I sat down, settled in.

Laptop, booted up. Client, blank and ready to go. Time to put my little fingers through the dexterity test; putting whatever thoughts that I may have in my mind down on the proverbial page.

But something stopped me. Someone stopped me.

I saw her earlier, Renee, as I later learned her name, stands at the door, sucking down her sweet milk boba tea. She looks over at me, staring.

I made the mistake of looking up, making eye contact. That was all the invitation that she needed.

I got no work done. No words typed. No letters. It was blank. Blank.

Renee is a fairly petite Asian girl, who can shed just a few pounds, not much more needed. Some may see that she’s not too bad looking; cute maybe.

She says that she’s 24 and I gave her the benefit of the doubt until she spun her little tale on me later and now I’m not sure how old she is. Maybe she told me that after she gauged how old I was and adjusted her age accordingly, hoping that 24 would be the right age for me to pay any attention to her. Too old and I might not give a damn, and too young, for sure I wouldn’t give a damn.

There she was, talking to me, out of the blue.

“What are you doing here so early?”

“Just working, chilling. You?”

“Patrolling.” she said.

Patrolling. That’s a weird response. My spider senses are going off warning me about the psycho that I eventually know her to be, a broken and damaged girl of ungaugable mental stability.

One thing lead to another as we traded our small talk and niceties, and there was a staring contest. Awkward, as she stopped talking and just stared at me, not breaking eye contact. I stared back, which ’caused giggle fits from her.

As she sits down, she looks over everyone that walks by or walks into the teahouse. EVERYONE. Up and down. Down and up, throughout the whole two hours we were there talking or her talking and me listening.

She sizes them up, thinking if she can take them if push came to shove.

Troubled.

Paranoid as she goes on and on about things that I have no idea what she’s talking about. “There are many eyes in the trees. They’re watching us.” She said.

“Really? Up in the trees? Sure. We should be careful,” I traded back.

Eventually, somehow the conversation came to a point where she was offering to climb the tree.

I almost kind of dared her to. I actually did dare her to. She couldn’t leave that challenge down, and so she went.

It was then and there that I knew for sure that this poor girl is either fucking out of her crazy fucking mind or she’s high on something and it seems good. I don’t do drugs but at that moment, I kind of wanted what she was having. Just a little.

As she perched on the small wall, like a Bird of Prey or even a Dark Angel, watching the traffic, watching the surroundings, “patrolling”, I laugh at myself, thinking, “Only this kind of shit can happen to me. My first real interaction with someone in this brand new year, it is with this fucking crazy girl, who is literally climbing a tree.”

My luck.

Soon she came back, finishing surveying the area, finishing showing off, finishing winning that “challenge”.

She sat down next to me and continued the roundabout conversation that I couldn’t keep up with. I honestly had no idea what she was talking about.

The words that are coming out of her paranoid fractured drug enhanced mind are on a frequency that I have no way of tuning to. I was lost, but I nodded on, encouraging her to continue as we go about our little playful banter.

Why not?

There were times when I thought, she’s not bad looking, not so bad at all. If only she wasn’t crazy. Fuck, even if she was crazy, maybe a kiss or a fuck if I can steer it to that.

Maybe with my age and my dire need for some kind of physical attention, I was getting desperate, but then that thought just buried itself and suffocated and died as she continued to talk. She sure knows how to turn people off and she’s just isn’t my brand of crazy.

As we continued this one sided fractured conversation, she began to tell me a story on why she’s going from a two-pack-a-day smoker to quitting. This was it. This was the long haul. This was where I truly found out how damaged she really was.

Renee made a note before she started. This is not a happy story. There is no happy ending.

And there wasn’t.

This is a story about love. First loves and from my experience, most first love stories never end well.

I’m not going to relay everything she said, ’cause I really can’t. There was a point where I stopped listening because the story is so fractured and filled with so many holes, that it was just pointless for me to keep up. It seemed she was making some stuff up on the fly as she pull little bits from her life to make it just believable, except for the inconsistencies and whatnot.

Ultimately it begins with her, at a young age. I don’t know, but I’m guessing around 14 or 15, even though she says that she was 17 at this time, or 23, depending where in the story you ask her. I’m guess it is a young age.

She went to a party, got drunk and had a 24 year old man take care of her. She was drunk. He was drunk. While trying to sober up at his place, dodging her dad and grandmother’s call, the man laid next to her on the bed, wanting a hug.

Renee thought he just needed a hug, wanting some comfort so she complied. Then he started to kiss her and she thought this was fine and eventually they did it. Again, I think she’s 14 or maybe 15 at this time.

Many will think this is statutory rape, and in a way, it is. But was it consensual? Maybe. Did he take advantage of her? Most definitely.

So there it flourished. There it was, love. Her first love.

Giddy and lovesick, she would sneak out and hang out with him during all hours of the night. She would ditch school to hang out with him, thinking she is learning a lot from him. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t. She was blinded by what no one else can give her, not her father, nor her mother (which they are divorced).

Renee was blinded by a false sense of security that she was never provided. She’s latching on, for her life to continue feeling that way, that euphoria of young love of being the center of someone’s world. Love.

It’s a powerful and deadly drug if taken by the wrong person.

Seeing how she’s been misbehaving, her father decided to send Renee to her mom’s in Hawaii.

That didn’t fare well either as she felt confined, controlled. She rebelled and rebelled like any misunderstood and lost teenager would. Soon she’ll be sent back to her father.

