It is a privilege to be sitting here on an ergonomic office chair, typing away letters on my computer to string together a sentence to form thoughts that have been floating inside my head for days now, as the air conditioning and refrigerator hums. The electricity constant. The lights not flickering. The roof over my head intact. I live in more than basic conditions of shelter against the elements.
Though whether against foes, I do not know.
At this point, the most formidable of foes merely exist inside my head. I’d like to think that there is no one out there who is dead set to exterminate me and my entire bloodline. Except maybe for the dice rolled of the Universe against my very being and earthly existence. The cholesterol plaque blocking my arteries. A small appliance falling from above me. A speeding car beating the red light. A mass shooter entering a supermarket, school, place of worship, concert.
How about against foes armed with belts of bullets to be lodged into an assault rifle, pointed steels released with a force that would pierce through my flesh and bone, pallets of bombs designed to obliterate buildings, ten ton tanks and billion dollar fighter jets?
I want to believe that the latter is an impossibility, living in a country that leads the military industrial complex with more loose access to guns and bullets than an individual could imagine. But seeing the photos and videos every morning since the eruption of the conflict, I won’t rule out the opportunity to burst forth one day. I am not alien to hate in this country, seeing the suspicious glances, the uncomfortable shifting in seats in my presence, the whispered threats, even the occasional “Chink!” muttered or even shouted at me.
Of course, there is more “friendly” interaction, but an undercurrent of displeasure is buzzes with electricity on the very ground my feet are planted on. The hostility can be palpable beneath the toothy grins and perky quips.
As a child of centuries of colonial oppression - over three hundred years in a convent (under Spain), over fifty in Hollywood (under the USA) and five under the samurai blade (under the Japanese), I learned to keep my head down, adapt, blend into the background. I embraced all of the colonial influences as this was the norm - a vernacular that’s a blend of indigenous, Spanish, Sanskrit (Yes! This I noticed and relearned very recently.) and American English, a diet of white rice, patis, suka and soy sauce, fried chicken, spaghetti, canned peaches and corned beef. This is the very reason why I read, speak and write so fluently in this language you are reading right now. Even more fluent than at least one of the languages of my native land.
My peaceful existence and presence in this country is a tight rope act - a measure of calculated temperance.
The Temperance card is the 14th card of the Major Arcana. An Angel, head aglow, with its red wings outstretched behind it, holding a cup in each hand, pouring water into each vessel as a bartenders would as they mix drinks and put on a show. One foot dipped into a pond, while the other grounded on the edges of the said pond. The sun rises behind the mountains in the backdrop with a path from the pond leading towards the light. Tall blades of grass, dotted by two yellow irises, tower behind the Angel.
Whenever Temperance is pulled in a reading, it is a call for exactly that - to temper, to resist going into extremes and find the middle way. It is a call for deep breathing and pause before release the words or actions into the Universe. It is the distinct partnership and balance of critical thinking and feeling. It is a testament of one’s moral fiber and righteousness to bottle in the chaos to be distilled and purified through a regimented, many layered screening before release into humanity.
Time is either a fiend or a friend of Temperance. Time is of the essence as some are not as quick on their thinking and feeling as others. Time passed, over four decades on this earth, and allowed me to age. And I now question whether temperance served me well, whether for the better or worse. While temperance, at its best, allows for tensions to smoothen out, where to the actual tensions go? Do these simply disappear? Or does it settle in, left inside to ferment, pressure bottled up to implode or explode when the lit match hits the wick?
I got into the rabbit hole of fermentation a few years back. Starting with a bottle of kombucha from the grocery, I left it on the kitchen counter top, bottle cap off and open lip loosely covered with a square of cloth. The kombucha must be allowed to breathe. It was said, according to my research, with enough heat (warm, snug temperatures are best!) and time, the sugars from the sweet tea will coalesce into a gelatinous blob to form a “mother” that would give birth to an endless supply of kombucha.
And it did.
Each morning, on an empty stomach, I downed a shot of homemade kombucha to aid my digestion. I still do. Sometimes, I added chopped fruits in season to enhance the flavor. Yum. But I felt it needed more bubbles as the supermarket versions had. I researched again, wherein it said that I needed to cap the bottle for the carbon dioxide and pressure to build up to increase the bubbly. But as a precaution, one has to “burp” the bottle, release the pressure to prevent any explosions. My mind went to the scariest scenario, where the glass bottle would explode and shrapnels would cut and pierce my body.
And so I did.
But one time, we had to take a trip, where it wouldn’t allow me to do the regular “burping.” Instead, I placed the kombucha in the refrigerator, where cooler temperatures would slow down the fermentation, hopefully into dormancy.
