Lost and gone are the words that come out so naturally just a year or two ago. I am only left with the yearning for the poetry that I was once able to write; the lyrical jibjab of nonsensical riff raff that graced this journal of mine. With each rambling there was a focused subject that I would be able to comeback to and focus on, so there would be a sense of purpose in the nonsense.

It is gone. Gone gone gone. I have no words to write. No problems to solve. I have lost my touch, gone gone gone. So sad. Indeed, so sad.

I went out searching for my words, but they are ever so elusive. They have their own flight of fancy that comes and goes. When I feel that I have secured them in my head and they are on their way through my fingers to do their little tap dancing performance, they stop and freeze from stage fright. Lost and gone.

Lost and gone are my “T’s” when I try to write the word “Lost”, so they come out as “los”. Strange indeed as my fingers try to fall back into habit of writing freely without the strict rules of screenwriting and making sense of story.

I have a lot of stories to tell so I’ve been told. Fun and fascinating stories of one-liners that make up the fact about a certain event. Fun indeed as they are just merely facts instead of “stories” from the writer that I am trying to be. Oh, how I fit in so well with so many people and how I just miss with others.

Getting back to the ones and zeroes that come from my little buds, they are becoming more and more foreign. I’m falling back to my language of birth and becoming more and more chinese.

Again, I feel that I am Chinese, not Chinese American or Asian American. Even though I do fit that category, for the life of me I would like to consider myself Chinese rather than a combination of both. Maybe it is just because of the technicality that I’m not a mutt or that I wasn’t born in the “America” that the term so reference. I am Chinese. That is from my blood, my heritage, my ethnicity.

Why would I consider myself a Chinese American when I don’t even consider myself Vietnamese? I was born in Vietnam, but I am not Vietnamese. Again, the blood in me is that of the Hans. So there is no American in me. None.

Funny because most of the elders in my family consider me American. I have taken up many of their cultures and ways. I grew up a mixture of American and Chinese. I did.

I think I am a good balance of both. But, I’m still Chinese. It’s all symnatics, I know, but still, it makes sense to me.

I’m Chinese.

* * *

All is lost, all is gone. NOthing comes and nothing comes. I have nothing left to say. Maybe it is the brightness of day that prevents me from writing these diatribes that I was so good at. I don’t know has gotten into me. I have no clue what happened. I usually write in the dark, the blackness of light.

Those were the days before pickles. Now, it seems I only write during the days mostly, unless I am forced to write at night, due to the pressures of dealines.

This is fun writing to keep me on my game. I guess I don’t do fun things anymore, but only do things that I am required to do.

What are fun things? Socializing or being the hermit that I am. Though my dear cousin doesn’t see me as the hermit and antisocial person that I so proclaim. She seems me as the social butterfly. Why? Because I get along with her well. I tell her my stories of going out and drunkeness. They come few and far between.

True there is a part of me that is a butterfly flapping its wings in socialness, but you can’t beat nature. I am the hermit. I like being on my own, doing my own thing, doing whatever it is that I want to do and that is to stay home and sleep, watch tv or movies. I love it. It’s such a relaxing boring life that I live and yearn to live. I love it.

I’m a lazy butt. I know it. My mom knows it and I’m sure my dad knew it. But, I don’t know. I guess all in all, I have no problem not talking with anyone, especially when I have nothing to say. Why say anything when you have nothing to say. Nothing is as bad as forced conversations. What is that? Awkwardness.

Maybe with more time and more thoughts in my head, these blank endless space of my journal will become filled once again. I have no more writing assignments to do. Not yet atleast. I just need to come up with my new idea. A short, a feature. A homage to A Chinese Ghost Story. I don’t know what my next project will be, but I am sure that I will have another next project. It will only be in time. Time.

I’ve come here time and time again before doing work that was important to me. Now I just sit here listening the the familiar foreign language of my life coming through my head phones to push out the sound of the chopping, sizzling, and useless talk that fills the air.

I don’t know is happening to me lately. I just sit on and actually enjoy that my life is just passing me by. I go to work day in and day out, come home, walk the dog, surf the web, cook dinner, and just relax. I have no qualms that I’m single and not going out to meet new people. I’m not in a rush to get married to do the things that society and family push me to do. I’m a hermit. I’m falling back to my hermitude. Hermitude.

