(conversation between office mates)
me: "i promise i will clean this place. what a mess!"
(looking at the pile, taking one sheet of paper and throwing it into the trash can.)
me: "there, first step."
office mate: "without the first step, there can be no second."
me: "wow! did you just come down from the mountain?"
for lunch, he buys a ridiculously large soda. i don't know, perhaps it was 64 ounces, maybe 96.
this came to me: small, medium, gigantaur.
then a nasty thought: small, medium, pig.
then another: small, medium, stupid.
anyway, you are thinking about letting out a fart.
that's really not quite accurate. your body (really it is all just you, isn't it) wants to fart, and you are deciding whether to do it.
whatever.
the decision depends on so many factors. are you alone? are you with people? are you in the middle of a heated debate, in the middle of the living room of your boss, in the middle of a party, when the fart wants to be.
you see, it's so complicated.
once you decide to fart, you don't know what is going to happen next.
it could be a loud one. it could be a quiet one. it could be a stinker. it could have practically no odor.
you HAVE NO CONTROL over the kind of farting experience you will have, and that the people who are AT THIS MOMENT around you will have, the moment it (by it, i mean, the gurgling "down there" of course) starts, you simply go for the ride.
and so, it begins.
oh no, it's a bang-pop-blurper.
and it doesn't stop at bang, pop, blurp. it goes on for a couple of seconds. and it's loud, very loud. so loud that all the conversations in the room stops, because, well, now people are curious how long this fart might go on. and, people are SO GLAD that they are not the one farting.
now it's five seconds. and you realize that there is no doubt as to the origin of the fart, because everyone has had the time to triangulate.
now it's eight. and you begin to marvel, because, when was the last time that a fart, anyone's fart, ever lasts for eight seconds?
do you think we can change our destiny?
i think we do what we can, until our destiny is revealed to us.
- the last samurai
i have never thought of her as beautiful. for one thing, she is too old.
tango.
in close embrace with her partner, i see it.
beauty.
no. not that she is beautiful. nothing about her changes, except that, for a few seconds, i am witness to beauty.
i am giddy, not able to take my eyes off her.
the six-year old turns his back on his practice partner, crosses his arms, and pouts.
me: "never never ever turn your back against your opponent. you have no idea what he might do to you. he could bop you over the head with his fist."
the eight-year old partner: "i would never bop his head."
hmm... the fish are swimming so nicely together. what's up with that?
oh, they are very well fed.
you know what? the aquarium should have a special "we didn't feed the fish today" day.
they stand, a respectful two feet apart. facing, but not leaning towards each other. eyes not quite making contact. words flowing simply between them, quietly.
then, a pause.
the same distance, the same not-quite-eye-contact, the same easy flow of words.
of course, this must be an illusion.
their hearts must be racing, their minds frantically trying to find just the right words to sustain the flow, the connection with each other.
with time, might they remember this moment as the beginning?
stop stop stop stop stop!
I am here.
but i am not ready...
would you rather that
I am not here?
i don't know...
i like how smart i become
when you are here.
so what's the problem?
i hate everything else about myself
when you are here.
they sit, facing each other.
suddenly, she lets out a huge laugh.
the kind that,
if i were unkind,
i would say reminds me of a donkey.
(of course i have never heard
a donkey's laughter.)
but that's not important.
i smile because of this:
when you really really really
like a person,
you are free to laugh like
a donkey.
i stood in the hallway, straining to hold myself together, trying not to burst into tears, trying to understand what had just happened.
for thirty minutes, every note, every beat, took my breath away, and forgetting that i was not supposed to know any of the steps that i was about to take, i surrendered to the music.
my body became an instrument of god.
what's happening?
what's happening??
what the fuck is happening that
i can't focus that
i can't find my center...
i just want
to live
to breath
to think
with grace and deliberation,
instead
my body rages against my mind,
believing that my mind has abandoned it to chaos.
no i did not leave you,
says my mind.
i am here. i have always been here.
and there and there and there
and everywhere
and i am tired of being in every place
and i am tired of not being.
so, do you think she is beautiful?
... yeah. you?
hmm... yes. i think she is
beautiful. not stunningly
beautiful. but definitely
beautiful.
(nodding)
wait! she is
approachably
beautiful.
(nodding with total agreement)
if you believe me to be your enemy,
command me,
and i will gladly take my life.
- the last samurai
I am cleaning my computer. Funny thing. When people say they are cleaning their computer, they don't usually mean taking a rag and wiping it down. Anyway, I am going through files that I have not looked at for a long time. I figured that if I have not touched (heh heh) it for a year, I probably will never need it ever again. I am such a messy messy person. I mean, I try to be organized. But, really, I have always had piles of stuff. Anyway, a year ago I wrote this: Hell is 2 floors up. How far must I have fallen, how bleak must life had become, for me to think those words. As I read and re-read these words, I cannot imagine how sad I had been. I know I wrote them. I know I felt that despair. You know what? At this very moment, I absolutely cannot feel that sorrow, and I am DAMNED GLAD!
anyway i asked her to dance and she was a beautiful dancer and she told me that she had been away for a few years but she had danced quite a bit before that.
so how come you stopped?
oh a bad relationship and you know how you have to pour your heart into this dance otherwise what's the point do you know what i mean? oh man i am sorry this is probably too much information.
oh no it's ok it's fine i totally understand where you are coming from.
her sadness was contagious.
and then i thought about the tragedy: to walk away from your passions, to erase those memories, when a relationship dissolves.
do this: take your finger and stick it inside your mouth and shove it deep deep all the way to the back of your throat so that you gag and if you are lucky throw up.
now,
do this: take a pen, a pencil, i don't care, and stick it inside your ear, either one is fine, and push hard real hard and see if you can reach your brain.
that's good, real good. i am proud of you.
are you ready for the next game?
don't look back just keep walking ok now whistle and pretend everything is fine pretend that you are not afraid i said don't look back even if you think the monster is about to rip your head off you are just imagining this there is no monster behind you waiting to suck the eyeballs right out of your face that prickly feeling on the back of your neck is nothing everything is ok it's just your head messing with you just keep walking and whistle and whatever you do don't look back
stop! this non-ending conversations with myself about whether i had been a good man?
i don't care. not anymore.
fragile. delicate.
cracked. crumbled. swept.
broken bits of our lives intermingled and no way to tell which belongs to whom.
pray! that our souls find refuge before the final dusts are blown away.
