A small victory.

About a month ago I had an absolute meltdown at work. After a rough few months and some very difficult cases with sad outcomes, I could definitely feel my anxiety levels skyrocketing beyond my control. When a new patient presented to us and we found a mass in her left anal gland, I made the recommendation to pursue fine needle aspirates under sedation. The day came, the sedation was administered, and I found I was unable to evert the rectal tissue enough to reach the mass, and it was going to be difficult to aspirate it from the outside.

Hence the meltdown.

After sobbing, I gave it a try anyway and came away with four slides. I warned the client that the results may be non-diagnostic. And then I went home and cried some more.

Thankfully, the results were diagnostic and after we did the necessary pre-screening (labwork, chest x-rays, abdominal ultrasound), our surgical specialist came in and removed both anal glands. He noted that he was impressed we were able to get any kind of diagnosis given how small the masses were. The dog had a few hiccups in her recovery but overall seemed to be doing well.

Today I was able to deliver the good news that the anal glands and the neoplastic masses were successfully removed with clean margins.

I'm so happy for the patient and the client.

I'm glad the crying was worth it.

Happy birthday to me!

Started the day a bit teary when my mom called from her trip in Europe to wish me a happy birthday and ask what I had planned. I could hear her disappointment that I had nothing special on the docket.

Received some nice messages from friends, including a harmonized song from The Best Friend Family.

Was treated to a nice "Happy Birthday" song from the work-family and a very cute Minnie Mouse card, where lovely things were written down.

Had a fairly breezy day at work until I had to perform a humane euthanasia on a young dog who presented as non-responsive.

C'est la vie.

I have loved Eeyore for a long time.


Like the famous Mr. Darcy, I can't recall the exact moment it started but "I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun." I had a few "WInnie the Pooh" books as a child and grew up completely under the thrall of Disney, so the inhabitants of the 100 Acre Woods have been part of my life for as long as I remember. I can say for certain that I was earnestly fond of him in my preteen years and (probably rightfully) gained a reputation among friends about being a bit of an Eeyore afficionado from there. People have asked why, and I'm not sure that I've ever been able to pinpoint it.

"He's just so cute!" I would say, not sure how to verbalize that rush of real affection I would feel when I saw a particularly great representation of Eeyore, whether as a cup, a plush animal, a figurine, etc. It's the kind of emotion one feels when faced with tiny kittens or puppies, that squeezing of your heart when you want to love and protect something. I have amassed a small but significant collection of Eeyore items over the years, some that I purchased myself and others being gifts from various friends and family. It reached a point where I had to beg people to stop buying me Eeyore items and was forced to aggressively curate what I had to a more manageable - and meaningful - size.

Therapy is... something.

After two weeks of feeling like I was taking steps towards being in a better state of mind, that things were moving in the right direction, it took ten minutes in my session today for me to be disabused of that notion.

I am on a high from finding something that makes me feel better, but it's not fixing my "core negative beliefs", apparently.

I walked away disappointed that I was feeling this level of upset and distress again. I almost felt angry, "Why am I paying $140 to feel this way?"

I know she's not wrong, but it's a tough pill to swallow. Especially as "mindfulness" still feels like such a foreign concept to me. I tried it for a week and ended in a full meltdown at work. "Paying attention to how the body feels" is difficult for me to wrap my head around. And it is so hard to find the time to "practice mindfulness" in my job, when I am so often working through my lunch breaks and putting out fires between appointments.

But.... I will try. If she really thinks it will help with my anxiety at work, that's the least I owe myself.

Okay!

While the therapy sessions themselves are mostly me vomiting up my emotions and first-world problems, they are at the very least motivating me to try and get my life together. I'm going to try and use my new bullet journal to keep me accountable for my emotional state as well as the state of my apartment. Too often being in a funk means that chores and cooking fall by the wayside, and I really do need to get better at it after making what little headway I've gained in the past year. I haven't quite gotten there yet, but there are plans! Bullet journaling is very much out of my wheelhouse, after all, so it's going to take some getting used to!

But, I am proud of what I've accomplished so far and I hope that I can continue to use this as a tool to track (and improve!) my mental health until I no longer "need" it!

I had a full-on meltdown at work today.

After two days of deep-breathing my way through a heightened sense of anxiety, all it took was me feeling like I was out of my depth and had once again made the wrong recommendation in trying to aspirate a suspected mass in the left anal sac of a sedated patient. With three of the clinic staff watching, I burst into tears.

