It’s been about 6 or so weeks since my mother died, and I’m already back to my usual activities; work, writing, radio, etc. Am I ready to be back? I don’t know. All I know is my bills have to be paid, kitties need to be fed, and I have to keep a roof over my head. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury to take a lot of time off from my job(s) or commitments at the moment, which means I’ve had to repress much of my grief. If the tears come while I’m in public, I’ve had to find a way to repress them and stop them from flowing. I have to keep a happy persona at all times when on the clock, lest I offend someone or I do something wrong that can jeopardize my job. In doing all of this, I’ve realized that I’m starting to dehumanize myself. The tears are inconvenient, but when there is a convenient time, I can’t get myself to cry. In fact, I can’t get myself to feel anything anymore, sometimes neither positive or negative. That honestly scares me. I don’t feel like I can grieve anymore, and I have to shut myself off. There’s still so much that has to be done in wrapping up my mother’s affairs that I can’t afford to stop and cry, or I’ll lose time. I’ll lose the ability to get done what has to get done.
The result of my actions has led me to become extraordinarily exhausted. I feel like I’ve sprinted a 10K (I’ve actually run a 10K in my life, so I know how exhausting they can be), and my brain can’t function. All I can do is stay in bed all day. Then my apartment gets neglected, litter boxes aren’t changed, there’s no food in the fridge, and my writing doesn’t get done. How are we able to function while we’re grieving the death of a parent?
Any emotions I do feel are anger. If I didn’t get ill, I wouldn’t have had to take an unpaid leave of absence, and I could have spent one last Thanksgiving and Christmas with my mom. The last holiday I spent with my mom was Easter of 2014. I honestly now resent all those circumstances because it robbed me of precious times with my mother. Anger and numbness. That is my life right now. And I feel so powerless and helpless in trying to change that because I keep repressing.
Honestly? I’m scared that this will be my life from now on. And I no longer have the support of my mother because…well, she’s dead. I used to talk to her about all of these issues. She would bring me back to reality after listening to my problems because she was the one who knew me best. I don’t have that….I don’t have that. I. DON’T. HAVE. THAT. ANYMORE.
This is a blog that I thought I would never need to write. In fact, this is something I never wanted to face.
On Friday, January 30th, a friend of my mom’s text me to ask if I heard from my mom yet. I realized I hadn’t heard from her really since Wednesday night. It wasn’t uncommon to skip a day or two in communicating with my mom, so it was nothing out of the ordinary for me. Plus, my mom recently had surgery so I wanted to give her some space to rest. Just in case. I stepped aside from work and called both of my mom’s numbers. No answer. I communicated with family members in her area and asked if they could check on her. No one could get there immediately. I thought I would wait until I was off work since I only had a few hours left. Surely, my mom would have called or texted me back by then.
An hour goes by…nothing. I start to get agitated. I step outside during chapel to call again. No answer.
I talk with my co-worker and decide to call the police to have them do a welfare check on her.
As I’m driving home, I start to get more anxious and nervous. I couldn’t allow my mind to rest. I kept trying to tell myself that maybe she was sleeping (since she had surgery on Monday), or she was at a doctor’s appointment. After an hour, I still didn’t hear from the police, so I called to follow up. The deputies had just arrived at the scene and her car was in the driveway. They would call me back.
I decided to lay down in my bed while cuddle my kitties. I was keeping friends and family updated, as we were now all becoming concerned.
Then, my phone rang from my mom’s area code. I picked up the phone to answer.
“Is this Alex?”
“Yes.”
“We went ahead and checked up on your mother…”
“And?”
“I’m sorry to report to you that she has passed away in her bed.”
It’s been about 6 days and his words still ring in my ear. Repeating over and over again. When he broke the news, I started repeating “No” as much as I could. I actually hung up on him.
I had never screamed in agony before this. I couldn’t stop screaming and crying. I tried to get out of bed but I couldn’t get up. It was as if my legs had stopped working. I fumbled as my phone started ringing and I answered and told my mom’s friend she was gone. I don’t remember who called who, but I told my uncle the same. I looked into my phone to see who I could call. I couldn’t even see straight. I called my friend Julia and told her my mom died. She dropped everything and came over. I wrote a status on Facebook that only said, “My mom died”
An hour later, I had about 5 people in my apartment packing for me, cleaning, making calls, and communicating with my uncle on travel arrangements. As I drank the red wine in the glass, I started to go completely numb. I couldn’t even function. Soon after, my uncle told me to call the coroner.