Going home this past weekend and being around family and all these little cousins and kids; of course the question would come up. “When are you going to get married?” I don’t know. I honestly can’t answer that because, sure it is in my head as to when, but I do not really think about it. I guess I have truly adopted the philosphy, “it’ll happen when it happens.”

There is no rush. What is the rush? I’m 28. I’m 28. I’m still moderately young, though many believe that I’m too old to get married. It’s just a piece of paper, a formality more than anything else.

Family. I love them. I miss them. Being back there, it just made me realize how I fit in for the most part with some family members and others. Those who understand me I get along great. I get along with the elders great. I would like to think they understand me for the most part.

I would have to say that I’ve been the most smart ass with them this time. Especially when it comes to the issue of marriage. I would beat around the bush and play games; telling them what they want to hear; telling them what they don’t want to hear; never giving a straight answer.

I brought up issues of race and orientation and if it really matters. Of course, it really doesn’t, atleast not with me. With some family members it obviously do; but not with me. I’m so open minded that I should worry about my mind falling out of my head.

Well, I guess to my mom, race doesn’t matter much to her at all. She’s not against Tu’s marriage to her black fiancé even though Tu’s parents are. What’s the big deal?

Also, it seems that 5th uncle is totally against me marrying a black girl too. Honestly, I don’t see what the big deal is. As long as we love each other, I really think that is the only thing that matters. But again, I’m just too open minded and idealistic in that matter.

As to the issue of homosexuality, I know it’s a big deal in our familly and that it is a big no no, even thought Big Auntie says it doesn’t matter. I know it does. The elders of my family is a little too traditional to accept homosexuality. They just are.

Thoughts just rumble in my head as I try to make sense of them. They never stop long enough for me to evaluate them. They just zoom this way and that way, passing to the forefront of my mind to the back of it. It comes and goes.

Thoughts that just range from mundane to life altering. What is to become of me?

Why can’t I just shake these fears of writing and just write? I just need to write, to compose these ideas that I have in my head to form the scenes that composes this particular script that I’m writing. But nothing comes. I’m petrified by the mere thought of not writing it correctly that it just dies before I even start.

It has tons of potential, like I have tons of unlocked potential that just needs to be released. I just need to jump right in and shed my inhibitions. I need to shake the fear that clouds my mind. I just need to put that important first word on to paper and then it will all come flushing out like a bursting dam. I just need to find the right word.

Wedding. It is a wedding. Here the lovers or the thrown together pair will unite. Here is where they make it official to the world. Here is where they make it official to their parents and permanently lock themselves in this matrimony of impulse. Will this union last or will it fizzle as fast as it came to be?

The ending just escapes me. I can’t picture it in my head. I just need to worry about the next step, the next scene and then worry about the scene after that and ultimately it will lead me to the final scene. It should come to me organically. It should just come to me when it comes, so it doesn’t feel forced.

I just need to find the right grove again. Stella’s got her groove back, but why can’t I? Is it because I am at home, writing, which I haven’t done in years? Is it because of that? I just need to break into this room, this office slash bedroom and be comfortable in it and then my mind will just be able to release the potential that is in me.

Routine. Schedule. I need to come up with one. Days where I will write. Days where I will watch television or movies. Days where I will go to school. Just focus. I just need to focus. Finish this script and jump on something else that is either new or create something else in a different medium.

I’m just at a total loss. I can’t think straight. Girls clouding my head, relationships that just taunt me.

I’m addicted now. I had a taste, more than a taste..I lived high and favored what was before me. But now it is gone, and I miss it. I miss the touch, the warmth, the nights of wrapped around arms. I just miss that certain feeling to have someone there. It just clouds my mind and it is coming back with a vengence. I just need to focus and not think about it anymore. Put it out of my mind. Brush it aside. That’s where it needs to be…to the side, out of my mind.

