109: Arghhh!!!

Tired, weary, exhausted, fatigued, and tuckered; yes, this is my current state, which I have my work to graciously thank.

So, I'm gonna keep this post very short. Besides, my muses, those fickle bitches, abandoned me, left me to rot, I tell you, in the desert that is my mind, now void of creativity and imagination. Therefore, please accept my apologies, and I shall leave you with something trite: an alternate version of googlism, where I type in "Jake needs" in google to see what comes up.

1. Jake needs financial backing.
2. Jake needs to make changes.
3. Jake, a young adult Vizsla (Hungarian Pointer), is in need of a loving home, preferrable with a backyard or someone who spends a lot of time outdoors
4. Jake needs to jack it up.
5. Maybe Jake needs a vacation.
6. Jake needs red.
7. Jake needs someone to love him.
8. Jake needs more back-story.
9. I think Jake needs the extra large size.
10. Jake needs two pints of milk for a cake.

How uncanny! Google knows what I need so well.

So beauty people, 'tis all from me tonight. Besides I venture out to Chicago as work demands, bright still dark and early, extremely early, tomorrow morn.

Arghhh!!!

108: I Wanna Dance

I have to do some shaking of the booty in the very near future, or I'm gonna...hmm? I wonder, what is gonna happen to me?

Segueing: Check this video out. (via Transbuddha)

On my birthday, after I posted this lyric and song from a Japanese group that j'aime beaucoup, I went out, and there was definitely some booty shaking going on. Now, I've the itch. More intense. Any suggestions? Bueller, Bueller?

Useless fact: m-flo was a three-member group: Lisa, the sultry lead vocalist; Verbal, the front man rapper; and Taku, the genius behind the sound of m-flo. About 2-3 years ago, Lisa left the group to seek a solo career, leaving me devastated. Now, m-flo is just Taku and Verbal. But, they've teamed up with various solo artists and produced singles like the one you just saw. The girl isn't Lisa, by the way. She's BoA, a pop diva who's big, also, in Korea, because, well, she's Korean and started her career there. More useless fact: Lisa is biracial, one of her parents is Japanese and the other is Colombian. Verbal is a zainichi Korean. Taku is...he's just Japanese.

Hmm... I wonder if I have a point to this post?

You see, on one of many nights spent at home watching TV in Japan, I saw a documentary about m-flo. Even with my limited Japanese abilities, I had enough sensibility to intuit what each member shared about who they are. Hey, it's the N (iNtuition) and F (Feeling) of my Myers-Briggs personality type. And what they said made me love them more than I already did. My heartstring was tugged the most by Lisa; and I concede that perhaps I've projected my own experiences on her; but while she spoke of her childhood, running down across her cheeks were hot, burning tears, bearing the secrets only a hardship of being different from the rest can bring. Lisa's sin was the same as Elphaba's. I admire that Lisa, who I'm sure wanted to be a wallflower growing up, unnoticed for being a biracial kid, decided to stand tall and proud, and get noticed for her talents, her passions, her achievements.

But again, I've strayed from what I first intended to talk about, which is I wanna dance.

Seriously, I need to dance.

Whatever!

Let's watch some kids who know what's what. Check this and this out!

107: Reading Too Much Into Nothing

If you are a couch potato like me, and lately I have been one to my utter detriment, you may have come across an unexceptional commercial for Chex cereal.

Let me set it up for you.

The premise, I think, and I'm happy to be wrong, is that it's a huge deal that somehow, by miracle of all miracles, children and their parents came to an agreement on what children should eat, Chex cereal.

The location: the front steps of some legislative building. Clever that, because, you know, parents and kids are political adversaries.

The time: late morning or early afternoon. Clear blue sky all around.

The action: The kids are coming down the steps to an eagarly waiting news media idiots. The new conference commences with the awestruck journalists posing to the kids the cereal's selling points in a question form: "Did you know that the cereals are made from whole grains? Yet still you like it?" etc... The confused kids reply back, "I don't know, we just like it." It's a yawn inducing display of wholesomeness and America-the-beautiful.

The subtle racism: (I know I'm reading way too much into this, and I wouldn't really say the commercial contain any real hateful bigotry or racism, but I'm just saying it, for the effects, for dramatic purposes.) The cast of kids are very "we are the world;" you have your whites, a black, and even a yellow. I don't think I saw a brown or a red. But anyway, General Mills is trying to be very multicultural; obviously they want to attract and send a positive message of the company to their diverse American consumers. But you know what, it was very poorly executed. It was poor because they played up to stereotypes. What was the deal with the Asian girl holding the rice Chex cereal box? Was it because Asians eat rice as we are known to do? By the way, the white kid was holding a wheat box. You know, since Europeans' main grain staple is wheat. And I think they decided to give the corn box to the black boy, because they couldn't find a Mexican child cute enough. Who know? As I've said, I might be reading too much into nothing, but I really don't like seeing stereotypes perpetuated, however innocuous they may seem.

That is all.

106: Simple Pleasures

After a separation that lasted two days, I was reunited, today, with my iPod. It made me happy.

I've been obsessively repeating in my head this one line from a song: "One more itch, You son of a bitch." It made me happy.

Tons of blog post ideas are percolating in my head. It's making me happy. But I just don't seem to have time or the energy to write them down. It's making me sad.

Don't worry, though, I've just heard Martha Stewart say, "You made something really, really un-beautiful." I'm chortling. Oh my Lord. That made me happy.

I'm gonna go beddy-bye, now.

Addendum (10:09pm): I've a question. What's the deal with Korean being spoken in TV shows (just now in "Law and Order") these days? Are my people finally being represented? Hmm... I'm happy.

105: But Then There Were Fireworks...

Have I gone overboard by letting vanity reign over me?

You see, I've gone on my own version of the Tet Offensive, not to drive out the "American Imperialists," but to drive out the reds! Yes, I've engaged a full head-on assault to rid forever the red scar-inducing pimple-landmines. The battleground is my face and neck. The weapon of choice is Isotretinoin, commonly known as Accutane. Well, let's pause for a moment here and see what Roche Pharmaceuticals has to say:

Some patients have become depressed or developed other serious mental problems while they were taking Accutane or shortly after stopping Accutane. It is not known if Accutane caused these problems. Some signs of depression include sad, "anxious" or empty mood, loss of pleasure or interest in social or sports activities, sleeping too much or too little, changes in weight or appetite, school or work performance going down, or trouble concentrating. Some patients taking Accutane have had thoughts of ending their own lives (suicidal thoughts). Some people have tried to end their own lives (attempted suicide) and some people have ended their own lives (committed suicide). No one knows if Accutane caused these behaviors.

The thing is, lately, I've been moody. Very moody. I'd oscillate from being cheerful, wanting to be active, social, etc., to being downcast, wanting solitude, sleep, etc. And today was no exception! But worse!

The morning was fair enough. I woke up feeling somewhat replenished and ready to go. But the work day sure did an excellent job bitch-slapping, groin-kicking, head-mashing, and plain diarrhea-smearing the fragile glow of the morning. You see people, my work today involved me being in a day long meeting, listening to a consultant drone on and on, with thoughts, of jamming a pen into my ears just to have some...silence, of throwing myself out the window with the George Washington Bridge as my last view, flashing in my head every now and then. Added to the fact that, due to one of isotretinoin's other side effects, my skin was flaking off, well, Yours Truly was not a happy camper. No siree. "All work and no play makes Johnny a dull boy?" "HERE'S JOHNNY?" No, no, no. Too tame, too subdued the blood curdling madness.

Oh, and yes, I realized that God hates me. When I arrived at 42nd Street-Time Square station, the New York's finest was "investigating" something, thus shutting down the 7 line from the said station to the Grand Central station. I had to take the N/W line instead and change trains at Queensboro Plaza, which by the way is no big deal. But when I arrived at Queensboro Plaza, the platform was packed with commuters waiting for the 7 train to come. After about 5 N/W trains had come and gone, the 7 train gingerly arrived jammed pack. The commuters, resilient New Yorkers they are, with their sharp elbows, pushed and shoved their way into the train, and I was tossed about the human waves. I had no desire to be a sardine! Another set of 5 N/W trains had come and gone, then another packed 7 train arrived. Another fight to stay alive from the on-coming tidal wave of irate riders. I waited—not patiently, but nonetheless, I waited.

The commute home, which usually last less than an hour, lasted more than 2 hours! 2 hours! As an aside: I seriously need to move into the city (for the none Tri-State people, the city is Manhattan); does anyone in the Village area need a roommate?

Granted the meeting and the police investigation are beyond my control. I can usually let the annoyance roll off of me, but I swear isotretinoin is making me think that the world is against me, that it's all a set up to inconvenience my existence. Let me tell you, I truly believe even God, yes, even He is against me!