As I sat on the phone and listened to the coroner tell me about how my mom died, it was a blur. She died of internal bleeding from her GI tract, which was indicated by the fact that blood came out of her nose and mouth as they moved her body.
I never had a chance to tell her that I loved her once more.
I immediately regretted all the times I took my frustrations out on her.
I can’t comprehend the fact that I can’t pick up the phone and call her to ask her for advice or just to tell her about my day.
At this point, my blogs for the next months could very well be me mourning my mother. I’ve never dealt with a death of a parent before, and I don’t know where to start.
I can’t promise that my words will be coherent or make sense right now. If my thoughts seem jumbled, I apologize.
Ever since I found out I was ill, I looked up celebrities who dealt with or were currently dealing with cancer. I wanted to see how they dealt with the bad days, how they encouraged people, how they continued living their lives. Sometimes the stories had happy endings, sometimes, their endings meant a beautiful life was cut short. One of the lives I followed was Stuart Scott.
While I was never into sports, every person that I knew while growing up was watching ESPN, and they watched Stuart Scott. He made sports more entertaining for me, and I remembered his catch phrases like, “Boo-Yah!” and “As cool as the other side of the pillow” and started adapting them into my own young kid lingo. When I found out that he himself was dealing with cancer, plus numerous recurrences, I decided to keep watching him, specifically his attitude and how he continued to live life. I needed someone to look up to in the times where I couldn’t deal with the pain, or the times where I couldn’t stop crying. It was extraordinarily difficult to proceed through my day-to-day life and pretend that I was okay. I didn’t want to be a worry, or a bother to my colleagues, friends, and family. There were days where I would feel so defeated or like I was not going to win.
In those times, I would do some reading on what Stuart Scott was up to and doing, so I could pull myself out of my funk. I wanted to emulate this man in his strength and attitude. He is an inspiration to anyone who is fighting cancer, in remission, or fearful of it coming back. In July, Stuart Scott made this statement at the ESPYS that I made my mantra,
“When you die, it does not mean that you lose to cancer. You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and in the manner in which you live.”
Hearing these words from someone who was fighting so hard, and yet living life so well, it helped me to not stay in bed and cry all day after my official diagnosis. When I had to get multiple biopsies and procedures done, Stuart’s voice rang in my head. When I had to take the first weekend off from my show because of treatment, I watched videos of Stuart’s segments filmed while he was in the midst of some of his most intense fighting.
www.chicagotribune.com
Even though my diagnosis was a long-anticipated one after years of dealing with abnormal test results, I still wasn’t prepared for the “C word” when it finally reared its ugly head. Shoot, I had even had a bout with skin cancer several years ago that was dealt with surgery. But, this time was different because it was further inside my body and treating it would be more invasive. When you’re making countless trips to multiple doctors and having multiple procedures done, PLUS being in so much pain, I started to feel less than human. There were countless times where I felt like I was losing myself, and losing control of my life. There were times where I realized that I didn’t have support from certain people in my life, but then I would be quickly reminded of the people who were there to support me, both physically and spiritually.
Thankfully, surgery has been my treatment so far. But should it ever come back and escalate to more aggressive treatments, I’ll be ready for it with boxing gloves on with Stuart’s story ringing in my head, and encouraging me to not only keep fighting, but continuing to LIVE.
Rest in peace, Stuart, and thank you from the bottom of my heart.
In March of 2014, I had noticed something about my body that was acting weird. For the purposes of keeping this rather toned down as to what my condition is, I’ve named this ailment, “Gladys.”
I went to the doctor since not only did I not get my normal cycle for four months, and I wasn’t pregnant, but I was experiencing back pain and really bad cramps. My PMS times were always painful, but in the last year, I was dealing with crippling pain that would put me in bed for days at a time. And as time progressed, it got worse. So, to the doctor I went.
Without going into too much detail, I found out that I needed treatment for what I had. After one unsuccessful procedure that was less invasive, I had to have a second, more aggressive procedure. Right now, I’m stabilized. But mentality, I’m damaged.
