Tag: spirits

BLOG: Is This A Wong Kar-Wai Movie?

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Thursday.

Back at the Secret Society, to the surprise of literally no one. I can’t help myself. Hellooooo! Who do you think I am?

Same old, same old. All the old men are here. I’ve decided to take the route of politely nodding hello to them and then otherwise ignoring them completely. Not trying to get friendly with a bunch of old married men!

Gee, I wonder why!

I was definitely here the other night as well. Got wayyyyy too friendly with the Filipino bartender, went to a second location with him, and inevitably made out with him.

I know, but like… What do you want from me? He’s my age, he’s hot, he’s covered in tattoos! It is what it is, okay?!

Luckily for me, he is not here tonight. Unfortunately, all the old men are. They’re celebrating someone’s millionth birthday. I’m pretending I don’t notice what’s going on. I just don’t care.

I actually came up here specifically to see the bartender, but he is not here. I cannot remember his name for the life of me. I don’t even know if I put it in my phone.

I just checked and I definitely did not put him in my phone. I guess the feeling is pretty mutual on that one. Thank god for that. I was genuinely worried. Alright, well, glad that’s all sorted out.

Meanwhile, I watched In The Mood For Love today, aka a Hong Kong Cinema Classic. Yes, I have seen it before, but that was a long time ago, before I lived in a tiny shoebox right door to a hot beefcake who I am definitely very attracted to, probably because he either yells at me or ignores me. Hello Daddy Issues! It is what it is.

Today when I watched it, there were no English subtitles. Welcome to my everyday life! Now you know why I stay in my comfy expat bubble, which isn’t actually terrible because here “expat” means “everyone from all over the world, not just specifically white people.”

So, I knew the plot, but I could not remember exactly what was said throughout the film. Therefore I was focused exclusively on the visuals and the vibes. It was a nice experience, actually. It forced me to put down the iPad and actually pay attention to every little detail in the frame. Just for a brief moment, I remembered how I fell in love with movies in the first place…

Then there was the question of vibes. Oh, the VIBES! I felt ALL the vibes. I was like… yeahhhh… this is how I feel about my hot neighbor right now. Problematic AF, as I’m 90% he is not feeling the same way about me. Either way, he’s an actor, I’m a writer, he’s right next door, and this fantasy is going to be projected onto him whether he likes it or not. It is what it is!

I did have a bit of a laugh though. He was hating on me for not having enough “Authentic Hong Kong Experiences.”

Meanwhile, I’m over here watching this movie like… “Wtf are you talking about, bro? I am having the MOST authentic HK experience right now. What do you even think living next door to someone like you is like for me, especially in this impossibly tiny, cramped space?! You do realize you’re a hot, sexy beefcake AND an actor AND British, right? Like, that’s basically a Triple Threat to me. It’s like the universe served me up my dream man then pulled an MC Hammer on me. Like, ‘U can’t touch this!’ RIDICULOUS!”

Yeah, it was depressing. In the end, I thought to myself, “Hmm… maybe I should go to Cambodia, or not, mostly because the vibe there right now is kinda scary. Soooo maybe back to India for my 300hr YTT course. I’ll whisper your name into a giant temple and then bury it with mud and grass. How romantic!”

And then I’ll just move onto the next hot, sexy beefcake because that’s just how it is these days…

Not that I necessarily want that. I just feel like he’s been pretty upfront about the fact that he finds me REALLY fucking weird and annoying. As I recall, he specifically said, “You are the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

He told me who he is, and I believe him. I learned this about men the hard way. Therefore, it is what it is.

That being said… he hasn’t asked me about his mail ONE TIME since using it as an excuse to unblock and re-follow me on Instagram. Just saying!

I did check for it though, because I’m me. Alas!

Anyway… what else did I do this week? Tried to start out the week productive, failed, then decided to re-watch Reservation Dogs to motivate me. I’ve rewatched it like 5 times now, but this time was different. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’m a year removed from living in SD so it’s not as present in my every day life anymore. It felt like the very strong dose of medicine I needed this week.

