the results are in

I purchased an Ancestry DNA kit for myself and a friend late last year, and after some procrastination and queuing, I got my results back today.

I am somewhat disappointed to learn there are no Maury Povich-style reveals in my past – my results did not show that I am secretly African, or mysteriously uncategorizable, or any anything at all that I didn’t expect, with one exception:

I am 1% more Great British than I am East Asian.

They HAVE to let me in now, right?!

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damn ethnics

This means I’m definitely not adopted and living a huge lie like I always hoped feared – it’s pretty much spot on with what I’d been told all my life. Some of the smaller percentages were interesting, too – at some point, several of my ancestors dipped their dingle in places far from home. The complete breakdown is as follows:

  • Asia East: 41% Primarily located in: Russia, China, North Korea, South Korea, Mongolia, Myanmar (Burma), Japan, Taiwan, Philippines, Indonesia, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, Singapore, Brunei, Palau (and Malaysia, which isn’t on this list but is included in the big blue blob)
  • Asia Central: 9% Primarily located in: Afghanistan, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Iran, Pakistan (all those letters! #blessed)
  • Great Britain: 42% Primarily located in: England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, France, Germany, Denmark, Belgium, Netherlands, Switzerland, Austria, Italy (YEEEEEEEAH and also I’ve often claimed I’m half Malaysian/half European mutt, so hooray for proof)
  • Polynesia: 4% Primarily located in: Tonga, Samoa, Fiji, New Zealand (Maori), Micronesia, Philippines, Melanesia, Hawaii
  • Trace Regions: 4% These are listed as tiny amounts appearing in your DNA and possibly by accident, and include Ireland, Iberian Peninsula, and Europe West

This was a pretty neat exercise. The Ancestry DNA test isn’t as detailed as the 23 and Me test (which covers health conditions you may be at risk for, genetic traits, potential drug responses, etc), but it’s also half the price. I might give the other test a try down the road, as I don’t know much about my medical history .. but for now, this is just one more piece in the “lemme in the UK” dossier I’m building just in case. Also, is cool. And I got to spit in a tube! Totally worth it.

going green

I am trying to be logical about this. It wouldn’t have worked out anyway. I’ve known for months it wasn’t going to happen. I’m super busy, and have a whole lot of things I need to take care of during this time. I just got back from London, which wouldn’t have happened otherwise.

But GODDAMNIT am I ever bursting with envy that we are not in Barcelona right now with half of the people we know and love.

I know that I am ridiculously lucky to do all the travel I do, and I’m super happy I got to spend two weeks in London in January. We just got back from a weekend in Victoria (which doesn’t count), I’m going to Orlando in a few weeks (this doesn’t really count either, it’s for work), and we leave for Japan in 37 days (in a row). Doing Barcelona again was always a long shot, and this year it didn’t happen .. but many of our friends are there and I’m seeing their posts and I am greenish with envy. Facebook’s helpful new “hey look at these memories” feature is not helping, because I was in Spain this time last year. Also complicating my endless jealousy is Steph’s pictures of London – I know I was just there, but I ALWAYS WANT TO BE THERE.

I grew up a practical sort of dreamer. I spent a lot of time inside my own head dreaming about amazing things (mostly robots), but there was never any sort of longing for what others had that I didn’t. I endured my mother moaning and whining about all the things she would do when she “hit the big one”, and it always seemed incredibly distasteful and a huge waste of time. I don’t spend time thinking what I would do with a lottery windfall, because the odds of that happening are so infinitesimally small. Plus, it just seems .. rude, like you’re not satisfied with the life you have and can only be happy when presented with MORE. I know that’s my broken childhood talking, but it still stands: I’ve never wasted time on jealousy for what others had/have that I don’t. If I want it badly enough, I can make it happen.

