Momentum

I woke up this morning and opened my laptop to play myself some mellow morning wake up music. My nerves were more at ease this morning. Now that I have my visa and have a place to stay temporarily in China, I am much more confident that I'm not going to break down the minute I land in the Middle Kingdom. Anyway, On my morning playlist, I recently added Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours." I know I'm addicted to this song right now, and I can probably play it over and over as I imagine that he’s singing to me. Sometimes, I imagine that I'm the one actually singing the song, pouring my heart out to someone such that they could feel the irresistible trance that this song puts over me. But as I got ready, the phone rang and I had to turn down the music. Then I was running late and had to finish getting ready, and by then - the "I'm Yours" had finished and I was caught somewhere in the middle of Third Eye Blind's "Hows it Going to Be." I almost viewed this as an allegory for my life at the time. I was trying to hold onto the beautiful words of a song that slipped from my ears so quickly, and before I knew it, the song changed and I had other things to do. I rubbed my eyes and got started on my slow transition out of Seattle into the limbo that is San Jose.

I still need to pack a few things and finish up some paperwork in OMA before I leave, but that isn't too bad. I'm also coming to this realization that I'm really bad at finality. Then again, I suppose that’s what people mean whenever they say that "it’s hard to move on." I'm pretty sure that I'm going to be a different person when I come back form China, I just don't know who it will be. What is more challenging to me, is the fact that I think I've finally established and become comfortable with the me that is living in Seattle this summer. I've become fully comfortable with the rhythm of life. Everyday, on my way home from the Hill, I walk by the Multifaithworks building across from my house. There's this gay guy that I wave to whenever I walk by. I have no idea who he is, but he seems nice and enthusiastically smiles/waves back. But I'm not going to be living at my house on 112th 16th Ave. for much longer, so that smiling and waving is going to come to an end soon, and along with it will go my self-reflective nights at Bauhaus Coffee Shop, and the joy of picking vegetables from around SU. This feeling—its like I've gained such momentum in life and now I've got to make a turn and I'm tilting toward the side a bit as I try to get my wheels on the ground again.

But I suppose this momentum was what I was looking for. At the beginning of the summer I just wanted to be centered again. I wanted to get my life back on track, and well, I guess after about two months, I can say that I have emotionally moved on from my breakup in June. I learned a lot from that relationship, and after a summer of sitting and trying to look cute and confident in Bauhaus, I think it's finally worked. I feel confident in myself as a person and in my ability to make myself vulnerable for complete strangers in that weird dating world. And I feel cute in a way that I guess can only come from the narcissism of going to the gym and staring at myself in the mirror until reconciling that I didn't really look all that different from the beginning of the summer. So yes, this summer has been one of those summers where I have hoped for God to "grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference."

So I'm here in Seattle, getting ready to go back to California and head to China, and I can say that I have ended this sophomore chapter of SU happily. In my last letter, I talked about how I ended the academic year without a sense of triumph. Well its here now, and I feel comfortable with myself again. Maybe its because I met someone new this summer - or maybe it was me being fascinated with the idea that I actually met someone new in such a short period of time, and that this person challenged me to rethink myself as part of my process of trying to understand who he is. Interestingly, I've had an overwhelming amount of fun with this person, and I formed a friendship with him knowing that we were going to part ways at the end of the summer. I've only know him for about three weeks, but I can say that I've learned more from him than I have from people I have known for years. I think it was because he was so different. That he came from a non-urban background. That he came from a non-catholic background. That he came from a not-so-necessarily-"out of the closet" background. It was revitalizing to have that ability to talk to someone for hours on end as if time had barely passed, to have enough disagreement with him that things stayed interesting, to feel that giddiness when I see his name show up on my phone when he calls and drop everything I'm going to wander aimlessly with the phone pressed against my ear.

I'm going to see him later this week, and I'm going to miss him a lot in China. He doesn't go to SU and who knows when we'll meet again. It's not like we were ever an item or got serious about anything, but it was great to meet someone like him. Maybe I'll find him when I get back, but as I said earlier, I might be a new person when I get back from China. So- this is one of those things I just have to be patient with. I'm sad that I've met someone like this at the end of the summer, but I am thankful for having met him. In the meantime, I'm left with this cheesy "Grease"-like "Summer Nights" feeling, but I guess there's always something appealing about that cheesy reality.

