real talk

2010:

i will have occupied, bustin' my ass days and i will have wake up at 4pm, brush my teeth, and go back to bed with my laptop days. i will go to classy parties with trashy tendencies and have chilly nights where the smoke coming out of my mouth isn't just condensed, cold air.

i will get fucked up and fucked over but never fucked and that's the way i prefer it to be.

i will sign up for more classes than i can handle, but attempt them anyway, and get decent grades putting in a bare minimum of effort. i will not be challenged because i will realize that i learn more from being in the world than reading it from a textbook.

i will celebrate turning 20 without a celebration, remembering the painful way i entered the previous decade and how not too much has changed except a goatee. i will unfairly hope for a phone call on this day but it won't come and i will be sad even if i shouldn't.

i will get angry and i will get emotional but i dont expect the same degree of happiness as i had last year. i will continue to lose my faith in humanity but i will try, i HONESTLY WILL TRY, to remain optimistic. i will meet new people, but secretly hate them because they will cheat on their wives and husbands in the future and hurt their loved ones, but i hope i will meet the hopeful (not the foolish) few who still are optimistic about love and life, to show me what there is to look forward to.

i will go to the gym, but inconsistently, and get toned, but still look like a boy.

i will go on dates but will only quickly realize what a terrible idea it was because of the paltry conversation and the hungry look in his eyes. i will realize that i need to be with a man rather than a boy, but boys are all that i'm surrounded with. i will think about bringing one to my bed, but never act on it because i will realize i am not made for cheap sex unlike most people.

i will attempt to blog again, but i will continue to be unsatisfied with my work, like with many other things in my life.

i will tell people that 2010 is a new year and will carry new possibilities and better times, but honestly, i don't think that at all. it already feels old and retread to me.

ultimately, 2010 will be just another 365 sunrises and sunsets, another 360 degrees around the sun.

so before it has a chance to say it to me, i'll say it first: fuck you, 2010.

& the frog

i need to take care of me:
what do i want?
what do i need?

i need to start thinking about
me and my wants.
it's not healthy
living for
everyone else.

i need to have wants.
and be a little more
selfish.

two.

quel jour, quelle journée.

forty-love

congratulations, you win. you broke my heart again.

deux

quatre jours jusqu'à mon coeur cassera.
je n'avais pas oublié. pas encore. jamais encore.

qu'est-ce qu'on aurait fait?
quelque chose. toutes les choses.
tous qui à moi
sont les memoires
les possibilitiés
les espoirs
les rêves.

dis-moi,
avais-tu oublié?
oublierais-tu?
oublieras-tu?

dis-moi, dis-moi.

caramel

I submitted my UC application two nights ago. I don't know how I feel about it. I don't want to transfer as much anymore. But we'll see how things go.

---

It's December. My days are ending later and later. Or rather, the sun has set earlier and earlier. While I walk back to my dorm, the hole becomes more palpable. It's then that I realize that it's still there and can hurt just as strongly as when it was made.

I've changed and can only transfigure from this state. There's no reversal.

thanks-living

I didn't learn that mashed potatoes were made from actual potatoes til well into my teens. The only time I ever had it was at Thanksgiving and even then it only ever came out of a box. When I told my friends as a child, they would laugh. What family has Thanksgiving dinner out of a box?

I didn't understand their laughter. I didn't understand my television as well. These depictions of Thanksgiving were nothing like what I had at home. What were China dinner plates, skins on potatoes, or cranberry sauce? What does a large family gathering feel like? Why's everyone so excited about football? Hell, I'm still confused over the concept of 'stuffing'.

---

Today, I woke up early to pick up my sister from BART. I passed by our four seater kitchen table to see that our boxed Thanksgiving was well on its way to completion: the potato flakes were being poured out of its box, the gravy powder was becoming gelatinous brown liquid on the stove, a pyramid of canned corn was waiting to be opened, and the turkey had been cut out of its Popeye's bag, reheating nicely in the oven.

I returned an hour later with my sister, completing the sextet. Some on kitchen chairs while others on dirt-encrusted fold-outs, my father passed around styrofoam plates heaped with misshapen cuts of poultry and deep brown gravy. Heinekens and generic citrus sodas were brought to the table. Opting for water, I searched the grimy kitchen for a clean cup -- even after a vigorous wash I could still taste the thick mahogany paint that had accumulated inside the cabinet. I sat directly in front of the aquarium; one of the many thirty cent goldfish my father bought bimonthly to replace the dead was stationary save for its desperately gaping mouth just beneath the water's surface. It would be this goldfish's time soon.

Around the table, we brought our stories of success: an impending master's degree, passing math classes, friends to go clubbing with. But this year, the conversation became a little more exciting. Being 19, I was old enough enter the backstage of family affairs and listen in on all the gossip. My mother came alive with hidden family anecdotes: secretly, we all wanted our cousins to marry a Southern Vietnamese person. With every Bắc Kỳ introduced into the family, the rest of the relatives would sigh with disappointment, but accept them nonetheless. But hey, at least they weren't Chinese. Oh yeah, and as long as they weren't fat, either.

Upon speaking of the Chinese, my sister talked about her weekly volunteer work: serving food to the poor in San Francisco. These lines would be filled with people, bundled up in gathered knits, bags of plastic in hand, eager to be fed only one meal. The Asian families -- regardless of ethnicity -- would beam at the sight of her, come up to her, and ask to cut in line. Occasionally, she would get an old Vietnamese man who would smile his toothless smile and speak to her about the old country, about how much of a success she was, and how proud her parents must be of her. My parents, upon hearing this story, would laugh uproariously hearing how those Chinese would try to procure a better place in line.

I chuckled along with them, but I watched their eyes as they laughed. It was a laughter too hearty, a laughter that lasted too long. It tapered off with an air of anxiety, coupled with too exaggerated a movement. I knew: the laughter was a mask. They weren't laughing at the sheisty Chinese or the toothless old Vietnamese man, at the large plastic bags filled with soda bottles or the child with holes in his shoes, they were laughing at themselves. In hearing this story, they remembered their own image not so many decades ago: a family of three then, bundled with gathered knits, a seven year old in both hands, warmth shared with fingers interlocked. They laughed heartily and loudly to forever chase this specter away, for poverty feared the uproarious joy that came with comfort, community, togetherness, and love.

I understand why the kids laughed at me back in the day but I understand why my parents laugh as well. So I'll take my pre-made turkey on the styrofoam plates and the flaky boxed potatoes. So as long as I laugh, I'll love and chase that specter away.

movement

apps are due in a week. i haven't started.

let's elaborate on this. getting involved here at ucla has been nothing but positive. very positive. i'm making friends. i'm making mistakes. i'm having experiences. i've reverted in maturity because i was tired of being different.

i think being a part of a team has changed me the most, though. i've never been a team player. i've never relied on, or wanted to rely on anybody else. i've scoffed at displays of collective joy and work because i saw those people as weak, as needing to find a sense of family on their own because they couldn't part away from that.

i prided myself on the fact that i could live without family. i loved my family, yes, but i was able to fly on my own. function on my own. i had a taste of what family was like with you, but when i lost that, i needed to find that sense of family elsewhere.

i think being on modern is quickly filling that gap. i love dancing. even more, i love dancing with people. i like the idea of performing and even if the rest of the world looks down on us, i'm still having an amazing experience.

so i guess i feel like it's okay that i may not send in those applications.

meteors

but are only dirty snowballs. thick masses of space dust disintegrating with every kilometer they burn forward. death in progression, a purely destructive show of the laws of physics. a shower is a misnomer: you're lucky to catch one or two in the corner of your eye. planes are more reliable to catch. hardly any of this is romantic. it's an excuse to sit in the cold, snuggle, and incite intimate conversations with another human being with the pathetic hopes of something more by the end of the night -- a touch, a kiss, ruffled sheets. beneath the infinite darting pupil of the heavens, no topic is too far-fetched: all words are fair and invited. what better is this than the golden desert, the horizon jittering with nuclear sun rays? what better is this than a stinking swamp, its frothy green surfaces alive with microbial activity? what better is this than the gray cityscape, neon car lights making an ant-line down a freeway?

so i didn't want to go see these meteors, even if i was invited.

