Down the Rabbit Hole

Virtue signalling. Microaggression. Radical honesty. Generational trauma. These are terms mentioned during a virtual seminar I attended today. The speaker, Dr Devon Lee, talked about healing from trauma by (if I understand his presentation properly) addressing these four concepts, among others. Two colleagues who are children of immigrants—one was born in the USA and the other born overseas but immigrated as a preschooler—kept nodding their heads in affirmation as Dr Lee got the virtual audience to participate in the discussion. Honestly, I was just lost in the discussion because I grew up in a different context: I come from a culture in which thriving in adverse conditions is the norm, merits are given where merits are due, and strong family and friendly ties provide moral support and sounding boards that people need to decompress. So here's my attempt at dissecting the topic. Based on how I understand Dr Lee's presentation, an organisation has to provide the space for its emp

We opted to celebrate Val's birthday on a different day so that we could invite as many of the family as possible. This is in such a sharp contrast to last year's birthday celebration at home because we had to limit the number of guests to his party.  (Thank you, Moderna and Pfizer vaccines and booster shots, California, and medical professionals for slowly bringing us to something near normal!) The Fuji Sushi Buffet in Concord was in its soft opening period when we celebrated Val's birthday.  When we arrived, we joined the queue by registering on the restaurant's waitlist. A few minutes later, we were ushered to our dining table and our drink orders were taken. The server also listed down our orders for appetisers, soups, and salads. However, the server did not hover too much since the stars of the show were the sushi... and we could get them on a centre island where chefs worked their magic. Thanks to my allergies, I could not explore all the options that the chefs

Just before I migrated to the USA, I attended a migration seminar (a requirement for emigrants) where I was given a chance to register as an overseas voter. Naturally, I signed up; but I didn't give it much thought. So when the election day approached, I felt sad that I wouldn't vote this time around. But a few weeks before the election day, I received my own ballot in the mail. This was interesting: I had always voted in my barangay precinct back in the Philippines (and I treated my indelibly inked finger as a badge of honour). But now that I'm permanently residing in the USA, I mailed my ballot to the Philippine Consulate. Initially, I wanted to drive all the way to San Francisco (with Val and the wee one in tow) but the driving distance and the cost of parking discouraged me from going). But the USPS staff told me that my mail would arrive in time, so I felt that a drive to San Francisco was not needed. This national election is certainly heated. I have been invited to p

The wee one has started to be fascinated with vehicles, particularly trains. On a clear Saturday afternoon, when the early spring blooms appeared, I brought him to the Western Railway Museum in Suisun City, along with my parents and my sister. The museum is unique because it is one of the rare places where visitors are allowed to ride the exhibits, rather than just stare at them. In fact, a major attraction for us was the train ride on the old Sacramento Northern Railway Line. The railroad segment we were on took us from the Rio Vista Junction to the Pantano Station in Birds Landing. Along the route, we saw jackrabbits who dared cross the railroad while a train was approaching, colourful spring flowers, spinning wind turbines on many hills in the area, and historical buildings from the time this route used to be busier (with lots of commuters on trains).  We definitely enjoyed our day out into the grasslands of Solano County. Its biggest selling point—to me—is the friendliness and genu