Everyone was so kind.

My technician reached out to reassure me and told me it was okay to cry.

My ward nurse - the lovely woman we call Mama - gave me a hug and told me that I was their sweetheart and that they loved me.

My other ward nurse told me this was the first time she'd seen me break down and she's seen everyone do it. She told me to cry it out and that it was okay.

Another technician gave me a big hug and told me that this was my body's way of saying that it had enough, that I needed to do what was necessary to take care of myself.

One of my bosses sat me down, blocked off the rest of my day, and told me that any time I needed to talk - whether at work, over a coffee, whatever I needed - she was there for me.

Two of the staff members went to buy me a drink and a bunch of goodies from the shop around the corner to share with everyone at the clinic.

My other boss sat me down, apologized for not being good at pep talks, but reiterated that he would have done everything I did for my patient who passed away, that he thinks I am a good veterinarian and he values how dedicated I am to the job and my patients. He told me he is always available for a drink, a coffee, or dinner, and that if I am dreading coming to work at any point, he needs to know so he can help me.

Everyone reacted positively to me saying I had started therapy to help with my lack of sleep, that it was a culmination of some grief and guilt over my grandma along with some difficult and sad cases.

They were all so kind and made me feel so supported.

I am so lucky to work here.

I have been struggling this past month.

In some ways, it feels like the culmination of everything that happened last month is still weighing on me. I haven't been able to pull myself together, not entirely anyway. It all came to a head last Friday morning. I had just spent thirteen hours at work the day before and dealt with a particularly sad case of a senior cat who deteriorated quickly from renal failure and having to walk a family with two young boys through the process of humane euthanasia when they weren't emotionally prepared to say goodbye. Suffice it to say, it was awful. I was prepared to drive down to Seattle to visit much-loved friends that Friday morning, but I woke up in tears after a restless "sleep".

One phonecall later to my mother, I was much calmer. I had decided to follow my friend's advice to seek out a therapist to see if I could get a handle on my work stress and anxiety, which is no doubt affecting my ability to sleep. I managed to finish a few chores that desperately needed doing, and then packed lightly for my short jaunt to Seattle. True, I set out on the road three to four hours later than my usual routine, but minor traffic issues aside, it was well worth it to not be an emotional mess.

This week has been a tough one at work. I had two end-stage renal dysplasia cases fall in my lap in one day - effectively doubling my experience with this condition in one go. The stress of both of these cases weighed on me heavily this week, with one scheduled for humane euthanasia, and the other culminating in the sudden and tragic passing of the pet in-hospital before the owners could say goodbye. I was heartbroken over both, but especially devastated over the latter. When my boss kindly called me to give me the news and reassure me that he would have done everything I did in trying to give this pet a fighting chance, I broke down in tears. It felt like a failure in so many ways. I had failed to ease the suffering of my patient. I had failed to give his family a chance to say their last goodbyes. I had failed.

If I had my choice, I would not have had my first therapy session today. I was a complete and utter mess, so emotionally fragile with what little confidence I had completely shattered. But the appointment was made, and so I went. There was mostly a lot of (very ugly) crying on my end. I expressed that I just want to sleep better, to develop a thicker skin, to learn to manage my stress and anxiety about work better. I was told that she was hearing a lot of self-criticism and judgement. What I got in terms of tools to use was not what I expected - mindfulness. My therapist asked if I was familiar with it, and I admitted that I wasn't. She asked me if I paid attention to my body and I really, honestly had no idea what she meant. I'm sure that I carry a lot of tension, but I don't feel it. Other than the occasional 3-day headaches, I don't feel any pain or tightness. My body and how it feels is the least of my concerns during my day.

I left with instructions to practice "mindfulness", to breathe deep, to focus on the moment with no judgement.

I am only a step above utterly confused.

My therapist would like to see me weekly until she feels that I have a handle on myself at work. I never anticipated that I would need weekly therapy, but at this point I feel emotionally in shambles, and my parents will also be away for a month. If ever there was a time that I would probably need it, it's now. This is the most extravagant thing I have ever spent money on myself for. And in some ways, it does feel like an "extravagance" for me, a person who is financially stable with a good job, a loving family, and very tolerant friends. How do people do it when they truly need it, especially when it is not covered under extended benefits? But that is a topic for another time.

In any case, I am committed to trying this out. So I am taking this "homework assignment" to heart and trying something new:

Bullet Journaling.