In my car, waiting for the light to turn green, I see them, standing on the sidewalk, facing each other.
He, six inches taller than she, taut. Unmistakeable signatures of bottomless anger. An eternity of stalemate that ends a few seconds later, when he turns around and walks away from her.
She, ashamed, glances without moving her head. Has the world witnessed this brutal moment? Is she simply trash, to be discarded just like that? She walks into the alley and hides her face.
The light turns green. I look into my rearview mirror. (What is he going to do?)
He turns around.
At the airport the lot of us crammed into the taxi. There was no room in the back so I sat in the front next to the driver. The usual chitchat about nothing at all. He has a strong Russian accent. I don't know how we got to talking about STUFF but we did. He told me that he was a nuclear engineer and he came to the states to work on nuclear power plants. But guess what people are afraid of them so he lost his job. Now he is a cab driver. I don't know how we got to talking about life and hope and opportunity and loss. All I know is that we talked as if we had been best friends forever. When it was time to say goodbye we looked at each other for a few seconds... more than we ever spend with people we never met before and never will again.
daddy i want to make you an omelet?
wow! sure!
ok, what do i do?
you are in charge.
how many eggs?
2.
would you like scrambled, omelet, or... fried?
scrambled.
daddy! where can i throw this away? i messed up.
nope. we don't throw it away. see if you can fix it.
but it's not cooking. see?
that's because the pan is not hot enough.
and, give the egg time to cook before you stir.
actually, this looks great. it's custard style.
oh.
(stir and watch and wait and stir and watch and wait.)
it's ready.
yummy! thank you!
(hug.)
98 degrees.
ice cream store. keep walking.
coffee house. keep walking.
hungry. need food.
another coffee house. open door.
flies popcorning on the coffee tables.
chicken soup.
ice tea.
my forearms. shiny and salty and greasy.
brain. not working.
work. not happening.
fuck this.
i am eating and
i am a normal person
or at least that's what
i think, that
i am a normal person
when
my eyes dart
my brain loses grip of reality
my arms my legs wobble
and
i know that
the moment
i close my eyes
i will pass out
and
disappear.
there is this song on my ipod.
i don't know why it happens.
definitely not because of the words,
because i don't hear words when i listen to music.
some kind of brainal block, i think.
anyway this is what happens when
my ipod plays this song:
i begin to breath deeply and deliberately, and
my body begins to sway, and
my muscles begin to flex, and
my eyes begin to focus, and
i am ready to
fight.
First, I gotta be in the mood, you know? Well, this is not quite true. Sometimes I get in the mood when I see them, lying there, waiting to be thumped and squeezed and nozzled.
Usually they are in a huge pile. Pretty ones and ugly ones. But it really doesn't matter how they look, you know? You gotta pick them up, let them lie in your palms and feel the heaviness. You thump them to make sure that they are juicy. Honesty, why people do this baffles me. Sometimes, you put your nose to that odd spot and you inhale. We all have our rituals. We all do. I bet we all do that thump-thing and I bet none of us knows why we do it.
Anyway, the moment of truth, that time when I find out whether all that smelling and squeezing and thumping and weighing means anything at all, is when I take the hugest knife I got in my kitchen, and I stab it. I mean, really stab it. The kind of action that you know gives you a sick pleasure. The juice, at first a quick burst, then leaks and coats my knife and my kitchen counter. I push down, hard, slicing the skin, feeling it resists the blade, until the melon cracks open.
i feel so... helpless.
i feel, and i have no words to express the stuff that
bounces and swirls and zings and swooshes
inside my head.
all i know is that
inside my head
things are happening,
i am, "pissed off!" what the fuck does this mean?
i am, "in love!" what the fuck is Love?
so much inside,
and
there is nothing i can do
to tell you
what i feel.
anyway, it's hot.
naturally i am thinking
about ice cream.
but not just any ice cream.
the kind of ice cream that
refuses to stay frozen
in this putrid sticky wet air.
the kind of ice cream that
oozes and drools all the way
down down down
leaving my fingers sweetly slimy.
the kind of ice cream that
makes me shudder.
yeah, this is the ice cream
that is on my mind.
after spending five days
in the hospital
in the white room
with the white white walls
visited by people in white white white clothes
i cannot absorb quickly enough
the colors rushing rushing into
my eyes.
the most awful word
in the universe is
"my."
my lover. my friend. my partner.
my
my
my.
why do we want to
possess
another soul, spirit, body?
instead, i am yours.
i am
your lover. your friend. your partner.
a gift.
I am thinking of you.
This is getting freaky.
I was just thinking of you too.
Yeah?
You are not surprised?
No.
Why?
When a heart finds its partner,
The two find
A common beat,
A shared rhythm.
Then, the bodies and the minds follow,
As you say, a shared vision.
Floored...
a connection
simple and not so simple
to trust
my feelings my thoughts
to share
my body my soul
to desire
your soul your body
to behold
your thoughts your feelings
simply effortless.
Daddy, you said that
when we grow older,
we would have to make
more difficult decisions.
(He holds back tears.)
Yes.
(I hug him.)
the giddiness
intoxicating
yes yes
infatuation
but oh the
sweetness
and so
for the moment
fear is
shoved aside to
make space for
grace.
everything had been
the same, unchanged,
for so long that
i no longer believed the
world could be any different.
one day i felt it.
my words, crude, had gone out to the world,
caught, and came back into my head,
gleaming, so polished that
i saw my soul in the reflection.
shocked, entranced, i threw out more words.
i made a treasure box to
hold these precious gifts.
i wanted more.
i wanted more.
i wanted more.
one day, the words stopped coming back.
i still have this treasure box, and
i want to throw it away.
this place. this time.
a transformation:
action, then perception.
body, then mind.
future, then present.
