at a loss of resolve

Is it more important to be as highly "qualified" as one could be in order to have the option of accessing as many venues as possible?

Or is it more important to be "on the ground" and gauge the pulse of society and culture in that way?

The first option would mean more time in exile, so to speak. But perhaps with a greater impact later. The "perhaps" is a big concern, because I've seen, time and time again, how friends who went into law or medicine with an intent to advocate for the disenfranchised later turn into corporate representatives and reach for the medical system's acclaims instead. I used to be a lot more judgmental of their evolution, but I see now how easily one's M.O. can change with time, family persuasions, financial concerns, and priorities regarding the future. And who's to say they are not still biding their time until they do what they originally planned to do?

Still, I don't want to end up dying at, say, age 40 and realize that I should have gotten started on my heart's desires a lot sooner.

On the other hand, maybe there are merits to the second option that I am overlooking which would tip the scale irrevocably in its favor.

I feel ambivalent about the choices facing me. It reminds me of when I would patrol the night markets in Taiwan and be so overwhelmed with the possibilities that I end up going home, empty-bellied.

Father God, please give me and my family clarity, wisdom, insight, and guidance.

possibilities, or maybe not

I was a radical Islamist who hated all of you.

The above link is an interview with a former radical Muslim, reflecting upon the role of ideological narratives for the process of radicalization. Really insightful. It also makes me wonder anew, despite my misgivings about the time and viability involved, the worth of studying for a PhD. If worthwhile, I would deepen my undergraduate and graduate focus of post-colonialist perspectives, by narrowing my examination onto the literature produced from post-colonial regions such as the Middle East and Southeastern Asia (Taiwan included). I want to examine how cultural and literary movements shaped and are shaping the concept of national/ethnic identity, and how they could be used for nonviolent yet still effective movements for the present and future for righteous/just civil rights and minority empowerment. Maybe Ireland/Scotland and Poland could be templates for how that has worked out.

Otherwise, I'm interested in becoming an author that deals with these themes. I got this idea from reflecting upon my own grandparents' lives and how they were so personally affected by the practical application of ideologies that even their great-grandkids are still caught up in the aftermath. Their lives are certainly worthy of novels, and it would be inevitable for any research or narration of their stories to examine such topics. And this route might reach a wider receptive audience, since more people spend time reading novels and good fictions than academic papers...

Or maybe I'll remain a stay-at-home mom, and teach my children about such things. No point thinking so far ahead since I'm still having trouble even putting one foot in front of the other on some days. Just things to talk with God about, I guess.

i think i need a mental break before a mental breakdown

I should be....washing the dishes, sweeping and mopping the floor, cleaning the bathrooms again, taking out the trash, attempt at lectio divinia, even nap.... but I feel like, what's the point?

There is a point, I'm sure, especially when my older child leaves crying to the gan in the morning just so I could be more productive elsewhere. And chores must be done, regardless of circumstances.

It's just that I feel devoid of any energy, and yet cannot sleep restfully. Even in my dreams, I am thinking of different ways I can cease to exist.

I think, when I visit Taiwan in late summertime, I will seriously look into whether my national health insurance covers anti-depressants. After wanting to go drug-free for so long, I'm tired of trying to make it without. I'm clearly not. I guess it's time to think about surrendering and joining the legions of mainly women, and mainly American women, who medicate themselves regularly.

I'm ashamed to discover that I secretly ascribe to the stigma attached to that. Maybe this is God's way of telling me to get off my high horse.

Lots of "I"s in this post. I guess I'm pretty self-centered, which makes depression worse.

In other news, I think I'm going to stay away from local/regional news for a while. Reading about all the badly reported rhetorics against Israel gets me down. It's one thing to read about legitimate criticisms, and they need to be publicized for sure (like what the world is the deal with the Prawer Plan?), but I'm tired to needing to sift between agenda and bias. I'm not a rabid Zionist right-wing nut, and I'm tired of being pushed towards that direction just because I desire a more honest level of discourse. Oh yes, clearly I must be delusional and have a high and mighty sense of myself to perceive the situation being as the above.