Oh, I just realized that today marks the one year anniversary of my coming out to myself and God. Hmm... Is that why God is punishing me? You see, He knew my vanity will drive me to seek out a dermatologist, who in turn would prescribe me a drug so potent, it's considered a category X (the worst) teratogen, which in turn would fuck with my head; and to test me, He'd throw the biggest, the smelliest shit of a day at me; all because I demanded that He'd bless me. Normally, I'd say, "no," but I'm inclined to believe otherwise.

But you know what? While I was waiting on the platform of the Queensboro Plaza station, up above the East River, like today was a Fourth of July, there were fireworks. I swam inside a septic tank of a day, but then there were fireworks.

Perhaps, the world isn't out to get me. Maybe God isn't cursing me. For a moment, there was a celebration of fireworks. I know it wasn't for me... But since my head's not in the right place, I'm going to say the celebration of fireworks was just for me.

Happy Realizing-Who-You-Are-And-Stop-Living-A-Life-Of-Denial Day; Happy Coming-Out Day!

104: Quoted

Can I tell you how awesome it is that someone to say my writing was "thought provoking?" I've clicked on technorati's "blogs that link here" you'll find on the sidebar and found this site and this entry.

Thank you BrandtJ of Las Vegas. I see you are a med student. I hope someday I'll find myself in a similar position as you are in, learning to heal people, serving our fellow men.

And...

Happy Halloween!

103: Confession #3

To ET and KY: Guys, you may find this post falling under the TMI (Too Much Information) category. So, a warning: if you think my frankness will make you feel uncomfortable, then please spare yourself and stop reading it. Also, to those under 18 (although I doubt there are any of you chickens reading my blog): some of the links below are for adults only, so don't go there!

My dear readers, there is a little secret that I must share with you. I ask that you be my confessor and pay heed, withholding any negative judgments and maintaining your current favorable view you have of me. You do, by the way, have a favorable view of me, right? No matter, but you must understand this confession requires your utmost sensitivity. Okay, okay... My little confession is this: I am... (fuck it, I'm just gonna say it) horny! There! I've said it.

A few hours ago, as I was watching TV and landed on an old episode of Star Trek: Voyager, I've learned that, according to the show, what my body is telling me is I'm afflicted with a condition called Pon farr. In English, it just means that I want to get down on my knees, tearing open a guy's pants (hopefully this guy would be my life partner), and ripping up his underwear, to reveal a hard, throbbing and pre-cum oozing cock, and then I'd give it, with my mouth, a good, saliva dripping cleansing treatment every dick rightly deserves. Then turning him over, I'd play with his tight, pink hole; there will be tonguing and fingering, obviously. Once it's sufficiently lubed, I'd plow him, doggy style, until he begs me to stop. I'd turn him over soon there after, and while fucking him, I'd play with his nipples, to make him writhe and moan with pleasure. There will be yelping, groaning, cooing; pleading, demanding... Oh yeah. After his face is sufficiently moisturized with my Asian pearl cream, he will then have his way with me. He'd get off; we'd repeat. By the night's end, we'd have gone through a few or maybe all of the Kama Sutra positions. Then my blood fever would be abated until the next time.

Okay, okay. I probably need to lay off on sites like this, this, and this. By the way, QC is an awesome resource for everything hot and steamy. BA, well, let me just refer you to this: (I don't have permission to post it. BA, I will take down this beautiful picture of Joel Marceau, if you want me to.) And as for NS... because of it, Messieurs Right and Left have known me intimately.

But the truth is I won't give in to my carnal desires. I can't. I just feel like...yes, what I am about to say will make me sound lame, but like a teenage girl (and oh God, I can't believe I gonna say this), my first sexual encounter with a guy needs to be special. (I know, I've just rolled by eyes, too.)

You see, the Church has sufficiently and thoroughly brainwashed me to believe that the act of love making should be just that, an expression of love shared physically between two individuals, and not just a means to get off at the expense of a warm body, however willing he may be. But I fully understand that in our community, sex is like a handshake, an introduction before two individuals decide to pursue a relationship. And I, in no way, will judge that or cast the first stone, lest I want the same treatment—I don't, by the way. Hell, my life as a gay man would be so much easier if I let my hormones rule me; hell, it’s just human nature! Please, don’t think that I’m on this high moral platform, thinking that I’m righteous, or more so than others. I just can’t.

And I’m totally open to believing that it is “fear,” more so than my religious conviction, that is causing me to “save” myself (rolling my eyes).

God, I’m so fucked up!

That is all.

Oh, If you know of any good psychiatrist, let me know.

102: Nothing To Report

It's now 12:32 AM!
Did you know that I came back from work just 40 minutes ago?
Did you know that I had to wake up at 5:00 in the morning yesterday to get to work by 6?
You know what? I spent a total of 17 hours at work!
WTF?!

***

Besides work sucking the life out of me this past week, I have nothing to report.

***

And I've just learned that Miers is not going to be this Nation's associate Justice of the Supreme Court!

Um... Hell yeah, there is a God!

Thank you for hearing my prayer, Lord.

101: Men!

As a man, I have had a hard time understanding women. Then again, I still do. What is it that they say? Women: you can't live with them; you can't live without them. But this post isn't about my inability to understand the fairer sex.

It's just that, now, I'm finding it hard, as well, to understand men. Um, gay men, to be more precise.

Okay, it's not like I've met a lot of gay men in my life time. I mean, besides the very few I befriended in blogosphere, the corporeal gay people I've met in my life... well, I've always kept them at an arms length.

1. In 7th grade, a boy offers to show me what a blow job is. He takes me aside to a dark alley and tells me to drop my pants. I freak and run, Forrest Gump style. He and I never speak to each other ever again.

2. In high school, there is this openly gay, Asian dude, who's, well, very open. Pink triangle stickers, a rainbow colored ring, an "Act Up, Fight AIDS" T-shirt, and what not. Like most homophobic Asian boys, my friends and I stay clear away from him.

3. In college, I've taken voice lessons from a guy I figured to be, but wasn't sure if he was or not a 'mo. A friend of mine, who had graduated a year before and had taken lessons from him, comes back to school for a visit. During our lunch date, she tells me that she'd heard from the voice coach that I was taking lessons from him, and she says: "you know he is gay, right?" Then she follows with: "are you gay?" It's an unexpected transition that leaves me, well, reeling. Inevitably, I stop going to his voice lessons.

4. In Japan...

5. Now back in NYC, I am hanging out with a gay co-worker. However affluent his background is, he has had a difficult life. He's faced rejection from the ones who are suppose to love him unconditionally, and he's come out self-reliant and hard. Some may call him "bitchy." Hell, I would. I mean, I think I understand him... Damn, I think he and I are a lot alike, but it still doesn't make it easy for me to open up to him. (Or to anybody, for that matter.)

But one thing that I don't get is, I thought we were becoming friends... Yet why would he do something so underhanded at work to me?

I don't want to think too much about it. Or even talk about it. I'm done. Let's all just look at pretty boys.

100: First Anniversary?

I don't know if I should consider today my 1st anniversary.

No!

You see, last year on this auspicious day (okay, it was hardly auspicious, but I felt like using that word), I ventured into the blogosphere and started my very own blog. No. Not this one. But this one. But, my first few entries were so...awful, I erased them. Consider yourselves lucky, my dear readers. Yet, if you like "pain," and I'm sure you do, because you're reading this, you can go and check my very first blog out (without the first few entries.) I promise, though, it's RIDICULOUSLY horrible.

Despite its putridity, when I started that blog, I was going through a change: the pace was slow and hard, but the effect was profound; from dying of denial to living in truth (albeit still somewhat hidden), I'm not the same person I was a year ago.

My confession (and yes, here's another one) is that back then it was excruciating to put down in words my feelings and experiences. If a blog is a reflection of the writer, my first blog revealed nothing. I sometime think that hyphenated non-IDentity could hold more of who I am, but I struggle with how much of myself to pour out.

Hmm... It's a constant tug-of-war, but I like the fight. I do.

Last year today was the beginning when I decided to take a step forward to look at myself for who I am, and, eventually, to have the strength and the audacity to stand before God as Job had done, and face Him as I am, as the man He created me to be.

Well, today isn't SO special.

But, I don't know... If I were an autonomous nation, I'd set this day as a minor holiday.

Why not?

By the way, my first ever post was as bad as this post... No, it was worse. And guess what? This is my 100th post.

Love you all. Go on, live, and celebrate your beautiful life.

099: Look What I've Got

AND

Now I can't wait 'til the movie comes out. And one day, I will get that lottery ticket they have down there at 51st Street.

098: Stalker and I

So, yesterday, my stalker from Japan, her friend, and I hung out.