I’m not going to think about it. I’m not going to think of the possibilities. I’m not going to think about those that I was chatting to. I’m not going to think about the past. I’m just going to focus on what is in front of me, and that is my job and my work, my passion, my dreams and goals. Those take the main stage. They are more important to me now than ever. Life is just passing me by and I’m not even making an effort to fulfill this passing dream.

Writing. Directing. Creating. The opportunity is always in my hand, but I just look at it and not participate.

I don’t know what is going on with me lately. I am just wandering around with my head in the clouds, blinded by the sweet doughy marshmallows that float ever so softly in the sky.

I am just an aimless wanderlust coming and going from life destinations that were never planned. Things just happen and happen and I just experience and experience.

Talking and joking, finding new relationships and new people to just chillax with. Just someone to trade barbs with. Just someone that can keep me on my toes as they help me stretch my mental process and save me from the boring daily grind of punching buttons all day.

Oh, how my life is just a series of connect the dots that form no discernable shape. It is a jumble mess of chaos.

Look closer. Look deeper. Just look and you will find a faint hint of form in the criss-crossing lines of traveled destination.

Where the next destination is, no one knows, but I open it up for discussion. Left. Right. Up. Down.

I have lost my word, I have lost my thoughts. I have lost the flow that flowed so easily. Maybe, I have just changed the way I write things. I don’t know. I don’t know.

Things have changed. Maybe I just need to write again without censor; to bring back the writing to where I started. From the heart, plain and simple without any lyrical sidebars. Maybe that’s all I need. Simple heart. Simple truth. Just me and my feelings and my thoughts.

Maybe.

Oh, to sing the song of the songs of love is a wonderful thing that everyone must experience. It is like the existence of Heaven here on the mundane Earth, making life bearable and existence worth living.

But, those are things that people say. Those are things that only people hear. Does true love exist? It is so elusive, ever wandering and fluttering its proud wings and never landing in your presence.

It flies by, teasing us with what happiness and dreams that we think of ever experiencing, only to fly off again, leaving us with nothing but the lonely despair that fills the void that we call a life.

Go in search of love, many will say. Make acquaintances that lead to friendships, which in turn lead to relationships and then ultimately end up in love oh love! Oh, if only it is so easy. If only the reality of the directions are so simple.

Love is not a Lost Ark or a sunken treasure that needs to be found to truly experience its glory. Love should never be sought after because it will always fly away, just out of our reach. Ever so elusive.

Love is something that should happen out of the blue, when you least expect it. Love.

But, love is always on my mind, always thinking and searching for the inevitable truth and later reality of it. When will it present itself to me? When will I be truly blessed and be given my moment in life? When?

I let things be, I let things go, never to think about relationships or finding someone again. I let all hopes be lost, only secretly, hiding from my subconscious that ultimately, true love will bravely land right in front of me when I least expect it, surprising me with all its glory.

Love is genius. Love is cunning, always knowing when people are pining away for that one true experience. Teasing us with the possibility and then leaving us to dread on its potential.

Happenstance. Things should just happen in happenstance; a destined fate of chance meeting that leads to the story book movie romances that sweeps all hearts. We all are the heroes in our own movie life, ultimately leading to the glorious happy Hollywood ending that cap the ending of our single-ness and the beginning of our love affair.

Oh where oh where can my love be? I ask this question aloud unabashedly as I do believe that my lover is out there someone in this mindless empty 1s and 0s. She’s just there waiting patiently for our destined fate of chance meeting. Whether she’s out searching about for a quick read or a perusal of this online ad; who knows?

Time ticks by and by and by, ticking my sentiments away. Losing another second in another minute of another hour in another day of my life without the one that can make my insides melt with painless ease.

The acid rumblings of my stomach due to the flapping wings of fluttering butterflies as I see you day in and day out and just thinking to myself, where have you been all my life. How am I so blessed to have you in my life? How is it that I am graced with such love and beauty; something that I do not deserve? How is it?

I look into your eyes, and I am lost, plunged deeper and deeper into the depths of your soul where we commingle and become the one being that we once was, finally reconnecting to the times of legend and myth; before the jealous Zeus tore us apart. A love before time. A love eternal.

To feel whole again, instead of limping aimlessly with an arm and leg with the no depth-perception sight hoping for that reconnect to help me function like everyone else. My other half, my better half….complete.