First, let me start off with the fact that I’ve never thought I was immortal. In fact, I came to terms about the possibility of death about 9 years ago after dealing with a car accident that nearly killed me. Injuries are one thing, but being sick is a completely different game. Injuries heal. Diseases have a chance of coming back.
I also began to learn who my friends were, who were real Christians, who were really there for genuine reasons. When I was at my lowest, I learned who would be there for me when I needed them. I also saw the ugliest side of humanity in how others treated me once they learned I was sick.
One of the side effects of this disease is chronic pain. While it has reduced lately, being in constant pain eats away at your psychological well-being. I hate worrying anyone, so most of the time I’m never honest about how I’m feeling. I’m trying to keep my ailment a secret from the general public, and the only people who know are immediate family and friends. But sometimes I have to wonder if I should be more open to the public. Probably not. It would only hurt me.
I’ve also learned that my tolerance of dealing with pettiness and stupidity has reduced greatly. Whether it’s someone cheating on another, people nagging about traffic, spending money, etc. Well, at least you are healthy. You have purpose. We’re all alive and on the same team (for the most part). Why can’t we just treat each other with love and respect? Is that so hard to ask for?
I’ve also slowly been cutting out dramatic people in my life. If it’s not their fault, obviously that’s a different story. But when someone is constantly putting themselves in positions to willingly hurt someone and then wonder why they have drama in their life, I’m sorry but you’re out. To the people who think I’m talking about them, I probably am. Look in the damn mirror and see that the change that needs to happen is within yourself. Grow up, stop playing with people’s emotions and live, and start making a useful contribution to humanity.
Yeah, I sound mad. Because I am. Dealing with Gladys has made me extraordinarily angry. I’m angry at life, I’m angry at God. I’m just angry. While I’m happy with everyday that is given to me, my limitations make me so angry. I’ve been poked and prodded. I’ve been on more medications than I ever wanted to be on.
During times such as this, I honestly wanted to give up. But then a good friend of mine reminded me of my grandmother. She had nearly every health issue in the book, and yet she always kept pushing through and living her life. I’m not dealing with anything near to what she had, and I’m falling apart. If my grandmother could get through life with a broken ankle, diabetes, pneumonia, etc. then surely I can deal with Gladys.
Anyway, this is basically a rambling blog. Trying to work out the craziness in my mind in a public venue.
So, a few months ago, I wrote about 20,000 words over a weekend, and I kept on track writing about 10,000 words a day. Well, actually, I wrote 12,000 words on Saturday and 8,000 words on Sunday. How did I do it?
Well…
I stayed incredibly focused.
If you’re looking for an easy way to write 10,000 words in a day or 20,000 words in a weekend, you might want to look somewhere else. But I will tell you, once you accomplish this impressive feat, you will not only feeling accomplished, but you will also feel exceptionally proud of yourself.
I will say that it takes discipline, breaks, happy snacks, a few naps, and typing away vigorously. If this was something that people were more interested in learning about the details of what I did to accomplish this goal, let me know in the comments!
Plan Ahead: You’re not going to be able to accomplish 10,000 words in a day if you don’t spend a few days planning it out. I spent a week researching on what I was going to write about. I made a detailed outline.
Make a Schedule: I actually timed out my schedule by my typing speed. On a good writing spree, I can write 2,000 words in an hour. That should be good, right? I can be done in 5 hours! It’s not quite that simple. You have to take into consideration your writing stamina in terms of how your hands feel, how well your eyes can focus, and how much brain fog you can tolerate.
Have Food & Drink On Hand: I had a mix of fresh veggies and fruit on hand that have a crunch. I like crunchy food, and having something healthy and fresh will help keep your mind clear. If you eat processed snacks like chips and crackers, and drinking caffeinated beverages for the sake of “staying awake”, you will find that your focus will not be consistent and you’ll get tired easily and quickly. Iced tea was my drink of choice. Staying hydrated is a must! Hydration helps your brain. Worried about frequent bathroom breaks? Start drinking lots of water about a week ahead of time so you’re body adjusts. Or, bring a notepad with you in the bathroom so you can make full use of your time by planning your next move.