That’s all fine and good, until I discovered the one thing that makes me ache with longing: BEING SOMEWHERE ELSE. I am jealous of people who are SOMEWHERE ELSE. It is a weird and uncomfortable feeling complicated by the knowledge that I am frequently SOMEWHERE ELSE myself, and should focus on my own trips instead of being wistful about others. The logic isn’t really helping though; it’s just making me petulant and cabin fevery. Which is dumb. I best check myself, lest I wreck myself.

Victoria was half dutiful and half super fun. Our hotel room had ants. I am still hella torn on whether I want to move back to the island. I sometimes wish I had a more traditional relationship with my mother, who is apparently Catholic now. I got to spend some time in front of some crashing waves, and I could have happily stayed there all day edging ever closer to the water. Once again, we swore we’d ride our motorcycle/scooter to Victoria some time this summer. We found a new favourite breakfast joint, took my mother out for dinner twice, and met her Gentleman Friend. We drove past my old house and I creepily took pictures of it. It brought up a lot of weird conflicting feelings.

I am hungry.

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mrw i think about SOMEWHERE ELSE

milk pulp

What. The fuck. Is “Milk Pulp”.

Google fails me on this. I found some at a local Chinese-disguised-as-Japanese grocery store, and was too curious to pass it by. Plus, super cute:

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i ate one before i realized i didn’t know what it was

Also, discounted. If there’s one thing I love, it’s mystery food on sale because it’s about to expire! Sign me the fuck up! I bought a fresh one, then the two remaining price-slashed orange ones because tiny jars featuring faithful elephants are my fucking JAM.

Which is appropriate, as these mysterious things were labeled as “Milk Pulp with Jam”. What does that mean? Nothing in my random Asian heritage foretold of milk pulp, or why it was served with “jam”. It wasn’t really jam, it was more like a compote. Milk Pulp with Compote, Nature *AND* Human.

Every search for “milk pulp” resulted in information about almond milk and what to do with all the dry, dusty almond schmutz leftover from the milking. This was definitely a dairy product (and almonds weren’t a listed ingredient), so I didn’t think I was dealing with some sort of vegan goo. The lack of available information annoyed me, so there was really only one thing left to do: eat it and see what happened.

Nothing really happened, other than my still being alive and not knowing what milk pulp is. Near as I can figure, it’s .. Chinese flan? Maybe a little more solid than flan. Chinese pannacotta? Is that a thing? Whatever it was, it was pretty good. The orange goo turned out to be mango (always a bonus), and the dark stuff is blueberry. I was worried it was going to be cottage cheese or something because of the fruit, but was pleased at the (still mysterious) reality. Would totally milk pulp again, if I can get over my frustration at not knowing what it is. Good practice for Japan, I suppose.

We’ve been experimenting with different foods around the house, and last night I roasted some brussels sprouts. They turned out fucking amazing, so I’m posting what I did here mostly for my own memory:

  • Turn oven on to 425
  • In a bowl:
    • Buncha sprouts: wash ’em, trim off the ends, and cut them in half
    • Lots of garlic
    • Olive Oil
    • Salt and pepper
  • Stir them up until they’re all coated and junk. If you like things hot, add peppers. I used crushed chilies because I use them in everything, and it was lovely.
  • Spread the oily spouts out onto a baking sheet.
  • BACON! Add lots and lots of bacon. I don’t actually buy rashers anymore, we get these from Costco. They’re pre-cooked, but not as cooked as I would like – so I just tossed a couple of handfuls right onto the sprouts so they get extra crispy and delicious. Also, the fat from the bacon lubricates the brussels sprouts, so you can use a great deal less olive oil than usually recommended (I’ve seen anywhere from 1/4 cup to 1/2 cup; I used a couple of tablespoons worth)
  • Bake for about 30-35 minutes, until the sprouts are tender and charred
  • Squeeze lemon juice on the sprouts
  • Drizzle with a balsamic glaze which is super handy to always have on hand because it’s delicious and goes with everything
  • Liberally apply parmesan cheese (fresh grated if you’ve got it, but anything other than the cardboard shelf cheese)
  • Sprinkle fresh cilantro on the whole mess (sorry Shan)
  • Chow the fuck down

They were super easy and so, so good. Will definitely be doing them again.