but i can't help but wonder if you're watching them as well, and with who, and if you're sitting in the cold, snuggling and inciting conversation. and i can't help but wonder if we'll catch the same one in the corner of our eyes, even though we're separated miles and hearts apart. and i can't help but wonder if you'll remember only a glimmer of our memories when you catch that meteor that i just caught because i swear to god that for every damned star up there, i could name at least one amazing night, one amazing memory i had with you -- memories without the aid of meteors.

for a second i'm tempted to accept an invitation to watch the speeding space dust, and pretend to be a romantic again, just to entertain the thought that we'd be wishing on the same one. for some odd, twisted reason, that thought would make me feel better, knowing that we'd be watching the same meteor. for a fleeting second, i could pretend that you were me and i was you and we were one and that would make the entire night of phoniness so, so much more valuable.

but i decided not to, for these thoughts are just as falsely romantic as the burning rocks we gaze upward to watch. they mean nothing: they are what they are, nothing more, nothing less. i don't know what you think and you don't know what i think. and just like us, they disintegrate with every kilometer they blaze forward, dying in their own progression until only a thick, icy core is left.

i want to believe i've burnt out, having only my icy core leftover: let those wishes remain wishes, i tell myself. tonight i will stay in, shut my curtains, and sleep then.

but alas, those wishes turn into dreams and i leave consciousness with just a heavy heart as i entered it.

i suppose i'm more than just an icy core.

camera

i wanted a digital camera for my birthday over a year ago to keep track of all the wonderful memories and things i was experiencing.

if brian wasn't using it, my camera's pretty much been in my drawer for the last three months, gathering dust.

delegate

weeks without a word
but not a day without a thought
what i sleep to
is what i wake up to
no matter what happens in between.

how low

i didn't quite want to, but in the end, i have no argument against it.
give in to collective joy
there doesn't need to be
an intimate attachment.

i hope it goes well in the end.

aimless?

and you're going where exactly? looks like a trip to the free clinic, i think. don't know if that sisterhood is taking you anywhere.

episodes

the truth comes out when you're inebriated.

and the truth is, my soul's broken.

love's not formulaic.

well shit

i woke up in a pool of my own vomit.

but im alive.

O

Sometimes I wish I could start over. Do it again. Do it right. I promise I will.

I'm sorry for a lot of things. Like being bitter sometimes. It's just a way of dealing with the emptiness.

The emptiness is tenable.

Nous me manqueons. Un peu, en plus.

domingo

Bunched up, it forms some kind of coherent shape. A body, a trunk. Maybe some form of a head. Either way, it's enough so I could wrap my arm around it.

Bring it close to my chest. I just want the feeling of the fabric against at least a square inch of my body. I can't have it cover my entire body because it can't be my only source of comfort anymore. I can't let it be. That hole has grown emptier as more dreams fade away.

But dreams are still nice to have and it's still nice to dream. So lately I've been sleeping more, dreaming new dreams that won't ever come true.

---

super saturday

It was great seeing the students again. It reaffirmed why I wanted to go into education: to help underprivileged kids find a way to college, to find a passion of their own.

I spent the rest of the weekend with Brian. It was pleasant. Saw VI was a decent movie. I purchased a new pair of frames for ten dollars.

Pleasant. Nice. Fine.

I was hardly able to sleep Sunday night, though. New environment. New implications. Many things kept me up. Changes. Consistencies. Expectations. Disappointments.

What much else can I say?

---

stare medusa right into
her bloodshot eyes
gazing into a monster
to become a monster
and die a little inside.

blood stops
the heart hardens
keep staring until
every last fiber
becomes stone.

50%

I find that I'm becoming more of a sociologist than a writer
the more that I participate.

sand

I called my mom today. She told me that she was up until 11:45 last night, contemplating calling me because I forgot to. She ended up not doing it because she was scared that I would be mad.

She wants me to call everyday. I don't know if I should be worried about this. On one hand, she's a mom and moms care. On the other hand, I've been away from home for about two years now and still wants me to call every day. I wonder if my sister (who's been away from home for like 7 years now) still calls every day. Is it me? Or is she like this to all of us?

It worries me because I start to think that she's emotionally dependent on me when I hear things like this. She's bipolar, so I don't know what crazy things she'll do.

Seeing her react this way reminds me -- to some extent 00 of how I was when I was with you. Stepping back, I see how it can be suffocating. But at the same time, I feel like my reasons were different than my mom's.

Seriously though, our conversations are trifling. Aside from the unusual admission that she contemplated calling me, we spent 1 minute confirming the things I did today:

"You went to class today?"
"Yeah."
"You went to work today?"
"Yeah."
"You ate today?"
"I ate earlier."
"Okay bye."

I love my mom and I don't dread our calls, I just wonder what'll happen when I get caught up in my own thing.

Are all moms like this? It doesn't have to be a call. It can be emails or texting.

these things

This whole week was all about socialization and expanding my networks.

It's been well expanded. Time to get back to work.

Also, it's hard to run. :(

swagga

Did you laugh? I did, at first. Let's dissect why I found it funny.

A fight on public transportation in broad daylight. Both individuals are women: one of whom looking like my mother when she first came to this country and hardly able to speak a lick of English (save for the all important curse words, of course), the other a business ready black woman. Black woman instigates the fight. Asian mother wins it.

I don't know how I feel about this. Superficially yeah, it's hilarious.

It violates quite a number of the behaviors, impressions we expect to see from these 'types' in society:

• Two adults acting like children - we wouldn't expect adults to behave this way publicly
  
• Asian woman being aggressive - we wouldn't expect this old Chinese woman to hit back
  
• Black woman dressed properly - we wouldn't expect a black woman dressed the way she is to instigate a fight
  

Yeah, these can be denied, but I'm taking this from personal experience. That's not the point though.

In the end, it made me sad to see how people regressed to pounding each other with fists on a public bus. It made me sad that I found it funny at first. It also made me sad that race is clearly an issue here. Whether it actually was or not is irrelevant now; people are going to make it a race thing.

my empty soul is electrified
and i feel alive and well

one day ill be up there
mic in hand
speak words from the soul

but for now ill just write
until im ready.

self improvement

in pursuit of truth,
no door left unopened.
tear down this kingdom
of piss and shit
with his hands and fingernails.
at the end there's

keyhole left.
it ends here.
gaze inside
and stare the beast i

n the eye.
he sees a beast
but who is it
other than his own wretched soul
adorned with a crown of latex and lint
the king of his kingdom

of piss and shit.
for having murdered
all citizens
he himself
is the last one
and now owns the crown.

wait, leave this door locked.
walk out the palace
and let this land be.

--

So I've been trying pretty hard to expand my range of activities during these first few weeks. Finding an interest and a group of people that I could jive with, you know? So far, I've committed to primarily culture clubs: UKS and VSU. Culture's a pretty easy common ground and I've wanted to live my life as a nomad so this works out pretty well.

So far, UKS is pretty cool. I really like the people here. Everyone's from Long Beach, a city which I really like because it reminds me of home. The club's also small, which is a plus.

VSU's stuff starts up this week and so does CAPSA. CAPSA, I'm tempted to go to the spits on Tuesday just to expose myself to that new world. Or remind myself of my middle school self, when I was really into freeform and spoken word poetry. I thought I was so cool reading the stuff during lunch lols.

I'm staying away from the interest/hobby clubs because honestly, I don't have much of a strong interest in anything because I'm interested in everything. I'm really a dilettante.

I've also been to the gym about 5 out of 7 days this week. I definitely see progress already, mainly because I eat like a vegan yoga instructor. Although I look more toned, I'm hardly at all bigger. Because yes, I eat like a vegan yoga instructor. It's not my fault that I'm just not hungry most of the time.

I feel like my form's all wrong in the gym, though. Or I'm not doing things in the correct amount of sets or reps. Oh well. Overtime, I'll set a schedule for myself and figure out what works and what doesn't. I'd post a picture of progress but that's skanky. I can see the top two stacks of abs though. It's been years since that's happened. Oh yes, and I can make myself have cleavage if I tried really hard (and recently worked out).

But half of body sculpting is diet and again, my diet's not great. I need to supplement it or at least make it more consistent. I have two meals a day and I'm done. Both my meals combined would probably make one normal person's meal. I've been supplementing with a multivitamin but I think I need some extra protein and creatine as well.