Take Breaks & Sleep: When I found I was having a major writer’s block, or to a point where I couldn’t keep going, I took a break. My breaks were spontaneous and came about every 2 hours for about 15 minutes. After 4 hours of writing, I was at about 3500 words (my 2000 word spree didn’t last long on day one), I took an hour long nap. I needed to give my brain a break and let it recharge. I also found that it was a great way to get new ideas to keep the writing going.
Type Now, Edit Later: Your job on this day is to just get the words out, hence to why outlining and researching is important so you can just word vomit onto the paper. After you meet your goal, you can go back and clean it up. If you worry too much about going back and editing, you will put too much energy into something you can always handle later.
No Distractions: I can’t write in silence, so I will play classical music. Some people can write with the television on. If neither of these distract you, that’s great. Let loved ones and friends know ahead of time what you’re doing so there’s no freak out if you silence your phone. Light a candle, create an environment that is distraction-free so you can get your writing done.
Obviously, this is just the short version. There are many more tips and tricks where that came from. Perhaps I’ll lump it all together into a short little e-book? What have you done to stay focused and productive on long writing days?
UPDATE: Due to popular demand, I have written a short eBook on how to write faster, write more, and develop a love for writing, and it includes how to write 10,000 words in a day! Check out 10,000 Words on Amazon!
On Wednesday night, I had the chance to see a special preview of Annabelle before it opened this weekend. I sat on the idea of whether to write a review of the movie or not, and while it’s Sunday, I decided to just do it. It’s going to be short, especially since there are numerous people out there who don’t like spoilers, so I’ll give my initial thoughts. Keep in mind that I’m not a film critic.
If you’re looking for accuracy in terms of the real story of Annabelle, you best look elsewhere. Before even walking into the movie, you have to accept that this is a “Hollywood” film, so there will be embellishments, overly dramatized actions, and more. If you approach this as a fiction film, then you’ll probably enjoy it more.
On that note, you can probably tell that I walked into the movie with really low expectations, which might be why I didn’t hate the movie. In fact, I actually liked it.
In the “prologue” of the film, we get a glimpse of two nurses and a man being interviewed by who we assume is Ed and Lorraine Warren about the doll. Then there’s a quick cutaway to “One year earlier…” (and the poor girl next to me read it as “One year later” and proceeded to be really confused the rest of the movie).
The real Annabelle doll at the Warrens’ museum in Connecticut
In terms of plot, even though the movie’s start was a bit slow, it quickly accelerated as the premise of WHY the doll became possessed or haunted in the first place was established. The movie starred (ironically) Annabelle Wallis and Ward Horton as a young couple expecting their first child, named Mia and John. Well, John (Horton) gifts the creepy doll to Mia. Even before the doll becomes possessed and evil, it is a creepy doll and makes you wonder why Mia wanted it in the first place, but it turns out the doll is a rare collector’s item that is part of a collection. While still a bit unbelievable when Mia called the doll “beautiful”, the sense of realism as to why the doll was there to begin with kind of makes sense.
Of course with any horror film, there are jump moments and plot twists just for the sake of shock value, along with moments where people were literally yelling at the screen to tell the characters to turn back or not go into the creepy basement. But as the film closed out, I was actually moved to near tears as one of the characters makes the ultimate sacrifice to bring peace to the young family and their baby. The movie also ends with a full circle with the interview in the very beginning with a blurb about the doll’s current whereabouts.
Overall, I enjoyed the movie and recommended my friends who are horror fans and/or into the paranormal to see it.
If you go in with the assumption that this sequel/prequel to “The Conjuring” is going to be an exaggeration of the real Annabelle story and understand that it’s just Hollywood, you might enjoy it. If you’re new to the whole thing and don’t know the story of Annabelle, you best check it out and learn where the story came from. I imagine that the movie will help drive interest in the Warrens and Annabelle, and more people than ever will want to see the doll.
