Did you know that Max Hardcore is a Leo?

The boy who gave me my first kiss at 15: Leo.

My first lover. Not a Leo. He’s a Scorpio. That’s a whole other world I won’t get into now.

But my rebound guy after my first lover, you guessed it: Leo.

Sam: Leo.

And sweet Liandre.

Liandre was a boy who called me every night when I was 14. Our maid, Nana Cion used to sneak me phonecalls by announcing that a girl named Andrea was calling. We’d talk for hours. Who knew what it was about. Just a boy curious about me as I was curious about him.

One day he said he would come over for a visit. I had lost my voice that day after singing too much. It was midafternoon. I sat on a bench in our backyard, not knowing there was a small hive of the meanest yellow jackets in a nook under the bench. What Liandre found when he arrived was me screaming, “Putakti! Putakti” in a deep scraggly voice that sounded like I was possessed by the devil as I ran past him indoors and under a shower of cold water. It’s up there as one of the most embarrassing moments in my life.

I never saw him after that. Think I scared him?

It’s the eve of my birthday. I spent the past few nights wide awake thinking, “What’s next?”

One of the best pieces of advice I ever got from my Dad was: choose the option that opens me up to the most options. I’ve taken that to heart all my life, and thanks to him I have before me, millions of possibilities.

This past year I decided I was going to come out of the closet as May Ling Su. Facebook was instrumental. I kept finding old friends there! People I spent my childhood with, whom I hadn’t seen in over a decade. I already had an account, but I was tempted to start a new one, with my childhood name – a name that didn’t lead to all my porn. Instead I took a deep breath and clicked “Add as Friend.” I hoped for continued friendships, but I was ready for the cold shoulder of the “Ignore” button. And you know what? I was surprised by people’s kindness and acceptance and love!!! I am truly blessed!

Over a week ago, Typhoon Ondoy flooded my hometown, Quezon City. It was a huge calamity, but it brought out the best in my people. I witnessed my friends using Facebook and Twitter to coordinate rescue and relief efforts all over the world. It was an amazing display of what social networks in the hands of caring people can do. I felt like I was back in the Philippines again, going out to political demonstrations, helping feed the hungry and clothe the needy. There’s so much that needs doing.

A while back I wrote about meeting some people about a singing gig. Music is my first love. I was thrilled to sing for an audience, but the owner of the bar wanted to suck up more time from me than I was willing to give, at first offering me a weekly gig, then wanting four nights of my week. Ultimately I had to decline. It wasn’t the option that opens me up to the most options.

Tonight, I have dreams of the future in my head. Asia. The Philippines. Music. Art. Porn. Sex. Love. Family. Friends. I’m going to bed, hug my wee one and hug my man. I’ll be thankful and full of love.

I found this photo on Old Philippines. First thought, how lovely! But what are they wearing???

I don’t believe those silly leaves covering the girls’ crotches are authentic. Filipinos have a rich history of fabric weaving. Other photos in the same album show the amazing tribal fashions of the time. Each tribe was known to the others for the patterns they wore. Another photo I posted years ago showed three girls wearing tapis around their hips. I imagine the colors and the patterns on those tapis were just as intricate as their headdresses.

Those leaves must be the photographer’s idea of depicting the “style prevalent in the days of Eve,” throwing a Judeo-Christian reference to the proverbial fig leaf of shame.

I love the girl on the left. She stands proudly, looks at the camera unabashedly. This is the Filipina image I like. Not the chaste Maria Clara in shapeless baro’t saya created by 500 years of Spanish colonization. I revere the malaya (liberated) people who wore their tribal dress and nudity with pride. Mabuhay!

“She?” Jay interrupted. I stopped reading. The patriarchs don’t refer to the feminine by accident. Is it just a politically correct translation?

There was a footnote that referenced the Book of Sirach Chapter 15 Verses 1 to 8:

“He who fears the Lord will do this;
he who is practiced in the law will come to wisdom.
Motherlike she will meet him,
like a young bride she will embrace him,
Nourish him with the bread of understanding,
and give him the water of learning to drink.
He will lean upon her and not fall,
he will trust in her and not be put to shame.
She will exalt him above his fellows;
in the assembly she will make him eloquent.
Joy and gladness he will find,
an everlasting name inherit.
Worthless men will not attain to her
haughty men will not behold her.
Far from the impious is she,
not to be spoken of by liars.”

The Book of Sirach is not included in the Hebrew Bible after the first century A.D. It is also not accepted by the Protestants. It is, however, considered divinely inspired by the Catholic Church.

