywood sign as well (the fact that that sign is famous cracks me up, because it's just giant letters spelling out where you are. We don't need a real landmark, thi s is Hollywood, bitches). And we walked around some shopping area... Glendale Galleria? Americana? Watched True Grit. Not too bad a film, although, I don't know if it was just me but was the ending was a little anticlimactic?

And last night I watched the cousin's basketball game, feeling slightly out of place in the company of Filipinos, and not knowing the half of what they were saying. Yes, Filipinos playing basketball is kind of as funny as it sounds, in light of the fact that we're possibly the shortest people in the world. I mean, maybe we're fighting the Guatemalans for the title, but still we're top contenders. I just kept thinking of how Filipino basketball might be shown on ESPN 8 "The Ocho" along with other novelty psuedo-sports like midget-tossing. Oh God, am I allowed to say things like that?

The lighting in this apartment is killing me. I'm going to go out for a walk now, to see what I can see. Doesn't matter if I find anything when the weather's this nice, and back home everyone's complaining about schlepping to class in the snow.

Not bringing my laptop to California was a serious error. Ahaha.

la vie L.A. (swears will now put end to posts titled 'la vie __')

I theorize that the universe does not want me to pack in advance for trips. Or be well-rested for plane travel. At any rate, neither of these things have ever happened to me once, so you can't say the theory's unfounded.
Hmm, it's four. Really, I'm not to blame for this one. The fam was over at my cousins', where the grandpuhpah and grandmumah have been staying. Mum was packing their bags for them, which took until three. And all I could do was sit on the couch, unable to take a nap, instead watching Definitely, Maybe.

Which, I don't know if it was the tiredness or what, but it wasn't as bad watching it for the second time. Not that it's a total crap film or anything, but if my memory serves me, I thought it was kind of a downer most of the way through. The dude just makes a lot of poor choices with women (applicable to the real R.R. possibly. Was he actually married to Scarlet Johansson or was that some kind of weird joke played on him/everyone?), and it's just aggravating to watch. Like, stop getting ready to propose to the wrong ladays and go for the cynical but sweet redhead played by the wife of Borat. You can't go wrong with that.

I have a relevant last minute packing account but I’m actually too tired to tell it right. In short though it’s me partying til dawn in Berlin (at the first place in Berlin the group had all gone to, overlooking the water. Sehr nostalgic), being advised by Hady the Berliner not to go to sleep at all lest I miss my flight, passing out, not waking up to the alarm I (possibly) set, panicking, and throwing—just plain throwing—everything I possessed into my suitcases like a madwoman, so that I could make my flight to London. What’s worse, when I was leaving Berlin again, this time for New Jersey, I did more or less the exact same thing. I was up all hours navigating back to a youth hostel, quite possibly ready to fall asleep at any moment. Although, silver lining, you can meet the nicest trilingual Spanish boys at shady S-Bahn stations at four in the morning. Pretty sure though that my hostel roommates were ticked off (they were.....hostile! Pfft!) (I'm sorry) at my traipsing into the room so late and then bailing out, noisily, a few hours later. LUCKILY this time, the alarm did wake me. No small miracle since the stupid-crap-German-brick-phone could set only one alarm at a time, and there was no snooze option. I always had ONE SHOT TO WAKE UP (which is actually why I’ll never really know what happened on the side-trip to Potsdam that first week in Berlin). So yeah, the door slammed outrageously loud as I was leaving. My eyes widened and I sped down the hallway fearing the West German secret police would arrest me for indefensible loudness, or UNENTSCHULTBARE LAUTSTÄRKE.

But hey, things all worked out juuust fine. More than fine! But oh frack. I need to go to bed now.

la vie poétique

Please
Think of
Something
Else
I beg of myself.
I give you ten seconds
to get out of my head
I threaten.

Lightening bug still, in the glass jar
encased, weary, able to see
the world, but so
unable to see the world.
in theory of course she knows the breeze
but it’s far, too far faded
by now to perceive
Please
Think of
Somewhere
Else
She remembers, faintly faintly
like it was someone else's dream
warm, balmy summer nights
to wrap around her fragile wings
grown stronger
by a night sky
to mirror the scattered fireflies' light.
Oh, what a sight to be seen.
It was beautiful,
And so was she.
Please
Think of
Somebody
Else
Now pressed up, half-dreaming,
against a glass hug
what she knows for sure
is a wilting bed of grass
left inside there, for her, her artificial home
flicker on, flicker off,
little bug.
beaming and gloomy-glowing
all at once.
Please
Think of
Some--
there are pinpricks above
through the tightly-screwed lid
for small lightening sweet,
for her to breathe in, 
and then
out
and out--
those holes, no, she couldn’t live without.
Please
Think
And no, home isn’t a place, after all
there’s no place, or space
for her in this world
but she found her home in a someone,
a he
this foolish little lightening girl, me.
And I can’t
Think of
Anyone else

It's always been you poking holes
in the lid.
my love, it seems you let me live.
I flicker for you, and I love it,
I do,
and I long for nothing,
no one but you.
but you keep me,
you keep me
trapped.

On display,
for the whole world to see.

But then,

I’d

rather die

than see your face

as you let me go.