The two week trip, turned into a month and a half. I was worried, constantly returning to the worst case scenario of explosion. Perhaps shrapnel inside the contained environment of the fridge would be better that actually hitting a human being? The cherry kombucha sat in the cold, waiting for me to awake it from its slumber.
In my frantic worry, as soon as I emptied the contents of our bags, returned them into their proper places, I opened the fridge, removed the cherry kombucha from the fridge and flipped the sealed cap open. POP! My glasses, the kitchen sink and ceiling dripped and stained with red sticky splatter. I did give it time, but I did not allow it to breathe. Instead of the pleasurable bubbles in my mouth, down my throat, it was an inevitable detonation everywhere, but not inside my digestive system where it was intended to be.
Expression of emotion is not a strong suit of mine, especially on the page. I learned in Vedic astrology that the planets do have places where they are at their weakest, known as debilitation. And my natal mars, the position of mars in my birth chart, is debilitated. Mars, the red planet of fire, anger, courage, aggression, determination, sits in Cancer, the zodiac sign ruled by the Moon, a watery planet. No matter how it tries to express itself, the fiery explosions are restrained. Mars’ fire is drowning in the waters of Cancer. The impact is transformed into boiling water.
Too often that I sent my rage to suffocate underwater. It slowly stews, ferments, pressure building up, waits inside the sealed container for it to be taken out of the fridge, cap carelessly flipped open, triggered and set off with a boom. It does not take much for it to detonate as its strength and potency was built up over time, continually silenced by active choice, a case for temperance, or by unconscious cultural bias and circumstance.
While Temperance has its place, touted to be the higher ground, the right thing to do, what about the expression of anger and rage? One that’s been caged, suppressed, even oppressed time and time again? What if we allowed it to breathe, to exhale, to be heard instead of it eventually being set off without warning and care? Is it truly peaceful for some to remain muffled in unwelcome restraint, yet others are free to do whatever they want?
—
We are approaching the end of 2023. It’s been quite the roller coaster. That even seems to be an understatement, but I am proud to say that I survived. Not certainly with flying colors by this world’s material standards, but to ones I’ve built, pieced together after careful reflection, I think I did quite well. Not without the support of loved ones, above all, my husband, family and friends scattered across the globe.
It was this year that we, my husband and I, finally pledged our allegiance to Uncle Sam with much chagrin by the passports we bore. It was one small step towards a semblance of a stepped up privilege (though to be honest, how that would look like in lieu of recent and ongoing world events.), even if it doesn’t completely scrub off our past, nor would we actually want it to be totally erased. But I won’t have it any other way. I am still proud to have been born and raised in the Philippines, the global south, the developing world, the third world as if it was a stain on my humanity. It is rather a badge of honor, courage, strength, resourcefulness and resilience.
It was this year that I’ve accepted the fact that I am meant for another path. That I finally hang my advertising superhero cape up for retirement and set off to wield my pen, or rather keyboard, and carve out a new path for a magical new beginnings of a journey involving cards and the stars. Perhaps this is it? But I suppose I wouldn’t know if I didn’t even give it a jolly good try.
It was this year that we welcomed a new fur baby into the fold, stringing him along new adventures to kiss the three shores of the country - the Atlantic, the Gulf and the Pacific.
It was this year that I learned how to meditate in the best way possible. At least I found which method and system worked best and easiest for me. I can say, Transcendental Meditation was one of the best investments for my overall well-being.
It was this year that my byline was highlighted in the national coverage portion of the Eater newsletter with a feature showcasing the champions of chai of DFW. I also wrote about Yemeni stalwarts - Arwa Yemeni Coffee and the Hadramout Restaurant Group among others.
It was the year of return travel. What an unexpected blessing to revisit Europe, exploring further north in Sweden and further east in Croatia, learning what it means to truly dress for winters that required hours of walking in the freezing cold.
What a joy to be in Guadalajara, Mexico again. It is strangely a home closer to this home, one I wish, should the Universe grace me with another chance, I could further dig my heels into.
Finally, it was this year that I started to do Transit Thursdays, a Vedic astrology tutorial, a weekly Instagram Live session every, well, Thursday. I talk about what I’ve learned to hopefully help you read your own horoscopes and make use of it someday. I’m enjoying talking into the front facing camera of my phone and into the internet. Surprise, surprise!
There is still a lot to work for and towards. Such is life that the learning never ends as long as we breathe. So here’s to the 2024! I am looking forward to more writing, learning and growing with all of you. I do hope the same for you.
Don’t forget that you can book a reading with me, whether for tarot cards or a conversation about your Vedic astrology birth chart.