The word for the last two months that have been mentioned to me the most often is “vindication” in regards to whether I’m feeling vindicated or not. Here’s the thing…when it comes to the downfall or misfortunes of other people, whether it’s lost money or ruined reputations, I’m numb when it comes to those emotions. I definitely don’t feel good about anyone going through a hard time, and I actually feel pretty bad for those kind of situations. And when it comes to feeling “vindicated”…the damage was done and the scars exist, and the best thing to do is move forward and not look back. The flaunting of the feeling of being justified with decisions that were made that worked in my favor in relation to another person’s misfortune, just reflects my own insecurities and frankly, bitterness that has yet to be dealt with. While I can’t understand why anyone who legitimately cared for another person could feel anything positive from someone else’s bad time…is it right for me to judge them? Honestly, I don’t know. I mean, who am I to judge someone else? I’m just as guilty of these actions as the next person. It’s human nature.
So, instead of going with the judgment angle, I’ve been really working on approaching situations and people with love. You know…it’s really tough sometimes. But I have learned a lot from doing this because I’ve found that the only people who really get their jollies from bullying, writing passive aggressive posts, or making fun of someone else are truly miserable people. Woops, I’m judging again. But really, I’ve never seen a happy person make fun of someone for their appearance, speech, or their efforts in different areas. Most of the people I’ve met who really are happy and loving don’t do that.
As a society, we need to start focusing on building people up rather than bringing them down. Not only is it the right thing to do, but getting satisfaction over bringing another down or over someone’s misfortune won’t do any good for your own character and well-being. However, we’re all human…and we can’t be perfect all of the time. So I guess the best that we can even do is do the right thing when we can and correct the situation when we go wrong.
Where we receive our satisfaction is a direct reflection of our character. So, essentially, what I’m saying is…get satisfaction from the uplifting of people. Because getting satisfaction from the opposite will just expose the ugly side of your character, and do you really want that?
On a more lighthearted note…I couldn’t resist the elephant in the room that the other word for this blog would be “schadenfreude”, which reminded me of the song from the musical, Avenue Q. Enjoy! *Note: There is some language and contains adult content.
Well, first of all: Shame on me. It’s been 5 months since I’ve updated this blog. But I’m happy that it’s still getting a ton of traffic for my Shakespeare posts (now I know what the audience really wants).
Anyway, now to catch you all up to my life as I know it thus far. Wild Party opened and closed, and it was a great show to be a part of. I made some wonderful new friends and connections in the Raleigh theatre community. I also decided to start doing a podcast for the theatre community in the Triangle area. I’ve been slowly collecting interviews and I hope to debut the podcast “Triangle On Stage” in August.
Speaking of shows, I’m a part of the cast of Xanadu at North Raleigh Arts and Creative Theatre and will be playing in September. If you’ve ever seen the original god-awful movie with Olivia Newton-John, you probably know that the musical is all camp and overall just fun. I’m really excited to be a part of the show and so far the rehearsal process has been all smiles. Plus, I get to bust my skates out again!
So, let’s get to business. I’ve gone through a whirlwind of a year since moving to Raleigh on June 1st, 2013. My life has changed in many unexpected ways. While initially it may have seemed like the events of last year were the worse thing to have ever happened to me, looking back…I feel like I might now understand what the Universe (or God) was trying to do.
Anyway, I’ve really been working on “me”, specifically when it comes to forgiving myself and taking responsibility for my actions of basically my entire life. I had a wise friend who gave me a heart to heart, because even after things calmed down, I still wasn’t all that happy. This friend told me that I needed to start taking responsibility for my actions in why I wasn’t happy. Of course, hearing this was at first very startling and doesn’t seem like the right thing to say to someone who was having an emotionally difficult time. But the reason being is that, I was living like a victim. And thus, it was a perspective that didn’t give me any control over my life. My life, my choices, etc. are all related to where I am exactly now. The important thing I needed to do was to take responsibility for my actions that I had control over, and then forgive myself. Interestingly enough, once I started forgiving myself, it was easier to start forgiving others.
The other part of this was also acknowledging where I didn’t have control, and to let certain things go, and to not continuously revisit the painful chapters. In the case of my stalker, it was a time where I let him make me feel like I was powerless and I lived in fear for several months before finally taking him to court to get the restraining order, which was granted because he waived his right to a hearing and consented to my testimony in court. I cried when that happened…it made me reconsider my relationship with God because I felt as though He finally threw me a bone. I would never wish what I went through with my stalker on my worst enemy. It was a frightening and awful experience that still leaves me looking over my shoulder all the time.