Here she let it slip that she’s 15, even though she told me this all happened last year in March and she tells me she’s 24.

Soon, as with most relationships, he started to take her for granted. He’s jobless with nothing more than a GED. He can’t find a job and he spends most of his day playing video games.

He’s a catch. Any woman would be happy to have him, why not a troubled lonely unloved girl?

As she rambled on and on in her lost story, I put the fractured pieces together and soon it came to the initial story of why she’s quitting smoking.

But by then, I was already packed up and ready to go. By then, I was done with her story as I it seemed so unreliable and so full of holes that I dismissed everything she said.

By then I was done and want to get away from all the crazy.

I still remember her face as she reminisced, telling me the story. With a hidden strength of keeping her shit together, trying to hold in her tears, she reflected back on her life and the shit that she’s gone through. I see the melancholy on her face, the pain that only drugs can keep at bay.

There’s a kernel of truth in what she told me. Most stories have kernel of truths. It’s just a matter of picking them out and fitting them all together in their proper place.

Ultimately it was a story of a troubled girl with daddy issues who feels lost and unloved. The only thing that she knows about love is what was given to her by a man 10 years her senior who took it from her because of her naiveté; by a man, who manipulated her, raped her into believing that he loved her.

Maybe that’s why she found me, because I fit the bill, an older Asian man who seems nice who may be able to take her troubles away, to bring her back to that youthful euphoria that made her feel alive for once in her life.

But sadly, I am not that man who can give her what she wants. I will most likely fuck her up even more, using her and tossing her aside ’cause I just can’t deal with her crazy.

2011.

Vacation time. Off of the daily grind. Off on my own, to my own devices. Off.

I’m here, sitting again, spending the past half-an-hour wasting time, procrastinating from the usual finger tappings clearing my reader queue.

Here I am, starting, beginning, as I begin to think about the week ahead, deciding, planning, plotting on what it is that I want to do. How should I spend the upcoming week?

I know that the weekend is pretty much spoken for.

This weekend of bah humbugness is planned and planned and hopefully I’ll be able to execute it without any problems.

Looking forward to spending my time with strangers, helping them, volunteering my time to help feed the poor.

Then on the day itself, I’ll be on my own, with Pickles, driving away – Lake Arrowhead – The Salton Sea – Oceanside.

It’ll be a serene day. Hopefully I won’t be reachable as I try to cut communication with the outside world and just do my photowalks, exploring the different areas, different places I’ve never been. Just exploring.

* * *

There’s a plot, a plan that was put into action.

I just find it fascinating that many people is looking out for my best interest.

They find it in themselves to want to help me, or to see me get the best.

In a way it’s cute and it makes me feel loved that people would want to do that for me. But there are times when I’m like, why?

What have I done to deserve this? I am who I am. I try not to be anything but.

I do what is asked of me, because it is my job to.

And it just fascinates me that they feel comfortable enough with me to want to do this for me.

Going back to it:

The Plot.

It just came out of the blue as I went to visit the the Camp Counselor for something work related, which I don’t remember and then it started.

“I have a plan”, she starts. “I came up with it all on my own”, she told me.

She then proceeded to ask if I have any problems dating anyone from work. Given my circumstance, I said no. ‘Cause I honestly never did.

It is what it is. It seems that most of the people I have crushes on are from people at work, because there, I can be myself around. There’s no pressure. We have to work together, so, there are no pretensions on my side. This is me. Take it or leave it.

Whereas in a more social environment, I tend to get a little more clammy, shelled up in my own little psyche and uncomfortableness to let my true being come out and play.

She has a plan. She came up with it all on her own.

I asked her who she had in mind. Surprisingly she said it was the scene stealer.

Her plan. All on her own.

I didn’t let on, not yet. I asked her why. Why indeed? I want to hear from an outside perspective, someone who isn’t in the know and see what she says.

Cute. Smart. Nice. Just your general great qualities that I already see in her and know and like her for.

Then I let her in on my own not so little secret because in a way, it’s public knowledge. I have the biggest crush on her. I do.

She didn’t know.

The plot.

So, she’s working her little magic, her snoop snoop and trying to get intel.

I told her that the Ghofran had the inside scoop and that she doesn’t see me that way. She openly tossed that information aside. Not reliable information. Toss it aside.

So there it was.

As she scooped around, asking around, the more reinforcement she got that it was a good idea. A great idea.

All the time I can’t believe what is happening, laughing it off, but in a way hopeful. I’m not holding my breath, not hoping for anything, but just taking it all in stride.

I was the recommendation to her. This was before my knowledge of the plot. The the Camp Counselor did it all on her own. I was the recommendation, the suggestion. Others confirmed.

Just weird.

As she spoke to the Scene Stealer, getting the information. “Why?” she asked. Why me, indeed?

Smart. Generous. Funny. I can talk about a lot of different things. The blah blah blah of talking one up.

All she did was nod her head, taking in the information.

Maybe we can start with lunch or something…

So the the Camp Counselor says I should do it. Take my chance. Do it. Do it.

* * *

In a way I had always planned on doing it and in a way I already did. When are we going to hang out?….Yeah, we should. Maybe a movie or something. Just have to find something to watch.

And that was that. Weeks ago. Over a month ago and nothing came of it. It was like this time last year when I asked her to go watch a movie and nothing came of it.

Nothing came of anything.

In a way, it is my fault. I should be more forceful and strong and make it happen. I know I should.

I definitely should but there’s that fear in me that is holding it back. What if I fuck it up and then what we had, that friendship is forever gone and awkward?

