Saturday, January 03, 2004

it's these odd moments, these quiet ones, that really stay with me. these moments where nothing seems to move because there's there's too much uncertainty left in the air. my shadow dances in the corner and asks me:

"what did you fight for, and was it worth your tears?"

and i answer, "was it?"

... when i really wish i could bravely reply:

"yes, and for something worthwhile too. something with a little bit more permanence than the tenderness of my own skin."

over a year ago, i call jimmy because i almost felt like crying. i'm crouched on my apartment rooftop, it's nightfall and it barely rains (what a cliche) and all i can mutter out is: "i don't know what to do." and all that he says in reply is: "just do it." (and then he repeats it once more, "just do it," just to make sure i did.)

months later, hot milk and honey. she's nervous. i walk her home and we're delirious. a fire alarm goes off somewhere. the days pass. i return home. in the elevator i feel like crying and i'm not sure why. i'm sorry and i'm thankful and i'm broken and i'm healed and i'm touched and i'm lost and i'm found and i'm unbelievably lucky.

and it was all dream to me in january. i'm a lost soul. an takes care of me, so i let her sleep in my mother's bed. i paint to ease myself. portraits of fictional family members from the movie "the royal tenenbaums." the taste of date-banana shakes keep me warm for the rest of the winter.

luca, jimmy and i sip ice cream by the bus stop, under a low city light at midnight. i become good friends with andinh by trying to throw him off a wall. brian and i draw pictures on desks during cog sci lecture (and gain street cred amongst the cognitive science populace.) i gain great respect for jason when he all of sudden jumps into my room, madly yelling "bodies! we'll have bodies floating in the sky!" jerry plays kind psychiatrist from his swivel chair. kathy bach grounds me with her dreams. jean says one of the nicest things, a comment about a comet. ronnie is apparently one of my top ten guys of berkeley. jamie likes people food. jade beats me with my shoe. denise dances the here we go.

the smokey and miho concert bumrushes me to sing samba in the shower. sigur ros opens my eyes wider than the whole sky.

on valentine's day i run into her by VLSB, and all i could muster out was a shy "hi." (things don't change much between the ages of 9 and 21.)

"love in the time of diarrhea." my mom and my brother later watch me perform and i feel like i can leave the stage forever without any regrets.

scott, kenny, and i fail to get our "yellow pages project" off the grouds. so idealistic we were, thinking art could change the world. well, we still do.

"regret." wake up at dawn to watch evelyn run, force ourselves to (unsuccessfully) cry, smoke cigarettes, and throw a lot of paper into the air. oh, and toss fake bodies from a building and escape angry soccer players. swallow plenty of pho. steal stuff from stanford. celebrate by jumping up and down.

the war on 54 concert. i find a group of people i trust wholeheartedly and i am blessed to work by their side.

times of good friendships, of thai temple, of crab on the carpet, of writing poetry at 2 am, of singing weezer in the car, of futurama with the futon, of drawing comics of our lives. times of creativity leaping out of throats, of the loudmouth asians, of reading poetry with vietnamese artists (and making someone cry in the corner), of painting hats and shoes, of watercoloring the night into day, of all-nighters desperately doing what we love, despearely begging dawn to hold on for just another minute.

chris chen says that we're both dreamers. i used to think that i was living my dream, doing what i loved and being incredibly happy for it. i should know that rest doesn't come so easy. we are dreamers, and our pursuit always begins and never ends.

maybe these things are meant to be remembered, but to remain as is. still, it's hard not to look back and wonder. i suspect that as we grow older, we will spend more time looking back and less time looking forward.

it's almost dawn and my shadow has already gone to bed. i open my window and i let Life in with the shy sunlight. Life says hello with the sound of a sparrow. i give Life a kiss on the lips, and Life pulls away, as if i did something wrong. she wants to know what i see in her. i can't answer. i'm not sure if it's whether i don't know where to begin or i just don't know.