Hard work

I spoke a little while ago with an old friend from Camp. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, you know, Camp. It's Christmas eve in the Sierra's right now, and tomorrow is Christmas in July - exactly 6 months until Christmas. Tomorrow night, the staff will gather to celebrate Renny's delicious Christmas pastry, costumes, and an exchange of gifts that will render some laughing, some crying, some confused, and some wonderfully embarrassed. Traditions like this will continue at places like Hi-Sierra for a long time.  In fact, Camp is essentially ran by a unique cultural tradition passed on from one generation of staff to the other. 

While some things may never change. I must say that I heard the most innovative scout activity today. I mean. I've run into the scout trying the light the camp on fire, the scouts streaking, the scout who tried to kill some animals, the scout who tries to catch a fish with his hands in really shallow water such that the fish doesnt really have a choice not to get caught---i thought I heard them all. Yet, what i realized was that all these stories lacked diligence. They lacked concentration. Anyone can take their clothes off and run through a crowd of people. Anybody can play with matches and nearly light the whole Stanislaus National Forest on fire. These are activities that require a temporary shot of bravado or idiocy. 

But--

When I hear of a boy, spending a whole day arranging a river rocks to form a clear channel down a river (a river that is only about 15 feet wide and 6 inches shallow i might add), such that he can sit is ass down on one end and float his poos downstream as if he was sailing boats down to the pond where kids learn how to canoe-- I am impressed.

Kids these needs need to learn diligence from that boy- that boy who spent hours clearing a path for his poos.

I applaud you, boy.

I applaud you.

You will cure cancer.

Imaginary Friends

After a long day of trying to straighten out my banking situation in China, I decided that I wanted to watch the Dark Knight. I think the first reason why I might have gone out to watch it would have been to have a taste of America before I left for China. I think thats just something I convinced myself of though. I probably would have wallowed in laziness for a long time before going to see any movie at all. But--I wanted to watch it becuase a friend wanted me to watch it, and I wanted to watch it so I could talk about it with this friend. At some level, I feel like I am doing this for myself. I feel like I am watching this movie because I want to value the time that I have with this friend. I want to value the short time we have left before we leave for our respective places. I want this movie to lead to discourses on life, love, and being with this person. How nerdy does that sound? I do not think I am in a space right now where I can reflect about this friend and this movie in truly rational manner, so I'll hold off on that for a while.

What I do want to say...is how weird it is going to a movie alone. To watch all the couples, families, and friends come in while you sit in your spot (because, of course you came early to get a good seat--you're alone), and to watch them awkwardly maneuver around you, it's all so strange. It's like society has constructed movie watching as a group activity. Solitary movie watching was meant for home. Instead of constructing a  system in which people who are alone are welcomed into a society eager to develop relationships, people who watch movies alone are relegated to their bedrooms in the middle of the night such that they, the weird loners, do not have to engage the rest of the world.

I dont believe what I just wrote at all, or at least, no completely. The other people showing up at the movie with their friends didnt really matter to me. What got to me was the fact that I was turning left and right to my imaginary friends trying to make snarky comments-only to find oldy mc smelly to my left and ditzy mc broman to my right. I thought, "if  emily was here, i would have smacked her during this scene" or "if matt was here, i would be arguing with him about the existence of the invididual in this scene" but It was strange. Holding all those conversations in seemed like it added to a tab of things I wanted to say to these people. 

I would feel bad If i forgot those things.

Because for some reason, I felt like my friends were there. I mean- I was talking to them. I wouldn't talk to people that weren't there right? Well, maybe I might. But this movie revealed to me how creepy memories can be. I mean, I wasn't reflecting on them. I was interacting with them. I know I live an imaginary reality sometime, but this was an unconscious conversation with people that I usually hang out with. 

Maybe this is like some phantom limb syndrome. My brain is just used to those certain people bouncing my thoughts back to me. And it keeps trying to bounce those thoughts, even those those friends are absent.