Anyway, week ahead looks shitty. I dread my Arabic class. I've already started to sleep in my sociology class. Guh. On the school front, things ain't lookin' so pretty.

snow

i can't believe i'm here. so many familiar faces. great to see you. how are you. yeah im good. waiting on a couple of job offers to go through. those your kids? thats adorable. ha its so crazy right? i didnt think itd ever happen either.

god we're so old.

bowties. on the people.

remember. smile. shake some hands. take some pictures.

music's going. ha. classic tune. everyone's getting up and dancing. of course. gotta do the same. its fun. first smile in a while.

i wonder when the last time this was listened to. il est temps.

sit down. the stars of the show are coming.

ha everyone's matching in different ways.

of course, wouldn't expect anything less.

more familiar faces. some not so familiar. some only familiar on the internet after clicking. browsing.

then the stars. la raison d'etre.

both look good. but there goes that sharp feeling again. o god. why. i told myself no. i never really know what to call it. its sharp but its empty too. i just know it makes me lose my breath.

recall a dead little dream ten years ago.

and im lost. gotta get up. gotta go.

turn off the camera. hey i gotta go to the bathroom. ill be back.

i can't stay for long.

wish i did the right things.

wish i said the wrong ones.

wishes. wishes.

oh yeah. gotta drop it off. forgot to leave the package on the table of gifts. ok not too painful. dont look at me. im just going to the bathroom. sorry for interrupting.

i know what theyre thinking. and theyre right. i cant go back.

its a snowglobe. small. didnt cost more than 15 dollars.

and leave.

what am i doing.

im so sorry i ever came.

this is so depressing. im in one of the stalls. i should go. or something

.

its so dirty in here. who etched their number on the wall? thats pretty funny. ok im going to my car. i remember how to drive back home right?

oh god its her. why is she here? smile. swallow. think about something fun and cute. like puppies.

i never took care of dogs too well.

no im okay. yeah really. im just gonna go to the car real quick and get something. ill be back. you should be back inside. you of all people. dont worry about me, seriously. thanks though. no no ill be back. really.

ok im losing it. hurry up and walk into the car. its so hot today. i want to get this fucking jacket off me. get this fucking fabric off my skin.

there it goes. its not enough. its like being in a straight jacket. untucking the shirt. undoing hours of getting ready.

my hands are on the wheel now. im glad i didnt bring anyone.

ok keys are in. cant turn back now. but i kinda do want to. to stay all the way through.

no. cant do it.

backing up.

drive away. from the little chapel.

sorry

crime

UC applications came out this week. I haven't registered a username yet.

Last year, I filled out an application but never submitted it.

If I get into my major here, I'll graduate a year early. If I transfer, I'm looking at possibly another year somewhere else.

Another year, another set of loans.

I don't want to be a fifth year. I feel like I'm over 'college'. I want to get away from being a student.

But then I'm questioning a lot of things about my education. If I graduate a year early, what do I do then?

What happens after?

Do I keep going to school?

Do I start applying for jobs that I'll be stuck with for the rest of my life?

Loans. Gotta start paying those off, too.

I feel like it should scare me. The fact that once I go, I'll be gone should terrify me.

But it doesn't. Even though I don't have much a direction right now, I feel like wherever I land, I'll take root and do extraordinarily well, just as I do with everything else.

I feel like I need to devote myself to something new.

everyone and everything and the world

look at the time. thats me.

look back three years from now. ten. twenty. how do you feel? are you going to be okay? are you going to cringe? are you still wearing that cardigan?

think about it. can't ignore it. ignore it for a while and it'll haunt you forever. chase you down in your dreams. shoot your leg. kick your dog. eat your last piece of good beef that you were saving for later. can't confront your demons. i am the demon catcher. dont turn away. grab it by the horns. or else the devil will get you.

demon catcher. psychic. i told you right? dont forget your jacket. its gonna get cold.

told you so.

some stirring behind some doors. bend over and cup an eye around its keyhole. what the fuck is going on there. see a key underneath the mat. who the hell left this here? shady business. key fits though.

yeah you didnt want to see what was going on. who wants to see a baby corpse riddled with maggots and a bunch of twisted fucks hammering it with their shovels? they're pouring the entrails down their shirts and pants. freaks. ask them what the fuck is going on. not afraid of this. just sneering in disgust. talk to them. stare them straight in the eye.

everyone's dead. everyone's gone. oldass pictures all wrinkled with holes in the corners because of the pushpins and the yellow adhesive on the backing. didn't you realize that the tape's gonna eat it through? fucking idiot. what the hell do you have?

the mirror's cracked. what the fuck are your hands doing? shit, i hope that's not another crust. it probably is though. never got rid of it the first time, did you? i know what that is around your eyes though. those are wrinkles. yeah. hey, it looks like a crow stepped on your face, man. push aside those dirty sheets because its probably time to ogle at the high school boys again. internet. interwebs. intersphere. interreality. whatever the fuck it is now.

22. 26. 29. 35. 39 is the new 22, did you hear? yeah, its the botox. oh and the divorces. everyone gets divorced. some just get married the first time knowing its gonna end and they just wanna get it over with. sure. fantastic. bigger window of fuck ups.

what the fuck is a fuck up anyway. i cant figure out what it is anymore. the kids probably know better. ask one of em. but then they might point at you and thats pretty embarrassing isnt it. yeah, i think i would turn a little red.

go do whatever it is you do to get money. hit up the bars after work. old cougar. keep on coasting.

i dunno though. i put on my cardigan and feed the cat because it's a little cold outside and chairman mao is getting anxious. gotta fill his bowl before i go to the annex. painting and drawing today.

look in the mirror. wheres he? nah he's dead and gone. its ok. we all morph. like butterflies. except you are a fly.

cringe. i dont know if i will. i dont know if i want to. whether to seize an opportunity just because i can or whether to be consistent with my morals and my behaviors throughout life. i have an excuse now. do i want to take it?

you see, everyone will say hey, go ahead and be a fuckup. it's okay. you're only a college student. but is that me? can i really live with what everyone else is doing?

when everyone's fucking up it's kinda hard not to join the party. just so you aren't so lonely.

there was a time when i wouldn't have minded living vicariously. i wouldn't have minded taking all those excuses of youth. i was young, once. i was fucking ready to take on the world. but i held back out of respect. i absorbed a set of morals. and now im all screwed up. cant get those settings back in place.

how long can you coast directionless, without sails or a light, before you crash against a sea cliff and splinter into a thousand worthless pieces?

keep listening to that sweet siren's music. scylla's waiting to eat you up.

i know what i want.
i know i shouldn't have it though.
but god, is it so easy to get here.

it makes me smile.
it keeps me asleep.
i eat well.

but god, do i feel so much more intensely for those few hours.
i forget a lot of things
but afterward it's a painful low.
so i gotta sleep.

hey, if everyone fucks up, right? might as well get in line for scylla. everyone else is.

the power to make and destroy, huh? stare into the monster long enough and you become one. kill the monster and open him up and release the virus and create new ones.

i'm like shiva. but without the hands.

cock masted like a pathetic little soldier. see a moving creature and you want to beat it with your first, bite into its shoulder and tear off a piece of meat. hungry. but you want to penetrate it to. all three at once. monster. subhuman. inhuman. but its inside of all of us. so its the most human you can get.

but its primitive. feral. humanity is all about suppressing that monster. so release the monster and you're human and not.

good job.

i need a lighter and some good kindling. reconstruct me bone by bone so i can look in the mirror and cringe.

never cringed before. til now. androgen go genic. gin and tonic. antidote for a fuck up.

vomit and lies.

cover it up.

tell me the bull's blue when its really red.

and got some mad fucking horns.

my mom's got mental disorders and so's my oldest sister. history of chemical imbalances. make me a trend? alright fine. fuckup. its alright, right? college students can fuck up.

where's my lighter, damnit?

god im so --
i can touch the sky

god what did i do
wheres all my hair?
my arms bleeding
so's my lip.

oh i--
im so.
im so.

i am not my hair

This hair is big.

This hair weighs me down.

This hair is not me.

Time to cut it.

I want to cut it all off.

And feel the cold breeze on my scalp.

wheels

If all goes well, I'll receive my zipcar by Week 2.

I can finally start feeling like a human again. Driving around. Going places. Although, paying to rent it out might be a bitch.

I might just make a few new friends this way.

societal lines

i spent a long time not being okay with who i was.
when i learned to love myself, i grew so confident that i didn't realize how quickly i'd been burning.

i've convinced myself that i'm not okay with who i am anymore. if i beat into my head that i'm not good enough, then i'll start working hard to prove that i am. although, it's a little tough to go from confident to not so confident.

so fuck you, world. you win. time to get those wings back and i am going to soar like i did before.