If you haven’t seen this show, it’s focused on a group of teens living on the Rez in Oklahoma. It’s one of my favourite TV shows of ALL TIME. It’s fucking beautiful. The main theme of the show is dealing with Grief in various forms. Obviously it hits much different after losing so many family members to death in the last 5 years. I really, really, really needed to watch it way more than I thought. It was so healing. I felt so much better after my re-watch.

Inspired by my rewatch, I decided to go out this morning to meditation with a spirit plate, play the Lakota Ceremonial Songs Playlist, and ruminate on the Sun Dance. I pictured the Tree of Life and relived the memories of the ceremony.

Sure enough, one of my spirit guides appeared at the table. I’m pretty sure I know who she is now. I think she’s the Native woman from Shinnecock Nation my Great-Great-HoweverManyGreats Uncle married. He was a minister who worked with the Montaukett and Shinnecock during a smallpox epidemic that wiped most of them out.

I can prove this by the way. There is a significant record of this. This is not just some random shit I made up. I always felt some kind of connection there, but I didn’t know what it was. She led me to it eventually, but it took me awhile to figure out she was actually related to me and not a random spirit who decided to hitchhike when I was driving down Highway 18 through Pine Ridge and Rosebud.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure it was her because at the end, she said, “Thank you for acknowledging me. You’re the only person in our family who does. The rest of them are out there still pretending to be white. They’re the real Pretendians.”

That made me laugh, tbh.

Anyway, yeah, I don’t feel the need to justify this experience to anyone anymore because I know it’s real. I’m just more comfortable expressing it now that I don’t live in a small town full of crazy people who were determined to burn me alive at the stake every opportunity they got.

I asked her for some practical life advice and she told me to go to the eye doctor. Typical spirit shit, lol. She said, “Bad eyesight runs in your family. You lost your glasses two weeks ago and haven’t replaced them yet. You need to take better care of yourself in that way.”

So I booked an appointment for tomorrow. It’s a different system here. I looked around for the place with the most fashionable frames in HK and made an appointment with the optometrist tomorrow. I admit I’m relieved. Typing this right now without my glasses is actually pure torture right now. Can’t do it anymore. I’m shelling out the money for a prescription this time. That shit is real AF.

I asked her about other things too. Mostly about how to figure out my next step. It’s not like she can “tell me what to do” but she can give me general advice on the best direction to take.

It’s… complicated right now. I just… I don’t know. I don’t know!!!! I mean, I KNOW. I made a new vision board. I just… I don’t know. I feel so stuck.

It is what it is.

That being said, I love Hong Kong. I literally never want to leave this Island. However, I recognize that I am not in the healthiest place right now because of my grief and trauma, and I need to address that before I try to climb the career ladder again. Why not go to the Himalayas and do yoga while I figure it out?

I just have to be more serious this time. Goa was tough because it the first time. Bali felt more like a vacation from reality than anything else. Rishikesh, however… that is The Yoga Capital of the World. It’s very serious. Like… Fuck around and find out!

I need that. I need to be in a place where I can’t sneak out at night in search of alcohol to numb the pain of feeling my feelings. That being said… hook me up with dat Himalayan Kush, fam!

How do they say it in Reservation Dogs, “Weed is the Creator’s medicine, alcohol is the Devil’s work.”

Truth!

—-

Update from later:

Walked into some old man’s bday party. Definitely decided not to get myself involved. After all, I have nothing to say to a group of old married men.

Sat at the bar and minded my own business. Chatted with the bartender for awhile. Luckily, the one I kissed before wasn’t there. thank god. The story she told me was depressing. She was talking about how she has to grocery shop for 6 people in HK without a car. The entire time she was talking, I could not get the picture of my mom loading piles of groceries into the back of the minivan. I used to hate on it a lot, but now I truly appreciate the luxury the American people actually have.

And then we just pissed it away….

—-

Update from later later:

Will tell this part of the story later. To be continued…

STORY: The Frank Zappa Radio Takeover Hour

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GREEN RIVER, UTAH

After scanning the radio forever, I finally found a radio station featuring a variety of hip hop music. I was pleasantly surprised by the blend of mainstream, underground, and international artists. I’d never heard French rap on the radio anywhere but in France. Yet there I was in the middle of Utah, jamming out to IAM.