This is something I've always looked on with vague interest but never pursued because of my lack of artistic ability and my fear of making mistakes with the permanence of ink. But hey, at this point it's worth a try. We'll see how this venture goes.

(As an aside: I like to try and "pamper" my dad as well, but he's always a hard sell. Paul McCartney's coming to town for a concert? But why would he want to see Paul McCartney, he's not The Beatles! Tickets to the Seahawks game are available? He'd much rather watch the game from the comfort of his own living room anyway. How about going to White Spot for a burger? Eh, he'd rather just have A&W-- no wait, scratch that, he'd rather just have some food from home, thanks. The fact that he said yes to The Beach Boys at the PNE was a huge surprise to me, and that's how I ended up at a Beach Boys concert with six "seniors".)

Movies are an indulgence as well, but it's not often that there's something that both my mom and I are interested in watching. The only sure-bet has been movies featuring Asian characters, which has been far and few between for most of my life. One of my first Christmas presents to my mom was tracking down Ang Lee's The Wedding Banquet - a movie she professed to loving and hadn't seen in years. When Lust, Caution came out we watched it together (uncomfortable sex scenes and all) in theaters. I took her to see Crazy Rich Asians, even though I'd already seen it myself, because it was something I wanted to share with her. When The Farewell came out in theaters, it was really only a matter of time.



When my maternal grandmother - who I called MaMa - became very sick, my family tried to convince me that I needn't hurry back to Hong Kong to see her. They couldn't - or wouldn't - tell me what her diagnosis was and told me she would wait until May, likely in denial about how serious her condition was. Unlike Billi, I did not have a particularly close or loving relationship with MaMa. She had been dismissive of me and my parents in the past and my dad had not been on speaking terms with her for over five years. Still, she had mellowed out in those intervening years, and I remember commenting to my mom "I've never seen MaMa smile so much when looking at me before" after a short visit for tea and cake with her in 2013. Beyond all that, she was still my grandma, and I felt compelled to see her. So I chose to fly to Hong Kong for a very tough 5 days to say my own farewell. I read a review that talked about how the conflicts of Billi wanting to be able to properly say goodbye to her grandmother vs Billi struggling with her identity as an Asian and an American do not dovetail nicely and therefore interrupt the rhythms of the movie. But that's the complications of real-life, where you can't just set one or the other neatly aside to be dealt with later. In a different way than Billi, I struggled with both of these things during my time in Hong Kong. I visited MaMa every day, twice a day during that period, and there was only one time that she was awake enough to acknowledge me. But she smiled and nodded when my uncles asked if she knew who I was, and she held my hand. She passed away a month later.

I didn't even get to do that for Bubu. When I returned from my time in Washington, my dad drove me straight from the airport to the hospital. Bubu was sleeping fitfully, oxygen at 95%, heart rate jumping from 45 to 145 beats per minute. Even when she opened her eyes, she didn't seem aware. I had to return to work the next few days and wanted to wait until I could go to the hospital together with my mom. I planned to see her after work on Sunday evening; Bubu passed away early that Sunday morning. Despite being so close for most of my life, I didn't get to say goodbye.

The Farewell feels in many ways like it was made for me, even moreso than Crazy Rich Asians was. We don't all get to fall in love with charming men who are secretly wealthy, but we almost all have to go through the grief of losing a grandparent. And the struggle with fitting in to a culture that I don't feel a part of felt more personal and painful this time around. In one of the last scenes, I looped my arm through my mom's, leaned my head against her shoulder, and cried. I'd thought this movie might be cathartic for both of us, but the movie was so overwhelmingly Billi's that I suspect it only had that effect on me.

Well. It's been a tough month.

The days after Bubu's passing seemed manageable. I remember feeling a bit ashamed that I wasn't more tearful at 4am when I received the call from my mom, that I felt mostly numb when we were at the hospital 20 minutes later and she looked like she was still sleeping. Four hours later I was at work, a bit emotional when I had to tell my coworkers what had happened, but overall still very functional. The more people I told, the more smooth and collected I felt about it. Bubu had lived a long life - 98 years to be exact - and that she was still with us after being admitted to the hospital a year ago already felt like a small miracle. Besides, I would say to people, I've had concerns about her quality of life for awhile, and with aspiration pneumonia we had known that the chances of her pulling through were slim. She's not suffering anymore, and in some ways there is a measure of relief that she is at peace.