That would be fucked and I’ll be sad to see that gone.

But I guess in a way, that’s what life is, taking that risk.

Taking that risk.

* * *

I did try but I took too long as we ended up discussing Shame.

I got cocked-blocked.

Fucking A.

Sigh.

But hope is not all lost.

* * *

So in a way, enough is enough.

People think it is cute. My Sister thinks it’s so cute that the hard-ass Camp Counselor would do some matchmaking.

Eh.

* * *

I know I usually don’t do this on here since this is a place for my thoughts and my thoughts alone, but I came across this little list today while surfing my Facebook page.

http://www.marcandangel.com/2011/12/11/30-things-to-stop-doing-to-yourself/

It may not seem so, but I’m actually kind of very much into self-help, but for the sake of actually helping oneself. I don’t necessary read any self-help books since most of my advice and the things I do are very practical and in a way true.

This list is very helpful and for the most part, are things that I believe in already or have already put on this dear blog of mine.

I am just putting this on here so I can look back on this list from time to time. During my time of reflection. During my time of cloudiness and I need a little push, a little guidance from the world.

A list.

The list.

It happened like it always did in the movies.

I’m minding my own business, waiting for something or someone and I turn and see you, off in the distance. A smile creeps onto my face as recognition hits. It’s you.

My focus, on you. My everything, on you.

As you got closer, all I see is you. You fill my whole perspective.

You.

* * *

Listen to your heart

Shhhh. Just listen.

Shut up and just listen.

It’s whispering you the deep down secrets that you already know. It’s yammering on and on in its short-mumbled-growl on the way of life that you have always dreamed.

It’s telling you on what you need to do.

Shhh. Just listen.

It’s a wise beast that does no wrong. Everything it does, every beat it takes tells you to take the leap, to make the best of it and just be.

Go.

Fly.

* * *

Partying it up like it never was.

Friday was the company holiday party and overall, I think I had a really good time.

I do notice that this was unlike any other party experience I have experienced in my life. I didn’t need a buffer.

I didn’t need to be in the security of my own little group. I was my on my own, doing my own thing, wandering around keeping my synapse firing, taking in the whole night, on my own.

I’ll jump from one group to another, fitting in where I fit in.

No buffer needed.

This is a first for me, for usually I’ll stick with my own IT group or a smaller group of people that I’m just comfortable with.

I don’t know what it was, but that night, I just felt at ease.

I don’t know what has gotten into me lately, but again, all signs points to this year’s lesson. BE SOCIAL.

It is my year of socialness. It is my year to break out of my shell, be even more comfortable in my skin. Take it or leave it.

This is another year of growth like any other.

This is another year to remember.

Back to the party…back to me.

Another surprise, I actually made it to the after party. I made Jeff proud, for him to see me there. I guess there’s a first for everything.

Ahhh.

What has gotten into me? The wallflower is blossoming again. The late bloominess of my life springs into action.

Slowly, albeit surely, I am becoming more and more me.

* * *

There were many pluses about that night.

First and most importantly, no vomiting.

But that goes alone with me being a little more inebriated than I needed to be. The last two drinks at the after party shouldn’t have happened, and I should have probably drank more water, as I realized that when I drove home.

Blah.

I just need to stop doing that. Really, I must. Lesson to teach myself next year, as most likely I’ll go back to my shell. Stop drinking, or at least sober up really well before I get into the car.

Blah.

* * *

But overall it was a good night.

Meeting new people or being able to talk to new people, like the lil’ WC. Cute. Adorable.

What was a passing stranger have become a drunken night of touchy feely and a mish-mash of garbled words that I don’t recollect.

Either way, there’s just a high that one gets when they are comfortable in a social situation. I kind of understand it now. I understand the draw of being out, hanging out, just having fun. I get it.

But I don’t know if that is something that I would like to do often. Once in a blue moon, great. I’m down. Sign me up.

‘Cause I think, ultimately I enjoy this better.

This still quietness of tranquility. This silence of everydayness. It puts my soul at ease. Something that I have control over.

I’m a stickler for control. What little that I have.

* * *

I’m in trouble, so much trouble.

My heart is just bursting at the seams, bleeding out, hemorrhaging.

I’m marked for death.

* * *

Time flew tonight as I jumped from group to group.

B5 and the Avaness and the ZingerZest…Ms. D to the lil WC…my usual group of Mui Gwai Fah to Tuffy and the Diva Diva…the Month and the boys of IT.

Scrambling between each one from one point in time to another. Catching up at different times, a intersection of circles along the T axis, flowing through the night.

Surprise show ups from the Ghofran and Tara. Just different people that I am use to, comfortable with.

I guess that’s the deal, they were all my buffers. They were all people I spent time with to make the time more bearable and fly by.

Ultimately, the alcohol helped a lot. Most definitely.

* * *

Intimidation was gone that night.

It melted away as you caught my eye from far off.

It dropped off as we fell into our quick familiar ways as we are on our own, in our own little corner, our own little space. That’s the only time when I can be with you, when you are just with me, when I have you all to myself.

* * *

Final words. Good night.

Fun times.

* * *

Lost my mojo, lost my thoughts.

This rambling doesn’t gel like my others, like the ones of yore.

My day is done, my skill is done.

Maybe I’m just still tired and my brain is still trying to recover from the other night and from the slow day of yesterday while I was doing our little writers group.

The muffled brain of discussing my script, taking notes and trying to figure out how to work on the 2nd draft on the second half of script.