Well, I guess, firstly, I do need to explain why she came to be known as my stalker. Simply put, she had the misfortune of falling for me.

You see, I used to tutor people, as a part time job; it was one of those things that you weren't supposed to do (please read, illegal), but we all did it. Mainly so that we could meet someone, anyone, outside the crazy, fucked up "education" circle of people we had to deal with at work. So, yeah, I tutored her.

She was unique, and smart, in that she didn't want to learn English from me. Upon finding out that I also speak Korean, she decided that I'd be best suited to teach it to her. The money she offered me was too tempting to turn down. What can you say, I'm easy. So I agreed, and thus began my foray into teaching the language I use with my mother, the language, by the way, my future partner will need to learn, if he wants to be a part of my fucked up family.

Anyway, I guess I was sending off some strong pheromones her way, because by the end of the last lesson, she tells me that she's fallen for me.

Yes, my dear readers, ME!

How do you respond? All that comes out of my mouth was, "Thank you..." However, sensing the impending "but," she quickly interrupts me, saying, "Please don't say anything." And like something out of a cheesy Korean soap opera, she rises, turns, and walks out the door, into the night, into what I imagine... Well, something like this:

Cue, cheesy K-pop love ballad.

A full view. You see the heroine coming out the door. She walks away from the door. Her pace quickens. Suddenly, she stops.

We do a slow 360 around her, clockwise, and as the song hits its chorus, you know, because that when the music crescendoes, we come to a close up on her face. You see a tear drop. She fights back her sweltering sadness, muffling her cries.

Cut to the hero. A full view. He's sitting down, head turned, heavy and downcast, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. We do another slow 360. This time, around him, counterclockwise. A close-up of his face.

Will he get up? Will he go after her?

Cut back to the heroine. We see her backside. She turns her head, expectantly.

Cut to the outside of the house. We start zooming in to the door.

Cut to the inside the house. You see a close up of a hand, slowly moving towards something. What is it? Could it be? It's the doornob. The second verse has ended, and we come again to the song's crescendoing chorus.

Cut to the girl. Close-up. She's still expectant.

Cut to the hand. The doornob's turned. It's his POV. The door creeps open, revealing... What do we see? We see, we see. The toilet.

I really had to go.

Nothing was said between us after that night, except for a text message I sent her that read, "let's be friends."

Come on, what do you expect from someone who is emotionally stunted as I am? And in a few weeks time, I had returned to the land of the free, the home of the braves.

The end?

Nope. She sent me a gift. Something to remind me of Japan: Senbei and green tea. Then another gift. Then another. And then another.

My roommate asked if I had a stalker, because one of the gifts she sent was a bag of white chocolates, each shaped as a woman's breast with a supple, pink nipple. Hold two of them together, you'd have a full, voluptuous set. Bite into one, you'd find a milky white cream. Yummy. From then on, she came to be known as my stalker.

So, yesterday, my stalker from Japan, her friend, and I hung out.

097: Honesty?

Honestly? Honesty? No, it was more like a drunken revelation.

Me!

I was still my guarded self, a tower of self preservation, a fortress of stand-offishness, until, that is... Well, as if each sip of gin and tonic were like a strong hurricane wind blowing away the flimsy levies of New Orleans (yes, a bad metaphor, but I'm sticking with it), I let certain pieces of information that I've kept to myself flow. About how my life is like some cheesy romantic comedy, like "Never Been Kissed," or "The 40 Year Old Virgin," but without the romance or the comedy. Hold on, I take that back. My life is quite comic, really. Come on, not getting laid for all these long years is funny! But I digress.

So, I'm babbling on. To a guy. Who happens to be a co-worker of mine. And who happens to be gay.

I guess, I really needed to talk. Face to face. You know, to someone who shares my proclivity for cocks.

God, I'm embarrassed.

Well, happy people, the sun is finally out. Go out and enjoy this day.

Right now, I have to go meet my "Stalker" who's just arrived yesterday from Japan to... to... Hmm, I don't know why she's here. I won't even presume to think that she came all the way over here to see me. Urgh.

Forget it! People, GO!!! Enjoy the sun.

096: A Milestone

(Enters Stage Center)

I bid you, my dear readers, welcome. Should your gracious disposition allow a moment spared to indulge my foolery, hear me, then, patiently and intently, of my confession. I, who stand before you, am a Stat whore. Yes, truly, I tell thee, I am. I am a one who seeks a messianic figure to touch him, to cleanse him, and thus redeemed from his atrocious sin, a sin of wanting attention, of wanting...friends. Oh, verily, I tell thee, on this day of days, this dreary, rainy day (actually, it was yesterday, but who cares? It’s my blog), I went to sitemeter.com. A daily religious ritual performed reverently (that’s kind of redundant, innit?) to see who stalks graces these pages, this sacred text (oh yeah, stroke that shit, stroke that ego), which holds a secret of my inner being, one that’s full of…SHIT.

What was the point of this post?

Oh yeah, I remember. Sitemeter.com. Well, ever since I started tracking the visitation numbers since April of this year, I saw the numbers climb steadily, like a little engine that could. And finally, yester morn, when the hour hand rested between 10 and 11, with the minute hand lingering on 43, and the second hand swinging by 1, I had my 2,000th visitor! This reader hails from Reading, PA, and, although I do not know what search words or phrase he/she used that led him/her to me, this lucky reader had the pleasure of reading this for about, I don’t know, approximately 0 seconds before venturing off.

Hold it! Wait. Do my ears deceive me? Am I hearing myself clearly? Am I being a tad ungrateful for this abundant, long-lasting attention my blog has had and is receiving?

Fuck Yeah!

No, in all seriousness, I am constantly amazed by this medium. It just blows my mind that there are people out there, who come to visit my page, sometimes repeatedly, to read what I have to say. And it’s not like I post “gratuitous” pictures, like this one: (I had to, everyone else was doing it!)

So, in conclusion, on this dreariest of rainy days (we’ve had no reprieve for about a week from Mother Nature’s on-going onslaught), I bow to you all, humbled, and resolutely exclaim my heart’s unending gratitude, saying, “Thank you, Thank you.”

(Exits Stage)

This post was brought to you by: "Work? Why? Sure you have lots to do, but your boss isn't here. Relax a bit. Procrastination's never hurt anyone."

Addendum: Dear readers, if you want to leave comments, please do so. I won't bite.

095: Need vs Want

It's not like I need it, but I sure do want it.

094: T-Shirts

Okay, I was inspired by her to write this post. And when I say, "was inspired by," I really mean, "copied from." But, whatever, right?

You see, I do need some new T-shirts. And in all seriousness, I can't decide what I should get. All the T-shirt designs below speak to me, speak to the person I am. They are clever; but some, I know, I won't be able to pull off wearing them. Let me begin by showing you what I won't get.

Well, because it's too obvious and um...gay.

As for this one...
Never, no way, not this one... well, because I'm afraid most girls would retort back saying, "Oh, honey, there's nothing to be sorry about. You were never EVER in the running in the first place." Which, in a way, is fine, but why open yourself up to such...um, an unnecessary humiliation?

However, I like this one, and is in the running:
It has a right amount of self-loathing I can be proud of.

Alas, this one, too:
This one is like a giant, garish neon sign pointing to one of my greatest fears. I wonder, you know, at times, out loud—because I'm crazy like that—whether the walls I put up against those who I consider friends are due to my fear that if they get to know me more intimately than they do now, they'd learn that I have nothing to offer them, that I can't be a good friend to them, because, face it, there will always be someone better, someone who can give what I can't give, however hard I may try, and ultimately, they will leave me; I'd be left alone. Why risk such... um, a desperate loneliness?

This not-so-secret fear of mine, by the way, applies to "relationship" as well. Will I ever be ready to have me a BF? Whatever! Moving on...

This one, well, I've actually said to a third party. A friend asked why I was not interested in a girl who obviously had a huge crush on me. My cryptic reply was thus:
Replace the "you" with "her." Anyways, she was beautiful, nice, wonderful, laidback; and had a great sense of humor, which I think most people interpret as the girl being fat, but she wasn't. I mean, people, she was perfect in every way. Except one. Surely, had I lied long enough and forced myself to pursue a relationship with her, it would have been ruination of both our lives.

Let's move on, it's been too introspective. Besides, I've three more to show.

I've often wondered, again, out loud, about this one. Indeed, who's with the Asian men? What do we get?

Now at the other end of my bipolar disorder, the manic side, (as an aside, I like pointing out the obvious, the blatant ones the better,) I can assure you that once I'm one hundred percent committed, he—whoever he may be—HE, will know the truth:

But then again, I think I like the idea of pissing off scores and scores of grade schoolers with this:

Well, I can't decide. Which T-shirt should I get?