Even Hedwig would be proud, finally realizing the Origin of Love is true and true. No longer lost and searching to fill that void. We are all connected, making that sweet music that only we both can.

Sometimes I dream that all I have to do to catch this little elusive bird is to just close my eyes and spin around and reach out my arms and out of amusement, it would just fly into my grasp willingly. Oh, then I will wake up groggy with the remnants of the dream; thinking of the ease of finding the love, giving me a little brighter hope for the day that it may happen today.

Dreams and dreams will come and go, come and go, fading away into the distant light like smoke into the atmosphere, only to dissipate. Fizzle away, out of reach, out of my grasp. Nothing to hold on to. Nothing.

But, I hold my heart, in the shattered pieces that it came to from the experiences of life and slowly piece it together with double-stick scotch tape, hoping that this will be the last time that I will have to piece it back together again. Hopefully, I didn’t lose any pieces from the last time and that these shattered pieces are a shattered whole.

So I reach, I scream, I throw this question out there, are you the one to complete me?

Sitting in the cloudy mists of sadness; echoing thoughts that bounce around in my head looking for the tiny hope of escape.

Nothing goes as they search desperately bouncing off its peers hoping for the elation they should expect to feel with freedom. But alas, there is no freedom in the dark dank cavernous dome that is my mind, my brain, my heart and soul.

There is no freedom of this lurking borderline depression that I can’t shake. Weeks and days go by without a release. I see things in the misty silvery gray black that I was so use to. But now, this old friend of mine seem more like an unwanted stranger invading my glimmering hope of fantasy and happiness, tainting it with its sadness. Tainted.

Blood black flooding through my spirits and my veins draining the happiness from me. All that is left is the empty shell that once was empty before.

This is a new kind of mutated emptiness that I never felt before. Borderline. Just a sense of blah and rutting in a standstill of petrified livelihood that I am to live day in and day out.

All my desires are gone, my hopes, my dreams, my ambitions. Gone. Lying dormant in this fragile eggshell just waiting for that spark of life to bring it to the excitement that it has the potential to become.

Patience is a virtue that I once had, but now is lost and gone as I get angrier and angrier with my old age. Tempers flare over the minutest of minute infractions of life that should be just left as a passing thought.

Boiling heat and blood turn the timid in the hulking rage that I am experiencing with my envious color. Hulk.

Turning the repression into action of kinetic force transmutating it into rage. Rage full of angst that I thought was gone out of my body my soul my heart without hesitation. Fixed to the point of release from commitment. Done. Gone.

But I was wrong, like I’ve always been wrong about things that I rush into without thinking. Upon experiencing and thinking is when I truly find the exact nature of the experience and realize that it isn’t what I bargained for.

Going back to my roots, going back to my hometown of the Forbidden City in a glorious historic land. I find myself drawn to my grassroots of home, of China and all things Chinese.

From music, to movies, to books, and mainly to family. All things Chinese; things that I am longing for.

I will fill my empty clinical colored apartment with the things that bring a familiarity and color to me. Pictures of family, friends, drunken moments and just things that I have taken from long ago on my long lonely journeys of soul searching. I will fill it with useless trinkets that I still feel is useless but it brings a purpose of fulfillment in an empty place that needs to be filled to make it feel like a home.

I long for home. I long for a home to call mine. I long for unlocking a door that is mine, entering a living room that is mine with my precious dog to greet me as I enter.

I long for my own life full of pleasure and pain and life that I forget that I am alone and wandering listlessly searching for the time in my life where my life will officially begin.

Just riding on the train to nowhere’s land of waiting and searching and just strict cynical contemplations of life and love. Where is my life going to go?

I have everything there is to see. I have; even though I have never set foot away the west coast since I first came to the west coast, but I have all there is to see. I’ve experience all there is to experience.

What is left is the long wait for the quiet peaceful sleep. All is left is the enduring of life and the fulfilling of my purpose of dying when it is time for me to go to make room for my posterity and others. Just a wait of waiting in the game of life.