When I look at the people who wronged me today, I just feel sad for them and my heart goes out to them. I feel sad for the people who still hold grudges and post passive-aggressive messages knowing that it will do nothing to head towards a resolution. But, these are all doors that I’m in the process of closing. Looking back just leads to reopening those wounds and revisiting the pain on a regular basis, and I can’t do that to myself anymore. Do I hope for a resolution in the future? Of course. But I’m not going to tear myself apart anymore because it’s not happening.
And that’s taking responsibility by taking care of myself, and for the first time ever, doing things to help place myself on the road to genuine happiness. I have a job that I love, I have wonderful friends that I’ve made since moving here, I’m in a show and doing what I love, and I got the apartment of my dreams. I can’t really complain right now, but I also don’t want to count my chickens before they hatch because life always has that way of reminding you to appreciate the little things in life like having a roof over your head and food in your stomach. Basically, I’m enjoying life right now and not taking it for granted. Why?
Because it’s my responsibility to do so as a member of the human race.
My paranormal team is growing and attracting some pretty brilliant minds.
It’s not a bad start to the year, and the remaining 11 months look promising. I have some other cool stuff in the back burner that I quite can’t announce yet, but it’ll be good stuff.
In comparison to 2013, I have to say that I’m much happier and healthier. I’ve lost some weight, my heart rate is the lowest it’s ever been, I’m eating right, and my anxiety has reduced greatly. I’ve also made some great friends and finally settling into Raleigh…more than 6 months later.
Anyway, I guess the point of this blog for today is this: Even when things are horrible, crappy, and you don’t think you’re going to survive…keep holding on. It will improve and get better. If you were to tell me 6 months ago that I would be where I’m at today, I wouldn’t believe you. But hey, good things do come to those who wait, you just have to keep swimming.
This was a short blog, but I promise that I’ll have meatier stuff starting next week. 🙂
You may be seeing this, or something similar floating around the Internet today:
Just before 8 a.m. on December 7, 1941, hundreds of Japanese fighter planes attacked the American naval base at Pearl Harbor near Honolulu, Hawaii. The barrage lasted just two hours, but it was devastating: The Japanese managed to destroy nearly 20 American naval vessels, including eight enormous battleships, and almost 200 airplanes. More than 2,000 Americans soldiers and sailors died in the attack, and another 1,000 were wounded. The day after the assault, President Franklin D. Roosevelt asked Congress to declare war on Japan; Congress approved his declaration with just one dissenting vote. Three days later, Japanese allies Germany and Italy also declared war on the United States, and again Congress reciprocated. More than two years into the conflict, America had finally joined World War II.
Many people will see this and take a moment to remember. Many may have had family who was serving at the time and was attacked at Pearl Harbor and survived…or worse…perished. But this truly lives in infamy. For many, it meant that the boys would become men and drafted into the military to serve their country.
But what about those who looked like the enemy? What of those who were of the same ethnicity as the ones who attacked Pearl Harbor?
You probably can’t tell from looking at me, but I’m a quarter Japanese on my mother’s side. Which means my mother is half Japanese from her father’s side…my Grandpa.
Growing Up on Empty
Me with my Grandpa
Growing up, I adored my Grandpa. My memories of him are still very potent. He played with me, took care of me while my Mom was at work, take me to baseball games, go on walks with me every day, even when he was tired. He would also take on the role of a father figure when my Dad was unable to be more involved in my life. When I was younger, I did look a bit more Japanese, but I didn’t even notice the eyes or ethnicity. He was my Grandpa.
I was a little over a month shy of turning 7 when he died on December 3rd, 1992 (almost exactly 51 years after Pearl Harbor). It’s a day that still rocks my memory as I remembered how sad everyone was, and my Grandma telling my cousin, “We’re going to lose him.”
We did lose him. Considering he died when I was so young, I really didn’t get a chance to get to know him.
Learning from the Past
My Grandpa in his Army uniform circa 1940’s
It wasn’t until I was much older when I began to dig deep into his past. Even more so when I was working on my play, Japanese Eyes/American Heart, loosely based on my Grandpa’s experiences during World War II after Pearl Harbor. I knew of the internment of Japanese-Americans very blandly because my Grandpa had siblings either interred or they served in the military.