when i was in college, my mother would call me, before the sun rises, on my birthdays, to tell me that i was born at 5AM. i suppose remembering my birthdays is as good as any other ways to mark the passage of time, and of my journeys in life. the funny thing is, i don't remember most of it. but of course, how could anyone, unless perhaps you get a glimpse of moments through photograph, video, mail. captured, frozen in time. i remember seeing a black-and-white photograph of myself surrounded by young kids i don't even recognize, with my mother standing, beaming, next to me. a huge cake in front of me, and i don't recall any part of it. i remember when I turned 16. because that's when my father gave me the corolla, which i promptly totalled within the week. how i survived that remains a mystery. i remember when i turned 21. because that's when we went to this bar by the berkeley bay, and i ordered alcohol. i remember this not because i was 21, but because as we left the restaurant, our waitress ran out after us, and yelled at us for not tipping her enough. i remember this because i felt awful. i would have tipped her a lot. i was a waiter once. but some of my friends didn't want to put down the money. and i just let it go. i shouldn't have. but i did. i remember, what was it? my 19th or 20th birthday? because i yelled and yelled. i hated myself on that day. i remember when i became 40 years old, because that was not very long ago. and i was standing at a crossroad.
two people floating in their lives.
they meet. an innocuous moment in time.
before this moment, strangers.
after this moment, friends.
then, another moment.
before, friends.
after, lovers.
these pivots.
the life before, seconds, minutes, hours, days.
the life after, seconds, minutes, hours, days.
these turning points.
unpredictable. unknowable. unpreparable.
three boys.
yellow. brown. black.
three boys on the honor roll.
three boys enter high school.
two enroll in the brotherhood of colors.
three of us walk to my car.
we are going to have lunch.
i open the car...
just outside the fence,
low rider, bandanas, somber, grins.
POP. POP.
... door
he dives into the car.
POP.
i shove her body into the backseat.
i lower my body.
POP.
POP.
we wait.
i raise my head.
another low rider.
different colored skins.
their eyes scan,
looking for their enemy.
standing against the wall, alone.
one second, you appear,
as if by magic.
an illusion. a mirage.
two seconds. you say the first words.
three. i turn.
and my heart forgets to beat.
and my lungs forget to breath.
two nights in a row,
i saw you in my dreams.
two nights ago,
the dream was so haunting
i woke up shaking and i,
eyes still closed,
tried desperately to remember
all the details in this dream,
so that i could capture it forever.
i had it,
mostly.
and i was glad.
but when i woke up
the day took over
and i forgot to write down the words
and the story
evaporated from my mind,
forever.
Every night when
I close my eyes
I wish for a return to
My life within my dreams.
In these dreams
I live a life impossible
When my eyes are open.
In these dreams
I am the happiest man alive.
Every night
I wish that this night
I will live for a few brief moments
My life within my dreams.
he closes the door and begins to walk down the path to the forest.
the weight of his body crushes the dirt beneath his shoes.
along the path, he sees tiny yellow flowers.
he does not know their names.
he likes them.
he looks up at the sky.
he likes the color blue.
a breeze brushes his face.
he likes that too.
soon he shall change.
he wants to experience everything one last time.
he likes everything.
in the forest he finds the witch.
he asks the witch to turn him into a frog.
he closes the door and walks towards my forest.
he shuffles heavily and deliberately.
he stops to look at the flowers along the path.
a slight smile on his face.
a puzzled look, as if he does not know what he is looking at.
he looks at the sky, still smiling.
he turns his face towards the gust of wind.
in the forest, he finds me.
he asks me to turn him into a frog.
An email with the news.
My mind swirls with images.
Always his grin.
Always his quiet confidence.
Our last handshake.
Our last words.
Always his grin.
Gentle man.
Gentle soul.
Gentle friend.
I weep.
Come! Let us take a picture.
I am busy, daddy.
Oh come. It's a once-in-a-lifetime moment.
Daddy! Every second is once-in-a-lifetime.
Can I quote you on that?
What do you mean?
You know, use your words.
No.
The day before the big tournament and
I am working myself into a fury.
My teacher wrestles me and pins me into an inescapable position.
I remember, never give up except when you pass out.
With every exhalation he squeezes my chest tighter and I cannot breath.
I remember, do not stop even when there is no hope.
I feel a tingling sensation and I know that my rib is cracking. Now
I am pissed off.
With my cracked rib I continue to spar and as
I execute a throw, my rib snaps, and
I crumple onto the mat.
I love her I love her I love her.
Excited excited excited excited.
I love him I love him I love him.
Excited excited excited excited.
My bone my bone my bone my bone.
Happy happy happy happy happy.
Chinese ghosts hop.
Sleeping.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Open my eyes. No. Close my eyes.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Hide under the blanket. If I don't see it, it can't see me.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Turn my body around. If it comes after me it will only get my feet.
Thump. Thump.
Open the door. No. Don't open the door.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Go away!
Thump.
Just a peek. No. Don't open the door.
Thump.
Need to know.
Thump.
Swing the door open.
Uncle is doing bunny hops.
It is 5:30 in the morning.
And as usual he is awake.
He knows not to wake me up.
He tries to be quiet.
He really wants to read the comic book.
But he needs to turn the light on.
And he knows that might wake me up.
So he lightly taps my forehead
And whispers, daddy can I read Calvin and Hobbes?
He quietly wakes me up
So that he would not wake me up.
What's on the menu, daddy?
We can have English.
Beans?
Yes.
What else?
We can have Chinese.
Rice soup and leftover food?
Yes.
We can have American.
Creamed beef on toast?
Yes.
Can I chop the onions?
Yes.
How come we don't use the food processor?
Because we do everything the classical way.
Don't forget the flour, daddy.
OK.
Can I pour the milk now?
Yes.
Can I stir?
Yes.
I am done. You do it now daddy.
OK.
Don't forget to scrape the good stuff off the pan.
OK.
Not too much salt. You remember how you put too much last time.
Yes. I remember.
I like lots of pepper.
OK.
Can I grind the pepper?
Yes.