Still, I was on the receiving end of many hugs and received many verbal condolences from my sympathetic coworkers. Family can be complicated, but losing a grandparent is never easy. I reassured them that I was fine, that it was really my mom I worried about because she has spent the better part of two decades caring for elderly parents, and now she was at a loss for what to do with her time. To those of Asian descent in my office, I confided that it didn't affect my daily life in the same way because my mother had made the very conscious decision to release me, somewhat, from my filial piety duties; she reasoned that my job was stressful enough and that she didn't want me spending what spare time I had always at the care home. If they needed help from me, they would ask, but there was no expectation that I should participate in my grandma's feeding schedule (twice daily) otherwise. I think in the back of her mind, she also worries that as an only child, the reality is that caring for my parents as they become elderly will fall entirely to me.

I made it through my remaining days at work with no issues - keeping busy gave me little time to sit and stew in my grief. I went with my family to the funeral home to help organize the funeral service. I volunteered to put together a short slideshow to music and pored over the many photo albums Bubu had kept, coveting these little snapshots of her life. I ran a few funeral-related errands to help ease the burden from my mother. I surrendered my apartment to my cousin and his wife because he was complaining about back pain and sleepless nights on the pullout couch. Truthfully, had I remembered that I couldn't take refuge at my friend's home during this period (thereby bringing death into her household), I may have been less forthcoming with that gesture. My mom thanked me over and over, and all I could say was that I was doing this for her, because I love her. My cousin I still have very complicated and painful emotions towards.

Since I had plans for a weekday getaway to Victoria with my friend and old colleague, the decision was made that I might as well bring Kira to my parents' with me. I dropped her off at my parents' home in the afternoon and started a deep clean of my apartment, to make it presentable for my "visitors". When I received a phonecall at 10pm that night that there was a bouquet in the house with lilies - a bouquet I had walked right by and failed to register - I was a sobbing mess on my way to pick up my cat, hoping that my petty feelings towards my cousin hadn't led to renal failure for Kira. With great difficulty due to my rusty day-one skills and Kira's decidedly negative feelings about being restrained, I placed an IV catheter, drew blood, and left her at the clinic hooked up to IV fluids. I was a mess. The upcoming funeral, the possibility that my cat could have kidney damage, staying in a household of six and not having my own space to retreat to led to me feeling physically and emotionally exhausted. That Bubu's church was heaping added stress by insisting on sending 25 of their congregation when we had told them the chapel only seated 40 was not helping.

For the entire week, I had wondered how I would carry myself at Bubu's funeral. Thus far,  I had shed a few tears but nothing beyond that. Maybe because I had been accepting for so long that her passing would be an eventuality, I would be less emotional. It certainly felt that way now. How would that look, a granddaughter not crying at her own grandmother's funeral?

I needn't have worried. I stepped into the chapel with my mother, saw Bubu lying - tiny and frail - in the casket, and proceeded to burst into tears. Seeing her there made it feel more real, more final. I loved my grandma and I had lost her, and I would always, always feel that I could have done better by her.

At work the next day, I walked in to find my cat covered in her own dried blood - she had managed to disconnect her IV line and it had been a little while before the night nurse had noticed. She was fine and voiced her protest about still being in a kennel, but I still gathered her up in my arms and sobbed into my bewildered cat, telling the ward nurse we call "Mama" that I was fine, really I was, it's just been an emotional few days. When I got to my desk and two of my bosses asked how I was doing, I proceed to sob facedown, proclaiming that I was fine, honest, I just needed a few moments. I joked that maybe next week I would be a normal person again.

It's been two weeks since, and I do feel a bit more like a normal person again. My getaway to Victoria with Christie, Kira continuing to seem healthy and happy, and having my apartment back has helped immensely. But there are moments when I still feel Bubu's loss keenly. Certainly differently than how my mom or my uncle or her long-time caretaker feels, but it is grief and remorse and mourning.

My grandma passed away early this morning.

I love conferences.

1) I like learning and it's always great to learn about new advancements in the veterinary field or tips and tricks that I can apply to my daily work-life.

2) It's heartening to see a lecture room full of other veterinarians; it reminds me I am not alone in feeling like I can do better.

3) It's a nice excuse to visit new places I might not otherwise have gone to, especially on someone else's dime.

4) It's a vacation from work, even if it is work-adjacent.