My Grandpa was born in Honolulu, Hawaii to Isokichi and Suga Matsuo. Isokichi was born in Japan and got on the boat to Hawaii in 1900 not too long after Japan opened their borders. Suga was born in Hawaii. My Grandpa was born in 1920, and in 1940, he enlisted in the United States Army.
I have no doubt that December 7th, 1941 affected him. Given the location and WHO attacked Pearl Harbor, I imagine there was much worry and concern of how it would affect his family.
His older brother Roy, was sent to Jerome War Relocation Center in Southeastern Arkansas.
Roy’s entry in the National Archive’s in the Japanese Relocation/Internment Records,
His brother Ted, served as a medic in the famed 442nd to Company F, and was wounded on the second day of combat near Sasseta.
There are also several Matsuo’s who went to relocation centers such as Manzanar and Heart Mountain. I’m still researching and confirming whether they were a part of my family.
“Ted Matsuo described the incredible experience of his brother, Keijiro, who had earned an electrical engineering degree from Indiana Tristate College and had gone to Japan to work because no one in the United States or Hawaii would hire a nisei electrical engineer. Keijiro had lived for a time with his brother in California, where he enjoyed diving for abalone and lobster off the coast of Monterey. The FBI was aware of his dives and accused him of mapping the sea floor for the Japanese. He was arrested, but because of lack of evidence, he was given the option of volunteering for the military in lieu of being incarcerated. Because they denied him officer status, Keijiro refused military service and was incarcerated at Sand Island. He was later released and drafted for the engineer battalion in Hawaii” (Matsuo 22).
Dorothy Matsuo, Boyhood to War (22)
Struggling with Identity
I’ve joined several communities full of Japanese Americans. I find these groups to be my sanctury to explore my identity, race, and talk history about our family. Ironically, the folks who have commented on “how Japanese” I look have been white men. But then that goes without saying, what is exactly Japanese? How is it that I’m accepted as Japanese American by others in the Asian community but not to white men? It really messes with your mind.
I’ve had people who have known me for years eventually asking me if I’m part Asian. It’s there, it’s always been there. And it shows that people either “look for the whiteness” or just make very basic assumptions on my appearance. Since I have red hair = Irish = white. I’m more Japanese than Irish if we want to get technical.
Filling in the Gaps
The internment of Japanese Americans has been swept under the rug for years….until recently.
Thanks to many films, and a new musical called Allegiance starring George Takei, Lea Salonga, and Telly Leung, which I had the pleasure of seeing at the Old Globe in San Diego in 2012 I’ll admit that I was incredibly touched by the show and I found myself crying on several occasions. I hope that this marks more awareness of Japanese American internment. If you’re in Los Angeles, check out the Japanese American National Museum. While living in San Diego, I often visited the museum and it was an emotional experience every time. There are several museums dedicated to Japanese American history, and many of the relocation centers are being restored and preserved being turned into museums themselves.
So as we reflect on this day, let us remember how much it impacted the present of the time, and the future. For me, while Pearl Harbor and the internment of Japanese Americans didn’t directly affect me, it meant the lack of knowledge on the that part of my family’s history, and not getting a chance to connect with the Japanese culture.
My Grandpa’s retirement packet with a letter from Harry Truman thanking him for his service in WWII.
It’s been about 6 or so weeks since my mother died, and I’m already back to my usual activities; work, writing, radio, etc. Am I ready to be back? I don’t know. All I know is my bills have to be paid, kitties need to be fed, and I have to keep a roof over my head. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury to take a lot of time off from my job(s) or commitments at the moment, which means I’ve had to repress much of my grief. If the tears come while I’m in public, I’ve had to find a way to repress them and stop them from flowing. I have to keep a happy persona at all times when on the clock, lest I offend someone or I do something wrong that can jeopardize my job. In doing all of this, I’ve realized that I’m starting to dehumanize myself. The tears are inconvenient, but when there is a convenient time, I can’t get myself to cry. In fact, I can’t get myself to feel anything anymore, sometimes neither positive or negative. That honestly scares me. I don’t feel like I can grieve anymore, and I have to shut myself off. There’s still so much that has to be done in wrapping up my mother’s affairs that I can’t afford to stop and cry, or I’ll lose time. I’ll lose the ability to get done what has to get done.