I love creamed beef on toast, daddy.
i am worthless.
no.
your son treasures you.
your friends adore you.
i am scared.
yes.
you are scared.
i am stupid.
no.
you are creative.
you are insightful.
i am unhappy.
yes.
you are unhappy.
i am stuck.
yes.
you are stuck.
i am confused.
yes.
you are confused.
so what do i do now?
listen carefully
to what the world is saying to you.
you are special and you are loved.
really?
yes.
are you sure?
yes.
i should believe
what the world is saying to me...
the world needs you.
it does?
the world is incomplete
without you.
so, i am not worthless?
just look at the way
your son beams when he sees you.
just look at the way
your friends smile when they are near you.
and, i am not stupid?
do you see your collection of diplomas?
you know, suddenly
i am not so scared and
i am not so unhappy and
i am not so stuck and
i am not so confused.
final exam.
very important people sitting in the dining room.
from the cup, i pick out a folded piece of paper.
i read what i have to make.
pork chop.
salmon tartare.
ok ok ok. i remember the recipes.
got to make the mashed potatoes.
yes it is perfect.
put a plate on the bowl to keep it warm.
my station is a mess.
clean up clean up clean up before chef deducts points.
focus focus focus on the pork chop.
timing is critical.
can't be too early.
can't be too late.
ok ok ok take it off the heat.
pork chop, check.
red cabbage, check.
mashed potatoes... where is it
where! where!! where!!!?
out of the corner of my eyes
i see the dish washer
lifting the plate off the bowl
oh no oh no oh no
chef tells me, it is ok.
just plate up what you have and send it out.
i am kicking myself.
...
the judges enter the kitchen.
we wait for the verdict, the critique.
two of them owned a three star restaurant.
holy!
and now, as to the pork chop, [pause]
we would be happy to order it any day.
oh my!!! they liked it!
mashed potatoes
is not part of the dish.
i fyo uc anrea d thist hen that jus
t go est osho wyou theb rain isam
azing.
i fyo uc annotrea d thist hen that jus
t go est osho wyou theb rain isam
azing butiam a nidiot 4 mes sing
withyo ur brain.
and the buzz wakes me
and i open my eyes
and i remember conversations
and i remember thoughts
and i remember them from when my eyes are closed
and i remember them from when my eyes are open
and i cannot tell which came from when
and everything feels the same
and every time feels like then and now and later
and the buzz wakes me again and again and again.
A little feverish.
I must be coming down with the flu.
I go home to rest. I nap. I wake.
Stomach strange twitches. Oh no. Not again.
I remember this feeling. I am bleeding again.
Midterm tomorrow.
I must study. I am woozy.
I cannot concentrate. I persist. I am still bleeding.
Maybe it will stop.
I go to sleep.
Morning.
I have a light head.
I drive to school. I am at the fork.
Turn left to the hospital. Turn right to school.
I hesitate... I turn left.
In the hospital.
I wait. I throw up blood into the wastebasket.
I am in a wheelchair. I pass out.
I wake up. I am on a bed. I am on a gurney. I get patched up.
It was good you came in. You lost a third of your blood.
All this time I worry about my fucking midterm.
daddy
i can't help myself
when
i wrestle
i just naturally smother them
they all complain that
i smother them
ah so you will need to practice
at the next level
a more advanced play
you learn to win with
just the right amount of force
but
i can't help myself
and anyway
don't you want me to
play all out
yes if you need to
this is why
i am saying that
you are ready for the advanced level
to use just enough force
but what if that means i have to smother them
then that is what you have to do.
We look at scores of photos
We capture hundreds of images
Many are bad
Some are good
Few are interesting
A couple are nice
Not a one blows us away
None grips our hearts
What is so hard about capturing a flower?
Stroll and old brick road
Books and tapas and curries
Water fountain and stone bench
Sun and water sprays
Words and laughters.
know that
when you are in pain
i will be there for you
as i
know that
when i am in agony
you will be there for me
but what if we
are both suffering
then we have a bad day.
there comes a moment
when the meaning becomes clear
life is
an interwoven fabric
of that which is perfect
with that which is not.
a moment
to celebrate
to share
to cherish
to remember.
it has come to this...
i can find no words
to say what
i have come to
understand.
all i know is that
i can now rest.
When I weep
Will you wipe my tear?
When I cower
Will you hold my hand?
When I terrify
Will you sooth my soul?
When I tremble
Will you caress my body?
When I crumble
Will you mend my mind?
Will you?
i knew this
was the path
when i began the journey.
i did not know
it would be
the only certainty.
now alone in the dark
i do not know where
my next step should be.
i did not know that
i would be blind
and cannot see.
This morning I picked out a gray shirt.
Last night I ordered crab cake.
Last week I thought about some words for my writings.
Two months ago I let a dream die.
Ten months ago I stopped crying.
Twelve months ago I began crying.
Six years ago I took the first pill.
Ten years ago I began to salvage a life.
Twenty two years ago I became a monster.
Twenty three years ago I fell in love.
Twenty four years ago I broke a heart.
Twenty six years ago I stopped studying.
Thirty years ago I gave up music.
Thirty five years ago I had chocolate ice cream.
Thirty eight years ago I ate a box of pills.
New to this country.
Only a few days before Christmas.
My parents gave up everything.
To be here, to be in this country.
To give their children a brighter future.
Just a few days ago we were in a different continent.
Now we are staying at friends' house
Sleeping on the floor.
A family of five all scrunched up
In a tiny apartment living room.
Father takes me to Chinatown
To the bank to take out some money.
I see in this store a model kit of
A yellow thunderbird for
Exactly one U.S. dollar.
I have loved model kits for years.
But I know we do not have money to spare.
My father sees my eyes linger.
He asks whether I would like it.
Timidly I nodded.
He brought it to the counter and
Paid for it, with one precious U.S. dollar.
And handed it to me.
I look at him.
I look at this gift in my hands.
It is the most incredible Christmas gift that
I have ever received.
eating at a chinese restaurant
is a religious experiment.
every movement has been
dictated and choreographed and prescribed
in the ancient text.
be sure to separate the chopsticks
so that one stick
is precisely 1.53 centimeters
shorter than the other stick.
remember that splinters in
your palms
is a sign of goof fortune.
always reach for that slippery
whatchamacallit
that is too far away
and be sure to drop the
whatchamacallit
precisely 3 times
before you shove it
into your mouth.
it is bad rock
to mistake your nostrils
for your mouth.
as
i think about the words that
swirl and float inside my head
i become frightened that
they are not powerful enough
for me to tell the stories
that i want to that i need to
write.
i become more frightened
when i realize that
they are powerful enough
but that i am not capable to
write
the stories
that i want to that i need to.
do the right thing
do what is good
but what is right
might not be good
and what is good
might not be right
thinking...
about how often
the right thing is what is good
thinking...
about what to do
when i have to choose.
When you are a foreigner
You learn to say things
But often just a little off.