It's like that silent record player in the creepy haunted house that keeps playing. The memories played and I didn't really have a choice in the matter. Talk about a loss of autonomy.

selfish self centered selfless.

To feel bitter before 12:00pm is pleasant. And currently, if I do not eat something, I will continue to be bitter for the rest of the day. While last night was quite possibly one of my most wonderful evenings all summer, I am convinced that this was one must the most unfun mornings following such a blissful evening. I'll be blunt. I do not deal with smoking, and when a close friend of mine does, I am hurt- and I will express that. To make the statement clear, I do not like it when friends of mine, that I care about, that I love dearly, that I would sacrifice myself for, I do not like it when they do things to damage themselves. Actually, it's not that I dislike it. I detest it. I have a visceral pain that rises from such action. If one of my friends died because of some choice that I could have convinced them not to choose, I would never forgive myself.

I dont care. If people want to talk about how their own lives are their own lives. Fine. Then don't include me in it. I do not become friends with people just to watch them die-slowly or quickly. Their lives are precious to me, and I cannot be near people who do not appreciate that. There are plenty of wonderful people that engage in life shortening activities-and I can say that I am friends with many of them. But my close friends. My very close friends. I cannot let them. I cannot. So I might be a selfish bastard by wanting to preserve the life of the other simply so I don't have to deal with the heartache later. Fine, then call me a selfish bastard. Yet, I will stand by this selfish bastardness so long as I am tied to the other. I care for my friends, especially my close ones- is to see happiness in them is to see happiness in me. To see a friend die is to see a part of me die.

To top this off, my dad is having me argue with his Neo-Liberalist friend (one of my favorite American character types might I add). I did not need this layer of idiocy to be added to my morning.

Mr. V-Neck

There he is. Mr. V-Neck. Sitting at a table in bauhaus talking to a cute Puerto Rican boy. There he is. With his trashy looking white V-Neck, speaking with a cadence of education of  behind those trendy gucci looking classes. There he is- wearing expensive jeans  that have been rolled up into shorts with torn sneakers and white socks. There he is- with his fingers twiddling, talking about the crackheads living near his belltown apartment. There he is- trying to explain his confrontation with a heroine addict-a confrontation he lost because he tried to rationalize the addict into not being an addict; thus, failing to "save" the poor man. The poor man responded. I take heroine because I will feel sick if I do not. He says, but you know it is an addiction. You should stop. 

Mr. V-Neck continues talking. There he is-talking about this new concept "gentrification" that only happens in San Francisco-without any knowledge of the fact that his belltown yuppiness is what is gentrifying capitol hill. Do you think they are building the condos for the scenesters?

Mr. V-Neck...you make me so angry. Not only do I think that the V-Neck looks horrible on you, but I do not appreciate your assumptions about the world. However, I must be understanding. I cannot let these judgements cloud my mind Mr. V-Neck. You might be a wonderful person-just like Puerto Rican boy who seems to dote on your every word. You might-and I should give you respect as a human being. But I cannot right now.

The social awkwardness of barging into a conversation to explain a city's microeconomy and the philosophy of addiction prevents me from leaving my Macbook to run in front of this speeding train of ignorance. How angry I am at you, Mr. V-neck.  

Smart Drunk People

I went to Vi Bacchus on the corner of Broadway and Union for dinner today. It was one of the most wonderful dinners that I have had in a long time. The food wasn't amazing. In fact, i think the quality of the food has declined (plus! they don't allow take out boxes anymore!) What I pleased me the most was that I ran into this wonderful pair of drunken PhDs. 

I have been waiting so long to run into some smart drunken strangers to have a fun conversation with. I'm not so sure i expected it to happen at Vi Bacchus, but it was fun. I was hoping that it would happen with some hot twenty something at Bauhaus, but this whole living in the fishbowl business-staring out at the sea floating in front of me is not conducive to meeting anybody at all. In fact, I shouldnt even be blogging right now. I should be following the cute boy that i saw in line to the upstairs section of bauhaus because i noticed he reads. Man, that is attractive, a boy who reads. Anyway, as I was saying. I ran into the most wonderful pair of drunken PhDs. 