“Welcome back!” the DJ said. “This is the 24-Hour Hip Hop Radio Takeover! We’re playing nothing but hip hop for 24 hours in an effort to raise money for our own station. If you’d like to make a donation, call us now or visit us online!”

I was grateful to hear this news, especially from a radio station coming out of Colorado. Now I didn’t have to change the station the rest of the drive.

At the end of the hour, the DJ bid us adieu and a new voice came on in his stead. The voice was bright, bubbly, and squeaky AF. It was nervous, shy, young, naive. The girl it belonged to couldn’t have been a day over 19.

I didn’t recognize a single song in the next block. I could tell by the instrumentals and lyric patterns it had all been made in the last ten years. She was obviously into the underground stuff, whereas I was about as mainstream as one could get.

“Welcome back!” the new DJ said excitedly. “Guess what, everybody? We have a special guest here who stopped into the station to make a very generous donation! Um… I’m sorry. What did you say your name was again?”

“Frank Zappa.”

“That’s right! I’m sorry. Tell us what you do for a living, Mr. Zappa.”

“I’m a musician. Well, I was anyway. My days are over now. I was just passing through Colorado and wanted to see what the kids were listening to these days. I enjoyed this station so much, I decided to stop in and make a donation.”

“And we are very grateful for your donation. Tell everyone how much you donated.”

“Ten thousand dollars. That’s right! Ten grand. Nothing makes me happier than supporting young people’s love for music.”

“And we are very grateful for your support, sir. So you said you’re a musician. Have you ever had any hits on the radio?”

“Oh yes. A long time ago. A long, long time ago. It was decades before you were even born. I was a rock and roll legend. But you know, rock and roll would be nothing without the influence of jazz and blues, and that’s why I’m so thrilled to support the hip hop community today.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t heard of you before. I don’t really listen to much rock and roll. It doesn’t, um, speak to my experience the way hip hop does.”

“It’s all right, sweetie. We all have different tastes. That’s what makes the world such a great place. So tell me, what inspired your playlist selection tonight?”

“Ummm… I guess I wasn’t thinking about it. I was just playing some of my childhood favourites.”

Both Frank Zappa and I felt old at the exact same time. How I longed to hear some early-to-mid 90’s West Coast gangsta rap to make me feel young again. They chatted on the radio for a few minutes longer before returning to the music.

Sometime later, I was relaying this story to my extended family at a holiday dinner.

“Are you making this up right now?” my uncle asked me.

“No, of course not. I really heard Frank Zappa take over a college hip hop radio station.”

“Betsey… Frank Zappa has been dead for over twenty years.”

I was stunned.

“Seriously?”

“Uh, yeah. Everyone knows that.”

I rolled my eyes. Nothing annoyed me more than people who acted intellectually superior to others just because they had different musical tastes.

“Well, I didn’t know that. I’m like the girl in the story. I don’t listen to that stuff. Obviously, I prefer pop, rap, reggae, and jazz.”

“Maybe it was an impersonator,” said my first cousin.

“Maybe it was his son,” suggested my second.

“Maybe it was a practical joke,” said my dad. “That check was probably fake.”

“Whoever it was, it was not Frank Zappa.”

“How do you know?” I asked. “Maybe his spirit likes to travel around and hand out cash to young people struggling to make it in the music industry.”

“You know, I can see actually that.”

We debated the mysterious donor’s identity for a few minutes longer before the conversation moved on. To this day, I still get chills down my spine whenever I think of Frank Zappa’s Radio Takeover.

STORY: The Haunted Highway

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ROSEBUD, SOUTH DAKOTA — Sometime after midnight, I passed over into the Rosebud Reservation. The Pow Wow music had long since faded into static and the stars the only source of light on the road.

Highway 18 spans the southern length of South Dakota and passes through three Indian reservations. It is notorious for being haunted by trickster spirits, especially along the Rosebud Reservation. I could have turned West and stayed in Hot Springs for the night, but I decided to try my luck with the spirits instead. I wanted to see if I could get a vision.

I’d heard stories about Highway 18 since I started researching Wounded Knee. I was especially warned about the area I was passing through now. Cars were always breaking down at random, and it was the last place you wanted to be stranded at night.