1. Fob

First of all…Fob’s are immigrants a.k.a. Fresh off the boat. There are many kinds of fobs (i cant really take credit for this becuz i got this off a site. I added some in)

Twinkie
– Besides your nationality, there is little to distinguish you from white people
– Your significant other is not Asian and never has been
– You have few Asian friends, if any
– You are embarrassed at family events because you cannot speak your language and everyone has to switch to English to communicate with you
– You have no idea that the other types of Asians on this list even exist
– You think Hello Kitty is dumb and do not know what Sanrio is
– You are the only Asian on this list that does not know what Bubble Tea is
– You drive a Ford or some other domestic car and if you drive a Honda, it is stock

Asian-American
– You claim yourself as Asian, but real Asians think you’re whitewashed and non-Asians see you as a foreigner. You fit in nowhere
– You have heard of Bubble Tea but have never actually had any
– You are confused about your cultural identity and express this frustration through spoken word performances at your college
– You read A. magazine and think it’s great
– You do not know who Leon, Aaron, Sammi, Hikki, or Kangta are
– You are only vaguely aware of the other Asians below

Yap (Young Asian Professional)
– You are in one of these professions:
a) Medicine / Pharmaceutical
b) Engineering
c) Finance
d) Investment Banking
e) Accounting
– Most of your wardrobe was purchased at Banana Republic
– You go to “mixers” on Thursday nights to meet other Yaps and talk about the Dow Jones.
– You did exactly what your parents wanted you to do and as a result, your life is hella boring
– Your apartment/home is decorated almost exclusively with stuff from Pier 1
– Your parents always talk to their friends about how much money you make. If they don’t, then you’re a dissapointment

Fob (Fresh Off tha Boat)
– You were not born in America
– You know who Leon, Aaron, Sammi, Hikki, and Kangta are. In fact, you have seen them at Atlantic City or Las Vegas recently
– You speak your native language fluently and so do all your friends
– You do not have any non-Asian friends
– Your parents do not speak any English
– When you speak English, you like to make everything plural
– You get extremely good grades in school
– You cannot dance
– Your fashion sense comes from whatever country you’re from and you incorporate nothing from American fashion into your wardrobe

SuperFob
– Your command of the English language is minimal and you don’t care
– You like dim sum chicken feet
– You do not own a single CD, VCD, Video game, or DVD that isn’t bootlegged
– Your only hangout is Chinatown
– All the lights in your house are fluorescent
– You dry your cloths outside your window
– You need a haircut
– You either smell like cigarettes or food

Fobabee
– You are an Asian-American or Twinkie who has recently “awoken”
– You have a newly found fetish of Asian girls/boys
– You have taken the Asian Studies course at college
– You are trying to learn as much as possible about your culture to make up for your lifetime of trying to be white (Twinkie ; Banana) or Black (Chigger ; Tea egg)
– If you are lucky, you will grow to become Fobulous

Gangsta Fob (Fobsta)
– You have shot another Asian
– Your favorite hangout is a pool hall
– When you talk, you sound like a cross between a Fob and an urban black kid
– Your hair looks silly, but no one will tell you because you’ll shoot them
– You have a serious gambling problem
– You are a Rice-boy, but your mods are cheap and are never painted to match the rest of your car
– No one tells you your rice ride looks cheap because you’ll shoot them
– You want to have a Tab girlfriend, but can only get Hoochie Tabs

Tab (Trendy Asian B*tch)
– You shop at A/X, Bebe and Club Monaco
– You only wear black and will occasionally wear white to “mix it up”
– You do not weigh more than 105 lbs
– You have never paid for dinner at a restaurant in your life
– Platform heels are your favorite
– You are a makeup expert, in fact, you appear completely flawless
– You do not smile in public
– You are the object of desire of all Asian men and you know it
– You smoke
– Your cell phone is completely customized
– On the inside flip of your cell phone is a sticker pic of you and your man
– Somewhere in your purse is a Sanrio item
– You only date Asian and will only date a boy with a nice car
– You are often seen with Rice-boys
– You never travel alone. You are either in the company of other Tabs or your Rice-boy boyfriend