Trying to figure out my new project, trying to figure out the collaboration piece.

I just have so many things in the air that it is just too difficult to juggle.

I just need to find my cave again, my little piece of heaven, my haven where I can just do whatever it is that I want and not worry about the outside world.

To get back to that place, to that mindset. What I wouldn’t give.

Please bring me back to the place I belong. Please.

As I sit here trying to tap my little tappity taps, I see the poster for Norwegian Wood and now I want to read that. To blow through all of the books that are currently in my reading list and just go straight to another Murakami as I still have another Murakami in progress as I finished 1Q84 last night.

Ahhh, to be so intrigued by a author again, another Kafkaesque.

I guess in a way why I like Kafka and Murakami is because what their protagonist endures in their work, is that they are passive participants in life. Weird and strange stuff just happens to them and they just buckle down and let things play out. Life throws you into these weird situations and you just have to go with it, see how things play out. Experience it and then you see how you will act.

That’s my life. That’s my philosophy. And hopefully by the end, you become a changed person, stronger than before you came in, even if it is just a little bit.

I am my own little Kafka. I am my own little Gregor Samsa. I am my own little Joseph K. I am my own little Tengo. I am my own little Aomame. I am my own little Murakami.

I just am my own little weirdness that I own whole-heartedly because this is it, this is me.

I am all of these quirkiness that just makes me me.

I am.

Tell me why?

Why?

Why what?

I have no idea what I’m writing right now as I try to get into the habit of putting letters into words, typing out sentences and trying to focus on something that would make something.

I’m having trouble trying to focus as my mind is just empty of anything pertinent, of anything at all that is worth mention.

I’m sure as I just type along, line by line, space by space; I’ll come up with something to say. It just takes time.

Writing like this is getting more and more difficult for me. It’s just purely drivel, stream of conscious flowy flowing of whatever flows in this flowiness of flow.

But it just doesn’t flow, stream, or download into my fingers.

My mind tries to test my finger’s dexterity. It’s not.

Not at all, hence my difficulties of strumming and chord playing. It just doesn’t work.

I thought it would be the rhythm also, but it is many things and I’m just handicapped by it.

* * *

New section. New break.

Let’s try this again.

What is it that I want to say? What do I want to say?

As I come close to the end of the year, it’ll be another year gone, and a new one to look forward to.

It’s just a blank slate of open possibilities. What is to come? What will happen?

I can only dream, guess, hypothesize, but until it actually happens and pass, I can’t truly say what is to be of my ’12 year.

* * *

It’s back again. The original.

Am I your fire. Your one desire.

Before it was by the contestants, this, now by the boys from the backstreets.

Is it a sign? Is it a thing that I should pay attention?

Most of these entries since its inception have been about this little thing, my fire, my one desire; this little crazy notion of love and the one. The romantic in me just won’t go away even though I really do away with it.

I don’t see it happening anytime soon. It’s just there, nagging. Nagging.

When am I getting married? was the question that was thrown out to me.

I don’t know.

I was told by my little cousins that I should fine a female version of me to get with. In all honestly, I agree. I need a female me.

There are many that come close, quite a few. B5 is pretty close to me in many ways, she would make a good fit. I’m sure there are quite a few others that have crossed my paths and I’m sure that I had a fleeting little crush on them at one time or another.

I’m just drawn to them along with many other girls.

Blah.

Blah.

Blah.

How to love

It’s a soft shock to me that in a way I know what it is that I need to do, I just don’t follow through.

My advice is sound. It’s the same as I would give others given my predicament. Exactly the same and yet, here I am, ignoring it.

I guess this happens with everyone that dispenses these little pearls of wisdoms, they just don’t take their own advice.

Why is that?

Honest answer: I have no fucking clue.

* * *

Losing my mind. My own little thought train just derailing on its way to Sanity Focusville killing all that was onboard.

My mind wanders into a mess, nothing to do, nothing to see. It just lacks whatever focus and is falling into a rut rut that I don’t know how to get out of now.

I need something to do, I need to finish my projects, whatever they may be.

I just need some sort of plan, direction, for the day, for the hour, for the minutes and seconds that I am here. I just need something.

Fobby fobilicious unpacking the things that she needs to do to work, to take notes, write letters in her character heavy script that I’m illiterate at.

She buckles down, checking her time, writing her letters.

People don’t write letters anymore, by hand, stuff in envelopes, sticker on their stamps and leave it out for the postman.

It’s a dying art with the constant need for instant results. Texts. IMs. Emails. Pings and what nots.

It’s a dying slow way of doing things, but in a way, I guess that is what romance is all about, the dying art of things.

* * *

Blah!

* * *

My last day here.

Getting ready to go. Avoiding the mob of the Black Friday Shoppers like they are lepers.

I’m sitting here, alone again in this lil’ coffee shop doing my little diddle.

It seems that I have gain a few fans during my short time here, having them see me most every day here since I’ve been back.

From the older Korean owner to the recent High School Graduate, who I like to call Shanika, just because I just named her in an earlier post.

Or maybe they just have to greet me with smiles and ask how my holiday was because they work in the customer service industry.

It’s quiet today, even though it seems like the world is alive outside. Everywhere seems pack with the consumerism of the world, each playing into the scripted traditions of merchandising and materialism.

It is a buyers world out there right now, each buying anything they can get their hands on for the cheap.

Some even risking their lives just to get “stuff”.

