Tomorrow we fly to Arizona for the Rams vs Cardinals game.
A football weekend.
Sports.
Yes, again. 🙃
My husband is thrilled. As he should be. He grew up in Huntington Beach, where surfboards are basically issued at birth. You know the type—blond, sun-kissed, freckled, grew-up-on-a-longboard type of SoCal boy. Former jock who somehow still knows the batting averages of players who retired when gas was under two cents. Name a sport? He played it. Or at least talks like he could…if his knees didn’t now sound like a bag of Rice Krispies every time he stands up. Aging, my friends, is the real MVP.
Meanwhile, there’s me.
Filipino Chinese. Raised by a full-on Asian Tiger Mom.
“No biking! You might fall and scratch your face!”
“No swimming! You’ll get dark!”
“No standing near a fan! You’ll catch pneumonia and die!”
“Where’s the Vicks VapoRub?! Apply it on everything. Prevention is better than cure. And Vicks cures EVERYTHING!” UGH!
So yeah. While the kids were out there bruising their knees and learning teamwork, I was indoors bonding with Nancy Drew, binge-reading the Britannica Encyclopedias (Gen Z, that’s Google but in book form), and escaping into entire worlds of Greek and Filipino mythology. I was alphabetizing facts about the Trojan War while baking Food For the Gods and sylvanas, watercolor, charcoal-drawing Princess Diana, and creating sculptures with plaster of Paris. Doing mix media before that was a thing.
Introvert aesthetic before it was a Pinterest board.
I wasn’t athletic. I was imaginative.
I didn’t play dodgeball. I dodged expectations.
Now? I go to NFL games. Only NFL. Not college. That’s the only kind I can take.
I made the mistake once of going to a college game at Hard Rock Stadium.
Never again.
The kids were standing the entire time, screaming, sweating, shaking their shirts like they were possessed by a frat demon.
And do they even know what deodorant is??
No thank you. I need assigned seats, overpriced nachos, and adults who sit down between plays.
Not because I understand it (I still don’t know what a “3rd and 6” is and I refuse to learn at this point out of principle), but because it’s fun in a weird, chaotic, overpriced-hotdog, nacho-cheese-stuck-to-my-jeans kind of way. And because I’ve learned that fun sometimes wears a jersey and yells at referees.
Also, full disclosure:
I did have a Brady-Gronk era. And I’ve been a Travis Kelce fan since BEFORE Taylor Swift turned him into a lifestyle influencer. I saw him first. Let the record show my superior scouting skills. 💅
I actually tried learning football using ChatGPT. AI looked me dead in the face (digitally) and said:
“Dory, you actually know more about the game than most Americans do.”
HAH. I retired right then and there.
But today is not about football.
Today is chaos.
Today is “Get Ready to Travel While the House Collapses” Day.
The laundry is in full rebellion.
The floors are literally screaming.
The fridge has one tragic lemon and a jar of expired hoisin sauce that’s now just a science experiment.
And suddenly, my brain whispered:
It’s December.
Like—Christmas is in 20 days December.
Like—I haven’t decorated. I haven’t made Christmas cards. I haven’t even located the tree stand.
Cue the midnight panic.
I opened Canva, stared at my face for an hour and whispered to my exhausted reflection,
“Why do I look like this? Who even is this person now?”
Let me tell you something.
Aging is RUDE.
Hair is white and falling out like I’m molting for the winter.
Wrinkles showing up like uninvited guests.
And sudden fluffiness in places that were previously just...structurally sound.
It’s been ten years married this year.
Ten years of laughs, of arguments about leftovers, of choosing each other again and again even when the dishwasher’s acting up and the socks are still on the floor.
Ten years—and he still shows up for me.
Even in my worst angles.
Even in my grief years.
Even now.
I saw myself and thought,
“Wow. I used to be pretty.”
I didn’t believe it back then.
I believed the voices that called me fat. Ugly. Too loud. Too much.
But now? Now I want to hug her and say,
“You were beautiful. You just didn’t know it yet.”
So now? I take the pictures anyway.
Good or bad. Wrinkled or glowing. Double chins. Pores. Filter or full-frontal honesty.
Because I know someday I’ll look back and think,
“Aww. We were still kind of hot.”.
Somewhere in the camera roll right now:
-
My husband mid-snore.
-
My husband blowing a conch shell while looking vaguely betrayed.
-
My husband two seconds from a nap while I yell, “Smile, Papi! Just one!”
I did finish the Christmas cards.
Mostly for his side—friends, coworkers, family I barely know—because 1) they actually send something back...sometimes... and 2) if I send them to the Philippines, they may or may not end up in someone else’s barangay (aka village/neighborhood, aka the black hole of Philippine post offices).
But truthfully, I miss home.
And I miss my kids.
And my grandkids.
Especially now.
That quiet kind of homesick that arrives while folding socks and sealing envelopes. The ache that slips in, not loudly, but in small moments.
Like an empty chair.
Or a recipe I don’t need to make anymore.
Still, I make things.
I’m working on a Flags of the World series for my grandson Zeke, who’s only 3 and already knows more countries than most elected officials.
Asia and Africa flags are now live on Amazon.
Next? All 7 continents.
For Zeke. For Gavin. For the grandkids I haven’t met yet.
And—big news—I’m going to be a grandma again.
Grandbaby #3. Coming soon.
My heart is somehow always stretching to make room for more love, even when my calendar says I don’t have the time.
That’s what keeps me going.
That—and the idea that even in the chaos, even when I feel invisible and undone—there’s purpose here.
Anyway, I still need to pack.
The house looks like someone shook a snow globe full of sports gear, cookie crumbs, and abandoned ambition.
See you in Arizona.
Go Rams. (I guess.)🏈
✨ Proud Lola moment: You can check out my Flags of the World series for little geniuses like Zeke right here on Amazon → 📚 https://www.amazon.com/Flags-Africa-Introduction-African-Countries
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