In the meantime, there will be two nation-wide bomb raid drills tomorrow to ready the citizenry for escalating violence by the Syrian government because Israel had destroyed long-range missiles that Iran was "smuggling" through Syria to terrorists in Lebanon, even as the Assad regime and the rebel forces continue to slaughter and displace their own people by the thousands for two-plus years. But these are details that anti-Israel "human rights activists" can't be bothered to know. Or care about. Onwards with Israeli aggression!

Just sick of it all.

like a bell jar

I feel, a lot of times, as if I am made of glass. And hollow on the inside. I am simultaneously dumb and reverberating violently. 

Days would glide by in which I think, I am finally okay. And then, without warning, they clump together again. Like today, and yesterday, and the day before that. 

By the grace of God, one day, perhaps one day, I can finally look back and be thankful that I did not give up. For now, I am so frustrated at myself for being so irrationally weak. 

unrelated notes

In your face, Misrad Hapnim! You refused to acknowledge our parental rights to name our daughter the exact name we deemed for her. You refused by not providing us with one iota of official document that contains her rightful name and assigned her name as "Petra King" instead, no middle name. You and the US Consulate both scorned my statement on the affidavit about her middle and last name ("Her name is not Petra Lilia Spector...You would like her name to be Petra Lilia Spector, but it is not.")

But today Petra's US social security card arrived in the mail. And it says "Petra Lilia Spector".  Mwahahahaha. You'd said that as long as we have one official state document that has her name on it, then we can file for that to be her official name on all other documents.

Thank you, US bureaucracy. Your lack of inter-departmental coordination helped us jump through an Israeli government loophole.

On an unrelated note, I'm pretty sick right now, sinus and energy-wise, because I went for a run under the sun for 1.5 hours on Friday without sunblock or water. And the trail was completely uphill from the lowest point of Haifa (downtown) to one of its highest points (Louis Promenade). If you were to drive a car from one of these points to the other, your ears would pop.

It was a run/practice organized by a fitness club in conjunction with the city of Haifa in preparation for the real event on 17 May. It's kind of like Pittsburgh's StepTrek in the South Side, except you run it, and it's even steeper. There were three trainers that moved everyone along, motivating us by taking pictures and videos of us and so tapping into our vanity of wanting to look fit and happy and not at all done in by the heat and altitude change. I really envied how in shape they were. Their ridiculously lean legs and boundless energy. I was finally so dehydrated (hence, why I'm now sick with a wrecked sinus) that I asked for water from one of them who's carrying a backpack. To hell with my concern about hepatitis or other water-transmittable diseases.

As I thanked the trainer and sipped just a little bit of water from his water bottle (there weren't much water left and I didn't want to leave anybody else high and dry), he said, "You're welcome"--in Chinese! I was so surprised I spat out a little bit of the water in my mouth. (Gah.) It turns out he also speaks fluent Spanish, Portuguese, English and Arabic...along with the usual Hebrew. So the fact that he only knows a few Chinese phrases is still really impressive.

On another unrelated note, Declan starts gan at the Technion tomorrow. To say I am apprehensive about a few concerns is an understatement.

A third unrelated note: I saw a picture of my friend Candi in full Ph.D. graduate attire at the Pitt commencement ceremony, and was struck with admiration for such an amazing woman. It made me nostalgic for our less formed destinies during our M.A. days... and also some disappointment, wistfulness, and uncertainty in myself about the great unlikelihood that such a picture (of me graduating with a full-fledged PhD in English/comparative literature) would ever be realized. I'm not going to dwell on the latter though. I'm just really happy and proud of Candi, and I hope our family will always stay in touch.

Later tonight, Kirsten and Or are coming by with some sloppy Joe and cold potato salad (among my favorite American comfort foods) so I made some Israeli-style salad: chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, cilantro, carrots, kohlrabi, tahini, lemon, sauteed garlic, mustard, salt, pepper, zhatar...  I've never really have a habit of eating salads, but it's with every meal here in Israel whenever one eats out. If everyone eats the salad and enjoys it tonight, I might try making salads part of my culinary habits from now on. It would sure be an easy way to use up all the (excessive) tomatoes and cucumbers our CSA always distribute every week (probably because a typical Israeli customer would consider the amount just enough for a week-long supply of salad).