093: A Tale of Two Weddings

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

Wait, wait, wait. Who do I think I am, Charles Dickens?

Well, whatever. Okay, here's my beginning:

It was the best of times; it was the best of times. One wedding was held on the Right Coast; the other was held on the Wrong Left Coast. One was a small and simple ceremony; the other was an elegant and elaborate ceremony. I smelled the salty sea air that a gentle Atlantic breeze carried over to our sand covered sandles in one; I smelled the freshly lawn-mowed grass permeate the lush golf courses of an opulent country club in the other.

I witnessed J, whom I befriended in Japan, vow to have and to hold, for better, for worse, his beautiful bride, F; and I witnessed R, my college freshman roommate, for richer, for poorer, pledge to N, his beautiful bride, to cherish and to love.

To J and F, I wish joy; to R and N, I wish you happiness.

Congratulations!

092: Challenged

Best read with a faux Received Pronunciation (RP):

A while ago I wrote this; and the kind and generous responses I received regarding it filled me with gratitude. A reader challenged me, as well, in the interest of fairness, to write a list of things I like/love about myself. Yet, I must confess, it has been hard, rather almost impossible, trying to come up with that list. Each time when I think about, and try as I may, some positive aspects of my constitution, I burst out in fits of uncontrollable giggles.

But seriously, when you see the world like... well, like this:

Lucas could not help imagining this procession of walkers, all of them poor and battered, wearing old coats too small or too large for them, dragging children who could not or would not walk, all marching along Rivington Street, impelled by someone or something that pushed them steadily forward, slowly but inexorably, so it only seemed as if they moved of their own will; all of them walking on, past the houses and stables, past the taverns. past the works and into the river, where they would fall, one after another after another, and continue to walk, drowned but animate, on the bottom, until the street was finally empty and the people were all in the river, trudging along its silty bed, through its drifts of brown and sulfur, into its deeper darks, until they reached the ocean, this multitude of walkers, until they were nudged into open water where silver fish swam silently past, where the ocher of the river gave over to inky blue, where clouds floated on the surface, far, far above, and they were free, all of them, to drift away, their coats billowing like wings, their children flying effortlessly, a whole nation of the dead, dispersing, buoyant, faintly illuminated, spreading out like constellations into the blue immensity. (by Michael Cunningham, Specimen Days)

Yeah, so when you see the world, and you in it, like that, how can you stop a derisive mirth from springing out?

Despite my inability most of the time to see the cup half full, even if there's much greater beauty in it than there's in emptiness, after some soul searching, I present to you, in no particular order, the list!

1. I love that I am a loyal and a faithful friend.
2. I love that I am a good listener.
3. I love that I know writing this is one of the hardest thing I've done.
4. I love that I can be moved by music.
5. I love that I can be transformed just by reading a book.
6. I love that I show love to others by just being there for them; I know it's not much, but that's the best I can do.
7. I love that I can sing... or that I used to... Whatever! I have a nice voice... I think.
   
8. I love that I lived in Japan for three years, meeting a group of amazing people, who'll always remain close to my heart.
9. I love that I got an Ivy League education. People, I may act like an ignorant dumbass much of the time, but I'm really not. Ignorant, that is. Well... I still have lots to learn, so I guess I can be called ignorant. Anyways, as for acting like a dumbass, the jury is still in. But I love that I got an Ivy League education.
   
10. I love that I live by God's Grace. Once I thought it was a gift that came with conditions, conditions that said that I must follow the rules of the Church. It was a burdomsome gift that made me hate the person I am, hate the person I can never become. But who's to say that the Church is right? Who's to say that I am wrong? Until the veil of Heaven rips open, and there stands God to tell me my wanting to be with a man, to live with a man, to share our lives together, the love and the war, the joys and the pains, until He tells me that I am wrong, that I am damned for all eternity, that His Grace isn't for me, I say to the Pope Benedicts, the Dr. James Dobsons, the Pat Robertsons, or to any of the homophobic "leaders" of the Church out there, I'll bear witness on Judgment Day as an accuser to say your love was insufficient, that you failed to follow one of the greatest commandments; but unlike you, and the people you've influenced to hate, those who shout "God hates Fags," I'll plead your case, too, saying, "Lord, Your Grace is for them as much as it is for me."
    

PATER noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen.

Addendum: I didn't want to leave this post sounding too religious. So, I'll leave you with a few more things I've realized that I love about me.

1. I love that when I get really hungry, I turn really quiet, more so than I normally am, then I release the bitch within, scathing anyone and anything around me.
2. I love that I can be a total jerk, to the point of being the living embodiment of all the fun words we use for the male and female genitalia. You know, like "prick," "dick," and my favorite, "cunt."
3. I love that I can laugh at myself.
4. I love that I'm sensitive enough and hard enough to survive in this dog-eat-dog world.
5. I love that suddenly I'm finding more things about myself to love.
6. I love that I have some innocence left in me to prevent myself from turning jaded.
7. I love that I can appreciate life in all its glory, the ugly and the beautiful.
   
8. I love that I have hope.
9. I love that I have faith.
10. I love that I have love.

091: Inconsequential

Shall I paint my existence,
with strokes broad and bold,
the brush dripping Apollo's gleam,
to chasten the blue canvas,
to sprout forth life fresh and verdant?

Should a gardener prune away
a leaf whithering and browning,
will it from the stem bleed,
perhaps a red passionate enough,
capable, too, of embracing death?

090: Did You Miss Me?

Well? Did you?

No? Okay, I didn't miss me either.

But anyways, let me give you a quick recap of what has been happening with my small, insignificant life.

Last weekend I was in our nation's capital for work, which I have to say was...um, what's the word I'm looking for, oh yes, boring. But I have to say, after being away for a good nine months, it was nice to be back. I've got to see one of my roommates and a few friends I've made there. Catching up and telling each other what our plans are for the near future, seeing how we progressed in that short time span, it just reminded me that life is never stagnant. Yes, I've complained many times, well, not here as much, that my life seems to go nowhere, like being stuck in traffic. But seeing my own life through their eyes have shown me that indeed I've made progress and grown in maturity and in strength.

This weekend, I was down in Florida, Cocoa Beach to be specific, for my friend's wedding, my friend, whom I visited in Seattle. Now I don't see him, or rather I can't see him as a kid that I hung out with in Japan, but an actual grown up with real grown up responsibilities. There's a small part of me that is extremely jealous of the life he has started. It's strange, really, that this boy, Me, with a Peter Pan complex is jealous of someone who is actually growing up before Your Truly's, My, eyes.

Anyways, next weekend I will again travel, this time to the West Coast, to attend another wedding. This time it will be for a college buddy, my freshman roommate, whom, when I first met him, I thought, he would one day tell me that he is gay. How ironic that one day I'd be the one to tell him that I'm gay.

Well, people, that is all. Continue with your precious lives.

089: Falling

I dreamed I was falling, my arms flailing; falling deep into... where?

088: Don't Miss Me Too Little

I would like to write a follow up to my prior post, letting you all know that I do feel better than what the last post might have implied. Partly, I guess, it's because work has kept me busy, preventing me from wallowing in despair, and because one of the challenges left me in the comment section got me thinking... It's not that I've ever thought there wouldn't be a light at the end of the tunnel, there is... right?

Anyways, I'm going to be thoughtful and stroke my own ego by writing a list of things I like about Yours Truly. I will.

But before that I must inform you that there will be an absence of my presence for a three days time. Alas, where I go, you cannot follow. Unless you want to get yourself to New York Penn Station and purchase an Amtrak ticket to go down to Hades, I mean, Washington, DC, and watch me not have fun, but sweat blood and tear for the Man. The corporate drone must, MUST, work-work-work.

Hey! If any of my readers in the DC area wants to hangout with Yours Truly, call me! My number is 2xx xxx xxxx.

Addendum (12:06pm): Hey? Why is my number showing up like that? Okay, let try again, xxx xxx xxx1.

Addendum (12:29): WTF? Forget it!

I shall catch yous all laters.

087: Inexplicable Funk

I’ve been staring at a blank word document for a good two hours time wondering how I should begin this post.

Correction: make that, five days. After that first sentence, I’ve spent the better part of those five nights opening and closing this document without much progress…

Okay, here I go…

Ever since Seattle, despite all my attempts just to carry on, trying my utmost to find a so-called happy place, I am in a state of funk. Add to the fact that one friend saying this and another friend echoing the same sentiment leaves me feeling… Forget it, I’d rather have a taste of gunpowder in my mouth just before everything turns black or have a cold steel blade slicing my insides in a HARA-KIRI ritual, than talk about how I feel. I’m just in a state of funk.

funk 1
noun
1 (also blue funk) [in sing. ] a state of depression : I sat absorbed in my own blue funk.