This year's plans to aim for conferences in Hawaii and Toronto fell through, so I found myself organizing to attend one in Washington, DC during the less-than-ideal month of August. It's hot! And humid! And prone to thunderstorms! I convinced my mom to come along - why not enjoy the free hotel room and amenities (pool and exercise room for her, rooftop deck for me) and explore the sights?

Two days into the trip, we got a phone call that my grandma had vomited while lying in bed. Her lips were purple when they found her and there was significant concern for aspiration pneumonia. There wasn't any discussion to be had. My mom booked the earliest flight out of DC that she could find. 

I've detailed before how I am not a good granddaughter. I can't lie and say I wasn't disappointed and sad at this turn of events, but I think it's only human. I had been looking forward to this trip, being able to "give" my mom something and letting her have a relaxing, stress-free week. Lee - one of her "kids" - had been looking forward to spending time with her and showing her his new place in New York. But also I understood that there was no question that she had to go home; this is her mother, the only parent she has left. I would have done the same in a heartbeat for my mom and my dad.

I offered to return home if needed, but truthfully there wouldn't be anything I could do, so I stayed behind knowing that I might have to leave in a hurry should things take a turn for the worse. I didn't sleep at all that first night, a mess of disappointment and worry, sad for my family, upset with myself. I'd text my mom mid-day for an update and call when the conference was over for the day. 

And then there were the two mass shootings in the US within 24 hours.

To be fair, everyone around me seemed unfazed. I sat in a small Ethiopian restaurant across the street from my hotel, watching reporters give updates on the estimated number of deaths and injuries. I watched as the authorities in El Paso praised the power of prayer and discussed a manifesto indicating it was a racially motivated attack. I was eating alone and so was focused on the broadcast; everyone else seemed to be having a regular night, engaged in normal conversation.

I squeezed in as many sights as I could in what seemed to me like unbearable heat. I became increasingly aware of the police presence, even at the conference itself. I became grateful for the metal detectors and x-rays at the museums along the National Mall. I observed the many American flags flying at half-mast, a heightened appreciation that I was in very public and crowded areas where there would be little to no cover should someone decide to open fire.

The museums I visited did not sugarcoat the oftentimes dark and unsavoury details of American history. I almost physically recoiled reading about the American response to the plight of the Jewish people during the Holocaust. I was appalled at the repeated exploitation and breaking of treaties with the Native American population. The brutality and injustices suffered by the African-American population asking for equality was infuriating and heartbreaking. Sitting at "The Segregated Lunch Counter" interactive exhibit was disheartening; I could never have had the bravery to risk everything the way these young people did, yet what choice did they have?

Certainly a week of reflection - not just on me as a veterinarian, but as a daughter, granddaughter, and human being.

There is so much more that I can and should be doing.

I took my mother to see the musical adaptation of The Band's Visit last night. As someone who had never even heard of the original movie released some ten years ago, I made the decision to pick it over Aladdin because I suspect I will have many opportunities to catch a generally successful Disney musical (RIP The Little Mermaid), whereas a smaller musical like this one - even given it's Tony Award-winning pedigree - is much less likely to travel to Vancouver and thus I would need to rely on happenstance. The Band's Visit happens to be playing at The Kennedy Center while we're in DC. This, I figured, was my happenstance.

I approach musicals in one of two ways - I consume the soundtrack entirely and know almost every word by heart by the time I finally get to watch it, or I go in absolutely blind - although since many musicals are adaptations, I know the general story beats. I decided for the latter option with The Band's Visit, basically only knowing that an Egyptian band is stranded in an Israeli town.

To be fair, there's not much more than that.

While I've seen my share of musicals make themselves out to be sweeping epics with what may feel like large stakes at risk, The Band's Visit is more of a brief, lovely vignette on connection and loneliness,  love and loss. It's a little slip of a thing at just under 2 hours with no intermission, but it was tender and sweet-natured in its own quiet way. It's just ordinary people living their ordinary lives, crossing paths and then moving onwards.

I suspect my mother would have enjoyed the theatrics and bombastic nature of Aladdin more, but she laughed at all the right places and seemed to enjoy it well enough. And that's good enough for me.

Well! The "daily journaling" plan has well and truly fallen by the wayside and is certainly not helped by dreamwidth's refusal to work in my preferred web browser! I was going to hold out and wait to see if the issue could be fixed, but here I am using Microsoft Edge 10 days later!