---

end of year goals:

-at least B in Arabic and Poli Sci, B+ in Stats,
-wake up before 12
-expand my group of friends
-lose this belly? :0
-DON'T NAP AS MUCH
-find a reason to like it here.
-work out consistently
-no smoking! tobacco or otherwise.
-learn to drive around in socal?
-do some kind of culture night. or big performance event.
-recultivate sense of leadership that i lost.

wha?

why bother?
but thanks for bothering.

ripped

On his celestial way, a glimmer in the pale turquoise and olive drab marble below hooked this fleeting demigod's eye and he paused to peer into the world of the mortals. Such curiosity, such beauty, such a new force shook him from his core and electrified his very soul! Enticed, he leaned forward, eager to scoop his hands into the dreary pool and claim the jewel as his own.

He put down his staff. He shed his robes. He bent low on his knees and reached as far as his god-sculpted arms allowed him. Still, he was unable to reach the coveted jewel. If he were to retrieve it, he would have to dive face first and land his two feet on dirt. Soil. Filth.

No problem, he thought. Many had done it before him. But he had never done this before. Only seen others.

Wasting no time, he took a dive, but his form was all wrong. Though a demigod he was, he was not blessed with all the knowledge the heavens held.

So he fumbled. He fell. He twirled in the air and the harsh winds blew him off course, though he fought hard to stay on his path. The closer he burned toward earth, the quicker his feathers disintegrated until there were only gaping red wounds where his shoulder blades were.

He hit rock. He hit trees. He landed and tumbled. He was bruised and broken, wings ripped from his back, but found himself at his jewel, at a village on the beach.

However, he found it was not a jewel, but human whose song scintillated brighter than any precious stone.

And when his appearance, haggard and bloody, lead the human to forsake him, he protested. But the human wouldn't have it, seeing him as not the demigod he claimed to be, or ever could be. Thus, the demigod had no choice but to leave. Wings ripped, cold and alone, he then looked up the sky, cried a terrible scream, and begged to be taken back.

But his cries were unanswered and he put one foot in front of the other, toes stained with filth and blood, eyes drawn either to the sky or to the village on the beach.

And so he wandered the earth, looking for a home that wasn't his.

--

This wasn't supposed to be a story. I had a longer blog (much longer), but it got deleted during a crappy internet connection. I'm slowly working on rewriting it. It's pretty much this without all the heavy handed metaphor.

segment

Visiting Irvine was really nice because:

1. I got to go off campus


2. I got to be in a car (which gave me the feeling of greater control)


3. I got to hang out with Brian. It made me see that the world doesn't end and things don't change dramatically even when I come back to school. A sense of stability.

Anyway, it was nice. Very very nice.

---

I get impatient with my parents. Whenever they call, I speak to them harshly, wanting the conversation to pass as quickly as possible.

I know it's bratty and I shouldn't be. I'm pretty lucky to have two parents who care enough to call.

It's only when I imagine myself in their position do I start to realize it though. Among the many things I need to work on changing, this is up there.

---

I still read the card. It's almost two years old but I still like looking at it. Helps me sleep at night. The rational is that I'll tell myself whatever I gotta tell myself to make the days connect.

---

I feel like I've regressed in terms of maturity. I've lashed out more. I've been more moody. I don't care about a lot of things. I'm jaded. I'm feeling a lot of things that I didn't get to feel in high school.

I hope at least this one is accompanied by a growth spurt.

my lie

Every time I think I’m okay, it ambushes me from behind. It trickles up from my core and settles into my eyes where it stings all throughout my spine and my limbs. It comes in waves. A sudden shock right through my chest, my breath is stolen from me and my vision is misty. It’s crippling.

I’m reminded over and over again that I’m not where I want to be, that things are completely different, that the life has become a lie.

But I can’t live without it. I need to lie to myself to get through the fucking day.

---

6:45 a.m. I woke up to a gentle nudge on my shoulder. "Trungy! It's time to get up!" An alarm clock I could ignore. A dino, not as easy. “Crane?”

"Ten more minutes," I groaned, rolling up in the sudden extra amount of space.

"Trungy," More insistently. I whimpered in response. Fine. I’ll get up.

Relenting, I popped up from underneath the comforter. Rubbing the stardust out of my eyes, I left a peck on Dino’s cheek before hopping through the mess that was his floor. I threw a shirt over my sticky back. It was the black In the Groove shirt. Oh well. I’ll change when I get there.


8:00 a.m. – 12:45 p.m. A good half hour past our intended departure time, we found ourselves by the garage, backpacks in hand, feet in our shoes. Dino’s parents were ready to send us off. A peck and some words here, I stood awkwardly behind him. Dino’s mom came up to me, hugged me tight and whispered something in my ear.

“Take care of him.” She gave me a soft smile. I nodded. There was nothing else I wanted to do more.

On the drive, we recollected old memories about Breakthrough to keep ourselves awake. Every now and then, I would try to sneak in a ‘who would you rather do?’ question, but those were met by groans of disapproval. We’d drive by a cow or a horse and I pointed out each one of them.

As the pungent scent of the Central Valley begins to circulate through the car, I ask, “Dino, did you beep?” full well knowing the answer.

He gave the expected response, followed by me grabbing one of Dino’s mom’s cakes wrapped in some plastic. I hold it up to Dino’s nostrils while we drive through the stinky cow territory.

The drive is always my favorite. I liked watching the scenery and holding Dino’s hand. These are times where we just talked about anything and everything.


7:45 p.m. Everything is packed away in my dorm room. Number 360. The night is still young, though, so Dino and I decide to venture off to a mall that we haven’t been to: Koreatown Galleria.

“Asian shit?” Dino complains.

“But it’s the only one that’ll be open past 9! Besides, the ITG machine is broken here and—“

“Okay we’ll go. But not because of the ITG machine being broken. I don’t care about that.”

I quickly scribble down directions. We were off in minutes. Not before Dino checked his hair, and made a few faces in the mirror, though.


8:30 p.m. The cute Korean gift shop caught my eye as I ran toward it.


“Dino, look!” I pointed. “It’s a donut! It's as big as my head! It's for you! Let’s go in.” I went inside, looking for other fun things to point out.


“Why are they selling pills in here?” I pick one up and show it to Dino. “Teaching kids how to abuse medication. Typical LA.”



“I think you need a new steering wheel cover.” Of course he doesn’t. I just thought they looked ridiculous.


“Mmmmmhmmm. You know she got junk in her trunk!”


And of course, no visit to a shop would be complete without a dino reference. I just pick it up and show it to Dino in awe.

“Dino, can we buy it?!”

“Trungy, no! What is it anyway? You won’t even use it.”

“But there are dinos on it.”

“Silly Trungy. Put it back!”

I put it back. We leave the gift shop empty-handed but with new inside jokes. The next stop, of course, is the food court.

We ordered dumplings and steak fried rice. As soon as we get the order, Dino starts to calculate.

“Trungy, I can finish each one of these in one bite. How many are you going to have? There should be enough for five dumplings each.”

“Hungry Dino. I think I’ll have three.”

“Okay, good.”

Of course, I end up eating four but I give Dino the rest of the rice to compensate.



11:24 p.m. “Dino! Let’s watch a myth arc. We can finish it when we move everything into your apartment tomorrow.”

I popped in X-Files into my laptop. I insisted on watching a myth arc, even though I knew I never stay awake during them. That was okay, though. I can rewatch anything I missed tomorrow night. Or the night after. Or the night after that. I had a few days in Irvine to look forward to after this.

As the credits played and Mulder and Scully embarked on their adventure, I wrapped my arm around Dino’s middle and rest my head against his side, kissing the fabric of his shirt. Snuggling close, I mutter a quick “I love you, Dino.”

“Love you too, Trungy,” the warm response.

I close my eyes.


I wake up. The first thing I see is my laundry basket heaped full of disheveled clothing. I grasp around me. My curtains. My comforter. My room.

Oh god. I shoot up. I’m in my room and I’m alone. Alone. I look at the clock. It’s 6:45 a.m. I’m supposed to leave for LA in half an hour.

Reality is a painful slap across the face.


What really happened?

I tried to distract myself herbally throughout the car ride but the good feelings lasted only two minutes before a reminder of everything I lost hit me.

