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.