Is stuff really that important to risk your life for? Is stuff really that important for me to brave the crowds just so I can get something that I probably won’t use much or need anyway? Probably not. Most definitely not.

* * *

It’s sunny today as opposed to the overcast and the rain that I have been comfortable with for the past couple of days.

My body gave out on me yesterday, or the night before, coming down with the familiar fatigue and illness that I usually get. I guess I should just pop a pill and try to get a good night’s sleep. It helped me before and so that should be the plan.

Overall, I really did enjoy my short stay here up in the Northwest. It is no different than the usual year-end stays of the past couple of years. A lot of family time, family feasts and a lot of alone time or even some simple times with my mom, sharing a meal together.

It’s nice.

The saying, You never know what you’ll miss till it is gone. It’s true.

I never thought I would miss these things, but I do. Growing up doing it a lot, I guess I took it for granted. The home cooked meals, sitting at the dinner table with my mom eating, the car rides of just small talk and the time of big family gatherings.

I guess in a way, I just have to give myself the opportunity to miss these things. If not, then I’ll take them for granted again.

Life. It’s just funny how it works.

Why can’t notice how important these things are when they are just right in front of our face?

The importance of family, of a home cooked meal and sitting down together as a family and eating it. The big family get togethers, not just immediate family, but all family, extended families, uncles, aunties, cousins.

It’s just times like these that makes me wonder if I’ll ever do it, if I’ll ever pick up all my stuff and move back here.

Sometimes, it crosses my mind. I know when I was back here this past summer, I thought about it. It was on my mind, to come back, and see what kind of life I can make for myself. But at that time, it was the nature that was calling me.

This time, here, this past week, I don’t think it ever really crossed my mind or that I seriously thought about moving back up here.

Sure there was some talks about it with my little cousins, but that was more for the benefit of my mom to set me up with someone if I ever moved back here.

I don’t know.

Again, there’s a possibility of things moving towards this direction, but there’s always should be that possibility along with many other possibilities; living till my dying days in Los Angeles, picking up and moving to Chicago, New York, or being a wanderer and going abroad, China, Japan, Europe. The possibilities are endless and in a way, if I think about it, they are all viable possibilities.

The answer truly is I don’t know.

Sometimes that is just the best answer. You just don’t know until the time it comes to knowing. That’s a surprise I’m willing to go for.

* * *

Life.

I just don’t know where it is going sometimes and sometimes I’m just a little impatient or frustrated with the not knowing.

I’ve gotten better of just letting things happening, going with the flow and seeing where it takes me. As of right now, I have no complaints, I’m happy with the direction it is heading. It fits. It works.

But I know me. Once things get stale, I get antsy.

I guess we will see.

* * *

Maybe it is just that I have the time and the opportunity to do it more often, to focus, but it really does seem that I’ve been writing a lot more or at least blogging more.

With my latest writing project finished, just waiting for comments to come in, I just sit and blog away. Typing away my life away again.

Maybe it is the end of the year also and that I’m in my reflective mood and that is just giving me something to ramble on and on about.

Maybe. Just maybe.

* * *

Look for the dream that comes back. It’s your destiny.

Maybe a lot of people has been getting that fortune cookie too ’cause it seems a lot of interwebbers have been searching for the phrase and ended up being redirected to my page.

Or maybe it is lyrics.

I don’t know, but I just find it funny what people are searching for and how they land on my page.

I will get a lot of interwebbers from people doing a search for Gillian Chung also. I wrote an entry way back win, ’06, I believe about my fascination and love for Twins. It was innocent, but I know that many of these searchers aren’t that innocent.

They are looking for the nude photos of here during the Edison Chen scandal. I don’t blame them. I was one of them when the story first broke.

She’s cute.

* * *

My heart grows heavy
Sinking, falling into the abyss
It’s drowning with the weight of you

* * *

Sweet sweetness of Caroline.

Where is my Caroline? Donde?

I just want to find her so I can just sing my sweet sing songs to her.

Touching me. Touching you.

Oh, Sweet Caroline

Where are our good times that never seem so good?

* * *

It’s another late start for me today. Way late. I’ve been way played in my daily doings up here and I don’t know how time has gotten away from me.

But I am here again, typing at my heart’s content.

Trying to get back to the mindless ramblings of lyrical sing-songs of just random focus twing tangs of my heart and mind.

Little beeps, beeps distracting me as I am keep a cyber company that is over a thousand miles away.

Just typing away, trying to figure it out, keep me occupied.

What is it going to be today? What will be my content today?

Yesterday was an exercise on a focused diatribe. Today, back to my mindless ramblings?

Maybe. Maybe indeed. It seems to be shaping up that way.

Hmm…let’s try an exercise.

* * *

She stands behind the counter twirling her hair, waiting for her next customer. She’s not here by choice, but more by necessity.

I’m sure she would rather be someplace else, off in college, cramming away before the short break of Thanks..

I don’t know her name, but I’ll call her Shanika, even though she doesn’t look close to a Shanika. She’s more along the lines of a Kieoko or a Mei Li. But today, Shanika will suit her just fine.

Young and bright eyed. She still has that sense of innocence about her.

Shanika graduated high school just a short few months ago, but she wasn’t able to get into University. Not just yet. She just reapplied again, hoping, crossing her fingers that she doesn’t get rejected a second time.

Where? My alma mater, the University of Washington – Seattle.

So, here she is, at a local mom and pop’s just standing behind a register, waiting for everyone’s coffee order and preparing their little croissants and pastries that will tie them over till lunch or something to sweeten their palate while consuming the drippings of the bitter bean.