My sister, her friend, and I went to Melrose. I left empty-handed. We went to my dorms. I threw everything in the room and shut the door. We went to Koreatown. I left the store every ten minutes because I saw something that would trigger tears.

But mostly, I slept throughout most of my trip back down because I couldn’t take being awake. I dreamt and relived the last night I saw you, the embrace, the tears. The last time I told you I loved you. The last time I saw my Dino.

rebellion

if you ever want to live the lie
i will too.

mindwank

The other night, Brian and I were having a conversation prompted by his paramasturbatory illusions about fate, destiny, and all things cosmic.

There are only a two orders of the universe to which I can fully attest fate as the progenitor: life and death. We had no choice whether we wanted to live and we have no choice whether we want to die. Both things have and will happen.

Even then, those two concepts can be seen as viscerally as simple biological imperative; hardly as fate, but more as one lifelong fight. As sperm, some unseen motivator, some hard wiring in our simple system propels us to that egg, to fight our way to fertilization. We swim furiously toward that ovum, darting past millions of our own brethren, boring our little heads through that barrier whether we are wanted or not, and once we make it we cling furiously to the uterine lining for another nine months.

As living beings, we fight death with our every fiber. We go to school to better our living conditions so that we stay far from death as possible, we aim toward a living that will mean either spiritual or financial wellness, and on our deathbeds, we fight to stay alive (most of the time). We seek fulfillment, we seek to extend our selves through child baring, we travel, we cry, we scream, we love. We attempt to experience and experiment with every possible neuro-chemical combination available to us because in doing so, we ARE living, flaunting the gamut of human emotion.

Fighting, clawing, running, hanging stubbornly, all of that then, is the very manifestation of life. You see a goal, and if you give up on it, then you just didn't want it enough. Even if you get blown off that path you saw for yourself, you could at least say, "Damn, I fought my ass off for that."

It's hard for me to see life as a series of chain links: one singular event that is so greatly influenced by every precluding event. Rather, life makes greater sense to me as a series of self-wrought goals. There is no fate, there is no destiny. There's only where we are versus where we want to be. What we want comes from a human imperative to achieve and distance ourselves from death. The farther you are from death, the more alive you are.

And once you've achieved that which you've wanted, then you can settle into bliss. Numbing happiness. An equilibrium of ups and downs, but in the long run, it's a constant. This'll be addressed later on.

Sometimes, I feel like I might have skipped a step. Now, I'm forced to go back. The problem is, one has melded into the other and created all sorts of confusion.

I know what makes sense rationally. But that really is it. I know it. But it doesn't feel right. Again, it's hard for me to see life as fate, to see life as mathematical and probabilistic.

It's passionate. So I can only do what feels right.

---

I looked through my dad's credit card reports (bad, I know.) The only thing he buys are groceries and gas for the cars. Working. Eating. I wonder if these are the things that makes him happy, or if he's far past the the pursuit of happiness and has settled into mind-numbing day to day living.

hunger

I woke up. It was 11:50 pm. Very little time had passed. I fell asleep in front of my laptop only twenty minutes ago. The only difference between now and then were the numbers on my clock and a blinking new instant message on my screen.

A casual hello from an old friend. Just missed him. Oh well.

Web surfing. Gmail. Cracked. Youtube. Facebook. Clicking ad nauseam. I can check over and over again, but nothing's new. Three minutes later. Time wasn't passing by quick enough. What would I usually do around this hour?

Oh, right. Couldn't do that. I wanted to get out of the house. I interpreted a passing craving for food as an invitation to drive somewhere. I went to Wendy's.

Throw on a cardigan and some slippers. Car rumbling. Almost out of gas. Don't bother with the Ipod. There in five minutes. Junior bacon cheeseburger and fries.

I drove around for a while longer, looking for a place to eat, a place to be. Alone. Somewhere to pass time. A lot of time.

The parking lot outside Walgreen's. A couple of cars here and there. People were in them. Shady business. I move on. Wish moving on were that simple.

I half heartedly come up with a list of places to be. Park. Old high school. Old elementary school. Some neighborhood. Evergreen College. By the time I make a decision, I'm already at my curb.

I could sit on the hood of my car and eat.

Not a good idea. Neighborhood watch has been out. I take my things inside. Open up the door. Sit in the kitchen. A goldfish floating in the aquarium. That leaves two left. Kitchen still smells like rot from the fish sauce bottle I broke the other night. I keep my shoes on. Don't like the feeling of grime on my socks.

Second meal of the day. Or first, if you want to think of it that way. Done in fifteen minutes. It's not even one yet. Time doesn't go by quick enough.

Saturday night I went out to eat. In-N-Out. Sat at one of the counters to myself at 11 pm. The restaurant was relatively empty save for the few familiar late night types.

There's the party girls. Three of em, catching a meal right before heading out. Loud and boisterous. Gold bracelets clanging. Excited about somewhere they're going. Anywhere.

There's the best friends. One called the other. Was bored or sad or hungry. No need to explain the excuse. The other obliged. They're talking about relationships. Or AP Calculus homework. Or something. Anything. They're wearing sweats because they don't need to impress each other.

There's the too-lazy-to-cook guy. Orders. Sits. Texts. And goes. Has a movie waiting for him at home. Or something. Anything.

There's the stoner. He's hungry. Can't decide what he wants. Takes a while, but ends up with two orders of fries and a Neopolitan shake. I'm surprised he pronounced Neopolitan correctly. I know I wouldn't. Smile on his face about something. Anything.

There's the couple. Sitting together. Having their greatest conversations about life over two cheeseburgers, two hamburgers, and two fries. One will bring up the topic of children as a joke. Afraid, he holds the conversation like a precious glass sculpture. Bringing it close to admire, but it's so, so fragile. They'll laugh, but he'll secretly beam inside about something. Anything. Fantasizing. Dreaming. Hoping.

There's the loner. Hunched over his meal. Eyes flitting to the sides of the room. Would give anything to be someone else. Anyone else. He just wants to pass the time because it hurts to exist.

So, so much.

daybreak

Most nights I go to bed thinking, "not tonight."

I've been having the same dream for the last two weeks and a half weeks. Even if an entire day goes by without a fleeting thought of it, my neurochemistry fire down a familiar path of synapses like clockwork. It's almost the most vivid dream of the night. There's always a slight variation in the minute details: the seats are slightly rearranged, the night is slightly colder or hotter, the look occurs or doesn't. They don't affect the final outcome, however: unfinished.

They always end unfinished. I never find out what happens.

Most mornings I wake up thinking "maybe tonight."

you aren't the only one

-is it weird that i am a little sad that you've become a different person and i miss the old trung
-no, i think a lot of people are sad
-okay good

target

I went to Target today because I had nothing else to do. I wanted to drive somewhere and ended up here.

After parking, I ran into this beauty:



Yep. Fox Mulder exists. And he drives a Volkswagen Passat. Anyway, whoever drives this car is awesome.

Initially, I thought I'd get a case and some cleaner for my Macbook Pro and iPod Touch. After looking at the prices (25 bucks for a case D:) I remembered I had an Apple gift card and should visit the Apple store soon.

Then I stalked around looking for other things to buy. I briefly thought about purchasing underwear. Even after looking at their 'fancier' line (Merano or something like that), none of them seemed very pleasant to wear. After snagging a couple of pairs at H&M a year ago, every lower middle-range cost boxer briefs pale in comparison. I want my underwear to fit snugly and have pretty designs for ten dollars :(

As I wandered around, I ran into this:



They're trashcans. Ed Hardy trashcans. Embellishing trash with trash? Ingenious. This recursion is blowing my mind. The best part about them was that they was in the clearance section.

I mosied on over to the fitness section where I looked at all the multivitamins and protein supplements. I think I'm going to buy one of those whey protein bulkers and a shake bottle for when I go down to UCLA. I'm going to set goals for myself: be fit. Yeah. I've realized that I need to grow up and show some respect for my body because I'm not going to be naturally skinny forever. Plus, I need to lose my whole "who the fuck cares about what other people think of me" attitude. That is something I'll address in a later entry.

Also: 15 lb weights = $20 :[ I'm going to have to keep up my work out routine this last week by doing elevated push ups. That, or go to Brian's house more often and use that fun rowing machine.

In the end, I didn't buy a thing. I'm pretty fickle when it comes to purchasing things for myself. If I think about it for more than five minutes, I find some reason to not like it.