One of them was this fun bearish looking (i think queer) fellow. And the other was this lesbian with very nice biceps and a doctorate in mathematics. If they were two  irish girls, i would have compared them the One-Two punch (JoEllen and Emily) because they were on each other's game constantly. The conversation was quite lively throughout--a situation that I rarely encounter with the average homosexual. 

the Conversation drifted from Medieval Viking History, the Japanese history, to me begging people for money, to the social incestuousness that comes from the closed social sphere of Ballard, to the fact that both of their fathers (or grandfathers) were both in military intelligence at some point in time. 

But this all doesn't matter. I was quite happy, having this witty exchange. Having people talk to me like I'm a human being and not refer to me as Bruce Lee, having people who are willing to challenge me and ask me what I think and then listen to my defense--i feel like the structure of academia has crept its way into what I desire in social situations.

This is what they dont tell you in the honors program. that after all of it, you suddenly have this desire that all yours peers be clear, direct, and critical (and possibly poetic).

So much for that topic.

Enter the Dragon

I'm sitting in a different fishbowl today. The second floor of Cafe Vita at 2:01pm is much different from the corner of Bauhaus that hovers over the intersection of Melrose and Pine. There aren't that many people on the second level of Vita today, four total including me. I am nuzzled in a corner between the wall and a bookcase in the back of the room and the three other coffee goers are all perched alongside the window facing the stairs. I am facing them. Leave it to me to be the one to break continuity. One of their cell phones just rang. The other two's hands quickly jetted to their phones to check if they had a new message. I'm not really feeling inspired by this setting today. 

I think its because I've been busy thinking about other things. When I was at the gym yesterday, I recall a group of jocks walking behind me saying something in that passive agressive tone/volume where they say something at a volume that almost sounds like their trying to get somebody's attention but it is isnt clear because they might be just talking to each other. You know, that tone. Anyway, I swear hearing one of them repeating:

HEY, BRUCE LEE!

Now, unless one of the three specifically non Asian jock things walking behind me were martial arts experts, which, I doubt. I do believe they were speaking to me. Apparently, I, Mr. Generic Asian, am Bruce Lee. While I should be flattered by the comparison of myself to one of the greatest figures in Asian American history, I am damn pissed. I am not really angry at the the ignorance of the three jock things, but I am angry at myself for not saying anything right then. All this training, all this practice in verbal argumentation and I just walk away from that situation wondering if they said what they really said.

At first I tried blaming my own niceness for just walking away. I tried to explain to myself that I was doubtful of what they said because I didn't want to accuse anyone of racial harassment without really knowing if they did. By the time that I had concluded that they were Bruce Lee-Ing me, they had gone, and I had continued to my regular workout. 

I think what also contributed to my doubtfulness in the situation was the fact that the member of the jock things that was calling me Bruce Li was a person of color. 

Okay, so I realize that I cannot advertise my what I attempt to do for multicultural understanding to everyone. I should not even need to. But the fact that a person of color was oppressing me, another person of color was such a betrayal. I remember reading about cultural competencies and internalized oppression. I know that even people of color may not have heightened cultural competency. But this horizontal racism, this racism that comes from people of color to other people or color is so distressing.

I suppose I stumbled upon one of those irrational assumptions that I had hidden away in my head. I assumed that all marginalized people understand what it means to be marginalized. I suppose this should have been something i realized a long time ago. But i suppose its different to be called a chink as i'm walking down a street by some miscellaneous person from the dominant culture as opposed to hearing it from another person of color. The horizontal racism hurts more.

  

Two weeks and a sidewalk

I was tired today. I pulled myself out of bed today at 11:00 am, shoveled some spam fried rice into my mouth and proceeded to campus to space out on the internet for a while. In the process of spacing, I have re-affirmed my theory of how long it takes my brain to reset after school--just about two weeks. After two weeks, I am just about ready to work again. If im not doing something productive after two weeks,I feel lazy, languid, and all the other slothful "L" sounding words that I could possibly squeeze into this sentence. Yet, I do not feel slothful or lazy this time. While I do not have an official job and while i may not be doing anything really productive other than fueling my own vain attempt to work out and gain weight. I feel just fine. 