Adulting with vegetables!

a medical degree in fashion from france 

Over the weekend, I passed my two year anniversary of that time I almost died all over the place.  

I actually didn’t give it a single thought until it popped up on my Facebook feed as a memory I might want to revisit (thanks .. ?), which is actually kind of excellent. I mean, I’m not totally fixed yet – I’m still taking 85 pills a day (aka 7, three of which are not even related to my heart) and experiencing an occasional side effect or two – but my forgetting the Incident means that my health continues to be so much better that I have the luxury of not dwelling on it. Does that make sense? It does to me, but I have a headache and words don’t make sense anymore, so ymmv. 

I continue to be grateful and hashtag blessed that my life not only continues, but is filled with so much fun and ridiculousness that a lesser Kimli could literally not even. 

the amount of pleased i am is the precise amount this carved ivory baby is not.

out tonight (meow)

Tonight I am going Out. It doesn’t really matter where, and it likely isn’t what you’re picturing – but I will be Outside and it will be dark and cold and probably pretty awesome because I’m in London, and almost everything is awesome here.

I’ve been working remotely (err, even more remotely) this week, which basically means I’ve been keeping some pretty strange hours. I’ll usually wake up in the morning, work for a couple hours, go out for a bunch of exploring and museuming, then come back and work in the evening so I can get some hours in while the NA peeps are around. It’s not a bad arrangement, but I am really looking forward to closing my laptop as soon as my 8am meeting is done and heading to the waterfront so I can gaze lovingly at some fancy structures while dodging Aggressive Shrek and tourists with poor (selfie) stick control.

Since I decided I was going out tonight, I’ve had Out Tonight stuck in my head. I do want to hit the street, but I will refrain from wailing at the moon like a cat in heat because who does that (certainly not this Canadian with severe social anxiety – plz do not look at me unless I am on stage with my boobs out, thx). Other things I will probably not do even though my body’s talking to me, it says “time for danger”:

  • Commit a crime
  • Be the cause of a fight
  • Put on a tight skirt
  • Flirt with a stranger
  • Go some place sick
  • Refer to myself as “chick”; dance in the flames
  • Prowl
  • Be a night owl
  • Take your hand, we’re gonna howl

In retrospect, I have less in common with an HIV-positive Hispanic-American club dancer and drug addict than I thought.

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brick lane street art by @lorazombie

some things are bigger than your fear

I woke up this morning in pretty rough shape*, but I forced myself outside for one (historic, epic, vast) reason. I don’t think the marches outside of Washington DC had been planned when I booked my trip, but that’s the glorious thing about so many people coming together in solidarity – it’s global. Hundreds of thousands (millions?) of women and men marched around the world today to demand women’s rights and protest against Trump and all he stands for, and it was a powerful thing to see. I’ve been on the verge of awed tears all day long (which is kind of exhausting, to be honest), and I wish that I could have been more evolved in the event .. but there are limits to what you can expect from yourself when you’re a) still sick but powering through as best you can, b) terrified of crowds, and c) traveling from afar with no room in your bag for poster board. I’m happy that I made it out, though.

*: I forget to eat when I’m on my own. Forgetting to eat when you’re sick (or, you know, ever) is a bad idea. I promise to be better to myself from here on out. Myself is pretty neat. Myself deserves at least a whole meal per day.

Pictures from today coming soon! In the meantime, enjoy this brilliant drawing by Shing Yin Kor:

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role model. (art by shing yin kor)

postimus prime

Ed surprised me with not one but FOUR amazing new Optimus Prime figures for my Prime Shelf, so clearly a cleaning and reorganization was in order. Behold, then, my Prime Shelves! They aren’t all labeled, but I’ve pointed out some Primes of Note:

bottom shelf

shelf three

shelf two

top shelf


My Optimii please me a great deal.