This streak of blue piercing my very being has made me furtive.

furtive
adjective
attempting to avoid notice or attention, typically because of guilt or a belief that discovery would lead to trouble

But I can’t let myself be in this state any longer—I am not invisible and I am not meant to live in darkness of guilt and shame. I’ve descended into a valley of my creation. But I’ve not yet reached the deepest point. Once there, perhaps the ascent to the light, out of self-pity and loathing, will be a certainty.

So, I’ve decided to quicken my descent by writing a list of what I hate about myself. I mean if I can’t use my own blog as a sounding board for my own neurosis, where can I? (Actually, I may one day find myself lying down on a psychiatrist’s chair, spilling my guts out. But for the financially challenged Yours Truly, I am satisfied with my blog.) Perhaps years later when I refer back to this list, I may have made some progress and have become someone who is not by any means the person on the list. Or at least I’ll have a good laugh. Hopefully, we all will.

The list, in no particular order:

1. I hate that my big head sits on top of a skinny neck and a small-framed torso. How my head doesn’t just roll off my body is a mystery.
2. I hate that when I look at myself in the mirror and turn side ways, I am a flat board. Think, stick figure with a big balloon as a head!
3. I hate that my face has everything in common with a pepperoni pizza pie.
4. I hate that I fit the stereotype: “all gay men suffer from a poor body image.”
5. I hate that I don’t fit the stereotype: “all well dressed, good looking men are gay.”
6. I hate that I care about this superficial vanity when there are people suffering, especially the Katrina evacuees.
7. I hate that I threw in No.6 only so that people won’t find me vapid and shallow.
8. I hate that I care about what people think about me.
9. I hate that sometimes I care too much that I want to do everything I can to make things better, but when I try to put words into deeds and find it difficult, I shut down and I stop caring about everything.
10. I hate that sometimes I don’t care at all, wanting just to mope around in my own filth, but when I hear something that makes my heart bleed, I get fired up and energized.
11. I hate that my best friend is Netflix. But recently, I got premium cable channels, so Netflix is quickly losing that status.
12. I hate that, although I say becoming a doctor is a dream of mine, I can’t seem to get myself motivated to realize that dream. In other words, I still haven’t finished my application essay. Fuck!
13. I hate that I moan about my pitiful status quo continuously.
14. I hate that I was born into my family.
15. I hate that I’m my dad’s son.
16. I hate that my mom suffered so much, but I can’t do anything to make things better for her.
17. I hate that if and when my mom finds out about me, her heart will be broken.
18. I hate that I was born a Korean.
19. I hate that I want my dad to know about me, so that I can see his heart break.
20. I hate that I have a distant father, emotionally and physically, and an overprotective mom.
21. I hate that my mom didn’t divorce my dad before I was conceived.
22. I hate that my half sister has known my dad more and better than I ever have.
23. I hate that my sister had known the love of two parents while growing up, while I had only one.
24. I hate that when my sister lost her mother through cancer, I neither felt bad nor sorry for her at all.
25. I hate that I can be so cold hearted.
26. I hate that I can’t let myself get close to anyone.
27. I hate that I constantly live in fear of rejection.
28. I hate that, because I don’t want to be rejected, I play the doormat for all to trample on.
29. I hate that I have no backbone. I’m a coward! A chicken shit.
30. I hate that I’m a loser.
31. I hate that I suck at sports.
32. I hate that there isn’t any one thing that makes me stand out. Let me tell you, I know, I’m as interesting as watching grass grow.
33. I hate that, although I started this list with the intention of infusing it with some self-deprecating humor, I’m failing miserably.
34. I hate that I’m infuriatingly moody, especially now.
35. I hate that most people I know from my graduating class are making more money than I am. Not that I really care. Whatever!
36. I hate that my friends can say in one breath that being gay is not a sin, but having gay sex is, even if it’s sex rooted in love and commitment.
37. I hate that their response is exactly what I had expected.
38. I hate that God “inspired” Moses to write something so hateful as to condemn a group of people for generations.
39. I hate that God “inspired” Paul to write celibacy is what’s right by God, and thus holy.
40. I hate that I lived by Paul’s stricture.
41. I hate that since I’m fucked if I do and fucked if I don’t, I should just fuck!
42. But I hate that if I just fuck I’ll be proving the right wing Christians’ point that it’s a lifestyle of choice, that sex between two men is not a real, true expression of love, that it’s an abominable act.
43. But also I hate that I know I’ll never fuck for fuck sake because I’m a fucking chicken shit and that I won’t actively search for love because, again, I’m a fucking chicken shit.
44. I hate that I can’t be eloquent in expressing these thoughts.
45. I hate that there’s not even one iota of irony or sarcasm in my list.
46. I hate that I feel hatred towards God now.
47. I hate that I feel hatred towards my “Christian” friends now.
48. I hate that I want to be the one to discover a pill to make people not gay anymore.
49. I hate that the natural conclusion to this list is so obvious.
50. I hate that I loathe, LOATHE myself.

I think I’ve hit bottom.

Hey, do you think my readership will increase after this?

Hahaha. Probably not.

086: In Remembrance

As the names of those who died on the day when the world turned upside down are being read by their brothers and sisters, and although I do not know any of them, I remember...

085: Hungry, Hungry Hypo...

...cricy is what it is!

Someone once told me that being gay isn't a sin. Fantastic! Yet from the same mouth I heard that for a man to sleep with another man, well, it is NOT something God intended. Therefore to act contrary to what God intended, well, it's sin, isn't it?

Once I made an argument that in the Bible eating pork is considered a sin. But now I want to make another argument. Did you know that in the Bible menstruating women are to be set apart from the community because they are considered unclean? Women are penalized for a natural biological function. So in essense, it isn't a sin being a woman. But, well, because they menstruate, and God requires that they be quarantined, so as not to "dirty" or "make unclean" anyone who may come in contact, isn't it a..? And guess what? Peter the Apostle didn't dream Jesus coming down from heaven with menstruating women laying on top of a clean white sheet telling Peter it is okay to accept them as clean like He did with unclean foods. Yet, no Christians, even the ones that tell you it's not a sin to be gay, these days will ever say to a menstruating woman "it isn't a sin to be a woman, but since you are bleeding down there, I would like you to get thee out of the city gates until Aunt Flo goes away."

There are lots of laws in the Bible telling you what to do and what not to do, so that you stand right with God. Yet many Christians pick and choose what to follow and what not to. God's Grace, indeed!

So, hold steadfast to your beliefs. I don't expect anything otherwise.

You and I, we stand in dissonance.

***

To change the subject, I'm in a funk.

***

Addendum (09/14/05): I just wanted to provide the Bible reference for those of you who are interested. Leviticus 15: 19-32. I admit I've made an error when I said a menstruating woman was to be sent out of the city gates. She just needs to be kept away from rest of society, because anybody and anything that comes in contact with her is made unclean. After a woman is quarantined for seven days, on the eighth day, she must make a SIN offering, a SIN offering. I hope this clarifies.

084: I Left My Heart in...

...hmmm, wrong city. There really isn't a song about Seattle, is there? Well, I had hope to regale you with tales of adventure, mystery, comedy, romance, and what-have-you, but, people, it's me.

But anyways, let me just share with you what I wrote in my journal.

August 28, 2005

Another beautiful day wasted here in Seattle... I guess dynamics of friendship will always change with distance and time. Don't get me wrong; it was great seeing J, his fiancée, and G. But I could never find an opportune time to let them know about me. Somehow I fear that telling them will forever change the way they look at me, and that's something I don't want. But then again, my mind doesn't know what it wants. If ignorance is bliss, why change a good thing? But whatever. Whatever! I tend to say that a lot, but whatever. Let's let it pass. The thing is what I've always wanted was a brother, a friendship so deep, so easy, that I can be who I am with him. Maybe, J and G are not the ones who can fulfill that for me. Perhaps I expect too much from people...

Welcome back to my blog post. I figure an explanation is needed, but I don't know how to start. (Rather, I don't feel like it.)

Besides friendship is overrated. Case in point, I refer you to this post. The silence really is deafening.

You know what? What one really needs is a lover. Clarification: What I need is a lover. Hmm... lover. What a funny word.

Anyways, any suggestions? AND by everything good and holy, if anyone mentions gay.com, I swear I'll hunt you down and bitch slap you so hard, the famous rotating head scene from The Exorcist will seem tame in comparison! (Ok, that felt good, a nonsensical emotional outburst against something I don't really care about... Sorry gay.com, You Are Not the Target.)

Fuck it! I need to get drunk.