Though I had a a very nice talk with Flo today. Flo is a friend of mine from France. It was interesting hearing her take on american cultural attitudes, like my attempt to gain weight. Apparently, in france i'm the right size, and this obsession with gaining weight and bigness is such an american thing. I think he likened the French preference for smallness to the practicality of living in an urban environment. Sidewalks are smaller in France and it is annoying when you have an abnormally large person trying to plow you over on the street. Im sure the French attitude toward body size is more complicated than one's personal relationship to a sidewalk.

The sidewalk in front of Bauhaus is interesting though. Pine and Melrose. When I'm sitting here at the counter, staring out into the people walking by, I can't help but think of a myself as a fish in a bowl. I'm a little fish looking at all the big, pretty people passing me. I look longingly, hoping that someone will come by and press their face against the glass such that I can laugh at them--feeling some strange power in my powerless position sealed behind the glass. Occasionally the giant people walking passed my glass bowl come inside, but I just stay hidden in my corner of the bowl. Sitting in my faux underwater caster with my faux green algae, I just muse away, hoping that my self-defined solitude produces something poetic. I think I might be losing this battle. There are some things nice about this fishbowl. There's a cute boy in the corner to my right. He seems to like horizontal stripes and has a mac. There's some very nice music playing. Bauhaus was playing some mash-ups tonight. I found this really cute piece by DJ Gauffie that I've downloaded and played repeatedly for the last 10 minutes. It's Jason Mraz's "I'm yours" vs TLC's Scrubs. Ironic mash-up. Its almost like jason mraz trying to tell TLC to open up his heart and find love and TLC is telling Mraz that he is a deadbeat ass. I dont know why i keep listening to this song. I also dont know why all the songs on my iTunes have lyrics that relate to love, relationships, or something of that variety. I'm just going to hope that thats a product of that topic being inspirational rather than my subconscious making me listen to particular kinds of music. 

The sidewalk is more exciting now. People are heading out for their saturday night. I saw someone from Okcupid earlier. That was kind of creepy. I'm not sure if it was creepier for him or for me. Is it creepier for the fish to look out of the bowl and see a giant that he or she recognizes or is it creepier for a giant to look into a miscellaneous fishbowl and see a fish that he or she has seen before. He glanced at me pretty vigorously, as if he were trying to figure out if I was that face on okcupid he saw a long time ago. I wonder if I should have said hi. I didn't feel inclined to really. Maybe I'll feel inclined once I can confidently believe I am cute again. I think its my shoes. their beat up and tacky right now. Jon keeps on telling me to buy new shoes. I keep on shirking that suggestion. I dont see why I'm even thinking about my own cuteness, or even why I think its related to my shoes. Yeah I just dont think i was inclined to talk to that guy at that moment. I was too busy writing here. Does that make me anti-social? No no. I think i was just busy having feelings that I didn't want to break the mood. I was having  dandy time looking out of my bowl  and people watching. Having George-time. 

I remember talking to Rose about getting friends when you're abroad. Apparently, one method of being social is to go to a local hang-out regularly to make friends with locals. I wonder if I will get a local reputation of that guy who sits in the corner imagining he's a fish in a bowl looking out at the world. I suppose that would be contingent upon people being able to read my mind. or my blog. Whichever comes first. I'll figure out whether that reputation is something I'm looking for tomorrow. Goodbye blog. please excuse all my typos. 

Seattle Air

Despite how environmentally friendly Seattle may claim to be, this damn city is killing me. I think I have had more instances of roadside coughing fits in Seattle than in California. It just seems like everyone and their mother in Seattle is a smoker, and that everyone who walks..anywhere smokes. I've inhaled so much debilitating smoke in the last couple days that I'm starting to think that China will actually be better for my lungs. Well, there are probably more smokers in China, but maybe breathing in Chinese smoke will seem relatively clean compared to breathing in the average everyday air. Maybe I'll gain some form of smoke tolerance in China...or maybe I will live in a constant asthma attack and hover inches away from lung cancer. Score.