You better work

The title of this post is not only a hit song from RuPaul, but also a way of life. My life. People don't understand how much I work and the reason why I work so much.

NG and I don't get to see each other as much as we want to because of my schedule. Recently he told me I'm a workaholic. I told him I don't work out of love, but out of necessity.

Now, because it's getting closer to the Toronto International Film Festival, I'm pulling in 12-hour days. Most people work 40 hours in five days, but I work 60 hours in four days. I also clock in time on the weekend. In the end, my work week is approximately 75 hours.

Sadly, no one understands why I get tired by the weekend. There's no energy left. It's not that I'm lazy, it's that I'm drained. I want to get in the action (and get a little of it, too), but I'd rather lay back and/or down and relax. Even I need a break, although I don't have a lot of time for one.

Thankfully, it's a long weekend. What am I doing? Working.

Right on, Reuters

Over the weekend, I check my work email from a remote server. There are a couple of messages, including one from my co-worker, N. When I click on the message, I have no idea what’s going on from the subject title.

Then, I read the contents... it turns out a project I worked on was picked up by Reuters and now was being picked up by major media outlets around the globe. And, the scary part is my name is now on MSNBC.

There goes my anonymity. More so.

1,000 posts

Many people come and go in the online world. There are only a few who last long enough to make it to 1,000 posts without being a gossip site. Whether it’s dedication or too much free time, it takes a lot of energy to write that much.

But, not everyone can write 1,000 posts in a short period of time without ‘cheating’ and cutting corners.

Even though I haven’t reached that milestone in my four-plus years of writing, most of my posts haven’t succumbed to a barrage of links or twitter-like ramblings that seem so common and prevalent today.

Sadly, I am only at (approx) 800 posts, so to reach 1,000 posts, I’ll have to get off my ass and write a bit more. So, let the on-set arthritis begin!

Scented

Scent is a very powerful trigger that can allow memories to flash in a matter of seconds. If the scent is familiar, the mind recalls those moments where the scent took place - sometimes good and sometimes bad - and they’re often memorable.

There’ll be a time where a scent (most often from a person) is embedded in a piece of clothing. A t-shirt is the most common. You can recall the time you spent together, no matter how short the period was. The particles shift around in the fabric’s fibres and make their way onto your skin and you feel like you and that other person are one.

You don’t even want to launder the shirt, fearing the scent will disappear in the wash. As crazy as it sounds, it makes perfect sense to someone holding onto a moment. Inevitably, you have to launder the article of clothing because the scent won’t last forever, but the appearance of moths is a possibility.

But the second you can remember the scent, those memories will come back.

Are you going to write about anything else?

People have been asking me whether I'm going to move on and begin talking about other things that are going on in my life. Once the needle is on the record, a groove is created; 'round and 'round goes the record, playing the same song.

In other words, they hate J (like the rest of the world).

But, the truth is, there have been other things going on... I just haven't been writing about them.

One of the biggest ironies of writing in a public medium/forum is that you air your laundry outside (mine is always crisp) for everyone to inspect for any stains (mine is always white), yet there is so much that is left unsaid.

Or maybe I just don't have anything as juicy as talking about an ugly breakup (which is bloody unlikely because it is, after all, my life I'm talking about).

Bi-annual birthday

On July 10, my cell phone beeps in the afternoon while I’m sitting at my desk. Picking it up with my right hand, I glance at the name of the text’s owner: my friend A.

Today is the big 6 month anniversary! Happy being 25.5 :P

When I read this, I have no idea what he’s talking about. What big six month anniversary? First I thought he was referring to him and his boyfriend. But I thought they’ve been going out for longer than that. And why the hell would he ever want to tell me about his anniversary, unless he thinks it’s a cause for a celebration and a gift from Williams Sonoma?

Then it hits me: The date is July 10, six months after my birthday.

And it hits me again: A and his boyfriend went on their first date on my birthday (which I forgot).

And it hits me a third time: The repeat of my 25th birthday is in another six months.

Fuck to all three.

The scar on my head

After I finish my doing my business in the loo, I walk towards the mirror and take a glance at my reflection. While the fluorescent lighting casts a shadow on my high cheekbones, I see a white spot on my head.

"What is that white spot on my head?" I tilt my head down. It looks like a strategic bald spot, but I'm not bald; I have a full head of lush and luxurious hair.

Then it hits me: it's the tumor. The stupid tumor that I'm having removed - almost one year after my initial consultation with the doctor - is now visible on my head. It's that large. The doctors couldn't tell me if it was cancerous, or not. That doesn't help me sleep at night.

**

When I have the tumor removed, it's exactly two days after I was thrown out of J's place and onto the street. He couldn't "deal"with it. I was alone in the operating room and was emotionally (and physically) numb for and from the operation. Part of me didn't care anymore. I just wanted to close my eyes.

For several weeks, I didn't know what the prognosis was. Was it cancer? If it was, what was the next step? Fight or flight. That was another thing I had to think of while trying to move on with my life.

Fortunately, it wasn't cancer. I'm alive. Resilient. Unlike some people who can't deal with afflictions, I fought and didn't flee. But I still have a a constant reminder of that day and period in my life whenever I run a finger over the scar on my head. And it's bittersweet.

Fireworks

For Canada Day, I wanted to see fireworks because it's part of my family's tradition. The legacy carried on for so many years, even into adulthood, it was a given that I wanted to do it again.

But, being this was the first year away from family, in my own place (in the big city), I still wanted to continue the tradition. Sadly, because of a city strike, many city-run events were canceled. But, that didn't stop me.

Since I asked NG to hang out for the day, I originally planned a day of walking around, eating ice cream, sitting in the park, then watching the fireworks in the city. We did everything but watch the fireworks. Instead we made our own.