Being Filipino. (#2 in a series of Dealing with Kristine's Neurotic Tendencies)

So I just finished Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations episode on the Philippines, and it got me thinking.

Not necessarily about what kinds of foods I missed (and the ones I'm glad I missed, ahem, goat head stew) on my trip, but about how the fan he brought along with him had a major problem with cultural identity and struggling to find a side to belong to. And it hit me like a ton of bricks: I mean, who the fuck am I? Where the hell am I supposed to side?

Filipino? Not really. I am nowhere near submerged into my culture as I'd need to be -- I eat rice with my hands. I like fish and patis. I like sabao (soup) to go with my meals. I wear dusters around the house and used a tabo plenty a time (please don't ask). But it doesn't seem like it's enough.
But am I really American? Not ENTIRELY, if we're going by standards because I associate with my Filipino side just about as much as I do with being a Californian / D.C.-ite / regular college kid.

I don't know. Thinking about how I can define myself culturally is one of the biggest mysteries about being Filipino-American (American-Filipino). I'm not an average Pinay. I'm not an average American. I guess I'm just....Kristine.

(Good link.)

Embarrasment. (#1 in a series of Dealing with Kristine's Neurotic Tendencies)

I'm deathly afraid of being embarrassed.

I think about all the times its happened -- and I'm not talking about the stupid moments, like that one time I was "freaking" at a High School dance with a boy that I didn't really want to dance with (ugh) and I could swear I felt something that I didn't want to feel, or the time I had copious amounts of food stuck in my braces in front of the boy I liked or even tripping -- but the moments where you just don't want to be let down kind of embarrassed, and I cringe at how easy it is to cringe.. And you secretly turn red and curse under your breath, hoping that this sting of uncontrollable pain could just end, for crying out loud.

The thing I don't get about my insecurities now is that they're a long departure from how I felt in High School.
I'm still as awkward as ever, though.

what the fuck is this

all the pretty girls go to the city

I just realized that I want a locket.


How...unlike me! Maybe?

I don't know, I just think that the idea of a locket is silly in a few ways. Hey guys, check out my boyfriend. Or better yet, Hey guys, check out my boyfriend, JOHN KRASINSKI. Yeah, that's right. I have John Krasinski in my heart and resting on my chest. Hot.

Not that having J. Kras there is an issue, but are we really holding these people we keep in our hearts even closer by choosing to wear these things, or is it more of a flash and glamour-type deal? Is this question even relevant?
It's still pretty cute and sentimental any way you slice it. And I want one. Terribly.

Whoever ends up getting me one automatically deserves their mug on a side. You know you want it. YOUR FACE WILL BE ON MY BOOB.

gtfo the internet, rich nerds.

So let me get this straight, Facebook.
$1 = 100 credits for gifts. If you're selling a gift for 50,000 credits --
50,000/100 = $500.

FAIL.

epilogue;

can't you see me, i'm pounding on your door

Oh my god I am such a psycho.

happy valentine's day.