Why 2013 didn't completely suck.
New Year's Eve is almost upon us. That time of the year where we kiss loved ones (or strangers) freely and make promises that we never keep to be better human beings.
Last year, I spent it in Vegas with a few of my favorite people, covered in sequins and a 4am barf-a-thon as the result of, count it, two drinks. I had no clue at the time that my body was waging a war inside itself, which makes me feel a little less pathetic for my awful alcohol tolerance.
This year, I'll be spending it in the ICU of a lovely Beverly Hills hospital, with a morphine pain button at the stroke of midnight in lieu of a champagne toast.
I'm getting a thigh boob. Surgery these days, man. It's incredible what they can do. My fancypants plastic surgeon, who happens to look like an asian David Duchovny (totally, right?!) will take my THIGH FAT and make a new fleshy, fun, barely A cup chest appendage.
While I hang out in some weird state of limbo for 6-12 hours, he'll use a microscope to connect the fragile lil' blood vessels. And if it succeeds, voila! New boob. New boob made of my own jiggly thigh tissue that needs no implant exchanges. New boob that will get weird and saggy as I get weird(er) and saggy. New boob that doesn't feel like a hard, plastic water bottle with funny lumps like the temporary one I have in me now.
I have a feeling 2014 will be great. However, despite the lameness that is, you know, being told you have cancer and all, 2013 wasn't a complete wash. This year gave me a crash course in how to chill the eff out and get some perspective on life.
I present to you the best lessons from 2013, making the year by far not my suckiest:
1. Go towards what scares you.
It's in my nature to be risk averse. You could chalk it up to being the child of immigrants who survived one of the most controversial wars in history. When I was little, I was genuinely terrified of the moving trucks that would come down my street. In my mind, they were the communist government coming to get my family. No joke. I've always liked knowing what to expect. How to get from point A to B. Googling all the way to page 25.
Being diagnosed with cancer will make you accept that you can't always know what's peeking around the corner, and that's okay. Sometimes, the best rewards come from taking the risk. Going past the "Do Not Cross" line. Not planning everything along the way. And, as the sneaker company says, just doing it.
Early this year, I had a near meltdown one night after watching Safety Not Guaranteed on Netflix. Why? I just watched a decent movie. Nothing ridiculously groundbreaking, but decent. And I cried because I thought, "Wow. I want to create something that amuses people, and I am nowhere close to that." This feeling of helplessness flooded over me. There I sat, feeling completely incapable and paralyzed over what was at best, an entertaining movie.
Yet I felt compelled to do...something.
I desperately thumbed through the troves of writing books collecting dust and found a gift: The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. I highly recommend it. I devoured it that night and started writing. It was terrifying.
But, I wrote my first short film, a comedy where a girl who gets hit by a car unknowingly finds a tumor. The doctors say it's probably benign, but just in case, she starts going out and doing all the things she had saved up for the future. Number one on her list: homewreckin'.
I wrote this before I knew I had cancer. It's amazing what you know about yourself, even when you don't realize it. I haven't wrecked anyone's home though...yet.
2. You were made to create.
I used to take a lot of pictures. They were decent enough to be published in The New York Times, USA Today, SPIN Magazine.
I used to write comedy sketches. I was in a group that put on two plays in Second City Hollywood. I actually acted in one of them.
I made excuses. I was too busy with work. I was too tired. There wasn't enough time in the day.
In the end, I know that I stopped because I felt like I wasn't good enough.
Who knows. Maybe I'm not "good enough" to make a living out of these things. But, I realized it doesn't matter.
It feels good to be productive. To create in order to give your life purpose and meaning.
I started waking up earlier so that I had more time to write. I picked up my camera again so I could re-appreciate the world through composition, stopping and thinking about what's in front of me a little longer.
I realized that no one thing needed to define me. That I could just create as I please, with no expectations, and that act alone would be utterly, wholly satisfying.
3. Embrace and love the fact that you are human, not perfect.
You know what we jokingly called "B"s in school? Asian F's.
Our society and this generation is so consumed with perfection and not just keeping up with the Joneses, but kicking the Joneses asses. Add the realization that most of us will never be as well off as our parents and throw in a potent dose of self loathing for good measure, and it's easy to see why things never seem good enough.
I am my number one critic.
I can feel my insides shrivel when I read my first drafts. Or when I see the glazed over look on a client's face mid-presentation. Or when I take out my frustrations out on the lady in the billing department because it's rainy and I'm driving and screw you for telling me I owe money when you said the test would be free in the first place.
God forbid, I am human. And being human means being imperfect, accepting that, living with it and most importantly, forgiving yourself.
Life is already hard enough with the other assholes that are out there. Don't make it harder by being an asshole to yourself.
4. It's okay (and necessary) to put yourself first.
Now, this is going to sound bonkers, 'cause it kind of is: I feel a lot of guilt for being alive. I don't feel entitled to life. I feel extremely lucky, like by some kind of random fluke, I've been allowed to live a way-more-than-decent existence. Again, most of this is probably due to the whole parents from a war-torn country type of deal, but I'm reminded of how lucky I am every time I walk through the doors of my cancer center for therapy.
I do my walk of shame by the chemo patients, hooked up to their IVs. All I have to deal with is physical therapy for some excess arm cording with my lymphatic tissue. I feel guilty for having hair, for getting to keep my nipple, for not having the same battle wounds as them.
And then I snap myself out of it.
Because we are all dealing with our own personal, mini shit storms in one way or another, and there's no point in feeling bad about that.
Life is hard. But unless you are going to be the next Mother Teresa, it doesn't mean you have to be a modern-day martyr to those around you.
I learned to push back. To say no. To do things because I wanted to do them rather than because I felt obligated to do them. To ask people for help because I couldn't do it all.
Ultimately, I learned to take care of myself. Because you are the most capable person in the world of doing that.
5. I wish I had a fifth one because I like odd numbered lists, but I don't.
Despite whatever hardships, this existence can be so incredibly rewarding if you let it be.
Above all, I think the biggest lesson I learned is that I'm just happy to be here.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo,
Your friend Angeline
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