I looked at my phone. It was only 6. Gah. I didn't want to go home so early. I eventually settled on browsing the store for another hour and taking more pictures of things I thought were funny. Here are the results:



Lol at: inflatable donkey, target on its ass, child unwittingly performing lewd acts.



Seriously, people need to have their water flavored? This is pretty sad.



I like how it also enhances bust size. Really though, if girls wanted to do this, couldn't they just use a bobby pin or something? Also, wouldn't this make it a bitch to take off a bra? Like in emergency sexual situations?

Guy: -undoes girlfriend's bra hook. bra stays on- Uh.
Girl: Oh! -giggle- Sweetie, wait, hold on. I need to undo my Strap Perfect, too!
Guy: ._.



Yeah, I've seen the commercial and it looks really painful. And terrifying. I was going to text this to Brian, but I thought the Mulder car was enough.



This just kinda looks like a fat chick hugged a tree and Target decided to market it as a utensil organizer. Yeah, that's what it is. A utensil organizer.





This looks like the most kickass game of clue ever. Text messages? Walkie talkies? I would have liked to see Scully and Mulder in here though. OR an "Agent Orange" lols.



It was a book full of these. The top half was empty so that the kid could draw pictures of whatever they wrote. Seeing this made me kinda sad. Made me wish I had kids.

Anyway, I'm supposed to be in Emeryville tomorrow with the Sis. I hope it's still going on. I'm missing Ren Faire in Casa de Fruta for this. We'll see how that pans out.

fade

I haven't had fulfilling sleeps in my room lately: some combination of a bad pillow, bad surroundings, stuffy weather, and negative associations (or lack of associations). Lately, especially, sleeping hasn't gone so well.

So a heavy heart at 4 am took me out of my bed in this squat of a room and, the end of my comforter navigating piles of clothing and papers in disarray on the floor, I slept in the living room for the rest of the night. It was nice. It reminded me of the long days after Breakthrough where I would collapse on the sofa. As far as I remember, there wasn't any tossing and turning. Just sleep. Good sleep.

For about an hour, anyway. An alarm clock from upstairs pricked at my unconscious and left me in that grey area between sleep and awake. Constant, insistent beeps. Annoying, but ignorable. The worst part about it was that nobody turned it off, so it kept going for two hours.

And then came the second alarm clock. This time, it came from my dad's cell phone which he charged in the living room for some reason. Short, shrill sound. Turned off before I had the will to get up and shut it off. The only problem was that it came around every ten minutes.

The next sound that came maybe half an hour later was my mom's urging toward my dad to wake up:

Mom: Get up. You're two hours late for work today.
Dad: Not working the company job today.
Mom: Oh. Nevermind.

The alarm clock was still going. What the hell.

There was a time of maybe another hour where I got in some amount of sleep before another sound filled the house: someone was chopping meat. With a butcher knife. They were clearly hacking through bone. It was my sister preparing curry. Ugh. Couldn't tell that one to stop.

My dad decided at it was also a good morning to do the lawn. So then came the gruff, grisly sound of a diesel powered lawn-mower followed by the even worse leaf-blower.

I got up. Stalked my way back into the room I'd been living in all summer. Crawled into the stuffy bed and tried to sleep.

And then the alarm clock in here decided to go off. Where it was located, I had no clue.

---

This house is noisy, which was why when I had the option, I chose not to be here. Every sound was a reminder that I was still alive, that I still painfully existed. I've been wanting to disappear, allow every last atom to escape, evaporate every last interpersonal link, and fade, fade, fade.

jaded

Everyone is excited to go back. Everyone is excited to forge a new life, or to return to old familiar ones.

I'm not. I dread it.

It's because I know what isn't there: people, a routine, or classes that'll inspire me.

One of my old high school teachers called me jaded. It's true. I'm having trouble reversing it.

I'm looking at photos in the last two years. I looked so happy in them.

halfbaked

The other day, I was having lunch with a former teacher and a couple of old school chums. Journalism reunion, really. I arrived about twenty minutes late, which I'm sure gave them ample time to catch up without me. Confirm rumors. Express disappointments.

Lunch itself wasn't bad, but it reminded me of UCLA's dorm food. Every buffet is going to taste like that for the rest of my life. The conversations touched upon taboo subjects, but only reminded me that I was no longer a student.

The strangest part was when one of them asked me if I were looking forward to seeing all the hot boys back at UCLA.

Odd question. But I'm really not. At all.

schoolin'

So I'm officially enrolled in that last class I need to get in order to declare International Development Studies before the deadline. Good news: I may actually get in and be able to graduate within three years. Bad news: this bumps me up to 20 units. I'll be in class from 8 to 1 and I'll be at work from 1 to 5 every Monday through Thursday.

Busy is good. The worst part of the days are 5 on, though. These are the idle, in-between times where everybody is awake. The sun is out, but gradually weakening.

I stayed in my room. I slept through most of it.

I'm pretty scared of starting school again. No routine. No habits. No foundation. No consistency.

All of it is new. Again.

pink lions

I' ve realized that I have a hard time making friends with other gay guys. It's not a personality thing. It's not a self-hatred thing. It's a competition thing.

It's the same reason why I'm not my best toward people my own age. You size each other up.

It's kinda like how girls don't get along with each other. Similar things happen in the animal kingdom.

valves

What I've come to realize in putting myself back together is that I am not the shell I made myself out to be. I saw other people quantitatively. I saw relationships and friendships on a one dimensional plot: you stick with them until you've gained all that you've needed to gain, and you're done. You are somebody's friend because there is a mutual benefit. You confide in somebody because you need support and the expectation is that you'll be there to give the same.

This isn't right. We'd be dropping friendships like used condoms if it were true. I've ended up with a very unhealthy mindset about people as a result.

Strangers can't do this, I've learned. It's the people you've known, people you've drifted away from who care the most, who are there for you with the fewest ulterior motives.

It's never too late to rekindle an old friendship. I've rekindled a whole forest's worth in the last week.

--
i'm a sensitive bore
...
Never has there ever been a time in my life where I require a valve as I do now. But valves are not to be purchased; they are not to be bartered, nor are they to be improvised. Such valves, such beautiful things, are created. They are created in the maelstroms of the most hostile and most fertile soils that all of humanity has ever experienced and ever will; they are created in the darkest and brightest of human depths; they are created in the arc lamp of two sparking, brilliant souls. These valves: human love and intimacy.
...

reunion

Last weekend was one of the first full Sundays I spent at home in a long time.

My dad came home around 5. Dragging his dirt-stained boots past the threshold, he told me to get dressed. I was in the living room, as awake as I was three hours ago when I first dragged myself out of bed.

We were going to a family get together. A death anniversary. Catholicism with Vietnamese-Buddhist mysticism suggests that in order for an ancestor to be able to ascend into heaven, their children must leave them fruits, incense sticks, and prayers. It's a final responsibility.

Shower. Jeans. Tee shirt. I got ready in fifteen minutes. Ten minutes later, I'm still waiting. Mom's gotta get ready. Twenty minutes later, still waiting. Nephew's gotta get ready. An hour later, my sister gets home. Time to go.

My sister announces she's going to walk and volunteers me. My nephew comes along. My dad puts away the keys. We all walk the two blocks to get there.

When we get to my aunt's house, I navigate the driveway of cars to get to the door. Going in, I don't see anyone.

They're in the back. I forgot my aunt built an extra room specifically for the ping pong table, which could double as a party room.

There were two generations in three different strata: the parents, the toddlers, and the college students-post grads.

There, I had a real conversation with my cousins. The first real one in probably three years.

It was nice. Plenty of food. Meat in all forms. Oysters on the half-shell. Kids loud. Parents chattering. Cousins reminiscing about old times.

My sister's planning to move to Chicago. I don't know the names of my younger cousins.

After that first generation is gone, after those immigrants are all dust, I wonder which one of us will be responsible for making sure their souls are taken care of.

doppelganger

I'm taking your advice. You're right: I need to pick myself up again. After doing that internship in Oct 07, I've lost sight of my career and, in effect, lost a large part of who I was. The only reason why I didn't spiral out of control right afterward was because I had you to keep myself sane. I kept up my grades because of it.

UCLA and Southern California is a toxic place. I need to get out of there. Too many movie studios. Too many clubs. Too many sunny days. Too many fame whores.

I've started on my common application. It's that whole Senior year all over again. This time, there's the heart-wrenching possibility of rejection -- something I hadn't thought about the first time around. I'm applying to the UC's again. Berkeley, I hope you'll let me back in.

