It’s raining. It’s finally raining. I’ve waited so so long for this to happen and it’s finally fucking pouring down from the sky.

I miss the rain. I love the rain.

I miss the rainy days where I’m just inside reading, writing, watching a movie, or whatever and hearing the rain drum down outside. It’s therapuetic. There’s absolutely nothing like it.

Obviously it reminds me of home. Washington State. The only downside to home is that it rains too often and I don’t think I can go back to that again.

It seems obvious that my moods are dictated by the weather. I’m the type of person where the sun helps me feel and the gloomy nature of rainy cloudy days makes me depressed.

But that is if it lasts for weeks and weeks at a time, which is so common up north.

Down here, it only last days. Because of that, I welcome it.

Strange. Actually, with how my life is right now, I’m not sure how the lack of sun will affect my moods. I know my life was far from perfect up north during my bouts of depressions. But now, my life is good. Great. Grand.

I am happy in my life. Happy with how my life is going. Maybe things will be different back up north. Who knows? But, I know I’m not willing to test it out yet.

I think I’ll keep this one short today. I’m not even going to save it.

Till some other day, I’ll write a longer one.

It’s the first time that I’ve gotten a chance to follow my weekend routine of coming out to the local boba shop to write. It’s been about 3 weeks or so since I’ve come here. I guess I just had a few busy weekends in between, with the writing group and a long weekend last weekend.

But I get here and my favorite boba girl isn’t here. She usually works Saturdays, but I guess she changed her schedule this weekend. Who knows?

But, I’m supposed to be writing A Ghost Story of Some Kind. I’m 39 pages in and again, this is the tightest and fastest script (in terms of pacing) that I’ve written. I don’t even think I’ll reach 90 pages…maybe 80.

I don’t know, but I couldn’t write. Well, I haven’t sat down long enough to get into the mind set of writing, or maybe I’ve exhausted my creative spark last weekend with my marathon 10 pages.

Again, Scott and I have a deal to write 8 pages in a span of two weeks. Which is really simple, four pages a week. But because of the writer’s group on two weeks ago I wasn’t able to write, so I had to write the 8 pages last weekend.

I am still not able to write at home. I just can’t figure out why. I’ve done well in the rewrite of the SUM of love, but I don’t know, nothing is flowing. Maybe it’s the distractions of my bed, youtube, dog and the TV that is pressuring me not to write.

Anywho, whether I’ll get any pages in today, I’m not sure. If not, then I have tomorrow morning for sure. Maybe it’ll give me time to think things over today so I can write tomorrow. Not sure.

So, back to the boba girl; she’s not here today. She’s not here to make my jasmine green tea, no boba, to remember it and prepare it before I order. She’s not here. Darn.
* * *

The pressure. The tradition. The desire. Things falling on us from all sides from the ones that brought us up.

We want this, we want that. The pressure is nonstop and in your face. But, why do we feel guilty when we can’t live up to that pressure? Why is it that they want the things that we really have no control over?

There aren’t many options that I can see. I do my best, but there isn’t anything there.

You say you want a nice Chinese traditional girl. Show me one. Introduce me. Where? It’s beyond my control. I’ll do my best to wine, dine, and charm but if there isn’t one, what can I do?

Why is it so important to you that I get someone? Why? Can’t you be happy with the fact that things like this will happen when they happen? Can’t you just love me the same if it never happens?

It seems all I am doing is trying to live up to your expectations and your needed criteria on what a good wife should have? Chinese, loyal, nice, sweet, beautiful, traditional, be able to speak Chinese, and the list goes on and on. That’s a lot to ask for.

What about what I want? What about what I need?

I just want a girl, simple and plain. Just a girl that fits me in every way. Why can’t you be happy with that if I find one? What’s the matter?

Isn’t it enough that I got you a daughter-in-law? Isn’t enough that she’s able to give you grandchildren?

You have no right to be so picky. You have no right to tell me who I should date. You just have no right.

Just be happy that I’m trying to find one and be happy with the one that I give my heart to. That’s all I ask. That’s all I want from you.
* * *

I’m not getting the pressure. Not directly anyway. My cousin is, from his parents. He’s getting it left and right. They want this, they want that. And for some reason, he’s falling for the pressure.

Now, it’s not like I don’t understand what he’s going through. In a way, I do. Family does ask if I have a girlfriend, if I’m going to get married, what kind of girls do I like, etc, etc. Family does ask, but my mom doesn’t.

She brought this subject up to me once or twice.

Once, two Christmases ago when I was up there. 1st Auntie’s son, Scott, was going to get married next year (last year) in May or something and she brought it to my attention. Scott is younger than you and he’s getting married already. What about you? Where are you at?

I just told her, congratulations to him. Good for him for getting married. I’m happy for him. I’ll get married when I get married. I don’t need that pressure, so I just let it roll off my shoulder.

She also brought it up again when I flew up for Wei’s wedding, while I was waiting for 1st Auntie at the airport. I guess we were on the subject of Sheilah. Well, it was an offshoot conversation about Sheilah. If I remember correctly, it was about that I should find a girl and get married. I asked her why should I get married, it’s too much of a hassle. Her answer, so I can have kids. And my retort, I don’t need to get married to have kids. And she says, it’s true…”Do I want to do that?”. Do I want to have kids outside of marriage? Well, if it happens, it happens. I’m not going to lie about it, and I most definitely am not going to plan it. If it happens, it happens. There’s nothing I can do about it, but be responsible and try to avoid it.

That was pretty much the end of our conversations about relationships and marriage. She already knows my take on being with someone. It doesn’t matter the race, background, or what not. All that matters is that we love each other. That’s all that matters to me. I think she’ll respect that, if I bring someone outside our race home. Hopefully.

I will give her a direct answer if she asks. I think she knows better to ask me any questions about the subject, because I’ll give her an answer that she doesn’t want to hear. I’ll be more direct with her rather than playful and smart ass with the rest of my family. Because that’s who I am.