Take me out to the ball park.
Mustard down the middle.
why do i suffer
why me
why why why why why
ah but that is the wrong question
?
ok then what is the right question
ask yourself
what do you want
where do you want to go
what do you need to do
to go to that place
to be what you want to be
i see...
i have not asked why since that moment.
so tired...
want to give up
so numb...
want to give up
so angry...
want to give up
so difficult... so complicated...
standards... unforgivable
expectations... unattainable
life... unlivable.
The woman calls to say she has to run away... again
The woman comes to stay with us with her precious child
I find out that she is a doctor
I find out that he sells food on the street
I find out that he beats her
She has a bag of clothes
She has a bag of food
One dozen eggs
One block of goat cheese
One sheet of flat bread
On the run
She carries with her
Two basic stuff of life.
i ask a lot of dumb questions
i know i do because people tell me that
i ask a lot of dumb questions
once, i asked
why torque works the way it does
don't worry about it
just do your homework
how unsatisfying
at least he did not use the word dumb
for many years
i stopped talking to people
to avoid the pain of ridicule
but i never stopped asking questions
inside my head
now i just ask a lot of dumb questions.
and if i am dumb, so be it
once in awhile i get lucky and
someone will actually listen.
I sit
I stare at the clock
I watch the second hand sweeps through sixty seconds
One minute
Another minute
I just wasted two minutes from my life
It means nothing now
But, on my deathbed
Might I wish for just two more minutes of life?
When it amoks
When it shreds
The image rises
A forest
A rock
Sit on this rock
Midst of this forest
Listening of its silence
Feeling of its breeze
Quieting
Mending
But...
I cannot find this rock.
He is miserable.
He despises the man.
He has to work for him.
The man squeezes
Every drop of his intellect.
The man steals
Every sparkle of his brilliance.
She, closest and dearest to his life
Sees his pain
Does not understand and
Cannot touch the depth of this misery.
Could it be that
For every day that
He has to work for him
Three days are taken from
His precious life on this earth?
i want this
i want this for myself
this will make me happy
this is what i have dreamed
i want this
but if i have it then
people will hurt
people will suffer
oh badly badly
i want this
and...
i tell myself that
i cannot have it.
To know love
One must know loss
To know loss
One must know pain
To know pain
One must know suffering
To know suffering
One must know sorrow
This is the price of love.
This is how you pick up women.
First, do something stupid to explode your knee.
Then, have a reconstructive surgery
That leaves your leg plump and purple and full of stitches.
Next, experience total agony
As you limp around town.
Remember to wince.
Women will run from twenty yard away
To open doors for you.
Women will rush to take your dirty dishes away
When you sit in a coffeehouse.
Women will actually start conversations with you.
It is very easy once you know the trick.
We decide to go steal street signs.
We are macho men.
Except we all have weird names.
But that does not stop the macho men.
The posse in two cars.
We drive for a couple of hours.
Shit. Forget this.
Hey!
Construction site!
Oh yeah we are back in business.
Security guards!
Scramble into our cars.
For the quick getaway.
I turn around to see him sitting next to me.
Dude! You are the f%#^$& driver for the OTHER car.
In the dorm room.
Buddies hanging.
Swapping manly tales.
Grunting happily as men do when they hang
Then I said something.
Silence.
Puzzled looks.
Grunting stops.
Scratching as men do when they are confused.
What the Hem meant was...
Ohhhhhh!
Good one Mr. Hem.
Many grunts.
Thank GOD I have a translator.
He is young
He is shit worthless to his parents
He is nothing to his grandparents
So young and already so much suffering
He never remembers my name
He always says my name wrong
I endure
I let it go because
I sense his anger must come out
One day I snapped
He says my name wrong one time too many
I walk up to him
I apply my most powerful choke to his neck
I watch his eyes bulge from shock
I watch his eyes dart with fear
I watch his face turn red
I wait for the moment before he passes out
Then I let him go.
Looking inward.
Deciphering self.
Feeling emotions.
Forgetting that I live in the real world.
Forgetting that I live with real people.
Forgetting that I live among and not alone.
I see and I am blind.
I touch and I do not feel.
I talk and I do not hear.
A Single Word.
Seven alphabets.
A reference.
Interpretation.
Misunderstanding.
Seven simple alphabets
Hidden within more alphabets
That almost ruined
A precious friendship.
I am lost.
I stumble.
I trip.
I fall.
Looking. Finding.
I do not know
What I search.
Then I find it.
But I am confused.
So I throw it away.
Because I do not understand it.
Then It says
Pick me up.
So I do.
Hold on to me.
And I do.
Do not let go of me.
But I do.
It, an emptiness deep dark and cold.
It, a hole that expands and grows without bound.
It, a wound that oozes spirit crimson.
It, a window into interminable suffering.
It, a shadow that blankets soul.
It, a waiting that knows futility.
if you are very still
if you are very quiet
then, within a breath
you experience, with all your senses
the entirety of life.
every breath is as full of life
as every other breath.
breath. life. grace.
Words,
Float from between our lips
Caught by our ears.
Floating.
Thoughts,
Riding on the words
Enter our minds.
Some slip out of our minds and
Enter our hearts.
Some words
Become butterflies.
Some words
Become butcher knives.
chatting over dinner.
soon i am not going
to be able to answer your questions.
they are becoming too deep
and i can no longer give you deep answers.
but daddy i always think deeply.
how come i ask so many questions?
that is because i encouraged you to do so
ever since you were a year old.
you don't remember?
you are now transitioning.
you are changing from a person
who asks questions and receives answers to
one who will begin to ask questions that few
if any body on earth, would know the answer.
soon you will have to rely on yourself to figure out the answers.
some of these questions
deep deep questions that
no one as yet know the answer
some you might choose to look for one.
if you choose to.
now, when you have a question
it is time for you to
first think about it
try to figure out the answers yourself.
then, if you cannot know the answer
you will ask.
but know that it is very
likely that nobody
will be able to give you satisfaction.
it is time for you to
start finding the answers yourself.
he then kicked my butt on grand tourismo.
life is incredible
somewhere on earth
there is sadness
and somewhere else
there is joy
every second of every day.
I am as talented as he is.
Better.
I am as smart as he is.
Smarter.
I am as strong as he is.
Stronger.