As I wonder

had I never really mattered

la vie, japan v. jersey

My place of residency in 日本 is secured, whadduppp. Oh, what a relief. And I'm just over the moon about the fact that in my search I was able to find the aforementioned 'Expo House.' Some young Japanese dude name Yusuke (nickname "boss"? Do I pronounce that a la the Japanese--bosu?) runs a number of apartments for youngins' in Kyoto, catering to a sizable number of international students. The result is this adorb little family that takes side trips and throws super Japanese tradition-y parties. I did my little creeping on their photo albums and there's this one picture of errybody having a raucous time doing karaoke--specifically, Gaga karaoke. I was all Yes. I will fit in. In fact, you shouldn't even let me near karaoke because I will sing. For hours. Shamelessly. I do that obligatory "What? Me, sing? Nonono" (pushes mic away) bit the first time and then I seize the microphone and bite off anyone's head if they come to close to the glittering strobe-light-pulsating diva bubble that encases me.

I didn't learn to perform. No. I was simply born half-Filipina.

**There are roughly 3874837 shows dedicated to letting dirt-poor, often toothless Filipinos belt/screech/strain out 'Party in the USA' and other such lasting musical works, in order to maybe win some pesos and bring home some tinapay to their starving family. Meanwhile the hosts of these programs are far too tall, leggy, and suspiciously pale (in the fashion of Spanish telenovela actors) to be Filipino, which makes for an extra-jarring viewing experience, but that's another rant.

Oh no, what was my point? ......... KARAOKE. God, I love it. I'm going to get to that sweet, sweet archipelago they call Japan and go the full Whitney Houston all in it. Bobbayyy. Bobbayyy.

Second point was, place to live! Yes! This means this Japan trip is actually happening, I will be in Japan, I will consume mad amounts of rice and love it, and I'll see temples and shrines every day (probably). I remember the nervous Schmetterlinge in my stomach, felt not too long ago when I was getting ready for Germany. And here they are again. Hallo! Shit. Konnichiwa. Meanwhile I am working on a love letter to Jersey. So far it goes

"Jersey-- "


Someday, Jersey, I will stop being so bitter about the fact that you, of all states, of all countries, were the one to nurture me during my formative years. I will stop being bitter about not having a posh accent. I will forget that Jersey Shore exists, ditto the shame. I will embrace you. But I will have learned to appreciate you in this someday distant future because I will have moved as far, far away as possible. I say this out of love, Jersey, but if I'm still here in ten years it means I have failed miserably as a human being.

2011, let's do this

Ah, fresh new blog smell. My old livejournal spans the years 2004-2010, which is a pretty epic chunk of my life, but nothing feels more appropriate than starting something new right now.

2010 was a milestone all its own. After coming back from a 7 week stint studying in Berlin (and sightseeing Prague, Vienna, and London) I felt like... well I felt like a real bonafide adult, someone who’s started to see the world and understand it. A foreign country, a big city, staying in youth hostels, hittin’ da clubs, drinking (totes legally, mind you)… I get flashbacks of proud moments, like holding conversations entirely auf Deutsch. Like, good job Shan, you’ve actually been learning German. Shit.

Admittedly I came back feeling like a snob (not that I would want it any other way), talking about how you just can't get quality döner kebabs outside of Kreuzberg, and sure as hell not in New Jersey. Or I'd talk about how I miss dining al fresco, and I miss the clean subways, and the hundreds-of-years-old architecture that somehow is more impressive than what's now in my vicinity: an abandoned strip mall that closed down because its anchor, Shop Rite, was frequented by too many shoplifters. And let's not forget how I came back with an obsession for scarves, helping to perpetuate my new Eurofied image (even though let’s be serious, Germany is not my go-to country for what is hip and chic. See: Hasselhof. Kidding, Berlin, I joke out of love).

So all that was great. ‘Schland was great. Being there for World Cup madness… bangin’. I became the proud owner of a vuvuzela the colors of the German flag, which came free with a box of my favorite German beer, Paulaner. If I could crush the greatness of that summer into a powder and snort it, I’d be happy the rest of my life. But that spectacular time was followed up by a fall semester back at Rutgers that was all levels of boring, punctuated by an unfortunate visit by the Mono fairy. There was the 20^th century Europe class which was taught so poorly that I failed to learn much at all (highly disappointing). And Jackie, poor roommate, was ill roughly fifty percent of the semester.

Anyway, this upcoming semester can’t suck balls, ‘cause I’m gonna be on the other side of the world, speaking a language I haven’t been studying hard enough and possibly am terrible at, and it’s GONNA BE AWESOME.

But first I have a week’s reprieve from snowy Jersey weather for the sunnay sunnay town of L.A. (leave this Saturday; escorting my visiting grandparents back to my aunt’s abode). Actually I have no idea what I’m going to do there, but I’ll figure it out later this week. Aaand, shortly before my stay in Japan I’m likely going to be hitting up the Philippines, land from which my mother hails (and pathetic though it is, a place I’ve heretofore never had a chance to visit, even though I’ve got mad family over there). I’m stoked about the getting-in-touch-with-my-roots posts that will ensue.

I’ve been putting off a lot of the pre-departure things I need to do, though. It’s shameful. But this past week I’ve started to get my act together. Made a day out of cleaning out the atrocity that is my closet, filling up 4 bags worth of clothes to be donated… setting aside stuff to auction off on ebay once I’m back from L.A., joined a book exchange website (bookmooch.com). Actually I have 8 books to ship out to people. Yeesh. (And I’m trying to procure a copy of Out of Africa that someone has, and some lady in Switzerland’s sending me ­­­­Sommerhaus, später.) Most importantly, though, I need to figure out living arrangements in Japan, which is as stressful as it sounds. But last night, oh thank God, I found these small apartments boasting an “international atmosphere”; I would actually share a common room/bathroom with people, versus the super-lonely existence I thought would be my fate. Plus it’s cheaper.

But ok ok I think this is sufficient for a first entry. Point is... well, I don't know. I just hope I keep up with this blog, haha.