I also started working out again. Well, jogging and doing push-ups at least. I don't want to be a 50 year old and in a wheelchair.

I'm looking at possible careers in foreign service again. Although it's not quite what I want to do anymore, I need some kind of light at the end of the tunnel. The dream used to be having a family and a house.

passiveaggressive

i'm having trouble wording this.

but i'll say that i wanted a friendship after everything and i'm making it difficult for you.

so, sorry. i'll stop caring. just don't be so shady. i get it when i'm not wanted. you know how much i like direct confrontation.

dream

I was napping in the living room today after six hours of lucidity. My sister and my dad were cooking in the kitchen. I heard their conversation.

Sister: I haven't seen that guy around anymore. The one that Trung always hangs out with.
Dad: Yeah, me neither.
Sister: All he does is sleep. He doesn't even eat.
Dad: He's like mom.
Sister: The guy isn't taking him to LA. I think they broke up.
Dad: I think so too.

I knew it! They knew the entire time but refused to say anything.

repost

There was a time when I was sure I knew what I wanted to do. I knew what I wanted out of life and you'd be damned if you or anyone else got in the way of it. I was a force of nature, and I knew it; it was the only piece of me that I actually liked because if I held on to that little fact and guarded it dearly, every insecurity, every shadow of doubt, would starve in the hostile environment that was this psyche. Every "A", every executive decision, every move I made was a calculation to ensure the complete manifestation of, what I felt, what was promised to me. I wouldn't allow myself to call it--whatever it was I wanted--an ambition, a goal, because those words implied aspiration.

An aspiration left room for failure. There was no failure in my world. Everything was either one step toward my future, or two. No backwards, no lefts, no rights, no ups, no downs. Only forward.

But I've been falling. What direction, I haven't even the care to look. I just know I'm far from where I was only a summer ago. More than a few both intoxicating and sobering things have occurred in my life during the last few months, setting off a chain of deconstructions, that have split that former steel tower of myself. My trip to Washington D.C. was a big part of that--the life of a foreign service officer would take away more from me than I could ever have to give.

Now that I've given up on that image, I'm lost. I am enthralled with the current of possibility and I'm back to where I was just before I entered high school. I could thrive under a title of a journalist, meeting people and knowing their stories, but I could only dream of the stability that comes with being a teacher. I could cultivate a home and a family as a teacher, but I could only dream of the fulfillment that comes with being a health policy analyst. I could establish a place in the world as a health policy analyst, but I could only dream of the freedom that comes with being a journalist. And so it goes.

If only I could, then I would.

At this point, I don't think my major is going to matter as much because International Relations is going to end up taking me somewhere. Though I'm not sure where exactly.

Despite this, I'm happier than I remember being in any other point in my life. I am free.

---

A lot of this still rings true.

Jes sayin' this thing deserves a repost. I originally put this up on facebook in Jan 08. I remember why I was so happy: it was because I already replaced one passion with a new, more exciting one. I wasn't happy about the freedom.

Now I have neither. Free. Completely free. Aimless is the better word.

I have a secret dream: drop out of college, travel the world, and let the Earth teach me the lessons I need to learn.

It's never going to happen, though.

walking across the bridge
i lit a candle.

i didn't mean to burn
the whole thing down.

synapses

First you turn right on C Expressway.

I hopped into the car. We drove for a while before stopping at some neighborhood. It was hard finding my way back into the car. There were people walking their dogs in the middle of the night. I thought that was completely hilarious. Why was everybody at Check-n-Go?

And then you make a left at S Ave.

I took out my phone book and started going through it. Eventually, we were at Karen's house. Everything was so, so hilarious. I don't remember why. I tried to touch my scalp. Nothing.

You go down for a really long time before you make another left at ST Road.

Nobody was home. Nobody's ever home on Friday nights. A call later, and we were at Yogurtland. Everyone was there.

Once you hit the hospital, you make a left at L.

Hugs all around. I was so happy to see everyone, just one more time. Even Cynthia was there! All the way from Stockton, what the hell. Stumbling. But then everyone looked differently. Looked at me differently. And nothing was as funny anymore.

Make an immediate right.

Driving down Capitol. I knew this road. Really well. All night whenever I recognized a road, I'd talk about the ways to get there. When I finished, I was silent to keep from babbling like an idiot. This time, I started and couldn't stop. Oh god. It hurt so badly. It was the strongest, most crippling pain I'd experienced. It was gone. All gone. I started to remember the first time I drove there alone, after I got my license: I was so terrified of driving, but I pushed on. It started raining on the way there, but eventually I found myself in his room, where I'd nap away the stress. It was the first of many great heights that I conquered. Let me keep this memory, I begged.

Follow the road past the park and make another left when it ends.

I don't remember stopping those sobs. I got home and had a few bananas. Spent the next few hours watching Jake and Amir.

Turn right at G circle and its the house with the bench.

There was a lot of driving and crying last night. But what I remembered most were friends. Thanks everyone for putting up with me and continuing to put up with me.

this little roach

A man without legs
wakes up in the middle of the night
feeling a sudden itch where
his calf once was.
In a temporary meeting of
ghosts and hope and sheer stupidity,
he sits himself up
props himself against the edge of his bed
and stumbles,
flat
amongst the roaches.

---

I felt a burning in my belly. Hunger finally woke from her coma. With the low grumble, I remembered a place where there was always a steaming plate and yearned to go. I wondered if it were boiled chicken and congee day. I never liked congee but I would have given an arm for a drop of it. I didn't know what to do with myself otherwise.

It was 11:11. I made my wish and went to go see if it came true. Blanket wrapped around my shoulders, I got into my car and left, taking that same road I had taken for over a year now. Same freeway, same turns. Nothing changed, except for the fact that the lights were perceived through wet lenses and a heavy heart. I hoped. I prayed. I begged. I wanted to take back every wrong that I did and promised to never sin again if I could have it all back.

It was dark. The lights were yellow. The sprinklers were on. The houses were asleep. The stars were bright as they always were, always will.

I parked at the playground and got out. I sat at a bench. There I read over my text messages, debating whether I should send another one or not. I wrung my miserable little heart out and I dripped my tears and was a pathetic little thing. I got up and wandered. For every step I took toward the place, I took two back. I saw myself as a movie, those trite indie romances where a torn lover is about to leave but decides to linger for a couple of seconds and in those couple of seconds you watch a glimpse of his gait in the corner of your eye or in the background of your rear view mirror.

I gathered enough courage by daring myself to take another step closer. I dared myself past one crack. And then two. Another and another until I rounded the corner. Just like the movies.

I saw your house and remembered those nights where you used to drop me off by the same playground, told me to walk to your house, and snuck me in after you made sure your parents were asleep. That same sidewalk I took when you dropped me off a couple of yards away (after spending the sleepless night in Santa Cruz welcoming 2008) from your house because we saw your dad on the lawn. That same driveway where it was raining and you parked your car and told me to lay down in the backseat because you needed to go inside real quick and you'd come out and you did quickly with a plate of donuts. That same bench we sat at and finished dinner because you didn't like the smell of your dad's ointment filling the house and we drank our smoothies in the warm summer night and I felt like we were 65, grandchildren gone off to college and I was secretly giddy.

I eventually found myself by your car, your driveway, and I lingered. The lights were off. Every light. I thought you were asleep. I stepped onto your lawn and came close, but turned around before I got to the porch. I walked past your house then and back toward my car. I looked to the side as I walked and saw the rocks.

I grabbed a couple of them. Wood. Dirt clods. Petrified shit. Roach shells. Stuffed them into my pocket and walked right back to your driveway. I fished a couple of them out and threw them at your window. I saw myself in the movie again, where the sad boy tries to summon his lover, before texts, before cell phones. This was intimate. This was right. You'd come out and everything would be okay. The dirt got underneath my nails as I rolled it between my fingers. I aimed, sheer desperation guiding my shots and missed. Missed again. Another miss. Take a step closer. It made a sound this time. Another sound. A clatter and a clank. I look behind me and find no eyes. I wait before I throw another.

I imagine you're sleeping and hear the clank and push one of those venetian blinds down to take a peek.

But no response.

Everything was going wrong. I sat onto the curb where the black honda usually parked and curled into myself like a broken doll. The blanket was balled in my hands. I took out the phone and sent a text. No rocks. No dirt clods. Are you awake? Two heart-pounding minutes later.