I am better than he is.
I know it.
I am so much more than he is.
I feel it.
I deserve what he has.
I am entitled.
He has what I cannot have.
I do not like him.
I despise him.
Grandma is dead.
We rush back to the island.
The ritual lasts a week.
Every day a different group from the extended family
Comes and stays with her for a few hours.
Every day the nuns chant from the Book of Dead for hours and hours.
The spirit does not always know that it is time.
And they chant to lead her to the next place.
As we listen to the chants
We slowly come to understand that
It is also time for us
To say good-bye.
Good-bye grandma.
birthday? christmas?
i don't remember anymore.
she gave me a gorgeous
trashcan.
i look at it.
i look at her.
thank you.
it is wonderful.
i love the trash can.
no. it is a magazine receptacle.
i know how much you like to read magazines.
ah. thank you.
it is wonderful.
. . .
(trash can).
do you think i can swim across
the entire length of the pool
in one breath?
i don't know daddy
you could probably do
half the pool.
i took a few deep breaths and
i went under and
i stroked and
i stroked and
by the half way point
my body and my brain were
telling me to come up for a breath.
but i had done this before and
i know that i can do it
i told myself
just a little more
just blow out a little more air
just a couple of more strokes
and then i looked up and
i was within ten feet and
i knew that i would do it
and he saw me do it.
now he wants to try.
i told him to take
a few quick breaths to
saturate his blood with oxygen
and go!
he came up a third of the way.
several more tries and
every time, he came up at the same place.
then i told him that this is about
you telling your brain and your body that
you can do it.
oh it is so tempting to stop and to give up
but you ask your body for just
a little bit more
and every time you are ready to give up
you ask your body for just
a little bit more.
he listened and he asked his body for
a little bit more
and he went ten feet more.
The pace of life ovewhelmed me
How to regain balance
A simple ritual
An exercise in patience and in awareness
I wash my hands slowly and deliberately
I feel the sensation of the water flowing through my fingers
I feel the slippery soap
I feel the warmth
And as I rub my hands together
I feel that each hand becomes aware of the other’s existence
Every time I wash my hands I try to experience this
And the pace of life
For a brief moment, is just right — for washing hands.
my friend tells me an old indian story
a woman bedazzled with jewelry visits
her friend who is in simple clothes in a simple house
where are all your jewelry she asks
she brought together all her children and said these are my jewels.
Of tender care
Of touch silk
Of resolve steadfast
Of strength body and soul
Of wisp and substance
To meld within one
To meld
To bond
As one.
Small House
Big House
Golden Bears House
Terrapins House
So much better than
Daddy's House
Mommy's House
So much better.
It was time to tell him about the ritual.
When the whole family gathers to eat,
I know you want that tastiest morsel
Just sitting there waiting to be eaten.
But we respect our elders and
By rights they get to choose first.
And of course they would also like to have the
Same morsel that you got your eyes on.
Don't worry.
Because you are the gem in their lives
They will pick up that tastiest morsel
And put it in your bowl.
i am the new kid
in the middle school
and i don't understand a word of english
physical education
class over
everyone runs into the locker room
i have never seen people undress so fast
now every one is in the shower
and i am still taking my clothes off
hey you get in the shower
the teacher barked
i am woozy
the musk
i feel like throwing up
i walk into the shower room
against the rush of kids running out
tossing all the towels onto the floor
happily soaking absorbing every last drop of odor
i am going to throw up
i pick up one of the towels
so saturated that
a stream of water connects it to the slimy tiled floor
and tried to dry myself
I loved my toy train.
I did not have many toys.
I loved them all.
I also broke them all the time.
Daddy fix this?
I always knew he could.
One day,
I discovered that he could not fix them anymore.
Visiting clients.
I wear my usual
Tshirt and khaki pants.
Carrying my three bags.
One for my judo clothes.
One for my kitchen knives and uniform.
One for my computer.
Walking into the building.
Waving, gruffly, come over here.
What?
Open your bags.
I do.
Amazing!
No chinese restaurant menu.
After dinner.
Sunset over the Golden Gate Bridge.
We are in the dorm.
I am going to jump rope.
Can I come?
Quizzical expression.
Sure.
On the field.
She begins to skip.
The lightness. Effortless.
Perfect rhythm.
She smiles at me.
I am sitting.
I watch.
OK. Done.
Twenty mesmerizing minutes.
daddy I want to ride my bike
without my training wheels.
ok.
daddy will you
take the training wheels off my bike?
yes.
we go to the park and
i am holding on to him
as he coasts.
i say to him that
he will fall
many times.
but that is ok.
the important thing
is to fall gracefully.
crash!
was that a graceful fall?
hmmm... not really daddy.
ok next time try to fall gracefully.
ok daddy.
crash.
hey that was a beautiful crash.
it was graceful.
don't you think?
i think so daddy.
crash! grace!
5 minutes later...
he is riding circles
around and around and around
in the tennis court.
Daddy when you are at the end of the universe
What happens when you take another step?
Minutes...
I don't know.
This is something beyond my imagination.
You know
There is space which is the universe.
But I have no idea
What is that which is not space.
He thinks.
We move onto another question
With impossible answer.
You are becoming a young man
I am so proud of you
I am so happy of the person
That you have become
In a few years when you
Become a teenager
You might not want
To have anything to do with me
It is part of growing up
Your body will be changing so much
And your body will sometimes
Want to make you do the wrong things
And you might not listen
To what I have to say
But daddy don't I already give you a hard time
Oh no this will be different
Very different
And when you don't want me around
Just know that these are precisely
When I will be there for you
When your body wants you
To do stupid and dangerous things
I will be there to catch you
My uncle was a rugby player.
Tough! Rough! Fearless!
He remained active in that world.
One day, a person came to his place of business.
And offered to sell him tea.
Bad tea.
He was no tea salesman.
He was really demanding protection money.
My uncle, no fool he, said that he would think about it
And asked the man to come back a few days later.
My uncle had a feast a few days later...
For his rugby buddies and the rugby team.
The tea salesman came knocking on the door.
My uncle, smiling, invited him inside,
Into a sea of giants
With meaningful looks in their eyes.
Strange.