Wisdom is a she.

The Book of Proverbs also refer to Wisdom as feminine. Chapter 3 Verses 13 to 18:

“Happy the man who finds wisdom,
the man who gains understanding!
For her profit is better than profit in silver,
and better than gold is her revenue;
She is more precious than corals,
and none of your choice possessions can compare with her.
Long life is in her right hand,
in her left are riches and honor;
Her ways are pleasant ways,
and all her paths are peace;
She is a tree of life to those who grasp her,
and he is happy who holds her fast.”

The Goddess of Wisdom is called Athena by the ancient Greeks, Sophia by the ancient Romans (from which the word Philosophy was derived: “love of wisdom”).

The Goddess Ninki, half-sister to Enki, the Sumerian God of Wisdom, was said to have given birth to Adam, according to ancient Sumerian tablets, likely the source of the earliest chapters of the Book of Genesis. She was known as Ishtar to the ancient Babylonians.

There are references to the Star Fire, the Goddess menstrual blood, as the source of wisdom and long life of the early patriarchs.

Blood, anyone?

Today I went to an Asian mall with my little one. I wanted to get a haircut, but since I had a four-year-old in tow, I of course had to first get her something to keep her occupied while I got my hair cut. So into a candy/toy shop we went. She picked out a candy necklace. We looked around, and I asked her if there was something else she wanted, a toy perhaps. The lady tending the store immediately whipped out a flat of Hello Kitty charms on leather bracelets, and proceeded to put it on my child. The moment was sweet, and my wee one seemed amused by the attention.

“See? You like?” the shopkeeper asked softly. My little one nodded shyly.

“It’s lovely,” I approved.

The shopkeeper took out her tools, and sized the leather bracelet down to my little girl’s wrist. All this, assuming I was going to buy the bracelet, which of course, I did. It reminded me of my dad. He never takes no for an answer because he never asks. If you don’t want what he’s giving you, you had better say something quick, or it will be packed in your car before you drive off.

With candy necklace and Hello Kitty charm bracelet on, my wee one and I headed to the salon. I was planning on looking through their stack of magazines while we waited, to show the hairdresser what I wanted done to my hair. I didn’t have the time. A woman waved me on to her chair as soon as we walked in. Without a word spoken to me, she got me ready for my cut.

“I want layers,” I volunteered quickly. I was afraid if I didn’t speak up she would just make the decision for me.

“Uh-huh,” she replied curtly, like she knew all along what I wanted. A psychic hairdresser. “Same length, right?” she verified.

“Yes,” I was impressed. She did know exactly what I wanted.

Cantonese flew around the salon as she worked and I relaxed. My wee one was immersed in her candy necklace and once in a while asked my hairdresser what language she spoke and what she was saying.

It was a perfect mid-afternoon. I had a great haircut, and my wee one was happy. Of course after that I had to deal with a bouncing ninja warrior high on sugar, but even that had a charm of its own. A Hello Kitty charm.

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Hentai Hair

Jay always says, “Mischief!” We share that spark of naughty excitement that keeps us young and sexy to each other. We’ve defined marriage based on who we truly are instead of being stuck in the trappings of what a marriage is supposed to look like. Our marriage is 100% handmade, homemade, us.

In college philosophy class we defined that love is not a feeling. Feelings are fleeting, they come and go like the wind. Love, I have found, is a commitment. It is staying through good and bad weather. It is being willing to get ugly in front of the other. It is accepting what is ugly about the other and saying, “Ok, I can deal with that. I still love you.” That is love.

I’m reading this book right now. It’s almost 20 years old. It’s called “Women Who Run With the Wolves,” by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D. It feels like I’ve been reading it forever, because I keep stopping to take a look within myself and my life. The subtitle of the book is “Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype.” It contains ancient folklore with a timeless message: nurture your soul.

One of the stories is about the Skeleton Woman. Let me paraphrase. A fisherman hooks a bunch of bones from the ocean, it is the Skeleton Woman. He is terrified, he rows as fast as his fear could take him back home. The faster he rows, the faster she follows helplessly tangled up in his hook. At first he hides, then eventually he comes out, perseveres in untangling the fishing line and mess of bones until there she sits, the Skeleton Woman, and he finds she is not as scary as before. He sleeps and weeps in slumber. She drinks his tear and it fills her, remakes her into a fully fleshed woman. He wakes, they love each other forever.

I love that story, and there are many more poetic elements I decided to leave out for the sake of brevity. But I love it because it’s about seeing what is ugly and fearsome about one’s beloved, and still persevering, trusting, and working on the relationship. That is the kind of relationship that bears deep and fruitful rewards.