Hoochie Tab
– You are an import car model
– Your boobs are not real
– There are naked pictures of you floating around on the internet somewhere
– Stiletto heels are your favorite
– Your role models are Francine Dee and Kaila Yu
– Your boyfriend is a Gangsta Fob
– You cheat on your boyfriend
– Unlike most Asians, you do not do well in school

Rice-Boy
– You drive an Asian import. Usually a Honda or Acura
– Your souped up car (known as a Rice-ride or Rice-rocket) is unrecognizable from it’s original stock form
– Your exhaust pipe is big enough for your head to fit in
– The spoiler on your car looks like it was made by Boeing
– The interior of your car also looks like it was designed by Boeing
– You always drive like you are racing someone
– You are not afraid of dying in a crash, but you are afraid of speed bumps and parking lot on-ramps
– The only other person besides yourself who can sit in your car is your 105 lbs Tab girlfriend. If anyone else sits in your car, the entire bottom of it will be touching the ground
– Even though your car is a Honda, it goes faster and is worth more than a Lotus Esprit
– If you drive a Civic, your dream car is a Supra. If you drive a Supra, your dream car is a Skyline (which you can never have). Poor Rice-boy.

Fobulous
– You speak perfect English and you are fluent in your native language
– You have Asian friends as well as non-Asian friends
– You listen to Asian pop as well as American music
– You are equally aware of both popular American culture and Asian pop culture
– You are a good dancer
– You date Asian by choice even though you could rock the opposite sex of any other race
– You are a good designer and have superior Html skills
– You have an Apt107 page AND an AA page and the guest books in both are packed
– For you, FOB stands for Fabulous Oriental Being
– You have lots of Asian pride

Pob
– A Filipino fob.
– Words that start with F tend to be pronounced with a P. (Fuck you..Pobarized version: PUCK you)
– FUll accent

“Lets go take some sticker pickiez la! xD Kekezzz”

“Puck You mother pucker!”
by Rebecca Mar 5, 2005 email it

* * *

2. phong

a supersweet, superhot guy

my bf is such a phong!
by muse Aug 7, 2004 email it

The above definitions were found at http://www.urbandictionary.com.

While going on my cousin’s Xanga blog, I noticed that he found a definition of our name. I found it funny. And since it is an dictionary of slang, I thought I’d find what definitions of fob and azn they have.

I already knew what a fob is. It is basically an acronym for Fresh Off the Boat. But I never thought that there would be such a thorough breakdown of the different type of asians there are. I guess I’m just not that asian to realize that.

Looking at the definition of what a fob is, I guess I’m a culmination of those. Maybe I was a fob way back when I was still in diapers. I don’t know.

Looking up azn in the dictionary, I was pleasantly surprised by some of the definitions. I always thought that azn is just a short way of saying asian. I never knew that there was a particular subculture of all things azn. The wannabe black guy who speaks ghetto talk. The dumb people who type in short form with alternating cap words LyKe WrTng DINgs DiS WaY iz LykE SO KeWL. I never even knew that it was an “asian” stereotype. I always thought it was some stupid kids way of thinking that they are cook because they are writing things differently.

I don’t know why I’m even thinking about this. I guess I’m just searching for things to write about or things to talk about.

Lately I have been reminiscing on my childhood and old TVB television shows that I watched. The classics like The Legend of the Condor Heroes, The Return of the Condor Heroes a.k.a The Legendary Couple, and The Heaven Sword and the Dragon Sabre. All three were serials by Louis Cha. I grew up watching these television shows when I was younger and I remember being totally in awe and taken in by the action and the drama. They are classics.

Just recently being back home, I don’t know, for some reason, I’m just reaching back to those old days and my little good Asian, no Chinese roots. I guess it really started when my brother and I went to Powell’s bookstore in Portland and we came across the foreign language section. He told me that he’s been wanting to read these old Chinese books like Journey to the West and the above mentioned books.

I’ve always wanted to read them, but out of sight out of mind. I haven’t seen or thought about those shows in a while. But when hearing my brother wanting to read those, it just brings back memories of the old days. So I tried to track down these books, they aren’t translated yet. Not many are. There are rumblings that there is a new translation of The Legend of the Condor Heroes coming out soon from the Oxford University Press.