It's been so hot this week due to the heat wave aka chamsin from the Egyptian and/or African desert. Several forest fires had to be put down. Extra caution must be made for the bonfires of Lag B'Omer. I am afraid of the sun.

Petra also fell off the couch today and I found her face down flat on the (hard, uncarpeted) ground. I had literally just turned around to go get something for Declan from the kitchen, and heard a thud. She cried for a long time, then snoozed for a while after I nursed her. Daniel inspected her after coming home from work and said she looked fine. But I still feel a bit shaky, and guilty, and so sorry that I accidentally hurt her so much today.

a funny thing happened on the way home from gan

It was almost intolerably hot, especially for April and with rainstorms just two days ago. I was worried about Petra's delicate skin, already flushed since yesterday's walk home from Vardiya under the bright sun. I wished I could have held an umbrella over her, but my hands were already occupied with pushing Declan's stroller up the big hill towards Carmeliya.

"Shalom."

I stopped my pushing and turned back to see a middle-aged man wearing a kippa walking up to me while taking out his wallet.

"Shalom...." I wondered if he was going to sell me something.
"May I see your ID please?"
"Sorry, I don't have any ID on me."

The man looked surprised, while my heart was sinking. If this was a con artist, I didn't know how to extricate myself from the situation. If this was a legitimate ID check by a police/immigration officer, I was still in trouble for not having anything on me that proved my identity.

"How come you don't have any ID on you? No passport, nothing?"
"I didn't think to carry any. I was just on my way to Mommy & Me and a brief grocery shopping trip."
"Mommy & Me?"
"Yes, over there." (gesturing towards Hila's house) "Where a group of moms and their children get together to sing some songs."
"Oh...You should always carry some form of ID on you. What's your passport number?"

I thought to myself that, one of these days, I really should memorize my passport number. Meanwhile, the man was joined by another person.

Man #2: "What are you? Filipino?"
"No." (annoyed because why does everyone think I'm a Filipino nanny? Didn't my children look even vaguely similar to me?) "I'm Taiwanese."
"Ah, Taiwan. What is your passport number?"

We basically had the same exchange, with me increasingly defensive at the ludicrous nature of the situation. I was wearing Petra in a sling and fearing that she'd wake up and start fussing while we're still quite far from home, and Declan was arguing with me about how I'd just removed all the skin from his banana and he was greatly displeased. I finally called Daniel on the phone and passed him over to the more outspoken officer.

Declan: "Mama's phone? Man using Mama's phone?"
Me: "That's right, Declan, he's talking with Daddy on Mama's phone."
Man #1: "This is my ID card. You see? I'm an immigration officer. Tell your husband that we're real."
Me: "I know, I'm sorry, it's just that, in the US, people can make cards that are fake."

We waited as Man #2 got increasingly agitated while talking with Daniel on the phone. At one point, he started shouting his own name and ID # and shoved his ID card at my face, insisting that it's real. I just shrugged and smiled apologetically at Man #1. I had already apologized verbally for my husband's suspiciousness.

Eventually, Man #2 got so mad that he handed the phone back to me, told the people on his other phone (he was searching for my information on the immigration mainframe while talking with Daniel) to stop searching, told me that they couldn't find me and just effing bring my ID with me the next time I go out, snapped at his partner to get going, and both of them jaywalked across the street.

When asked for my identification info, Daniel had asked him for his identification info. Later, Daniel took the man's name and ID number and had a Technion administrative search for him in the immigration office. The man really did work for Israel's immigration.

I feel sorry for anybody who inadvertently gets caught up in legal matters with my husband.  Even when they win, they never really win.

please

tell me that this parenting things gets easier. Not 20 years later easier, but maybe in a couple of months?