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.