I still remember in 2002 when my parents came down to visit me, we found the VCD collections of these shows in Chinatown. My mom looked so excited that they have them collected in a better medium than video cassette. But they were just too expensisve. Doing research on these shows now, especially those VCDs, it is revealed that those were abridged versions of the shows. How disappointing. But it is good to know that the complete uncut The Legend of the Condor Heroes and The Return of the Condor Heroes are out in DVD. I am so tempted to get it. Eventually I will, along with my brother, as a gift for our mom. She will be excited.

As for the books, I don’t know what it is. I am a lover of words. I am a writer. I am a lover of literature. Throughout my life, all I have been exposed to is American and Western European literature, or strictly Anglo literature. I guess with my age and my maturity, I want to venture to other modes of literature. African literature, South American, East Asian, etc. etc.

I guess I’m looking for something new, a new perspective in how to see things or how other see things.

The excitement of life just passes me by yet again as I sit actively watching it run by. I wave to it as I see it off into the unknown future. Going going going going…

Blissful and blessed the union went off without a hitch. Small and warm, cozy and cuddly. The wedding of perfection. My perfection at least.

The intimacy of family and friends, throw a few strangers in there, it’s not just a beerfest but an incestual ménage a trois. Love is in the air, all around and I just swing my fly swatter to just shoo it away from my proximity.

Away away, they go off in their peace. Small and intimate.

Held in their parent’s backyard with the familiarity of home. That’s where love is, home, and no where else.

It was a cryfest from the first word. As I sit in the first row, listening intently to the sacred words that were exchange, the lovely vows of together forever. Tears flowed and they were not mine.

Here’s a change of prose, maybe a mixture. Maybe something new.

It was just nice to be around family again, all family, not just those that I hang out on a regular basis when I’m out here. But family. Family that I never hang out with because I rarely get to see them. Long lost cousins of out of touch, cousins I haven’t seen for years and years, catching up and seeing how they have made a life for themselves.

Catching up again with the long lost sisters that came back for this particular event; their big sister is getting married.

Again, it was a nice lovely wedding. It is a wedding ceremony that I actually wouldn’t mind throwing if I ever get in the marrying mood and eloping is out of the question. Very simple and just….classy. Again, perfection in my book.

They held it in their parents’ backyard. 40 chairs set up and then there was standing room. It was a perfect Washington summer day, temperate and almost clear skies.

They had a judge preside over the ceremony. There wasn’t any father walking the bride down the aisle. Just the bride, Hue, and her sister, Tu, the made of honor. It was just nice.

They didn’t go out and make a big deal out of it. No renting out a space, no enormous amount of guests, just close friends and family.

The Chinese banquet was nice well, even though there wasn’t many people dancing. It was a good mix of Chinese and “American” people. A good mix. But there wasn’t much dancing going on and many of the guests left after the dinner, before the activities were done. But that should be expected in a Chinese wedding.

She had a good time on her wedding day, or at least that’s how I felt, and that is all that should matter.

But it was just good to be back here again, and that was just my first day.

So my week seems pretty packed already, and it always seems packed whenever I come back here. I’m going to make use of these 10 days and actually make it a vacation instead of just coming back and being with family.

Well, here is something regarding me and my doings. Originally, I was to bring a friend up here for the wedding. But things didn’t work out between us for no better reason than that they just didn’t work out.

I told my mom that I was going to bring this friend up with me months and months ago because my friend and I were planning on going to Vancouver together. Of course, word got around, especially during the days of my uncle’s funeral.

But again, we, I, ended things and I went up alone. So, no I came up alone and my family, especially the elders, bugged me about this much talked about friend. Where’s your friend? they would ask continually. This coming from each on of them. I heard you were going to bring your girlfriend back. Where is she? You lied and said you were going to bring your girlfriend back. Liar. I played around with them with my usual flare but what it boils down to as I tell them. We got in a fight and we are now no longer friends.

Things like that just happen. My auntie would just joke around and say, “fight or not, just wait until after you bring her back first, then you can do whatever you want.” Unfortunately things just don’t work that way. They never work that way. T

They just never do. You just have to go on living life in the pace that life goes and can’t expect anything more out of it. Just live.