twenty9ish-blog

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All the little ones :]

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I didn’t know my cat was pregnant

Sol is a sweet baby kitty that my friend found when she was tossing out her trash. Sol went up to you with sweet meows and purrs. My friend had two cats and a dog but knew that I had been talking about getting a cat. She called me and after meeting Sol, it was instant love. It had been 2 week and no one responding to the posts we made about her and nobody had put up any fliers. So we claimed each other and I took her to the vet. This was back in July and the the Vet said, “Expect kittens any day!”

Everyday when I came home, I entered slowly into the apartment in order to not disturb the action of her giving birth. I’d get in and look around the quiet space and then hear a little “Meow” down by my feet. My lil Sol has not yet had her babies.

At first the news caught me by surprise. I’ve never been pregnant and I’ve never had an animal that was pregnant. I’ve known other women who have been pregnant and gave birth but I didn’t feel it was fair to compare.

Side note, I know that pregnancy is beautiful but I also believe it is gooey and gross. That to me, is fair. Hearing that she was pregnant gave me pause and fears of the unknown erupted.

After getting the news I had many questions. How old was she? When are they due? Are kitten abortions a thing or are we at the c-section phase? Does she know she’s pregnant? She’s very sweet right now, will that change after the kittens are here? Sometimes I need to be unfiltered as I process through it.

After I calmed down, I became proactive. I asked the Vet, how can I help her? What is my role in the birthing process? When can we get her spayed?

He told me to set up a box with towels and blankets and to let nature take its course. In a very judgy expression he assured me that she does know that she is pregnant. I didn’t feel his judgement was necessary considering we as humans don’t always know. Actually, it’s been a surprise to enough women in the world that we have a show dedicated to it called, “I didn’t know I was pregnant.”

When I got home I made her 2 birthing nooks. One under my bed with blankets and towels and one under my desk with a box, blanket, and towels. I’m hoping she picks that one because it has a box. The Vet said that she’ll use the box to help her push. In all honesty though, she liked hanging in the bathroom between the toilet and the wall. Which arguably is good for pushing. The thing about that, she was already a dumpster kitty and I just wanted a better life for her kittens than the side of a toilet. Ultimately, it’s up to her but during the wait I had been closing the bathroom door.

Sometimes she would come up to me and meow for no reason. I’ve heard this is what cats do even when they’re not pregnant. I’m sure she was saying something but I hadn’t deciphered the language yet. My question to her was always, “Is it happening?” To which she’d answer by looking down and then usually just lay there.

A friend donated kitten things to me in one of those big bags from Ikea. Inside the bag had two toy mice. Sol liked to pick them up with her teeth and take them to the dining table and then play in there like it’s her jungle gym. It was really cute and silly when she had difficulty maneuvering through the chairs because he belly is so pregnant. I was half expecting some of the kittens were going to come out a little dented but aren’t we all. This was also an argument that she didn’t know she was pregnant.  

Two months later, the morning after the 2017 eclipse, little Sol meowed and stepped on me and my boyfriend in the middle of the night. Him and I adjusted from a spooning position to facing each other so Sol could nuzzle in between us. After a minute I started to wake up, I realized that this was not her normal behavior. Usually she adjusts around us not the other way around. So I went to pet her and feel around her and sure enough, her water had broken. I woke up my boyfriend with excitementment. “It’s happening!” He woke up and started comforting her while googling “What to expect when your cat is in labor” while I grabbed the birthing box. We had googled everything about what to expect while your cat is expecting but forgot that eventually the kittens would come out. She immediately climbed in and we took turns petting her while the other was reading articles.

It started around 5am. She came with intuitive breathing exercises and was breathing heavily with her tongue out. There was one moment she howled and threw her head back but the rest of the time she was breathing and looking back and forth between humans for comfort. Once birthing piece started, she used the box just like that vet said. It took a few minutes but an ooey gooey bloody baby popped out, a pastel tortieshell, and shortly after that, the placenta. Sol immediately gave the kitten some licks and then went for the placenta. The kitten meeped a little bit and found her way to Sol for food. It was gross but enchanting. Life had popped out before my eyes. I looked to my boyfriend and said, “It smells different than I thought. I don’t know what I was expecting as far as smell, but it’s stinkier than I thought.” To which he replied, “I farted.” Thank goodness for his candor because the idea that birth smelled like fresh farts was a complete turn off. I know women sometimes poop during birth but it helps to hold on to the idea period blood and stale water smells for birth. Women who have been pregnant, please correct me if I’m wrong.

