My Life Journey in Writing So Far

When I was a little girl. I used to write letters from 5 or 6 years old to my Grandparents. I would do this once in a while and my Mother would mail it to them. At times I didn’t get any answers but that was because the family was not united on the thought of both parents marrying. You had to deal with ancestral trauma and expectations to meet what was safe to be alive. Sometimes, in the old times; intermarrying met shunning or death or harassment or the marriage annulled and made illegal in some parts of the United States.

My Mother’s Mother went through this introduction of racism when she arrived in the US to live on base with her new 2nd husband. It was her birthday and unfortunately, he had to go to work and report for duty. She then was asked time and time again to eat at the main hall called the “Mess Hall.” Her friend kept urging come eat with her but she declined…My Grandmother and Grandfather were cooks so they sometimes doubted the quality of food preparation naturally and instinctively as food was their passion. She finally relented and went with her friend to the Mess Hall. They refused her entry and told her: “Browns aren’t allowed in here but your friend is.” Her friend was white…she had no idea this would happen. My Grandmother, disgruntled, turned away to go home and make her own birthday lunch …a shrimp salad. This was after the Jap-Am invasion of the Philippine War in the 1940s.

The ignorance followed us as an interracial family expanded from a couple to having children. I was called a “mestiza” meaning " mixed. You have to understand that war does create a melting pot in small instances from war as the soldiers intermingle out of loneliness for company during these times and miss their companions or wives at home. Yes, I will say this; because since ancient times; war has presented a mixture of cultures to exist. At times; the soldiers had children with these women of different cultures and backgrounds only to leave them behind and not think of them. In the Philippines; the conquest by the Portuguese, Spanish and Japanese presented a mix of children. The Moors were kinky haired ones as well with dark skin and the Chinese mixes as well. You see when you have an island and have ports; the sailors and military will come to intermingle with the community for a while until they are transferred to other areas of the world for duty. I know this because at Filipino Club gatherings the faces and features told me so that we were not so pure. Again, the purity comments would come from whispers of gossip at these functions. I would ask my Mother if we could go home and she would shoo me off to play with the gossiper’s children who were too good for me and my brothers. We would endure this until Mom would say it was time to leave.

When you are a child; you have no idea about racism until you witness it. I remember an angry teenager at school that went up to 8th grade. I avoided the 8th graders and stayed with the elementary side or areas. The only time we would mingle was for PE (Physical Ed.) and we were required to run laps on the tracks. Mind you I didn’t see my brothers. I ended up beating all the kids, even the 8th graders, in track. My PE teacher would time me and laugh and taunt the 8th graders to get an elementary kid beat you. One day I was wandering around the playground and went into an area where the 8th graders were. The energy I didn’t know I was spreading was anger and frustration from home on a black 8th grade girl. I was just curious about these 8th graders. I was walking with friends who were pulling me from side to side and then accidentally swung me in the way of this angry girl. I tried to pull myself back out of the way because it caused her to trip over my feet. She wanted to beat some of her frustration out of her life. She asked: “Who tripped me.” I could tell she was angry beyond just falling. I felt her pain and anger. She kept asking: “Who tripped me?” I didn’t answer and my friends didn’t answer either. Another 8th grader friend of the older girls said, “Come on, she didn’t mean it.” Then she left me alone. I didn’t venture over their again. At times; I would not feel in the mood to beat the kids in laps at PE. My PE teacher would say…what’s happening with me? 

These times were when I saw kids eat popcorn and other treats beyond their lunches. Why didn’t I get these extras? I then remained hungry and occupied myself with a tether ball. I found my swings and hits were good and the 8th graders would mention that. I would avoid them to prevent any confrontation. I kept to myself and enjoyed the monkey bars and swings.

There was a boy that liked me but I avoided him. I had holey clothes and just stayed by myself most of the time. I was used to it. There would be times I was ridiculed for my holey clothes and the more I pulled away from folks.

This went on until we moved from Las Vegas, Nevada to Tucson, Arizona. Being military and moving was not unusual but my Dad got out for his father’s health. He lamented and soon regretted and joined the national guard much later and put in his time. His father died a year later after moving to Arizona. Here this neighborhood was filled with anger and lack and being friendly made them suspicious. I couldn’t understand why being friendly was a bad thing but I soon learned; you don’t want to be friends with everyone. Especially those kids whose families were mafia and selling drugs, etc. With drugs comes prostitution and a pimp lives at the end of our street. He knew which school you went to as he tried to recruit girls off the street walking home or to school or at the grocery store. They had no shame and would try to strike up conversation in front of my mother. My Mother would call me to come and help her.