I have always lamented that I do not have a thicker skin - even when I know things are not my fault or that hurtful comments are undeserved, I still can't help but let it get under my skin for a day or two. At the beginning of last week, I was subjected to a five minute tirade by a client - one that I had helped with their dog before - because I had the audacity to address myself with the "Doctor" title while making a work-related phone call in the capacity of my job title. My call was not unsolicited - the clients had reached out and requested to speak to me about supplements for their dog and I had attempted to contact them at the phone number I was directed to use in the message left for me. I had left them voicemails detailing who I was (Dr. ________ from ________ Veterinary Hospital). When I attempted to follow up the next morning, I was lambasted by this client who felt that the fact that I referred to myself as Dr. ________ was unprofessional and arrogant, that it was unnecessary for me to declare my "doctor" status and that it was especially unacceptable for me to refer to myself as such to him in particular because I was half his age. He repeated this multiple times to me, discussed how the other veterinarians on staff never referred to themselves as "Doctor" (which is not true) and that he himself was a Doctor and never used that title with his patients and so he felt it was inappropriate that I did.

I was so shocked by this unexpected tirade that I could only reply "Okay" and "I understand" when he paused for my reaction. What do you say to someone when they are doing their best to belittle you and your professional status like that?

After he was finished, he then let me know that it was his partner who had been trying to get in contact with me and asked me to call the correct number so as not to waste anyone's time. As if he had not just wasted mine and his by going on this unrelated rant.

It took me a few moments to recover, but I quickly came to the conclusion that I had done nothing to deserve that kind of treatment and that I do not deserve that level of emotional and verbal abuse over an issue like this. So I did go to one of the partners of the clinic to tell her what had occurred and requested that I no longer see or communicate with these clients. It was gratifying that she took my concerns seriously and that she also validated my feelings about what had just happened. But it did colour the rest of my day, as I started to feel jittery introducing myself as "Dr" to clients I had never met before. My heart actually dropped when I spoke to the partner of the man who had yelled at me when I - unthinkingly - referred to myself as "Dr" when picking up his call. I steeled myself to be yelled at again.

I don't know what drove that client to feel he could speak to me in such a condescending way. Age obviously has something to do with it, but I can't help but wonder if my gender and being a visible minority play a part as well. It is obviously his issue and not mine, but I feel like it is going to take me time to get to the place where I can feel confident again in my professional title - one that I worked hard to earn.

Having one of those weekends where I truly do want to see people, but I am also so emotionally spent from my week at work that I really just want to curl up on my couch with my cat and a good book or show to distract me.

The life of a shy introvert!

I have also been dodging the calls of the guy from the impromptu not-really-blind-date-on-Valentine's because I am bad at being an emotionally mature adult and decent human being. Let it be known that this is my karma when future romantic exploits end in a fiery blaze of destruction. But I have learned that when I am dreading meeting up with someone - mostly because I'd rather be spending my energy elsewhere - that I should probably listen to that gut feeling.

Ugh, I'll have to bring myself to do something about it today.

A mother and daughter pair brought in a stray cat they had found recently, professing that he ran into their house off the street a week after the passing of their dog. He is cute as heck with bright green eyes and long black fur, and he head-butted me immediately when I offered my hand for him to sniff. It's easy to see that both of them are absolutely in love with this charming little guy.

"He was just skin and bones when he came to us, so we've really fattened him up these past three weeks! We've been looking around for lost cat signs in the neighbourhood and haven't seen any. He doesn't have a collar or a tattoo so we're sort of hoping he doesn't have a microchip either."

Well, you can probably guess what happened next.

When the microchip reader beeped, I actually couldn't help saying "Oh, I'm so sorry..." because I could just see the absolute disappointment on their faces - mom especially. I noted the number down and told them I would look it up to see if we could track down this adorable cat's family. I tell my boss that I am probably about to break a girl's heart.

Ten minutes later, I identify myself as a veterinarian on the phone and the woman on the other line is immediately ecstatic: "Oh my god, have you found my cat?!" He's been missing for six months, they've put up signs in their neighbourhood and have had various people calling about sightings. She can't stop telling the people around her that her cat his been found and she is so, so thrilled! "That microchip was the best thing I could have done!" she says to me after thanking me profusely.

I am near tears the entire time because I am a big marshmallow when it comes to people and their pets.

I coordinate between both parties, gaining permission to share their information with each other. I assure the cat's owner that he looks good and has been receiving the best of care with the people who welcomed him into their home. I assure the good Samaritans that he is well-loved.