Thirty minutes later an orange lil guy followed behind his sister. He came out very chatty and demanding. I immediately called him Piper after the Orange is the New Black character. He did not wait to go for the food and even pushed his sister away. I got to see their first fight for the nipple and all things. The oldest won and Piper had to found another place to eat. I mean, he had 7 other options. At this point, things started to slow down.

I fell asleep with half of my body off the bed while I was watched it all go down. When my arm started to feel uncomfortable I woke up and counted the kittens. I saw 2 kittens eating and Sol was just chilling.

My roommate, boyfriend, and I had all thrown out guesses on how many kittens she was going to have. I guessed 4, my roomie, 4, and I think my boyfriend guessed 3. After looking at the lil family getting into their new vibe I realized that there was this dark lump by Sol’s butt. I sat up and walked to the other side and found another lil kitten! It looked black with white accents. Later, after the goo was gone and she was dry, I discovered that she was a grey kitten with white accents. I woke up my boyfriend and we watched the new lil one make her way to food.

My boyfriend’s dad was visiting and had just woken up so we immediately told him. All of us admired the new lil ones. We declared my boyfriend the winner of guessing the right amount of babies inside of Sol. I got ready and left for work while he moved the new lil family under my desk to enjoy their lil nook. I came home later on my lunch to say hello and watched two little ones eating while two others were wandering on different ends of Sol. Yes, TWO eating and TWO wandering. The pastel tortieshell and orange one were eating and there were two grey ones wandering! I texted my boyfriend, “When you left, were there 3 or 4 kittens?” and a picture. He replied with questions marks and “Whaaat.” He had only left them an hour before I had come home. In that time, the last lil kitten came out and then there were four.

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Twenty Nine

I did it, I made it. I have entered my twenty ninth year of life. In the past week, I had food poisoning, recovered slowly, did some yoga, and finished with cupcakes and pizza. Food played a big role this week because it hurt me but I was reminded how much I love it so dearly.

I’m currently dueling with myself as I start this new year. I realized, this blog has been lacking. I’ve created a habit of not prioritizing writing this blog. I’m doing my best not to do what I’ve done in the past and forget it’s existence. I find myself overthinking what I want to write. Asking myself, “Is this relatable? Do I really want to share this piece of my life?” I always come back to, “who cares, just do it.” Then when I get ready to post, it just doesn’t make it. I have about 4 pieces that are almost finished but just aren’t. This isn’t who I want to be. How insane is that? This is such an ugly piece of my personality, I almost don’t want to share it because of how embarrassing it is to admit. I’m not being accountable to myself.

On the other hand, for the sake of not being my own bully, I made something. In the month of April I turned a script I wrote three years ago into a short film. I wrote it during a time when I was depressed. It was sparked by my passion for communication and how human use it with each other. I found myself surrounded with people with opinions that I do not share. I felt voiceless and unheard. I remember when I wrote it. I was in bed, reflecting on my life and on the verge of tears. Hell, there were probably tears. I was listening to music and an Otis Redding song came on. In that moment, a story unfolded in my mind and I started writing. I stayed up until 4 am and I remember being so energized. I held on to that script and would occasionally take it out and rework it but in early March, I decided it was time to feel energized again.

I started with sharing it with other writers to give me notes. I reworked it with their feedback and fresh eyes. I challenged myself to take the role of acting and worked with another actor to strengthen the voice of the characters I created. We were a team of four and shot it in one weekend. It’s currently in post and I am so excited to share this with everyone when it’s done. My goal for this project is to submit it to a short film festival before the end of the year. It was extremely rewarding. So incredibly energizing. Then came Monday.

In my twenties, I’ve tried many roles because I wanted to learn and experience anything that I could. I’ve done such a great job at that and I’ve created pockets of skills in different fields but I haven’t really sat with myself to ask, “What do I like most and where should I put my energy?” I keep asking, “Where is there a void and how can I fill it?” Some people ask me, “If money wasn’t a concern then what would you be doing?” I’ve hated answering that question. In the end, I always feel guilty or shamed for my answer. Like somehow it’s supposed to fall off my tongue and if it doesn’t then I’m not honoring myself in some way. My habit is to fix and fill. This is something I’ve cultivated for some time and it’s going to need time to redirect. Even now, I want to write something that answers that question but then ten more questions pop up in my head that I want to ask before I answer it. In a way I want to make sure I’m answering the right question, I want to check in with myself, I want to ask myself how I’ll feel about that decision in 10 years. How will it affect the life I build around that decision? What will I be giving up if I decide to go down that path? Is it really giving up on something because I don’t know that I really want it?

