I’ve finally accepted that I’m aging

When I was younger (teen years, to be more precise), I frequented many online communities and I was always amused by the amount of people who had to step away from their duties as forum moderators or webmasters or whatnot because “real life was in the way” or “taking up too much time.”

Now that I’m an “adult”…I fully, completely 100% understand the sentiment.

I do feel guilty for letting my web hobbies fall to the wayside. After all, they consumed much of my adolescence and were a source of pride for me. But man oh man, this whole being an adult thing is serious shit! I was around 12 years old when I began experimenting around the Internet and learning the trades of website design and creation. Now I’m in the later half of my 20s, and my mind and body is starting to feel the effects of aging (and yes, I’m aware I’m not quite that old yet, but whatever). Just getting up and doing laundry is now considered an accomplishment for me.

This morning we said good-bye to my younger brother as he jetted off to Japan for a year of teaching (technically, he hasn’t jetted off yet—apparently they’re still stuck at the gate. Good ol’ O’Hare delays). It’ll be really weird to not have him around in the same metropolitan region/state/country but all the same. Very proud older sister here.

Did I mention I’m starting to feel the effects of aging? It’s now 2:49 in the afternoon and I feel ready for an old lady nap.

Still going

Some random awesome things I found on the Internet tonight:

Life is about to get incredib-effing-ly busy

If 2012 was a year in which nothing truly remarkable happened—I continued working two jobs, living at home, hanging out with friends—then 2013 is about to become the exact opposite.

March 2013 in particular. I’ve already established that I’m going on a 5-day solo trip to London, with a quick St. Patrick’s Day stop in Ireland. My parents recently announced that we’re moving from this house to another one in town, with plans to rent it for at least the next two years until my youngest brother graduates high school. Then, they will look into moving out west—more specifically, Las Vegas or somewhere in California. Talk about big moves. As for me, I’m not quite sure what I’ll be doing in two years, but at the moment I’m focused on the next two weeks, in which not only will I have to continue working my two jobs while packing for my trip, but also packing up my entire life (I mean, bedroom) for this new house. Yikes. According to my dad, we can start moving our stuff there next week but we won’t be actually living in there until April 1.

Which leaves me to this next bit. While packing up stuff I found a couple of my old journals from high school. Read through one from 2006, the year I was 16 and a junior in high school. It’s a strange thing, encountering a previous incarnation of yourself. It’s like…you can still feel every morsel of pain and teenage angst that that person was going through, but at the same time you want to show her the light at the end of the tunnel. What was I like at 16? Well according to my journal—and let’s remember here, I seem to be the type of person who only writes when angry and alone and confused—I was a very angry and alone and confused girl at 16. Not many friends, no boyfriend, nothing exciting going on.

Seven years later, here I am at 23. What’s changed? I noticed that for the most part, the fuel to my fire in high school was the tension with my dad. Back then, he would never let me go out. Like, ever. Pretty much every other entry consisted of me crying about how I was trapped in this house with no life and no prospects. But to say my dad has lightened up now would be an understatement—he no longer calls me at 11 in the evening on a Saturday night, demanding I be home within the hour. No questions asked if I say I’m sleeping over somewhere (although only God knows what he’d say if he found out I’ve been sleeping over at a boy’s house as of late). It’s funny how things magically change when you turn 21 and have a car, a full-time job, and a college degree.

But the part that slightly concerns me was, and still is, my anger. A lot of entries began with “Am so depressed” or “I’m so fucking furious” or something along those lines. The scary part is, I know I still feel those emotions today. Sometimes I wonder if I do have a serious problem. Even my newly minted boyfriend (still feels really weird to say that!) has pointed out I have a lot of passionate anger bottled up inside. Hell, I even had a Xanga username once that was called savetherage. I know I get feisty and mad a lot. But I like to think I’ve done a magnificent job not letting it overcome my life. I have passions. A lot of those journal entries also consisted of me writing to do lists and declarations that “I will be productive with my life today.”

And that’s just who I am. I’ve learned that I need to constantly feel busy and productive with my life. I don’t like feeling useless. My life is so filled with activity now, with jobs and friends and hobbies and trips. While I tend to whine a lot, I know that in the past near 2 years since I’ve graduated college, life’s been a lot easier since those hellish high school days.

Young wild and free

Ever since Unofficial weekend I feel as if my life has been going a zillion mph. I’m being reckless, I’m out every weekend, I’m drinking and partying. I’m hanging out with friends. It’s like for the first time since graduating college…I’m really feeling that “young, wild and free” vibe. Never have I been more aware of this post-school awesomeness until this past weekend, which I spent going buckwild in Miami while friends were posting “Wahh, finals” or “Holy shit, graduation” statuses on Facebook. Everything feels good: I’ve got a job, I’ve got (not a lot) of money, great friends and a drama-free family.

Funny how when life is good and I don’t have much to complain about, I turn to this blog less. I don’t like that! I must make more of an effort…my ambitious project for the upcoming summer will be to update and revamp. Now that I’m a working gal, I also gotta find some way of keeping myself more anonymous.

OK, this ambitious venture of mine will start…after I get some sleep!

Holy crap, I’m white

OK, no not really, obviously. I’m brown and Filipino as hell. But I did find out some very interesting things about my family yesterday when my parents decided to divulge their family histories to prove which side was “better,” haha.

  • I have German blood! Apparently my great-great-grandfather on my dad’s side was a German-American soldier stationed in the Philippines way back when (the Spanish-American War? I don’t know). That’s why my dad’s middle name (and my grandmother’s maiden name) is Brum, which apparently isn’t a Filipino surname at all, but a German one. How freaking cool is that?
  • I’m also a little bit Chinese! Now, being Filipino, that was kind of a given…lots of Filipinos describe their ethnicity not as Filipino, but a mixture of Chinese, Spanish and indigenous blood. I just always say I’m Filipino because after all, you don’t hear Spaniards going “I’m a mixture of Gaelic/Moorish blood” or Brits going “I’m Gaelic/Anglo-Saxon/French” and whatnot. Anyway, long story short, my mother told me her maternal grandfather (my great-grandfather) was full-blooded Chinese and apparently very very rich. One of the richest in Manila in his day, according to my mom. I wonder where all those riches went…
  • One of the reasons why my paternal grandmother’s family has quite a bit of land in the Philippines is because of my German-American ancestor, apparently. Since my brothers and I are the only grandchildren of my paternal grandmother (well, that’s not true anymore, I think, I have a little adopted cousin and a new cousin born just a few months ago out of wedlock; but hey, I’m the oldest), we’re the ones that get her share of the family’s land. I’d always known that I was going to inherit land from my dad’s family; it’s just interesting to know now where it came from.
  • Finally, after hearing about this, my mother tried to one-up my dad and revealed to me that her father’s family has (owns?) an island in the southern Philippines. It doesn’t come with any money though, and in order for someone in the family to claim it, they must work and harvest it themselves. My mom said there’s no point in claiming it though, because it’s been overrun by terrorists (the Abu Sayyaf group) and I’d probably get beheaded and whatnot considering I’m American and not Muslim.