Jay and I have a friend who has had many many good relationships that lasted years. Her latest one just broke up, and I remember her saying that she wanted to break it up before it got to the point when they couldn’t be friends anymore. I understand to some extent. Memories are indelible. Harsh words echo in the mind long after they’ve been said. I wonder, though, if their relationship could have survived the ugliness if she only gave it a chance. I have a feeling she has done this all her life. Every time she found a mess of bones in her fishing hole, she threw it back overboard. The sad truth is that without investing in bringing the bones home, looking the ugly heap over, and patiently untangling it, there is no chance of discovering a treasure that will last her lifetime. Her only hope is that someday she will hook someone who will follow wherever she may run and take the effort of untangling the messy bones she has become.

When Jay and I first started dating it was clear we had sexual chemistry, but we were really quite scared of each other. Deep inside us, we knew we could change each other. There was something about us together that felt catalytic. I remember early on we were walking to the Staten Island ferry one winter afternoon. He bent down to pick up a plastic batman ring on the ground, and impulsively put it on my left ring finger. The finger. The gesture struck us both with fear. We walked in silence, terrified of what just happened and what it meant. The wind howled and whipped all around us. It felt cosmic. It felt like the old me was dying right there, and a new me was being born.

Jay and I don’t have a perfect relationship. Sharing our deepest and darkest selves with one another is not always a pleasant experience. We are individuals with our own sexual, creative, idiosyncratic needs that sometimes meet in harmony but also sometimes clash. Every layer of self-revelation takes with it a risk: will he still love me after this? When he and I fight, it is fierce and ugly. Few of our friends have witnessed it, and those who have cower from the crossfire. (Sorry, you know who you are!) But no matter how hard we fight, how primitive our ways of communication descend to, we keep communicating, we keep listening, we keep forgiving, and we keep taking that risk of becoming truly ourselves with each other. Neither of us would settle for less.

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10 Years

If anyone wants me this week, I’ll be in the kitchen.

Thanksgiving Dinner has only been a 4 year tradition for me. Prior to meeting Jay, Thanksgiving Dinner used to be just another day off from work and oodles of noodles and pork with my family. When I met Jay I started to understand that Thanksgiving Dinner is a celebration of the friendship between white people and the natives of America. Let’s rephrase that. Thanksgiving celebrates the survival of the natives, despite the horrible things that have been done to them in the name of imperialism. It became a celebration of Jay himself, who descended from Dutch, Irish and Blackfoot ancestors. Rocky that relationship may be between the natives and the Euro-Americans, the brief moment of union between the two still brought about the creation of a truly amazing person, and in the big picture an America that is colorful.

Four years ago, I started cooking Thanksgiving Dinner. After having gone to Jay’s family dinners for many years, I learned what makes a traditional Thanksgiving meal. After I gave birth to my baby four years ago, I wanted to thank all the wonderful people who helped me through what was the most challenging and life-changing event in my life. I am the mother of a truly colorful child whose ancestors are Blackfoot, Dutch, Filipino, Irish, Spanish and everything else in between.

So I cook. And I thank. And I eat!!!

I can go on and on about my female role models. My dad has six younger sisters, all beautiful strong intelligent women who worked very hard to go from a slum in Manila to becoming successful nurses who own nursing homes all over California and Nevada.

It was really weird when my family (of about 75 cousins, aunts, uncles, etc) stumbled upon my website. It divided them into those who respect me as an artist and those who were so embarrassed they wouldn’t look me in the eye for a while. I guess some were afraid that I was all of a sudden a whole different person, that maybe their daughters would all follow my footsteps, or that I would suddenly show up at family affairs with big inflated boobs or something scary like that. After a while when they realized I was still the same person they love, it all went back to normal.

My conversation with my dad about my site was one of the most intense times in my life. I immediately started crying, even though I would not take my site down as he requested. It’s partly his fault he raised a strong (stubborn) woman who can articulate clearly why she does what she does. In the end he understood.

It’s funny that my direction arose from finding the internet as a medium. I am not sure if I would have had the courage to explore my sexuality onstage the way Annie Sprinkle did, or as a prostitute/madam like Xaviera Hollander. I discovered my sexuality during the AIDS outbreak, so there was more to think about than just the fear of getting pregnant. Cybersex is safe, and feels so intimate even if I’m doing it with 50 different screennames in a chat room, ’cause it’s still just me (and sometimes my lover) in my private space.