My 6th Grade Teacher, Mr. Basurto from Panama and proud was my help in my outlet of writing. He had an exercise where he gave ibm keypunch cards to kids if they succeeded scholastically and would rank them by point system. He had a writing exercise where he would read the beginning of a story and we had 5 minutes to write a story and read it. I was a shy person by all that repressed happiness from the surroundings by now. I would write like my head and hands were on fire. I was free to express myself my way. Then he would save me for last to read my stories as the class prompted me to go next each time he let someone else read. He then saw my drawings that went with my stories and presented these to the professor at the University of Arizona. He prompted my teacher to send me to a high achiever school. I then was told by my teacher that all my parents had to do was sign off but transport me back and forth every day. My Dad was not going to do that with one car. He was dyslexic and my brothers. I began to wonder if he was a little jealous of my abilities and being a girl too. He was brought up with a patriarchal family that only wanted women to fulfill domestic and wifely roles and nothing else. He then decided I would not go after I didn’t know and he asked me and he said that he had no money for gas. I then relinquished my opportunity at 6th grade level and he based it on that and said you will miss your friends…”What friends.” I wasn’t one to demand and force my parents to do anything they didn;t want to do. I had also a class bully named Donald and he would bully folks and then I said, "Thank God he doesn't bother me." Low and behold he was starting. Then I told him that if he liked my stories than bullied me; I would no longer wish to read them to the class. He then said, "No, I want to hear your stories!" Then he didn't bully me anymore. When it was my turn that week to read my story; the class bully shouted. "Be quiet; Donna's going to read her story." That was my confirmation.

Much later in the year Vietnamese Refugees were temporarily transferred to our communities. Then refugees from VietNam were relocating to our church area. The priest was a hardcore Eastern Byzantine Catholic. He was angry as he fell in love with a woman and they allowed him to marry her and stay a priest but sent him to our poor area of poverty and crimes. He welcomed them as they didn’t understand English and came to church. I saw a girl there and now it was middle school where I attended. It was an awkward stage of life for all of us teens in middle school. This is where the clicks happen and children are taught to grow up too fast. The Vietnamese girls walk with long skirts and a sway and the black girls didn’t like that sway. It was interpreted as flirtatious to grasp any boy they wanted. I then was trying to learn Vietnamese to engage with this girl and learned a few words from a pocket dictionary. She hung out with me at the library. The black girls wanted to beat her for ‘swaying.’ I then proceeded to protect her and told her by gesture to come into the library to keep her safe. I would tell the black girls that the sway is their culture to survive. As stories from my Dad surfaced where the girls lured soldiers in war times and carried razor blades hidden in their clothing or side of mouth. She had long nails as part of the culture but I told the black girls that the nails are usually dipped with poison because they are at war; they must protect themselves. The black girls left her alone and other Vietnamese girls as well. I was happy and thanked God in my heart. The black community is so afflicted with so much lack and suffering and it is natural to want to take out your anger on someone who cannot challenge you but it isn’t right. Not all black people are bad and not all white or Asian either. We just have to understand each other’s struggles and journey in life. I tried to do that. Then soon the refugees were moved to permanent homes and I didn’t see her again. To take anger against an innocent person because you're hurt and want an outlet is not the answer to this as I mentioned in the past; we must do better giving the basic needs and help to all to be balance, nonjudgmental and choosing the dark side of coping skills instead of the light to resolve and share our plight with folks who have the resolve to assist.

At times; when they arrived the hispanic neighbors would look at me who had a monkey and ask what kind of asian are you? I would say Filipino and they would say: “What’s that Chinese? I would point out it was an island near the Japanese side and they would say: “So you are Japanese?” I said, no. So they had a dog or monkey as a pet and would say to me: “I know your people eat monkeys and dogs…so don’t eat mine.” I would joke with them and say: “No worries now that you are my friend; I won’t eat your monkey or your dog." It was apparent the television made stereotypes of different cultures and who was bad was a colored skin person and the white was a hero or protector of good against evil. It was sad to see this.