The tea salesman never came back.
it was never supposed to be this way
a different life is just around the corner
and my compass is spinning
and it does not know where to point
23 years
the compass had always
pointed towards
grow old together
what now
it was never supposed to be this way
we are walking to the coffeehouse
to meet some friends
he is full of energy but
he walks next to me and we chat
suddenly he says to me
daddy i am going to meet you there
ok be careful
for eight years we have
held hands crossing streets
every time every time
he is fifty yards ahead of me and
at the threshold and
he stops and
he looks at both sides of the road
there is a huge SUV coming
he waits for it to pass
then he runs across the street to the coffeehouse
i just realized that
i had not been breathing
Ahhhhhhhhhhh Ahhhhhhhhh
The agonizing sound is emanating
From within her. It is a sound of terror.
We are sitting in a book store when I,
When everyone hears this.
She is looking around her.
She is horrified.
Helpless.
She is now crying, burying her face
Between her hands and sobbing
And no one is doing anything.
I look and I see people turn away
From this scene, from her.
I walk up to her.
I kneel next to her.
And I stroke her back.
And I whisper to her
And I ask whether she
Just had an anxiety attack.
She nods.
I stroke her back, gently.
I speak softly and calmly.
I say to her that
I know how she feels and
I say to her that I am right here
I am right beside her and
I am with her.
I ask her
To think of happy times
To think of happy images
To think of beautiful things in her life.
I stroke her back gently.
I ask her if she is feeling better
A tentative nod and
I feel her taut muscles relax a little.
I stroke her back gently and
I tell her that
I will be leaving her and that
She will be just fine.
i ask him, one of the calmest
that i have ever known
to read my squiggles and
i ask him whether people will think that
i am crazy.
everyone feels like this
sometimes.
huh???
you telling me
you sometimes feel like
throwing stuff across the room too?
yes.
man, that is some nasty feeling
that feeling like you want to
that you need to
be so angry,
you telling me that is normal?
yes.
it is happening again
the twisting and
the stretching and
the rending
of my stomach
my body
it is unbearable
i am rolling on the ground
moaning and
wishing for it to stop
for an hour the pain laughs at me
and twists tighter and tighter
and it enjoys the torment
then, without warning the pain leaves
and i feel absolute and utter ecstasy
i feel wonderful and
i feel life and
i feel goodness
time's up says pain
here i am again
The three of us are
Working on a difficult homework problem
From computational geometry
My two friends are writing
Frenetically on the whiteboard and
Discussing ways to solve it
They are starting to speak in
Incomplete sentences
One person begins to say a few words
And the other jumps in
And then the first latches onto that
The ideas are flying way Way WAy WAY too fast for me
They are having a mental ping pong game
I am still trying to understand what it was that
They were discussing fifteen minutes ago
Oh. Now I get it. But the conversation had
Already ended an hour ago.
hey can you give me a hand with my car
i can't get it to start
sure let me just put the milk and paper in my car
and i will come give your car a push
i walk to the back of the car
ok now i will push and you steer
oh you will push the car huh
he says as he walks towards me
oh shit he is going to rob me
he smiles
man don't do this
my eyes are scanning his body
i am looking for a weapon
he keeps reaching behind his back
as if he is going for his weapon
he could be faking the whole thing
but how would i know
i am completely focused
on him
on his eyes
on his arms
he smiles
how much money you got
give me your money
i have sixteen dollars
you want it you can have it
ok. as long as i don't see a weapon
we will both live another day
give me all your money
i just told you
you can have my sixteen dollars
he grabs me and reaches into my pocket
and takes out the sixteen dollars
the change from buying the milk and the newspaper
give me all your money
is he stupid or greedy
i just told you i have sixteen dollars
you have all my money
i am looking at him and i say to myself
as long as i don't see a weapon
both of us will live through the night
but if he pulls out a gun or a knife then
either he will die
or i will die
tonight
I am on a shopping trip with grandma.
We go to the open market where she talks to
All the vendors.
No. this meat is too fat.
Come now. Are you trying to cheat me?
Ma'am. this is the best part that I am offering to just you.
Too fat. let me smell this piece here.
Hmmm. OK. give me a pound.
We go to the fishball vendor.
Give me a pound of your fishball.
With his hand, he pulls out a clump of the dough
And proceeds to squeeze out a bunch of balls.
Grandma goes through the same routine with all the vendors.
She sniffs. She touches. She tastes.
She complains about the price, about the quality.
It's all a game.
She loves to shop.
They enjoy the banter.
When I was born, so too did the book of my life.
Just as I entered this world with identity, so too it.
I was too young and naive to know that I owned such a book.
I lived and absorbed all that was around me.
And with every moment I became more aware of my place in life.
And with every awareness, the book recorded it and remembers.
One day I discovered it and I opened it.
And I read what was written within its pages.
And I cried with joy and and I cried with anguish.
And it was then that I realized that
I was not always the writer.
It was then that
I realized that the pages were not all the same color.
Some pages were simply white, the kind of whiteness that
One only sees after a good snow storm has blanketed the earth.
So plain that
I was at once afraid
To mar it but was also eager to decorate it
With the new colors that accompanied me as I woke up every morning.
Some pages were crimson.
The kind that oozes and spurts out of our body.
It was hard to read the words and pictures on these pages.
But there was no need really.
Some pages were black.
And then what would be the point?
Some pages were torn.
As if they had been filled with such shame and bitterness that as
I ripped my heart and my mind,
I too had rended my book. But as the book remembers all,
The shreds that I did not want in my life were
Simply taped back onto the pages.
Nothing goes away.
Some, as I touched them, quivered shockwaves entered my mind.
Images of my son's birth.
Sounds of my primal cries of anguish.
Aromas from my kitchen.
Caresses from lovers.
I don't know what to make of it,
My book of life, yet.
She is beautiful.
She belongs to a Mexican gang.
She is smart. She is taking AP Biology with me.
She likes me. I like her.
We belong to two different universes.
One day I asked her whether she carries a weapon.
After all, she is a gang member.
She showed me her knife.
I unfolded it to look at the blade.
Is that what I think it is?
Is that rusty stuff blood?
Yes.
What?!
This girl pissed me off.
So I stabbed her.
Ummm.
We are friends, right?
Yes.
So you would never stab me with that knife?
Yes.
daddy, did you ever notice,
that if you look very carefully,
the world is just like a
moving collage?