083: There's No Place Like Home...I Guess

I'm back!!! It's 6:03 in the morning, and I've just gotten in, and like, I've had only, like, less than three hours of sleep, like, on a plane, and like, it was really, really, really uncomfortable, and like, I need coffee, like, real bad, and like I have work today, like, and I don't wanna go, but like, still I need to get ready, and like, it's going to suck. It's really, really, really hard.

Hug?

...

Well, once I'm more settled, I hope to regale you with tales of...nothing, just absolutely nothing. So, stay tune.

082: A Weekend Getaway

Most New Yorkers, I suppose, drive to the beaches of Long Island or New Jersey to get away for the weekend. I, however, am not most New Yorkers. Friday, after work, I must get myself to JFK to catch my 7:00 pm flight. I scheduled a SuperShuttle van to pick me up in SoHo at 4:30 pm. Hopefully, the traffic won't be too bad and I'll make it to the airport with plenty of time to spare. But knowing my luck... we'll see.

Anyways, Seattle, just you wait; here comes Jake with some wild oats to sow! Eh, not really, but whatever.

Wish me bon voyage!

081: Going Commando

Again.

I'm not wearing underwear today...

Well, it was really yesterday. I told another friend about my blog. I haven't heard back from her, though. Hmm... I'm not fazed.

Inch by inch I'm slowly opening the door. I was never for a grandiose, spotlight-is-on-me, dramatic enter stage center. Although I've been told it would be better to do it all at once, you know, telling my friends about me, I want to hear what each person I tell has to say on the matter on a one-to-one basis. Think Monica and Chandler. One by one each of their friends found out about them. Think of the potential comedy that can ensue when one friend who knows encounters another friend who knows, but they can't talk about me, because they both swore they wouldn't discuss it with our other friends. Just like Joey and Rachael. Don't you think it'll be fun?

***

A random question:

Do you think an unexamined life is as blissful as ignorance? Or do you think living in ignorance is as not worthwhile as an unexamined life?

080: Don't Tell Anyone, But...

...somehow, I have in my hand a copy of Death Cab for Cutie's new album, Plans. And, it's not even released yet. I'm listening to it as I'm typing, and I have to say, it's good.

That is all.

079: La Famiglia

Like the recent Harry Potter book, it is incumbent on me, I strongly feel, to provide you, my dear three readers, with what I hope to be a pithy exposition; then I shall feel more than ready to begin to tell the tale of la famiglia.

The Korean family.
The first question should be: what is it?

The simple answer is what most of us are used to: a unit of individuals made up of at least one parent and one child. (See: nuclear family) Whether you are an Albanian or a Zimbabwean, I'm sure we can all agree on this definition.

But for a traditional Korean family, the nuclear family tends to be extended to include at least one paternal grandparent, and your father's brother and his nuclear family. (See: extended nuclear family)

I've been debating with myself for some good thirty minutes, deciding on which word would be apropos to begin the next sentence, and invariably the word that I've chosen, the word that seems right to me, is to follow right after the ellipsis... Unfortunately, due to the fact my grandparents fucked like bunnies, I've five uncles (and two aunts—according to tradition, a woman shouldn't be counted as your family because once she marries she leaves the family to become a member of her husband's). Considering that they've their own nuclear families, my extended nuclear family is HUGE. When I was a child growing up in Korea, having uncles and aunts-in-law who constantly doted on you, and cousins who were less like cousins and more like brothers and sisters, having them around was a joyful blessing. But now... not so much. Could the distaste I have for my family stem from their ceaseless and baseless worrying about me aging without a respectable profession that brings in the Benjamins to support the parents and, this is the catcher, me being still single? Hells Yeah. Wait, wait... I shall acknowledge and agree with those of you who will say that it's nice to have around people who care for you, but when they all tell me to hurry up and become a doctor, so that they can set me up with a nice girl. Umm... No, thank you. And why is it that I have to become a doctor or have a career first for them to set me up? It makes me wonder about their priorities in life, and please excuse the lack of literary elegance, but it just makes me sad. But fortunately, they are far and away from me, with most of them still in Korea and some who are living in America staying a comfortable distance away in the Left Coast.

From here, we enter the realm of "extended family," contrasted with "extended nuclear family." So far, I've describe my family in a POV centered around me. But when we deal with the extended family one must view the family unit with a parent-centric POV. My dad's grandfather had three sons and several daughters. So these sons and daughters, who are my grandfather's siblings, require that I call them my "grandparents," because they belong to the same generational line as my grandfather. It's a Korean thing. So, continuing with that reasoning, my dad's cousins, or rather his uncles' children, since they belong to the same generational line as my dad, they are my uncles and aunts. And as we continue down the convoluted family tree, these uncles' and aunts' children become my cousins who can be equated as being my siblings.

The second question: why are you telling me this?

Last Night
Well, although I may be free from the clutches of my extended nuclear family, my dad's uncle lives in New York. And this grandpa has made it a mission to include me in whatever family function he has. So, here now begins my tale.

NY Grandpa's eldest grandson, W, will soon be entering college, so the family decided to throw him a going away party. I, however, was invited with a direction from NY Grandpa to impart to my young cousin, W, my experiences being a college student. In other words, I was to be a good older brother, advising him on what he should do and what he shouldn't do.

However much I tried to avoid this function, I was cornered by NY Grandpa. I could not refuse, and off I went to W's party. But what wisdom could I ever hope to impart? Sigh. Whatever. Off I went still, not to advise but to eat. Throughout the night I was doing a good job pretending to be the older brother (in a Korean sense of the word); and W did an equally impressive job pretending to be the younger brother. For a kid born in America, he's done quite well being Korean—agreeing dutifully with your elders, namely NY grandpa, even when you know how erroneous they are; acquiescing to the demands of your elders, even though you know you will not follow through if you judge a demanded activity unverifiable by the aforementioned elder. W knew how to play the game.

While we were sitting around the dining table having desserts, W was surrounded by his Aunt, J, his uncle, H, his father, me, and obviously his overbearing and clueless grandparents. At one point NY Grandpa says to W, "You know your cousin, Jacob. Look how well he turned out. As you know he graduated from C University, he went to Japan to work... He started his new job and when he got his first check, he sent it to his father." By the way, I never did. It was one of the demands made by NY Grandpa, which I dutifully agreed to do while not actually following through. Well, the barrage of praises continued, making me feel extremely embarrassed. But then he says, "Jacob is a role model. You must be like him."

...

...

Huh?

How I've managed to not laugh... Good Lord.

The act that I put on with them... I hate it, but there's no alternative. It goes against my culture; the status quo must continue.

One last thing. My American born cousin, W, said something that piqued my righteous indignation.

Aunt J (AJ): You know who your roommate's going to be?
Cousin W (CW): No, I've got a single.
Me: They gave you a single? So lucky.
AJ: Did you ask for a single?
CW: No. I filled out the form asking for a roommate.
ME: What did you say?
AJ: Did you tell them you have body odor?
CW: No! I asked for an Asian roommate.
AJ and Me: ...
AJ and Me: Why?
CW: Well, late at night when I'll get hungry, I'm gonna eat cup ramen. And white people don't like the smell of Korean food.
AJ and Me: ...

What I wanted to say was, 'why would you compromise who you are to avert some baseless rejection you may get from some white guy? He may come to like Korean food. You shouldn't assume that he'll be offended by the food.'

I don't know. Whatever.

I feel like I'm just rambling now. I'm going shut up and sign off.

Lastly, your own family, you can't live with them and you can't live without them.

By the way, I found a white guy who likes Korean food so much that he has a blog dedicated to it, along with other Asian cuisines. I think he's more knowledgeable about kimchi then I am. And when it comes to Korean food, he's more Korean than I am. Let me introduce you to kimchijon of evil jungle prince. And he's a hottie.

078: It Didn't Suck

I wanted to write a long post about how much it didn't suck, but I'll keep this entry short and sweet.

There is this one watersport... Oh. My. God. I love it.

What's there not to like?

I spent nine months in amniotic fluid, so it's natural that I seek to bathe myself in saline goodness.

And I even got certified yesterday. How awesome is that?!

So, people, now I am a scuba diver. As all true divers, after they get out of the water, say when asked, "how was it?" It Didn't Suck!!!

It really didn't suck, people. It really didn't.

077: The Don't's

I rarely go to online hook-up sites, because well, the thought of hooking up with a random guy...ok, I'll be frank...scares the shit out of me.

So, a quick recap about who I am:

1. a freak
2. a dork
3. a loser
4. a loner
5. a whiner
6. a chicken shit
7. a...
   