(I do my best to dodge all the insinuations that the mother is throwing my way that he "ran away" from his home because he was ill-cared for. She wants to ensure she is surrendering him to a good home and she is wondering if this woman will sell him to their family. She has clearly given her heart away to this cat and I am truly sad for her, but also relieved when her young daughter sensibly points out that these people cared enough to have him microchipped and he was likely well-loved and socialized given how friendly he is.)

I gently try to steer mom in the direction that maybe it is time for them to look for a new furry family member and that they have really done a wonderful thing in aiding the reunion of this cat with his family. Given that I have essentially ruined their day, I graciously tell them that I am not charging for my time today.

So there you go! My first personal experience with the success of microchips!

So. I'm definitely not keeping up with this journal writing the way I wanted to.

Ah well! At least I'm still kind of trying!

Boss and I had a brief conversation about books today during my lunch break. My children's librarian friend very generously supplies me with books to read on occasion and often these books come from the young adult or even children's section. Boss noted that he certainly has read his share of young adult and children's books as well because they're oftentimes fun, breezy reads where everything works out okay. There's just something so comforting about a good children's book where the heroes prevail and all is right in the end! I lamented to him that adult fiction was often incredibly depressing, and books are generally my chosen "escape" from the real world. He teased that The Hunger Games are hardly the stuff that dreams are made of, but hey - they're still a pretty quick read!

I told him how I reverted to reading the early Harry Potter books when I was going through a time of stress (basically when I had relayed my intention to leave my previous job and was in the process of looking for a new one, not that he needed to know that), and he told me about returning to The Chronicles of Narnia.

Me: You know, I read The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe and The Magician's Nephew as a kid, and then didn't read the rest of the series until I was older. It sort of changed how I felt about the books. When I read The Last Battle, I was so shocked at the ending!

Boss: Yeah, they were pretty overtly religious.

Me: Sure, that was part of it. But really, I was mad that they cut Susan out of "Narnia" or heaven or whatever because she grew up and became interested in lipstick and boys!

Boss: *LAUGHING*

Me: I'm just saying! I was never really able to look at the series in the same way again!

"The Problem of Susan" has been well-covered otherwise, but I really can never pass up the opportunity to tell people how angry it made me! But anyway, this is really just me reiterating how much I love having bosses that I can laugh with at work!

Between Japanese and Korean dramas, I've always had a lot more fondness for the former over the latter. Sure, Japanese dramas tend to be a little cornier and Korean dramas generally have the benefit of impressive production values, but I'll be damned if most of them aren't plagued with serious pacing issues. I'll admit my sample size of shows I've actually watched start-to-finish is pretty small (I can almost list them on one hand), but that's because all of them have sent me into an impatient spiral of waiting for something of consequence to happen at one point or another. Goong was cute until the melodrama got to be too much, Boys Over Flowers was surprisingly awful and nearly spent all of the tenuous good will I had built up for that entire franchise, Stranger was frequently and unforgivably boring despite its high-stakes political intrigue, and God's Gift - 14 Days got so repetitive with its red herrings that I started to resent how laughably inadequate these adults were when their one job was to not keep losing sight of a bratty little girl. Even Coffee Prince - a show that I actually found incredibly charming - had moments where I was wishing for a bit more plot and a little less adorable domesticity, something which I am usually all for!



Here's the thing: like most people, I am a sucker for a good time-travel hook. Anytime people are trying to change the past for the benefit of the future, I am absolutely here for it. I was all over CW's TV adaptation of Frequency despite its often rocky execution, and I'd heard enough positive buzz about Signal over the years (along with an enthusiastic endorsement from a co-worker) that I decided to get over my "it's complicated" relationship with Korean dramas and give it a shot. And boy am I glad I did!

The series starts off following Lieutenant Park Hae-young, a disillusioned profiler who somehow decided to become a cop despite nursing a fairly life-long distrust of them for bungling a case where a classmate was kidnapped and killed. But as time starts ticking on the statute of limitations, he comes across an old police walkie-talkie that connects him to the idealistic Detective Lee Jae-han - only to find out his new ally is operating 15 years in the past. The two learn to cooperate across time, Lt. Park giving Detective Lee what details he can to close cold cases in his present by trying to resolve them in the past. But meddling with the past isn't without its consequences, and both men experience various missteps that could lead to their downfall. 