Shanika dreams of bigger things while she’s back there, twirling away.

* * *

Heart breaking.

The loyalty of dogs.

I wonder if Pickles would stay by my side if I unfortunately pass.

Just read a story of a loyal dog.

Like the story says, it almost brought tears to my eyes while making me laugh at the same time.

I’m just a sucker for things like that. I’m just a softie. I just like emotions, ’cause maybe I just grew up with so little of it.

I don’t know.

Blah.

Blah indeed.

* * *

I can see today shaping out to be a good writing day.

Very much so.

See.

* * *

Fix you…again.

It seems that I’ve been stuck in reverse for a while now.

I think of bettering myself, exercising, getting in shape, focusing on my artistic endeavors and broadening my mind with more reading and what not, but I haven’t really been able to do that.

Blah.

Blah indeed.

Maybe I will be soon. Going back home after this holiday, maybe I should.

It should be a new time in my life, as I go back into my air chrysalis hibernating, creating my dota and me being my motha.

We will see what happens.

Will I stick to my guns, getting this tired old body of mine into a much better shape, a shape that will take me into the next 50 or 60 years or so?

Here’s to hoping.

Giving my history, giving the family’s history, it’s a coin toss.

I’m battling nature, genetics that I might end up in the grave sooner rather than later.

Even knowing my shortcomings, I ignore them and live a life that facilitates my death sooner.

It’s not because I’m looking to be buried anytime soon, to test out the theory if Pickles will just be at my grave and never leave, but I’m just lazy.

Pickles being the way he is, being so attached, but so friendly, he’ll just probably find the first nice person that pays him any attention and leave with them, forgetting me…like he should.

He should be happy and warm and cared for instead of waiting next to someone that can’t take care of him.

I want that for him.

It’s just how it should be.

* * *

Running out. Running out of steam.

This stream is drying up, just a slight trickle of something, fighting its way, going with gravity to the big reservoir…somewhere.

Just trying to add to this page, this entry. Just trying.

It seems that for the most part, every time I’m up here and I have nothing really planned, I would come to the local mom & pop’s coffee shop and just do some writing. Today is no different. The past couple of days have been no different.

It’s always the same.

My mom sleeps in late and either my brother is already at work by the time I wake up or he wakes up late. It’s what I get for being an early bird. I just have to find things to do to occupy myself and I really don’t mind. It gives me the alone time that I kind of strive for.

I don’t even remember how many entries that I have already, two? It is the way it is and I expect more entries this week.

I just hope that I have enough content to spew out before the end of my time here in the beautiful wet and cold Northwest.

* * *

An old high school friend of mine started a blog a few weeks or maybe even months back. She wanted to know what people’s definition of love is. It doesn’t have to be the lovey-dovey kind of love, but any kind of love. Her blog is located here.

It seems that she’s the only one who posted anything to it. It is a lot to ask of someone to write down something that might be possibly live on the internet forever and forever.

She asked me to put something in there when she thought of the idea and I thought I would. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.

Love…what is it? What am I going to write about? I have no clue.

I never really thought about it much, but I’m sure I’ll post something. Maybe here and there.

* * *

Love.

…is all around us as the song goes. Love is all around us.

There’s no escaping it, as we look around for the most part, it’s everywhere. The person next to you may have been created from a night of love making, a testament of love between two people.

The couple holding hands while walking down the street, they are most likely in love.

Even a cynical jaded fool like I am can see it. It’s all around. There’s no escaping it.

Growing up, I didn’t really get the full blown Brady Bunch text book definition of what a loving family is. My family showed it in other ways; ways of putting in hours and hours of work, food on the table, and a roof over our heads; the necessities of making a family feel more secure in life.

I didn’t grow up with that many friends. For the most part, I was and still am the loner off doing my own thing. Even though I have always been surrounded by people, at school, at work, out and about, I always feel alone. Though it is less so now than when I was young and angsty. But alone still.

Now, being alone doesn’t always mean that I’m always lonely.

You see, I actually enjoy being alone. That’s pretty much the definition of the anti-social loner hermit that I am. It’s just how I roll.

Besides the normal familial love that I grew up having, I hardly ever felt love of any other kind.

Sure there were the love of lust and the painful unrequited nature. I’m sure all have been there and all can relate, but overall, I never really loved anyone or anything besides family.

That for me changed a few years ago and I do have to say it changed my life, it saved my life.

It’s my love for Pickles.

Pickles here isn’t the salty sour food that many love to devour, but a friend, a buddy of the four legged furry kind. Pickles is my furry son, a 6 1/2-year-old Pit Bull Labrador mutt.

He’s just a darling.

I don’t have kids, but having him feels like I do.

For the most part, I’m sure it is easier than a kid, but damn, if he doesn’t test my patience.

Having him for the past 6 years or so, he really taught me a few things about life, love, and patience.

With him I’ve gone through peeing, diarrhea, puke, and other liquidy juicy goodness on the carpet. I’ve gone through dug up carpet, chewed up blinds, curtains, door knobs, and broken door jams.

Sure I was angry, pissed, but you know, I learned to let these things go. Pickles couldn’t help it. He’s stuck at home alone all day while I’m trudging away in the office.

Thankfully he’s grown out most of those, except for the spiteful peeing, but again, just let it go. He has feelings too and sometimes he just needs to go.

Just buy a carpet cleaner and let things be.