I don’t ever want to lose my curiosity and inquisitive side but I worry that asking too many questions have held me back. I don’t want to continue to duel with myself about my decisions and what I want to do. I hope to finish my twenties with confidence in myself to honor my choices.

(This was written in May on my birthday.)

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Broken Storyteller

It’s like I've forgotten how to speak.

The story is there and

I’m ready to share

But the words get lost 

in the air.

I see their faces

hard staring and blank spaces.

Kindly trying to follow my beat

but I stumble and feel 

defeat.

Trapped in my own mind.

Losing track of time.

I attempt to keep on point

but fuck, why did I smoke that joint.

I bite my tongue.

I think I’m done.

They watch.

They wait.

I just 

evaporate.

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Plant Baby Sebastian

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Plant Baby

I’m happy to announce that I am a proud mama to a living thing, a plant. It’s a gorgeous array of succulents that now have a home perched on my window seal with a view of the alley way behind my apartment complex. I look forward to the charming mornings we’ll have as spring beams through the window as we wake up. 

I’m happy to call him Sebastian, forgetting that my brother once considered naming his unborn child by that name. I’ve decided to take the sibling approach he once did with me, “you snooze, you lose.” He’s named Sebastian because he reminds me of things I find under the sea. Charming, isn’t he? 

I let my mother know and she was ecstatic! Family and friends should look out for her announcement of being a Grandplanta. Once my father heard the news he couldn’t wait to tell his plant babies in the greenhouse that they were uncles and aunts. 

Yes, this is all silly but once my parents played along I realized, let the silly be. 

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Period Things Part I: The Blood

The best way to describe my period at the start of my 20s, inconvenient. It still didn’t come every month. After a few months of being on vacation, she would come out for air and it was a crime scene. My uterus had harbored all the eggs from the past months and continued to line a new layer until the gates were let down and she released the build up from the last few months.

She never arrived during the same time of the month nor did she like to show up on a particular day. She did however always drop between 4-5am. I’d wake up from a deep relaxing sleep and feel tugged by my uterus towards the bathroom. There was a tiny voice that would call out, “Lead with your hips!”  I’d sit down to pee and a couple drops of blood would blop into the toilet along with my stream. She was good at getting me to the toilet before dropping on my undapants. (Said in a Cory Matthews kind of way)

In my bathroom I was armed with pads, liners, and plastic applicator tampons to help care for Mrs. Koolaid that just broke through my walls. There was a time I was stocked with cardboard applicator tampons but they were itchy, rough, would stumble while trying to get in and overall unfavorable. I had so badly wanted the cardboard applicators to work because they were better for the world than the plastic applicators. Clearly, not so badly because I continued on with the plastic applicators.

The plastic applicators were smooth, soft, and simple. I’d buy the large packs of them at Costco, the land of family sized things. It wasn’t a family that was using them, it’s just an uncontrollable body function that in most cases happens every 28 days but really, the body does what the body wants. Unless we control it with hormones… but that’s a different post. I’d buy them in large, medium, and small or better known as super, regular, and lites. I’d purchase an additional box of just regulars because they’re what the goldie lady box enjoys the most. I found myself buying my packs every 4 months. That was a cost of roughly $54 a year.

It felt like once a year I was buying a box of ultra thin regular pads. What a super hero’s name. I’d use them when I slept. Their main role was to standby until the tampons had finished their watch for the night. I wanted to give my vagina a break from the cotton wad stuffed up there. It’s necessary sometimes to give the lady a break.

I was set. I had a routine and it worked. The problem, I didn’t feel like it fit my lifestyle. I hated that I was using these products each month. It felt like a waste to the earth and I had to refill my purse, work, car, and bathroom with all these products. I was in a vicious cycle. My period wasn’t going anywhere and I could have made the decision to not wear anything but that didn’t work for me either. Fortunately, I had a friend that suggested a menstrual cup. Have you heard of it?

It’s wonderful! It’s made of surgical plastic that’s flexible and bendy. You twist it and put it up there. It glides right in and collects all that sheds. It oxidizes up there so I don’t have to worry about toxic shock syndrome. Yes, I worry about that, don’t you? You can keep it up there for like 10-12 hours and then slide it out and let it drop. Just clean it in the sink with unscented soap and put it back in there. The best part, it’s reusable. Just make sure that you’re cleaning it properly after use. Now, I’ve recommended this to many friends but I have to be honest, not all vaginas are the same. It’s a another way to know your flow and if you can afford to test it out, do it!