No, why? I hoped more than ever, then and asked to come in. Got a response.

I drove back to the park and waited, hoping it'd be like the movies one last time.

It wasn't.

Driving home, I was dangerously hollow. A shell. I realized that I was never strong at all. I had made the wrong wish and I'm sorry I ever left my driveway.

My stomach is still growling.

beginning

24 hours since my last meal. Through digestive problems and red eyes, I've been wandering through the house, the blanket over my shoulders, trying to figure out what to do with myself. What does a person do when he cannot indulge in the one thing that kept him going?

He uses the ashes of what he has left. You take a dancer and amputate his legs, he'll dance with his arms. You take a painter and rip off his fingers, he'll hold the brush between his teeth. Likewise, I'll take my memories and preserve them.

--

It felt like hours. My leg twitched as I waited in my kitchen/living room, hair coiffed and wardrobe settled. Some sitcom was on. My hair kept bugging me. I had just cut it after waiting 2 hours at the barber and it wasn't quite doing what I wanted it to do.

The wait was only fair, though. I made him wait for nearly two weeks after he first called me and asked to hang out. I kept saying no. I was afraid that he wouldn't be anything that he expected.

We were only internet friends prior to this. We hadn't met (technically I did "see" him at the beach two months prior to this) and I was ridiculously insecure about myself. What if I weren't as animated in person? What if I totally didn't look like my pictures? What if he didn't like me? I met someone who I really clicked with (we would talk for hours on the phone at night) and I didn't want to lose him. I was afraid to take that risk.

But I did. He called me while I was waiting at the barber and after giving wishy-washy answers, I gave him my address. He'd pick me up as soon as I got home.

So there I was, waiting at home, waiting for the hanging out to begin. He came half an hour after the time he said he would be there. Oh, how I'd come to get used to this. His reason: took a wrong turn off the freeway.

I got in the car and it was dark. He was wearing some kind of button down shirt with a collar and a pair of American Eagle jeans. He was dressed nicely and I...wasn't, really. My first impression: gosh, this guy's fingers are really long. They looked like spiders on the gear.

We talked in the car. Not so bad. We went to downtown because that's what I suggested to do. We were looking for the other La Vic's, not the one by SJ state. That one was closed during this time for renovations or something. We ended up getting lost and defaulted to Cheesecake Factory.

We had nachos. It became a staple for us for a few months after that. He talked about how the last time he was here, he had his date feed him. I quirked my brow and said, "Uh, you brought the wrong guy if you expect me to be doing that." Laughs later, he said he wasn't, honest.

It was 11 o'clock when we left. I was marveling over the fact that oh god, I've never been out past 11 o'clock if it wasn't school related! But I didn't tell him that. I didn't want to sound uncool.

We went to the bank so I could withdraw some cash while he waited in the car. He started it before I was in, so I decided to jump on the hood. I told him that he was gonna leave, I would cling onto the car while he drove. He said he would never do that.

He took me home. We talked on the phone for a bit more after. I went to sleep smiling, knowing that we were still friends, no matter what the medium.

You called. I was afraid. You persisted. I'm glad you did.

You spoke. I listened. You listened. I spoke. We kissed.

You asked me to wait. I waited. We became.

You were in the arcade. I never thought you were a loser.

You were doing Calculus. I was fevering. You left your desk. I felt your body next to mine. You lay with me. I never forgot.

You had a notebook. I bought a shirt. You came after work. I learned to sew.

You didn't get in. I did. You said you loved me. I said I loved you back.

You saw him. I made you choose. You chose. I made the mistake. I'm sorry.

You're not sure. I hurt. You hugged me. I want you to still be.

You told me to come late. I waited until 10 pm. You told me not to peek underneath the edges. I never slept a night without it.

You drove me back. I grab your hand. You don't pull away. I'm never happier.

You saw a future. So did I.

You cleaned your whiteboard. I snuck in to kiss your forehead. You let me. We taught.

You danced. I watched. You are passionate. I linger.

You wrote your letter. I understand.

You're gone.

I'm not.

i'm just a little boy
in a littler body.

rocks
on my window

planes
on the hill
we never got to 1000

half sprawled
nestled against your neck
an arm over a chest
a leg over a thigh

you're sick
and i bring soup

mulder and scully
solved the eternal summer

the little girl knows who you are
and the woman at the directory

yelle
twice

the kids are in egypt
wake up,
dino

buffalo blasts, and
a chili burger
but don't cut the top bun in half

never happier
for a nosebleed
because you came in
with those towels

not enough seats
at dinner

eight stories up
we slept above trees
by a screen window
and never felt safer

the zombies
won't eat our neighbors

the anteater
the blanket
and the pants

you gave me a family
a home
a future

even if it were a dream

the heart
may have broke
but never emptied.

i miss us dearly,
i loved you since day one
and never stopped.

---

Godamnit it, I hate UCLA.

Is it so damned hard to get in contact with a human being? I do NOT want to send another e-mail only to never receive a response. I do NOT want to leave another message only to never get a call back. I do NOT want to be fucked over the rest of my four years and have to switch majors just because I'm one stupid unit over the maximum.

One. One unit.

I got a call from my prospective Comparative Politics professor today. He's frustrated that I clearly have not followed the instructions he sent in the e-mail a month ago about making sure there was enough space to get added into the class. After explaining how I've been trying to contact counseling for the last two months actually, here's how the conversation went.

"Well, maybe you should go pay them a visit."
"Professor, I live 300 miles away."
"..."
"Um."
"Well. Get it fixed. Or I'll drop you. -click-"

Guh.

major decisions

I've gotten so much done in the last week without my laptop. I've managed to Ace everything in all my classes.

Now if only I could get up off my fatass and work out. I no longer fit Size 28s. :(

---

Let's put a little more substance into this entry.

So right now, I'm pretty undeclared major-wise. I mean, I'm not completely undeclared in that I at least know which realm of academia I'll end up pursuing and I'm not officially undeclared in that my transcript currently says "undeclared". Rather, the classes I'm taking or have taken aren't exactly going toward any particular major.

All of this confusion is a result of UCLA's closing of their Int'l Development Studies Department. Now, I understand that they want to "restructure" the department and remove a bit of its interdisciplinary aspect, but I honestly don't think it's coming back. Not in my tenure here, anyway. It's just another way for the school to respond to the economic troubles. There are two necessary components to declare the Int'l Development Studies Major:

1. You entered UCLA Fall 2009 or prior under the Int'l Development Studies Major
2. You have completed up to Level 3 of a Foreign Lang as well as all other prereqs by the end of Fall 09 (2.0 min).
   

I don't fulfill number 1 and I've fulfilled halfway number 2. I started out as an Int'l Economics major (note: this is very much so different from the Int'l Development Studies Major) but decided to no longer pursue it because of my terrible performance in Calculus and Microeconomics. Officially, I'm still an Int'l Econ Major but I'm not intending to pursue it.

I need two more classes to be able to declare Int'l Development Studies -- two of the more impacted classes at UCLA. Example: I tried to sign up for one of them this quarter, but all 300 spots and all 75 waitlist spots filled up within four hours. Ridiculous. So I'm at a crux here: what if I don't get into these classes? What the hell do I do with my life?

Here are some of the choices I've been thinking about, given the classes I've already taken and the things I at least have a small interest in:

• Comparative Literature - Taking my first Com Lit class this quarter. I seem to have a talent with it. It's just the whole fluency in three languages thing that is kinda scaring me off. I mean, I can do English well, and I'm getting somewhere with French, but taking up another language is a little scary.
  
• Global Studies - I really don't know why I'm not just a Global Studies major in the first place. I need one more class to declare for this. I guess it's the whole required Summer Abroad thing I don't like.
  
• Geography - I'd love to do this. The only problem is that I'd have to petition for all my courses to count toward it. If I could do that, I could declare today if I wanted to.
  
• English/World Literature - Intimidating. Plus, I hate Brit lit.
  
• French - Only because I have a lot of French classes under my belt incidentally.
  

It's just a little frustrating that something you've invested so much time in has been taken away just like that. Bah.

Revival

Caught up in style and order
you lose substance.

Tear the shirt off my back,
throw the jeans into the the dirt,
blow my every shame away
with every windy graze
between my thighs
my skin
my fingertips
my eyes,
and run.


Surrender the pen to the soul
and leave your hands free
to touch
to feel
to hold,
but not to craft.