Oh, by the way, there's a movie coming out about me. But of course Hollywood changed a few things here and there to appease the "demographics." But I digress.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. Hook-up sites. I don't know why, but today of all days, I decided to go into one, and here's what I find:

Him: hi
Him: i dont like that pic
Me: ok
Him: i dont know why many asian people put like this funny pic on it
Me: it's better than not having a picture, don't u think?
Him: well it's better having normal picture
Him: im just saying
Him: because many white people dont like asian guys
Me: ok
Him: there is % that white people look at asian people and dislike because of this funny things..
Me: what funny thing?
Him: pictures
Me: so what would you say is a proper picture?
Him: just normal pic
Me: since u can discern between what is funny and what is normal,
Me: what's normal?
Him: i think you know what i mean
Me: am i to read your mind?
Him: nevermind
Me: indeed

Mind you, it is a dorky picture of me, but I didn't know it would offend people so much.

076: My Future

Where am I headed? I'm in the twilight of my twenty-something years, and I'm still loitering. Despite the fact that I do now know where I want to go, my feet shuffle side to side, instead of moving me forward. I blame the Muses for not inspiring me to finish my application. Maybe it's because my two prior attempts have gotten me nowhere. Maybe it's because it's summer and it's just too hot to do anything. But I must press on and march on. I must. It is my dream.

In the meantime, I want to share with you all one application essay that failed to get me into a medical school. I would like to hear from you, readers, what I should have said to make me look attractive to a medical school admissions committee.

***

A cool raindrop hits my hot sweaty face, slides down my cheek only to fall to the road below that takes me through Wakayama Prefecture, Japan. I am on a journey, a bicycle journey that epitomizes my life experiences thus far. This solitary journey, with all the challenges I've wholeheartedly tackled, leaves me hungering for another, one that extends beyond myself into the realm of affecting the lives of others. Indeed, traveling across the field of medicine is vastly different from a bike ride in a foreign country. Yet, I can’t but think back on that rainy morning, feeling the same drive that energized my legs; I am looking ahead, wanting to move forward to the challenges: confronting new roads and unknown terrain, overcoming my own perceived limitations, and discovering my interdependence to the world around me.

Biking south on route 42, I discovered that I needed to take many swigs of my sports drink and take the landscape as it came. The same can be said about the field of medicine: it is full of new roads and unknown terrain that one must deal with. While rummaging through various weeklies, I came across an article. It described how scientists, using genetic engineering to combat cancer, are inserting DNA with modified viruses used as a transport into abnormal cells, wherein the cells start expressing receptors with a strong affinity for cancer drugs, or in another scenario, the cells begin the sequence of self-destruction. I can also recall a TV news report: the gay men's cancer is not really a cancer, but a new kind of viral disease transmitted through blood or sexual contact; AIDS was finally given its identity. These new roads that medicine pursued—genetic engineering, and medicine was confronted with—AIDS, inevitably have brought society and, indirectly, me as a societal member, to an unknown terrain, where we are asked to face the ramification of these developments. Dolly the cloned sheep and the mapping of the human genome, products of scientific pursuit, have increased the amount of heated debates, such as the ethicality of using new technologies. AIDS have caused various groups, even though many subscribe to a common purpose in fighting AIDS, vying for limited resources due to their vested interests. A multinational pharmaceutical company, to protect its profit margin, refusing to open its drug patents to the poor nations, that direly need a cheaper access to the drugs, is appalling just to watch. But a spectator on the sideline has little influence in deciding which roads to take; those who are in the arena can shape the unknown terrain. Needing to make a difference in society, I want to directly test and try myself in this dynamic field of medicine.

Within a few hours of cycling up a long stretch of mountain road to Yunomine, a hamlet famous for its hot spring baths, my legs tighten. Feeling uncertain about reaching my destination, I utter a Japanese word; and as soon as it leaves my mouth, the word catches me by surprise: "muri." It is a word spoken often by my high school students whenever they think they can't do a simple English activity. Even before I can finish explaining the task, at least one student pipes in, "muri," "it's impossible," he says, undermining his chances for learning and growth, satisfied with his complacency. My shock of uttering "muri" stems from realizing that at that moment I briefly reverted to my high school self, when it was easier to quit than strive. Once I handed in an incomplete AP Economics assignment with a note informing Mr. I, my teacher, that I'd bring him the rest later because, doubting my ability to answer satisfactorily, I gave up. That night, Mr. I had done something no other teachers had ever done: he phoned. He then lectured me about my inexcusable action, continuing that if I had problems, I should have had gone to him for help. His stern yet caring words revealed that, because of doubts about my abilities and fear of asking for assistance, I was indeed denying myself a chance to learn and hampering my potential to grow. The obstacles of my creation are always going to confront me, but being in the midst of these personal struggles, the struggles that give me the awareness and sensitivity to see the similar frailties in others, makes me a stronger person and lets me be a better advocate. As I am trying to inspire my students to break down barriers they've built, I hope to champion my patients' needs and interests.

It's day six, the last day of my road trip. "20km," the road sign reads, to my final destination. As I follow the Arida River downstream, I absorb the view of mandarin grove on the other side of the bank. I reflect back on the last six days, on my stay in Japan, and on my life, treasuring especially the moments I've had with individuals. From the bed-and-breakfast owner, who needed my help taking a reservation from foreign travelers, to M, my student, who, feeling down about her future and needing someone with a similar experience to talk to, came to me, they have all given me a gift. E, a man I chanced upon in Uganda, whose rotting foot was amputated, shares that, as his stump has turned gangrenous, the leg needs cutting off. E, a man who, I believed, needed my comfort, breaks the silence—the one I created while searching desperately for words to give him strength—and with a hardy laugh, assures me, 'I will return to my field when it's all finished and I am happy.' E, then, thanks me saying my listening ears were like medicine. All these people have taught me that I am a social creature who craves to touch and, in return, be touched. I've learned that, in exchange of what I give of myself, I unexpectedly gain much more. I hope this discovery of interdependence will continue throughout my lifetime; I hope to be a physician who gives all he can for the welfare of others.

A friend has once told me that a doctor is a teacher, student, advocate, counselor, but most importantly a healer. His word rings true to me now. A doctor must confront new roads and unknown terrain to learn and to educate. A doctor must overcome his limitations to empathize with others, allowing for genuine counseling and advocacy. But a doctor must, to be a true healer, discover his interdependence to his patient; so he heals, not just a person's physical wound, but also the spirit. Now the sun is setting. The cherry blossoms that only six days ago were buds have fully flowered. The white petals are snowing down on me, hailing my triumphant return, as I dismount my bicycle. After taking a big gulp from the nearly empty 2-liter bottle of Pocari Sweat, I take deep breaths to smell the sweet fragrance of success.

***

Now, on to the new essay... But first, I need a nap.

075: I'm Not Wearing Underwear Today

Well... Well... Well...

Brian:
I'm not wearing underwear today,
No, I'm not wearing underwear today,
Not that you probably care,
Much about my underwear,
Still none the less i gotta say,
That I'm not wearing underwear today!

(Tepid claps)

Christmas Eve:
Get a Job!

Brian:
Thank you. Honey.

- Avenue Q

I don't know how I should begin... Well, firstly, it should be the case where one's sexuality is like Brian telling the world, "I'm not wearing underwear today." It's something, but not everything. Secondly, people should be more like Christmas Eve. They should only care about what really matters about the other. Like Brian needing to "get a job."

I don't know how to continue... Maybe it was the bottle of wine we shared during dinner, but I finally revealed to my friend, E, yesterday, about my blog. I've known E since freshman year in college; she also went to my high school, but we didn't know each other then. (Okay, that's not important.) What's important is that if you've checked out my long ass list and read number 21, you'd know what's important. Now she knows. And I really don't know how I feel. The emotion can, maybe, be described as relief... That...maybe...is what I felt, at first. But when she IMed this afternoon to let me know she read hyphenated non-IDentity and thought it a very good read, I had the following sequence of thoughts:

Okay.

(The mind blanks)

Okay.

(A longer blank)

Oh, shit! — OMG!OMG!OMG! — What have I done???

(Pause)

Okay.

(Pause: Synapses in the brain firing furiously)

I'll tell her that hyphenated non-IDentity is all an elaborate scheme my feeble mind formulated, so that I seem like an interesting writer.

"E, I've never told you, but I want to be a writer, you see..." Yeah, that's what I'll say. "I'm not REALLY gay." Continuing, "I decided, as a literary gimmick, that it'll be interesting to write in a POV of a closeted gay guy coming out."

"I'm not gay." (Short pause) "Ha ha ha." — That's what I'll say.

But instead I IM her back, telling her that I'm too busy to chat. And thank goodness that I was indeed busy.

I don't know how to end this post... The sky hasn't fallen; the earth hasn't torn apart. Life, my life, goes on. I've taken a chance and gotten naked. I'm slowly letting my past know my present for a chance of a better future. One by one, they'll hear me. And each time I share my voice, my soul will tremble, in fear and in excitement.