He’s broken out of my apartment a total of three times, from my brother’s back yard once, and a cousin’s backyard in Portland, OR twice; a parent’s worse nightmare, a lost kid in a strange city. But thankfully he’s able to find his way home or a stranger was kind enough to wrangle him in and give me a call.

Love is also when he’s not feeling well and he can’t really tell you what is wrong. He’ll wake you up in the middle of the night (2-3 AM) in the morning, him breathing in your face; his two front paws on the bed; you peel your eyes open and you see the outline of his head right next to yours just staring at you. You tell him to go back to bed, push him away but he doesn’t budge.

You get your sleepy ass out of bed and take him out to the front, thinking he needs to pee. He does his business and you go back to bed thinking it is done, you fall quickly back to sleep. Ten minutes later, he’s doing the same thing and the routine continues, you push him away, he doesn’t budge, you take him out, but this time he doesn’t go.

Pissed, tired, and grumpy, you realize something is wrong and he needs a walk. You put on shoes, glasses, and fetch him up with his harness and leash and take him out for a walk in the middle of the night.

Why? Because you know he won’t leave you alone until he gets his walk. Sure, but more importantly you know that there is something wrong and he needs to just go.

And it isn’t near the end of the walk that he squats down and explodes the nastiest, foulest, diarrhea you’ve ever seen.

Then, at that moment, any anger you had towards him for dragging your sorry ass out of bed disappears and you just feel sorry for the little guy and you ask him why didn’t he tell you before he had an upset stomach? You start to baby him, hold him, telling him everything will be okay.

Before I got my four legged son, I never thought I’d be so attached to him, that I would actually physically miss his presence.

The little guy, all 60 pounds of him sleeps with me, for the most part, unless it is just way too hot in bed with me or he’s just pissed off at me for dumping him somewhere while I’m on vacation. So, when I first got him, he’s been sleeping with me even though he has a bed on the floor at the foot of my bed.

It was just a few weeks after I got him that I went back to Seattle to visit my family. I remember waking up in the middle of the night one night and didn’t feel Pickles next to me. I got worried, then realize that I’m not home and he’s not with me. I really missed him, curled up next to me, sleeping.

The longer he’s been with me, the longer that I notice that his personality is a lot like mine. There are times that I wonder if he was like me to begin with or if he just picked up and adapted to my personality.

He’s very chill, mellow, and antisocial in many ways. Going to dog parks, he would mingle for a bit and then he’ll be off doing his own thing by himself. That’s like me in any social event. I’ll do my quick mingling and then I’m ready to go.

His love of hiking and traveling is another thing that I love about my pooch. He’s more gung ho about hiking then I am, never wanting to rest and just keep trudging on. He’s been by my side on many solo hiking trips and solo road trips. He’s an adventurer like me and for that, I love him.

The look on his face whenever he senses that there’s a big trip coming up, his wagging tail, him running around the small living room, crashing into my legs, just waiting to bolt out the door. It just makes me smile and laugh, even if he isn’t tagging along, the thought of him excited to go with me, to be with me. If that isn’t love right there, then what is?

It’s a little sad to see him get deflated when I tell him that he can’t go. His whole demeanor changes, confused, tail down. It tears away at my heart disappointing him like that, but sometimes he just can’t go.

It wasn’t until recently that I can relate to actual parents dropping their kids off at school for the first time. The heart pangs of leaving them at a new unfamiliar place, feeling scared, and vulnerable. I had to drop him off at a boarder’s for my recent trip home for Thanksgiving. Usually I’m able to find a sitter, but this time wasn’t.

Dropping him off, seeing him get comfortable, sniffing the other dogs, I felt a little bit better that he’ll get along with the other dogs. As I step out and the door closed behind me, my chest started to tighten, my heart was aching. I’m leaving my son at a strange new place for a whole week. I wonder how he’s doing now, if he’s making friends, fitting in. I certainly hope so.

And as much as I do for him, he does a lot for me. He will always be there to lick away my tears whenever I just have one of my moments. He’s just always there to comfort me.

It’s weird how much I would be treating him as a person instead of the dog that he is. I know he’s just a dog. I see him as a dog, but he’s everything to me.

I guess that is what happens when you actually love someone, love something.

They are your everything.

* * *

Another day has gone, another day lived.

Sitting here at Tolino’s again, doing the thing that I do, I try to think about what to write.

Having had our yearly Family Thanksgiving get-together yesterday, I have to in a way uncompress from the hub-bub that happened yesterday. The many kids running around, playing, screaming. The many food, and the many new strangers and family members there that had to catch up and just be with.

It was a surprise, but really wasn’t that there wasn’t more family that partake on the gathering. Considering that everyone is so spread out now, off in their own little cities, busy in their own lives — doing their own thing, it’s understandable.

It seems like there was always a core group of family members that partake in these things, and it seems to me like they are more the family oriented ones. Menty, Phinny, Hien, and Loretta. The usuals I guess. I’m sure if the others could, they would be here.

Family of the previous generation is getting smaller and smaller. There, it was only mom and 14th uncle. I guess that is how it is, since he’s the only Uncle we have left up in the Northwest. Our little own Jedi Council is getting smaller and smaller and it’s just sad.

Life. Growing up. Eventually we all have to go.

The stories that are shared about the past will always be there, but the storytellers are getting smaller and smaller. Their recollections are still there, but it’s only one point of view instead of the many that I’ve heard from in the past.

Life.