Lastly, the product I’m taking with me to my thirties, SheThinx. They’re lady undapants that can hold up to 2 tampons worth of blood! Yaass! I love it. They have different cuts, sizes, and colors. Okay, they have two colors but they are different. Why do I enjoy them? My period is lighter now because I use the IUD. The menstrual cup was my favorite product but it’s unnecessary for my current flow. So when I start spotting I just start wearing my SheThinx. Saves my wallet, the earth, and my pants.

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I am Beautiful

Sunday Mass was a thing we did often in my family while I was growing up. If my father was working, we attended the 9am mass and treated ourselves to donuts. When I started driving, I could drive myself to the 5:30pm. It was co-run by the youth group and the music was better. If dad wasn’t working or we were at grandma’s house, we attended 7:30am mass.

7:30am mass was my least favorite of all the masses. Let’s be honest, people just wanted to get it out of the way so they had more time in the daylight. I never felt the homily was that inspiring, enlightening, or engaging. Everyone moved so slowly as we walked down the aisle to receive the blood and body of christ because none of us were awake. Then there was the singing. Singing was my favorite part about mass but at 7:30am everyone struggled to follow the notes, including the pianist.

So in my early highschool years I decided that if I was attending 7:30am mass, I was going to do it my way. I would wake up, roll out of bed, throw on the clothes that I had worn on Saturday because they were on the top of the pile of clothes that had accumulated through the week. I’d go to the bathroom and wash my face, brush my teeth, then throw some water on my hair. It was long, curly, frizzy, and untamed because high school wasn’t uncomfortable enough but it was my hair and I owned it. My dad would be yelling to me to get in the damn car or he was going to leave and if I didn’t go to church I would regret it later.

So at 7:20ish I’d run down the stairs and make it just in time for the longest 10ish minute drive while I was lectured about how my hair was too messy, my clothes didn’t match, and my overall disrespect for time and God. In those 10 minutes I wished nothing more than to already be at the church. If I tried to interject, the conversation only got louder. If I remained quiet, I wasn’t paying attention. It was this continuous loop where I couldn’t find an exit. I was stuck in this injustice. This was a continuous cycle in our home because I didn’t want to change my lifestyle and I think my dad thought if he got louder and meaner that would encourage me to change.

One Sunday, he opened my door and told me to wake up. I got out of bed and started my routine. He started yelling to me what time it was, probably to get me in gear faster. That morning I did something that forever changed our Sunday routine. I turned on my boombox, raised the volume, pressed play to my Christina Aguilera cd and sang along with her, “I am beautiful no matter what you say. Words can’t bring me down.” Had I known that song was a game changer I would have played it immediately.

I walked downstairs and both my mom and dad were laughing. They didn’t talk about my hair or the clothes I was wearing. My dad wanted to know what happened to all those singing lessons I had taken. He told me I was beautiful.

I had found a way to live life the way I wanted and make people laugh. That teen didn’t see herself in a corner instead she found a way to be seen for who she was even if the crowd wanted her to be someone else.

I sometimes forget she lives inside me but when I remember she’s really fun to hang out with. I want to hang out with her more in the next decade. Especially in this new administration. Lately, I find it hard to write and reflect because in my 20s I had Barack Obama. A man I voted for twice because I believed in him, I loved him, and he was my president. When hard times happened in our country, I looked forward to hearing a speech from him. I felt comforted and ready to for the next thing. Even when I didn’t find myself aligned or I wanted more from him, I never felt discouraged about the fate of our country.

In a month, I have marched, written postcards, called local representatives, and engaged in conversations about our country’s state. I’ve celebrated the small wins like the Uber shut down, two republican representatives changed their vote to “no for Betsy Devos” because their constituents called them and asked them to change their vote, protests convening around our country at different airports to protest the #muslimban and I started listening to Phoebe Robinson’s “So Many White Guys” podcast. That last one is more a new discovery for me and I really wanted to share it. It’s in it’s second season and has been really helpful during this past month.  

All of the small wins were necessary to celebrate but I haven’t forgotten that Betsy Devos was still voted in, that the Muslim ban is still a thing, and every morning I wake up and listen to news that makes me angry and upset. I get overwhelmed and think about what I can do. Do I need to be louder? Do I need to give more money towards a cause I believe in? If voting with my dollar is what will get these politicians to hear me where do I stop shopping? A week ago I listened to Christina’s song on the radio. I cried on my drive home. It reminded me about that Sunday morning where instead of staying stuck in a routine that didn’t make me feel good I tried something different. It reminded me that I have the tools and resources to heal, to rise, and to resist.