Signal is not perfect - it still trips into many of the more melodramatic tropes - but still, it's just that good. The cases and overarching story are urgent and tightly plotted, and hard-won victories are sometimes still bittersweet. Also, the three leads  prove themselves more than capable of handling these amazingly nuanced characters, even if one of them stumbles out of the gate initially. Park Hae-young starts off prickly and pretentious, but as he softens and becomes more personally invested in this mysterious connection to Lee Jae-han, his circumstances and emotional vulnerability make him more and more sympathetic as he desperately tries to do right by the victims of his cold cases while dealing with the often explosive aftermath of any changes to his timeline. Lee Jae-han for his part is an amazing protagonist from the get-go. We follow him from his early days as a naive, bumbling, but dedicated member of the police force to the more jaded but still idealistic detective who retains his sense of justice, even as he becomes necessarily wiser and more cautious about the necessary risks of this arrangement and what they cost him. Cha Soo-hyun rounds out our group of heroes as the hardened, world-weary, reluctant colleague to Park Hae-young in the present, even as she is simultaneously Lee Jae-han's timid, enthusiastic, and somewhat besotted subordinate in the past, looking to prove herself as an effective member of the police-force. The interactions and relationships between these three people is at the heart of it all, and I became very deeply invested in the happiness and well-being of these fictional characters.

Of course, Signal deals with very upsetting crimes, so that aspect alone may not make it everyone's cup of tea. Having said that, it's definitely worth watching if you can stomach the level of violence on something like CSI. It's thoroughly engaging, engrossing, and emotional. It's not often that I can wholeheartedly recommend a series, but Signal definitely earns it.

Growing up, I spent a reasonable amount of time being entertained by the television. I'd watch Duck Tales, Chip and Dale's Rescue Rangers, She-Ra, Care Bears, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and more after school, and my mom bemoaned that on weekends she'd hear me coming early in the morning to ask for permission to tune in to the Saturday morning cartoon line-up. As I've mentioned before, I don't know that I overtly felt the absence of Asian-American representation growing up, especially as a lot of my early programming featured anthropomorphic cartoon animals. I also had the benefit of watching kid's programming in the late 80's and early 90's, where it felt like there was a concerted effort to have a more multicultural representation to reflect what was happening in the real world. 

In this post, I wanted to reflect on the Asian-American characters I distinctly remember from my childhood.  These are characters that were named, have speaking lines, and distinctive personalities. It has been years since I have revisited most of these characters, but if they had enough of a presence to at least leave a memory, they're included here.

One thing I did notice is that there seems to be a lot less representation for young Asian-American boys growing up. I don't doubt that I may be overlooking some characters, but overall it does seem that shows tended to have more female Asian characters than male.



Ah, the early 90's! Maybe it's the rose-coloured glasses talking, but my memories of the 90's was an overall positive one. There was an emphasis on decreasing pollution and preserving our environment, we were taught to embrace multiculturalism, and were constantly told that gender equality was on the rise as women were becoming more powerful in the work force. I felt like I was constantly being promised a better world and... I don't know that I got it. Still, shows like Captain Planet and the Planeteers were dear to my heart, with kids like me being able to harness their respective element to help keep the Earth clean and protect nature. I loved that they had a diverse group of characters from all around the world helping to deliver this message, and I've always had an affinity to water and swimming so it was doubly exciting that Gi - the Asian girl of undetermined ethnicity - was the keeper of the water ring and got to do amazing things like swim with dolphins. Other than that, I don't really recall much more than Gi seeming like a pleasant character who sometimes felt like a secondary character in terms of storylines and personality. Still, it was exciting to see someone who looked like me being part of a team that's goal was to help save the environment!



Look, the Power Rangers was practically a cultural phenomenon when it first came out. Was it maybe a little too on the nose that the Black Ranger was African-American and Yellow Ranger was Asian-American? Yeah, it probably was. But as an elementary school kid, I was thrilled that one of the Rangers was an Asian-American girl! Trini's existence gave me a chance to pretend to be her on the playground and feel like I was "right" for the part. It gave me permission to feel part of something that was huge at my school! Although it wasn't much deeper than that - none of us were watching this show for the writing - it was still very powerful to see an Asian-American kicking monster-butt and getting to also be a hero in the same bombastic manner as her fellow rangers. Power Rangers suffered its share of ridicule - it was a cheesy kids' show after all - but it was very important to me at that time. Although I doubt I would have stuck around long anyway, the fact that Trini was written off the show after the first season definitely played a large part in my general disinterest in the franchise from there on.

I have had three big "pop group" loves in my life thus far, for better or worse.