E, if you're reading this, just know that I'm still me. Nothing has changed. I'm still the same whiny, selfish, annoying guy you've always known. Now, you have a better understanding of who I am. When you IMed me to say that we should have a coming out party, that alone... your words meant a world to me. Thank you.

074: Have You Ever..?

...read something that resonated with you, where your soul vibrates in perfect harmonics, like a single pure note sung in a cavernous cathedral, that if you listen carefully you hear its third and fifth, creating an enchanted chord. Stunned by its beauty, captivated by its purity, you pause to revel in its serenity. You must lock it up in your heart to keep for all eternity, for if ever you find yourself in spiritual poverty, the words strung together elevate you to richness, empowering you, sustaining you, changing you. Words are indeed powerful.

Now, the blogs in my blogroll at one time another resonated with me, hence they are in my blogroll. But I must admit that I haven't read all their entries, except a very few. Dogpoet is one that I've read every post. If you've been following my blog, you should know that I'm totally in awe of him; in fact, I think I've a crush on him, and I haven't even met him. Anyways, he blogrolled me! Thank you, Michael. Also, he's been blogging more frequently these days, so I'm ecstatic. Evilbuddha is another blog that I've read completely. Again, I've never met him. He seems cool enough... Whatever, I think he is totally cool. If I had an older brother, I'd love to have someone like him, no, rather, I'd love to have him as one. Mainly because I want his life. Yeah, you heard me Davis. By the way, he blogrolled me, too. Thank you, Davis.

So, I've resolved to read completely everyone's blog on my list. Be warned bloggers, after I finish reading your past entries, I may fall head over heels for you, and you may have to content yourselves with this stalker. He he he. Larry and Rich, just to let you guys know, I've been following your blogs for awhile, but I haven't read through your archives, so you're it! And if you didn't know already, I'm totally in love with you. Ha ha ha.

By the way, bloggers, how do you guys decide who'd be in your blogroll?

073: Le Silence Terminé

It's been a little bit more than a year since my arrival to this land of opportunity, where streets are paved with gold, where your American dreams are fulfilled everyday. It's been a little bit more than a year having lived already in three different places in America and mostly apart from Mom.

Now, I am at my fourth residence under my aunt's roof; my father's little sister graciously has taken me in until Mom finds a decent place for us to live. Yet, it is here, in Washington state, with my tenth birthday soon approaching, when my aunt, who rarely has been home, who hardly ever has spoken to me, comes in to my room, her hand touching my knee, her eyes leveled to mine, letting me know my birthday this year would just come and go, no fanfares, no celebrations, just because her religion forbids it. "Do you understand?" she asks.

Holding her gaze, I nod—it’s not as if I expected a party: my cousins' birthdays were passed by with scarcely a mention, too. Yet. Still. I just keep nodding. Without a peep. My face, a blank. Silence.

Please note, though, that this isn’t about me griping about a birthday party I never had. No, it’s not. It’s just that, then and for a while, I…swallowed a lot of sorrows, even the little joys, and found my expression in a stone cold face and…ever growing silence.

In two months time, I fly over the majestic mountains, the broad prairies, the mighty Mississippi, landing in…Newark International, rejoining Mom, regaining my life, here in New York. But I am carrying to my new home, as I discovered, a load heavier than my bags in the trolley. The joyous event, or rather what should have been one, turns out awkward. The hugs and kisses, the barrage of questions, the comments about how big I’ve gotten, they all are for me; Mom’s expressions of her love for her son. Yet I can’t break my silence. I don’t know what to say, how to say… I just can’t. Get. The. Words. Out.

I crash. After two weeks of spending the majority of the 24-hour day asleep, I finally awake from my silence. A one-word answer becomes a phrase; a phrase becomes a complete sentence; a sentence to a full speech. I’ve regained my voice.

You see, I am not writing this for your sympathy. All of us have had at least one moment of hardship, a trial we endured and, hopefully, overcame. This little one is mine. I am writing with a joyful heart, knowing that my voice is heard. Who’d have thunk that this once muted boy is being heard?! Every day, I’m finding streets paved with gold and I’m fulfilling my dreams little by little. And it is good. Perhaps all this could be said more eloquently and poignantly; perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. But still, it is good.

Because you see, now, my sorrows, my joys, my fears, my hopes… they all find expression in my voice.

Le silence terminé.

072: Have You Ever..?

...ever...been a...mute? Yeah, you heard me, a mute.

SITE UPDATE

How do you like my new look?

***

I had some little trouble with haloscan. I hope this works.

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

***

I give up. Haloscan is not working. I tried their "automatic install wizard" several times and even tried cutting and pasting; and it's just not working. Any ideas?

***

By the way, this new "look" looks ugly on internet explorer. Damn it. Whatever. Use firefox, people.

071: Have You Ever..?

...found yourself in a moment of total..."nothingness," where your mind finds a slow fade into white; where all your sensory neurons stop sensing, your motor neurons stop...motoring; where no past, present, and future matter; where the world you know ceases to exist; where your ego, superego, and id remain silent? Have you ever experienced complete and total annihilation, without resorting to say that it's akin to a near-death experience, rather it's more metaphysical, Zen-like, if you will... So, have you? Ever?

No?

Me, neither.

070: ハードゲイ

Pronounced: HAADO GEI

Translation: (Can you take a guess?) Hard Gay

"What?" you ask.

I'm equally dumbfounded as well... But I couldn't pass this one up. You have to check it out. It's the gayest thing EVER. (Let me quote Addaboy and say,) *TRUST*

ハードゲイ(via transbuddha)

ほんまオモロいで。

069: Mischief Accomplished?

When you think that you can't possibly out do Janet Jackson and her wardrobe malfunction, my Korean brethrens have one up the pop diva. And everyone reacts pragmatically as Koreans are known to do... Right.

These are the facts (and my side comments):

• On Saturday MBC, a major television network in Korea, airs a live show called "Music Camp," a show popular with teens.
• A segment called, "Is This Song Good," showcases an underground band. (In a K-Pop infested music landscape, this is a step in the right direction.)
• The band featured to perform is RUX, a punk rock band recommended by five music experts.
• RUX had invited another punk group, Couch, to perform alongside them as dancers. (Why a punk rock group would need dancers, I have no idea.)
• During a music interlude, two members of Couch, Oh and Shin—only their family names are released—come onto center stage and start dancing.
• Oh and Shin have their faces painted (reminiscent of KISS).
• At 4:15, Korean television viewers are treated to a scene that scandalizes the entire nation.
• Yes, for about four to five seconds, Koreans are treated to two full monties. (Fucking awesome!)

• MBC issues an apology, repeatedly, during the remainder of the show, with apology messages streaming across the screen like some breaking news.
• MBC issues an apology on its website.
• MBC issues an apology during its nightly national news hour.

Now for the fun facts:

• A pair of willies incenses the Korean public.
• The public complains (wah-wah-wah) with phone calls, emails, letters, (pitches and forks).
• Because the public bombards MBC website with countless complaints, the server shuts down temporarily.
• Some demand MBC be punished, because apologies aren't enough. (Cries of "Hang 'em, hang 'em!" reverberate across that small PENInSular nation.)
• Some ask "how MBC proposes to compensate teenagers for the emotional shock they sustained." (Um... I'll just let that sit.)
• Oh and Shin are arrested. (Well, sure, a country that pixelates their porns, showing the genitalia is a big You-Think-You-Won't-Get-In-Trouble?)
• Oh and Shin are tested for drug use. (Because only drug fiends do that sort of thing.)
• The test results come out NEGATIVE for drug use.
• But the authority is not satisfied, therefore THE AUTHORITY SENDS SAMPLES OF THEIR HAIR TO THE NATIONAL INSTITUTE OF SCIENTIFIC INVESTIGATION FOR FURTHER DRUG TESTING.
  
• MBC cancels and takes "Music Camp" out of the air for good.
  
• The Korean Broadcasting Commission, the nation’s broadcasting regulator, announces on Monday that it would take more than a week before deciding on the proper punishment for the network. (Burn 'em, Burn 'em.)

Here are the news links: here, here, here, and here.

"I can show my dick, but not my face."

Addendum (2 Aug, 2005)
The comedy continues:

• The mayor of Seoul, Lee Myung-bak, on Monday, suggests the city make a blacklist of artists that will be excluded from Seoul City events, targeting those in the Hongdae area, an area known in Seoul for its vibrant underground, indie music scene. (Um... fascist!)
  
• Members of the musican community in the Hongdae area hold a news conference, to apologize for the action of the two flashers, but also to warn that the incident should not be used to condemn the entire indie culture, and to call on MBC to reinstall "Music Camp." (The most sensible thing anyone or group has done and said so far.)

It's all here and here.