In high school, I ranked pretty high and was entered into a regional poetry contest. It was after the molestation incidents and feeling my family betrayed me …my parents and asked God to be my parents and protector and I would serve well. I won that contest and the poem entitled “Loneliness”  the deep pain of sadness starts out. My mother showed my poem to students at work and they asked mockingly if I was lonely…these are the times throughout my childhood I asked for new guides or angels to inspire me and it was granted. My mother found it funny…I didn’t and more pain set in as I was also being introduced to talking to animals who guarded me from any harm and Jesus speaking to me as a child to guide me and Archangel Michael protecting me. It was the time I was learning to hear things people couldn’t see. So that was all wrapped up in not being understood. I went along life feeling this and kept to myself. My mother’s technique for a woman to survive is act stupid and also redirect the energy of any conversation to that person’s life and show interest in what they thought, they cared about and not judge even if you didn’t agree and smile. Then people left you alone from all walks of life walking away feeling listened to and cared for. But who listened to me and understood me? This would follow me the rest of my life with my parents and siblings…and relatives…and friends…”I don’t understand you.” I had to get over this over time and just learn to love myself and not care about what people thought about me anymore and just do me.

As time went on; I moved to Los Angeles, California. I married and was seen by old retired military men as an asian easy girl to have a fling with. A man kept monitoring the parking lot across from our apartment. He was trying to get me to ride in his cart and give him a hug or kiss. I avoided him and said,”I was busy.” The entitlement was there but he didn’t even know it. I then had an apartment facing the street up high and had come home to open windows for fresh air and change from office attire. I found he had binoculars looking into my apartment. I soon closed the windows and no longer greeted him. I was glad we moved from the apartment as he got the message when I no longer talked to him.

I would write my letters to my family to focus on the good and what good things were going on in my life but would share our troubles. There was no back up to remedy any issues except come home…to what? A place of lack and misunderstandings? 

At times; the USA has made stereotypes that even a black man felt entitled to. He was a headhunter in terms of finding people jobs with his company. I was looking for a job and he approached me at the bus stop going home. He said he was a person who helped people find jobs. I said, that’s nice. He then asked if he needed my services. Then he tried to be nice and finally someone nice to help me find a job. I told my husband. Then he proceeded to ask me to his office and asked if I needed to fill forms. He said, “No.” I just want to help"….haha. Well, he found me a job and then he started to call me at home and I thanked him for his help. He then wouldn’t stop calling and my husband told me that this is what happens to our beautiful women of color. I then had to tell him to stop calling me and he tried to make it seem like I was using him even though he approached me and posed as someone just wanting to help. I let him make himself believe that because that made sense to him …I was using him when his intention was to use me.

We had an immigration lawyer in my husband’s family during that time getting my husband his citizenship. At times; my husband would say…”He is trying to set it up so he can have you.” He was a Jewish Lawyer that helped his uncle and his brother. He would say to my husband that you leave the country and try that through Mexico. I knew and my husband knew he wanted him out of the way.” Of course, he had to ask if we really loved each other. That was okay once. He kept asking if we truly lived together and loved each other again and again. I was getting annoyed and my husband told me he was after me. I then found out after our interview with immigration that my husband was granted stay in the USA. I was working my new job and my husband gave me a check to give to the lawyer for his services. He worked a few blocks away so on my lunch hour I reluctantly walked into his office to pay him for his services. He looked at me with hunger and I didn’t like that but kept quiet about my intuition as I told my husband I didn’t want to see him and mail the check but my husband said he had been sending the invoices to Arizona and needed to pay it and he was attending school there. I went into the office and sat and he was looking at me. I thanked him for helping us and here is your check payment for your services. He then asked if I could come to his side of the desk to shake hands…I was not feeling good. I then handed him a check. Then he put his hand on the small of my back and said, “We should go to lunch sometime.” I then calmly shook his hand and gently backed away still smiling with my mask to get out of there and said, “Sure.” I will let you know and he gave me his card to call him. I thanked him and left calmly as he stared at me like meat.” I left the building sick to my stomach and threw his card in the trash container on the street. I told my husband and he said, “Yes, I knew that he liked you and we went on with our lives.”

Where I worked at the Jewish federation; they checked my husband who appeared to look like a middle eastern but he was actually East African Indian at security and sometimes didn’t let him in to get me for lunch or pick me up on Fridays. There were men who waited til I passed them and pretended to act like they were grabbing me as I caught them turning my head suddenly sensing movement. You had to be on guard. Then put their hands down and arms as if they were just scratching their heads. This is what I put up with from all kinds of men of color. People are good and people are bad. It didn’t help me being traumatized in my teen years to trust men. It was a hard lesson over and over again. When will you get tougher? When will you be violent like your father and retaliate? I saw the violence in the home destroyed and so I knew my anger was beyond taming once triggered. I prayed for peace in my heart and protection. I didn’t want to lose it in this world. I wanted to be valued, seen and respected as a person.