57 72 69 74 65 20 65 76
65 72 79 74 68 69 6E 67
20 69 6E 20 68 65 78 2E
53 70 65 6E 64 20 24 37
35 2C 30 30 30 20 6F 6E
20 73 70 65 61 6B 65 72
73 20 74 68 61 74 20 77
6F 6E 27 74 20 66 69 74
20 69 6E 20 79 6F 75 72
20 72 6F 6F 6D 2E
55 73 65 20 74 68 65 20
43 6C 61 70 70 65 72 20
66 6F 72 20 65 76 65 72
79 20 6C 69 67 68 74 20
69 6E 20 79 6F 75 72 20
68 6F 75 73 65 2E
That's all it takes. Very easy.
when should
i listen to my heart?
when should
i listen to my mind?
i am puzzled that
the heart and the mind
want different things.
i am confused that
the heart and the mind
need different things.
It is dark, so dark that I cannot see my hand in front of me.
I have been kneeling and meditating for half an hour.
I count my breaths. One, two, three, ..., nine, ten.
And back to one again.
I am Zen master.
Thirty-six, thirty-seven. Oops. One, two, three...
Eighty nine, ninety-one. Oops. One, two, three...
One, two, PLOP!
I fall flat on my face.
I categorically deny that I fell asleep.
It was my job to round up all the ducklings and chicks into the cage before nightfall.
I did not want to do it today.
I did not feel like doing it.
My aunts chide me.
Still, I did not go.
My grandmother said it was fine.
Then the yard became dark.
That was when the shrieking began.
At first, I heard a chick cry out.
Then another, and another, and another, and another.
And then I saw the rats. The house light bouncing off their eyes.
And then the yard was silent.
We are having chicken tonight.
My grandmother picks the one she wants from the backyard.
She is ready.
The cleaver.
The bowl with uncooked rice, to catch the blood.
I squat next to her and I watch her every move.
I listen to every word she says to me.
As she bends the chicken's head back with one hand,
Exposing its neck,
She begins to pray, to chant. She pauses to explain to me that
She is giving thanks
So that the chicken will return to a higher level of being.
I watch her chant and I watch her slice its throat,
Holding it steady, making sure that all the blood drips into the bowl.
I watch it struggle, at first.
Then, moments later, its writhing ends.
The bowl is full.
When I was nine years old
I wondered about the Universe
And I thought about Life before Time.
He just asked me the same Question.
the first time i saw her
i was struck by her vibrant smile.
the second time i saw her
in the laundry room we talked.
i don't even remember what we talked about anymore.
the third time i saw her at a dance
i asked her to dance with me and she politely said no.
every time her smile took my breath away.
I do not think it was ever explicit said.
I just knew, from the moment that I could reason, that
We must fulfill our duties in our society.
Do the right thing,
Even if it means sacrificing myself, my identity, my dreams, my joy.
I am now at a crossroad in my life.
I have walked down paths that had made me happy.
I have walked down paths that had made me sad.
I have walked down paths that had made me ashamed.
I have walked down paths that had made me proud.
And now, I wonder, am I forsaking my duty?
All I can do is to follow
What my heart tells me is the RIGHT way.
All I can do is to
Believe that some time in the future,
I will look back and
Accept and be able to live with the decisions that I make today.
the little four year old boy wakes up
from a nap and opens his eyes and looks up
and sees himself riding his red tricycle
on the ceiling and wonders why
he is in two places
at the same time
and wonders why
at the same time
there are two of him.
the subway train enters the station
late late night. all but one was filled with
people going home,
people going to work.
man, half asleep, in this car.
he sways, alone, in this one car.
the door opens, and i enter this car.
he stinks. he reeks. decaying flesh, the stench overwhelms
me. what to do. stay because
he is still human, or leave and escape from this
sewer rat.
i cannot stand to look at him. in this car,
i feel nothing. the dignity of humanity
escapes into the
shadow.
just him and
only me, in this car.
devoid of life.
just him. alone again.
she stands there and orders a sandwich.
every day, she comes to the shop and
she orders the same special sandwich that
is easy on the extra mayo.
after the workout
we are sitting on the stoop
chatting about this and that
i am clueless but not that clueless
there is definitely some electricity.
i am so sexually frustrated
i think tonight i am just going to a bar
and pick up a guy for the night.
huh? what? quick. think fast.
ahhhh, use protection.
ok so i am totally clueless.
When he pries open the crab leg
And carefully pulls out the morsels that
He loves so much,
When I see him and I carefully
Hide my tears of joy and pride that
I love him,
Perhaps this is when
I am at the place that
They call peace.
The next time, when the glorious sun beams down upon you, when you feel its warmth, when you feel it melts away your fears, when you feel it brings a smile to your face, remember to save a piece of that sunshine, and put it away somewhere safe inside your heart.
Beat. Beat. Beat.
Beat. Is that you? Beat
Beat. It is me. Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat?
Beat!
Beat??
Yes.
?
Yes.
Beat!
Beat!
BEAT,
BEAT.
Hello.
Hello.
B E A T. B E A T.
B E A T. B E A T.
! ! ! ! ! ! !
I found you.
I found you.
It is now 2AM.
We are sitting on the beach. The wind, cooled by the ocean, tingles our bodies. Just sitting in the sand and looking out at the Pacific Ocean. The ocean is luminicent from some kind of strange algae. Eerie and beautiful. We hold each other, and I am hesitant to tell her how much I like her. I am a total chicken.
I gather enough courage to say the words.
She hugs me.
We listen to the sound of the crashing waves.
No more words.
When my mind remembers this long ago moment,
It dances with joy.
the playground is so loud.
all those young children running
everywhere. all those old people
walking, slowly, watching the young
children, and remembering when they
once too ran like the
wind, and filled the air
with sounds of laughter. they
remember, and a twinkle in
their eyes, and a smile
in their minds. that fleeting
moment, the playground, only children.
Just eat. Geez! Eat well and take a nice walk. I am so hungry, I think I am going to go and make 10 butter-and-sugar sandwiches on WONDER BREAD. Yum.
when the pan flies
across the kitchen
it carries the venom
of the ugly mind.
when the pan crashes
against the wall
the ugly mind smirks and goads.
throw another one
go ahead do it
you want to do it
you like it you love it.
do it.
do it.
do it!