Listening to the stories last night as told by 14th Uncle/Auntie and Mom, it’s a little sad at what my family had gone through, how much they have to suffer to just get to where they are now. They survived not one, but two fleeings, rebuilding their lives all over again. They gave up everything they had more times than anyone should have and gambled on a new livelihood, on a new life anywhere.

And they did that. I came from a family of survivors. WE came from a family of survivors.

* * *

It was around 1954, when Chiang Kai-shek took over the Nationalistic Revolution and forced Sun Yat-sen out of China to Taiwan.

At that time, Grandpa and Grandma have been pretty much run out of the country. Their family had to flee along with Great Uncle and Great Grandpa. Their whole family.

On my Grandpa’s side, they had to take 2nd Uncle, 3rd Uncle, 5th Uncle, 7th Uncle and 14th Uncle. 14th Uncle was around 4 at this time.

They left everything they had. They were poor. There wasn’t anything they could do.

I’m not sure where they fled to, but it was southeast China, near the Vietnamese border. Grandpa took a job at the quarry, breaking rocks. Grandma I believe made coal.

To my surprise, they had to make coal by hand. They have to squeeze the coal together into the balls that they use now. I can’t imagine how they would go about doing that, nor the dust that Grandma probably inhaled while doing it.

They didn’t ‘have much to eat at all. A nightly dinner would be congee with sweet potatoes, and the congee would mostly be water. Grandpa, grandma and maybe some of the older uncles would just drink the congee water and let 14th uncle have the actual rice.

There was another time when Grandma would take 14th uncle with her to go bargain for rice. With 14th Uncle strapped to her back, Grandma would go stall to stall asking for the vendors to give them some rice. She’ll bargain with them, give me some rice and when we get some money, we’ll pay you back. If they said no, they’ll move onto the next one.

One day, while doing this, I’m not sure if the other Uncles were with them or not, they came across a wealthy Chinaman. Instead of giving them rice or money to help out, he wanted to buy one of my grandparent’s children. Because they have so many children and they are poor, it was an option and apparently it happened a lot back them.

The Chinaman had his eye on 14th uncle and it seemed that Grandma agreed to sell him. Money exchanged hands and 14th uncle went and hid underneath the table and grabbed on for dear life to a table leg. Crying, fighting, he never let go, not wanting to go.

I guess eventually, the Chinaman relented and my grandparents decided that we will all starve together as a family then sell one of their children.

I can’t even fathom or imagine having to do something like that; having to sell one of your children so the other children wouldn’t starve. How can you choose? Would you be able to do that? Could you?

* * *

Getting to Vietnam.

It seemed that Grandma’s brother lived in North Vietnam around this time, about 1955 or so. There’s a little straight or bay or whatever that is separating China from Vietnam. Grandma’s brother studied the tides and knows when the tides would be high or low enough to cross.

Once he got it down, he passed word to my family on when to cross.

Grandpa and Grandma had to split the family in two, each having to cross at separate times. At this time Great Grandpa was with them also. Either way, they had to cross this lil’ straight/bay at different times.

Why?

Because if they get captured or gunned down, there’s still a chance that the family will not be annihilated ’cause there is still another half of the family left. The ingrained nature to have your family survive; increase the chances that your family will survive by separating them.

But, that’s what they did. They separated and they crossed at different times. I don’t know how many days or weeks between crossing, but they did it and they finally reunited in North Vietnam.

It was there that Great Grandpa died. Apparently he got buried at a top of a mountain or a really big hill. It was around the time that when we first got to the States, one of our Great Uncles went back to the burial site, collected his bones and brought it back to China for a burial.

* * *

North to South.

Like how they gave up everything to flee from China, my Grandparents gave up everything to move from North to South Vietnam, eventually ending up in Saigon.

I’m not sure of the circumstance, but they got on a big boat, like a sanctioned move, and sailed down to Saigon. There they stayed.

While they were in Saigon, there was word that there was a job opportunity to work in Long Khanh. Grandpa went by himself to do it.

The job? To clear-cut the forest to make it inhabitable. The pay? Whatever you clear-cut, the land is yours.

While he was doing it by himself, Grandma and the rest of the family stayed in Saigon. Eventually 2nd uncle went up there to help him.

Now I understood how we were able to get the farmland. That was one aspect I didn’t understand doing my years of researching and listening to the stories, how we got the farmland. I mean, if we were so poor, how were we able to pay for the land to farm.

We paid for it through manual labor, sweat and blood. Grandpa cleared his land by hand.

They would clear the outline of the land first, leaving whatever inside. The idea is to get as much land as you want, carve out the border first and worry about the inside later.

It’s kind of like the Oklahoma land race back in the day, but this is the Vietnamese clear-cutting race.

And then here we are. Again, the 70s, after the war, we gave up everything, risked our lives to get to where we are now.

A family of survivors.

* * *

The above isn’t the best writing, but I’m not going to worry about the style as the content is more important.

I’m sure I’ll come back to it on another entry later, eventually as I just let the new stories and information settle in my mind a bit. I just wanted to get it down before I forget the details of it.

Just listening to 14th Uncle and my mom tell the stories and seeing how they are able to laugh about the hardship they had endured. Even listening to Phinny laugh about the times on the boat while fleeing Vietnam, how he remembered the time at the Thai refugee camp, him fishing with a bottle and twine.

I guess once everything is okay, you can’t help but laugh at it. You kind of have to, relieved that things are finally okay. Nothing to endure anymore.

The only thing you have to worry about now is having a job, making enough money to support your family, put a roof over your head.

Life.