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| With at least 2 feet of snow forcing me in lockdown, it suddenly occurred to me:
One day I am going to have to cook.
Coming from an Indonesian background, our meals are simple. Lunch and dinner consists of rice, steamed vegetables, and meat. For breakfast, we eat toast. And for the past couple decades, no one in our household has complained. But what if I don't marry an Indonesian? Forget that, do I want so simply for the rest of my life?
Envisioning future dinner parties, I panicked and bought myself a cookbook. Flipping through recipe after recipe, I quickly realized why I never made anything from a cookbook.
Yum! Quiche.
Wait, I only have two eggs.
What about pesto?
No basil leaves.
Fried chicken?
No flour.
Chocolate Chip Cookies?
No milk. Our almond milk won't work.
Alfredo! This looks like an awesome recipe.
No butter.
I just don't have these things laying around. So I ask all you foodies: What are the pantry staples I need to embark on my life on the stove? Are there any unique staples you have from your culture (for example, we always have rice flour, egg roll shells, and "kecap manis.")
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| I just rewatched Fireproof, and yes, I did get all emotional again...
Marriage is a beautiful thing.
To have someone who has made that commitment to you, not to harm but to protect, to vow to stay by your side even after the infatuation and attraction passes away. And these days, it's not arranged, you can actually pick, and you make the commitment back.
Growing up, I never saw the male as a protector. I always saw the role of husband for financial, sexual, and romantic reasons. Perhaps that contributed to my heavily feminist slightly control freak nature; I have to take care of myself, I am independent, I don't want to need anyone. I saw that as the vision for all womankind. A man with power is dangerous. It was my [our] job to keep that control in feminine hands as much as possible.
Remember that time in my life [that isn't quite over] where I was absolutely falling for jerks? Guys who were guaranteed to hurt me in the end, even if only on accident. Stupid. Maybe I wanted to prove to myself that I was strong, that I could handle dynamite on a fuse. Constantly, I would find myself shaking my head in wonder and slipping into the conversation: "You remind me of my father."
I know too many fathers who abuse rather than protect their children. Think about it; you probably do too. Their actions burn up family happiness and futures, their words slashing and cutting the bonds establish through blood and marriage. A husband is dangerous, a father threefold more.
It sounds like the stupidest realization ever, but last night the thought crossed my mind during Breakfast At Tiffany's:
"It's not supposed to be that way."
Our fathers are supposed to protect us. Physically and emotionally. Protect us, not control us. And definitely not destroy us. And there are some out there like that, their children lucky stars.
So when that time comes, the man at the altar has to be someone I can not only trust with my life, but my future childrens' lives. That's HUGE. I don't know how the heck I'm going to able to take that step. Everything these days links back to the spirituality. The best way to fireproof your marriage really is to have a Christ centered relationship. I mean, if you're growing in your faith and emulating the Spirit of God and he is too, then how can your marriage not be blessed!
Whatever is your faith -- I suppose we could say you would marry someone who "shares the same values."
God, find me a good man. And make me into a good wife and mother. | | |
| Once again, we are walloped by this enormous, ginormous, snowstorm. Because of it, everything has been canceled: church, vespers, college interviews, national honor society meetings, group lessons, rehearsals,
everything. So I truly have free time. I've already watched a movie and book. Tomorrow I'll write a serious blog, I promise, on something substantial. But minor updates:
Colleges: I'm mainly considering
- Andrews
- University of Maryland, CP
- Tulane
The first choice bothers me so.
Four years ago, I would have never considered attending a Seventh-Day adventist institution for college. And whenever I bring it up, everyone has such strong opinions on it:
"Melinda, I loved Andrews! You have to go! It's in the middle of nowhere, and it's so worth it!"
Or: "It's in the middle of nowhere. Don't waste your mind or money."
So there's that.
& lately, I've been in a cooking mood; preparing pasta and baking cookies to give away have both become part of my morning ritual. Odd.
My last two college interviews have been really good. I'm considering breaking off the long distance relationship [you all saw it coming!] I discovered my problem: I'm merely just curious, freaking curious about everything, and last night I had a dream about the guy who sits next to me in class. One of those dreams. So now it's just...
awkwarrrrddddd....
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| hear me scream.
if you go by the cemetery, it's not the sound of tortured spirits of the dead seeking peace.
it's the screams of the tortured living. trapped.
seeking comfort from those already gone
that's where this soul finds home.
he trapped me.
physically. emotionally. now i've trapped myself mentally.
i have to break out. but now that i'm trapped mentally, what can be done?
i'm no longer just a princess trapped in a castle.
or a bird trapped in a cage.
i am the creek at a standstill, so clogged up with algae and debris and no rain
that i have become part of the ground.
i will never move again. i don't even really exist.
hear me scream.
i can't stay.
but now i can't leave.
i'm such an idiot. i have eliminated all my options.
i will pray harder. capitalize my i's.
hear me scream.
i went to therapy.
she shook her head in wonder at how long i was able to "cope."
sixteen long freaking years.
so many others worse off than i. but perhaps
i am so much worse off than many others.
but perhaps it wasn't wise at all?
because the dynamite has developed in full force
the winter has become so cold, the snow so deep
and this avalanche is getting ready to take everyone and everything down.
no glorious indian summer in sight.
so perhaps i have the saddest story of all? that a small, sad childhood among all the horrors of the world
sat festering in me, choking me, and now i am ruined.
i am beyond forgiving, beyond my own redemption.
hear me scream.
i need a miracle.
i spent sixteen years trying to change them
trying to live here
when i should have focused on all my energy to just
get freaking out.
and now everything is ruined.
not only am i trapped by him, but i have trapped myself.
10 minutes later
---
Wait don't hurt her!.
Why am I so freaking selfish?
I should have kept my freaking mouth shut.
Don't hurt her. Hurt me. Please.
I can swallow it for six more months, six more years, a lifetime. I can take it.
i have to change. NOW.
his mocking laughter cuts sharper than knives.
i can choose my feelings.
his aggression makes me want to run or grab a club.
i can choose my actions.
his comments, his fatherly dictatorship control chokes all Christian spirit out of me.
i can obey my Father in heaven.
i am drowning.
but i know how to swim.
proactiveness doesn't last long.
i am not alone.
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| Once again, I was looking around happened to find an English journal from 6th grade.
NOTES
* We rarely ever order "delivery," only pick-up -- to save money.
* We won the science bowl in 8th grade. That year I also won the spelling bee, KMO, placed 2nd in a business competition, placed 1st in an ensemble competition, was NJHS president and won the State Concerto competition.
So much for not winning anything.
I think I still want the same things.
O, if I could only go back to my 6th grade self, and tell her what I know now... | | |
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