My first source had her first highway encounter as a teenager. One night, she and her best friend were out smoking and driving. A tall, shadowy figure with evil eyes crossed the road in front of them. They screamed and slammed on the breaks, but the figure disappeared. After collecting their composure, they drove straight home and didn’t leave the house again.

My second source was driving down the highway when she spotted a crying child alone on the side of the road. When she stopped to ask him where his parents were, the little boy didn’t say a word. He only looked into her with his strange eyes. The woman put him in the backseat and drove to the police station. When she parked the car and turned around, the little boy was gone.

A third source recalled the night he was almost lured off the road while drunkenly stumbling home. The lights beckoned to him, motioning to follow them into an abandoned farmhouse far off the road. He shook his head and refused their call. He decided to play it safe and passed out in the ditch beside the road instead.

Much to my simultaneous relief and disappointment, I had yet to meet any spirits on the road. Unfortunately, my energy was fading fast. I knew there was nowhere to stay on the Rez when I came here, but I decided to go for it when the last motel I passed in Nebraska had MURDER written all over it. I noped right out of that one, much preferring the company of a few trickster spirits over Nebraska’s very own Norman Bates.

In spite of my exhaustion, I decided to press on. I knew my vision was close at hand. I lit another cigarette and rolled the windows down to give my head a lift. I checked the mirrors behind me. No other cars were on the road and I hadn’t passed any in some time. The nearest town was miles out of the way; more like a collection of trailer houses than actual place.

I was all alone late at night in the middle of nowhere on a poverty-stricken Indian Reservation. Yet I felt safer than I had in a long time. Maybe burning all that sage and sweetgrass beforehand was more effective than I thought.

The road in front of me began to twinkle and blur. The wheels of my car swerved further to the right. I was just beginning to nod off when suddenly a bright white light appeared before me. I snapped awake just in time to slam on the breaks. The ball of light exploded in a flash and transformed into a crow taking flight on the road in front of me. It looked at me for just a moment before disappearing into the night.

When I recovered from the shock, I noticed the lights of a gas station flickering close by. It wasn’t there before, but I drove up to it anyway. It looked like it had been abandoned for years. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure it was real. For all I knew, I was being lured into a trap by a trickster spirit. It was no matter. If it was some kind of elaborate death trap, it was a good day to die.

An abandoned gas station on the Rez wasn’t exactly my first choice for a safe place to stay, but it wasn’t giving me MURDER vibes either. Under the circumstances, it would have to do. I resolved to take a short power nap and stop again in a more populated location.

I offered the spirits some tobacco and asked for protection. I left an open bag of chips outside of the car as an offering and smudged with sage again. I crawled into the backseat of my Jeep into my cocoon of blankets. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was fast asleep.

—

The old tribal cop pulled up to the gas station and looked around. No bodies on the ground, two vehicles in the lot. The first, a semi truck with the driver fast asleep inside. The second, a Jeep he had seen only once before. The cop looked at the bumper sticker on the rear and contemplated “The End.”

His suspicions were confirmed as soon as he ran the plates. So, the Wašíču writer had remained a loyal ally after all. He knew she was a keeper when he met her at Wounded Knee. But what the hell was she doing here at this time of night?

The cop wondered if the vehicle was stolen and decided to investigate. The name RUSSELL flashed across his badge as he climbed out of the car. He checked on the semi again before approaching the Jeep with caution. He put his hand on his gun, his heart pounding as he crept closer.

He looked through the window and gasped. Asleep in the back was the same beautiful young woman he had met before. Accompanying her was a wild assortment of her belongings. She looked like she had been living out of her car for sometime.

The cop shook his head. He didn’t know what she was doing out here, but he knew she had to be protected. Now he understood why he’d suddenly been called all the way out here at this time of night.

He picked up the tobacco and bag of chips off the ground, then returned to his vehicle to keep watch. He kicked the seat back and put his boot heels up on the dash, singing to himself softly as he ate his snack and smoked his pipe.

—

When I woke up again, I saw the cop car and panicked immediately. I didn’t even take the time to consider who or what I was seeing. I made sure my souvenirs from Colorado were stashed safely In the back and hopped back in the front seat. I took off flying across the reservation and didn’t look back. The cop car followed me until I crossed the border, then suddenly vanished into thin air.