It was a long haul and at times different men of different ages and color were now something in my mind to suspect. Being a quiet observer is what I learned. Take note of surroundings as it was a survival instinct I developed. I would have a great memory and intake but if I forgot the men who approached me; I would at the time I met when I felt they were bad news tell them a name that means run like hell. They would call me that and I knew automatically…do not trust, get away and get out of there. This is what I learned in my trauma…strategies. You as a young woman or man in this world better have strategies in life to be safe. All I wanted was safety, friendliness and truth. People weren’t being truthful and that’s my life theme. I am a patient woman who wants the best of people and will be friendly to the point you are forgiven and given 3 chances if you are not violent or acting out of control, rage or lust. I will be the reverend in myself while talking to you and have turned some men around.

It is the patriarchal system and the submissive implantations women are programmed to be. We do not owe ourselves and our bodies to anyone. We have minds and voices like any person does and have the right to be left alone in peace and to receive that pay we do for jobs we do in the same way as our fellow men. And as time went on I moved to England and then to Georgia.

Georgia was old blood and old roles and the good ole boys network. It was hard as a healer and being asian and I would get men calling me for services laughing…I then would tell them that you are not looking for my services and keep looking. I remember going to Buford Hwy, Asian area for a foot soak and the women were being coached to get on my lap and I would turn away from them. I would talk to them like a sweet child as they were young and tell them I have a daughter like yours. But in the meantime another gal was doing 15 minute massages and the men came for 15 minutes and paid. She would swing her arms in the air like she had warmed up for the massage but I knew and I was already in the chair. I had to protect myself by telling the young gal that I would bring my daughter here to meet her. She was happy but her boss was telling her something sternly like you will not see her and she is not a good client for our service. I quickly paid for them and left as men came in for 15 minute massages. I felt sick to my stomach again and told my husband that they were no good. These Asians coming here human trafficking their own people and then creating an image of us hot asian girls ready to be promiscuous and please didn’t matter if they were mothers or had children…that’s what this does; when we don’t have our morals straight even within our own culture; we can create our own problems by answering to the customer wanting this service then walk away saying all asians are this way. It continued where I found an office job and then the boss was talking about how I was attractive and again had to get out of that office. At times I was told to do illegal things like jimmy the books and I refused and get fired. I couldn’t do the bidding of people without morals as he bragged that he would have his way with me and that was not the way I am.

As time grew; I decided I would work with my husband full time but even in some instances the stereotypes from male customers were there and made inappropriate sexual innuendos and I would tell my husband they did this while you were out of the room. He was seeing this as a joke and he forgot how stereotypical people can be. I then decided to stay at home and work in the office and pay attention to my kids and home life. It was peaceful this way. I would dabble entering poetry publications time to time through my journey of healing and my children's growth and my own encounters of betrayal from women. This was also my life theme lesson of learning self love and not to care what others thought of me.

I then started to explore and learn about Native healing and joined a group for a year or so and would work on my trauma from childhood and life in Arizona. I then learned that journaling was what I call your spiritual manual guide to life as you learn about your healing abilities and start to heal layer by layer. I then wrote poems and worked with Goddesses of all walks of life in the light. My intuition and meditation journeys gave me information and lessons for me to heal and work with myself and then later the journeys to help with the universal lessons of the time. It was hard to place different journeys within space and time of earthly time. I would write these and edit for myself and share these only with my group of Native healers. Then I began to be coaxed by my husband to write and share these stories I channeled with the community to heal themselves. I doubted my value in it. I then took sound certifications courses during that time as well and channeled stories or themes God gave me to tell. They were transforming me and others. I couldn’t believe the value of my words til later and in time I blogged more spiritual life lessons and learned about different pure light helpers like angels, transformed gods and goddesses and power animals, ascended masters, saints, sages and celestial beings of light. It was a journey with much to learn and to share. I was known then by my Native name given to me by God. People would come for them only on our paint and jam nights at our Healium Center Foundation uplifting with the arts and we utilized music, arts and expression to help people see their own inner creative and express themselves and gain transformation and peace. I am so grateful to God and my husband for telling me I was able to. Well, it’s time for me to stop writing now. I hope you learn to express yourself, love yourself and see the value of the words you identify with and become brighter and stronger and heard and seen and valued. Thank you for reading my story.