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Title

To West, from East was a title I came up with when I came up with an idea to start a blog about my experiences in New York and write about them to my family and friends in California.  After moving to New York I started graduate school, started making friends, and learned how to navigate around the city.  By the time I was 4 months in I thought that I had already lost my chance at starting a blog because it wouldn’t be authentic: I’d be retelling a story that happened months ago and what if someone investigated my timeline. That would lead to being a liar and I don’t like to lie.

Because Yes, is something inspired by a friend’s niece.  She was four at the time and had shaved off one of her eyebrows while taking a bath. Take note, four year olds are quick.  When asked why she did it, she replied assertively, “Because yes.” I also learned that she would say because no whenever she felt that was a better response.  She used these phrases when she couldn’t really explain why she was doing what she was doing and it inspired me to write a poem for my capstone piece.  Why did we have to explain ourselves?  That makes no sense. Sometimes I do things because I do them.  I can tell you why my hair color is brown, because science. I’ve never been a fan of eating mango but I try it anytime I get a chance because I think maybe it will change.  I like eating cold pizza the morning after because I’m a fan of the flavor and texture.  After reading that I think, why did I give any explanation?  So I thought of a blog idea where I would write and do things because yes.  Explaining what I did instead of why I did it.  Then I thought, that sounds like a personal problem.  

Marqueso was the name I came up with for my online dating name.  Don’t bother looking it up I disabled the account.  But it’s a combo of my name and cheese.  I’m not usually a fan of using my full name in things because I have a real fear/dislike for identity theft.  I decided I didn’t want to keep my online dating account because even though I put up a “do not message me with social media cat calling” I got it.  I also woke up in the middle of the night and deleted it. The next morning I thought it was a weird dream but I really did do it.

After graduating from school I decided that I wanted to start writing about different TV shows. I’d watch and recap because I like talking about the shows why not write about them.  While reviewing my notes I saw a pattern in my writing.  I ask a lot of questions so I thought I could narrow it down to 5 questions to ask about the episode and then try to answer them with my best guess.  I thought of a title in the middle of the night after getting up to take a drink of water and wrote in the dark on a post-it, Marquestions.  I wrote a few pieces but they never made it past their first draft.  Most of the shows were 5 episodes deep into the season and I never posted.  

I’ve heard from other writers that the title is half the battle because it has to be eye catching to bring in an audience.  I would argue that making titles are fun for me, my issue is posting and sharing. As an undergrad I would write, rewrite, and then read aloud. It was an easy thing to do and I was part of a community that made it comfortable. In grad school I created a webseries with peers. I work well in groups and my projects are a reflection of that. Working solo is a little daunting. Creating a blog is something I’ve thought about doing and clearly, have dabbled with different ideas. I’ve always been able to talk myself out of it or convince myself to step away from a solo project. Let’s hope this blog sticks. I’m a fan of the title so that’s a good start.

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First Post!

This is the year that I do it! At least this is what I’m foolishly convincing myself. It’s the last-ish year of my 20s and I have to say, it’s bittersweet but that’s for a conversation over wine, cheese, and smoked meats. No, this is the year I wrap up my 20s with a positive farewell and prepare for my 30s with manageable habits! It’s going to be a great journey.

What does that even mean? Right now it’s just an idea. I want to unpack the events of my 20s that made me the human that I am today. I’ll pick out the pieces that made me a stronger, confident, and collected human to polish those habits to prepare me for my next decade. It’s also going to show blemishes, flaws, and mistakes that I probably would ask myself, “why am I sharing this with the internet.” The answer, I’ve been selective with whom I share these moments with and that’s if I share them at all. I don’t want to carry that shame with me into my 30s. It’s heavy and I think unpacking that baggage will be healthy and lighter for my years to come.

It’s like cleaning out my apartment before moving to the next one. In my current space I have a lot of necessary things that I’m going to take with me to the next place that I want to handle and pack with care but there are some pieces that no longer fit my lifestyle or even general style. This blog may be about how nicely I’m going to wrap the artwork that my friends gave me and also the internal battle I have with myself to keep my flip flops. The shoes don’t have feelings but they make me feel things, remember memories, and I struggle because I know they’re no longer functional but they were there for me when I needed them.  

If you made it this far, thanks for sticking around! I hope we maintain this blogisphere relationship through my 30th birthday in 2018. May it last that long and beyond!