150: Bloody Hell

While I'm brushing my teeth last night, my nose decides that its own blood vessel will pop wide open, to release a copious amount of blood. You know, like the way an Ebola infected individual will just suddenly bleed and die. Well, maybe not exactly like that, since I'm still breathing. But you get the idea.

And, oh yes, my body parts do have a mind of their own; Masters of their own Determination and Will, they are. Sometimes they do stuff without my noticing. It's quite strange really. Waking up one morning to find your underwear wet and sticky. And just right now, this very moment, the muscles of my left butt cheek are starting to cramp...Ou, ou, ouuuu...Okay, I'm back. Think of the worst charley-horse you ever had and think of it happening to your ass. Not pleasant. Believe!

So, yes, back to my bloody nose. This doesn't normally happen to me. Last time I had an unprovoked (unprovoked, in a sense, your nose isn't picked so clean that you bust open the delicate lining of your nasal cavity) nose bleed was back when I was a sexually confused and horned up teenager. Spontaneous nose bleed, as Japanese manga teaches, only occurs in times of great excitement, to be more concise, when the male protagonist by happenstance observes a nude goddess bathing in one of Japan's many onsens or when some perverted old man peaks on a teenage girl changing out of her school uniform. I can assure you that I'm not, NOT, at the very least like either of those aforementioned manga figures.

I, however, having recently committed to a lifestyle, which I hope to, perhaps, share about in my next hype-cast installment, a life choice akin to the Masters, like Michelangelo, Da Vinci, and Walt Whitman, even Hans Chirstian Andersen, and the countless Saints, like the older version of St. Augustine, without whom the beautifully proportioned bell shaped standard deviation curve would be askewed to the side of rabid beasts, or rather, to those of whom we label whores or sluts, I am perchance experiencing something similar to a buyer's remorse. As my bloody nose has indicated.

But what do you do when you're committed? Should I give in by complying to my other brain's demand? Invite the two good Messieurs to play? But what do you do when you don't want to play with Mr. Right and Mr. Left anymore?

Bloody hell!

Oh, the cramp, the cramp!!! Shit, I'm bleeding again.

149: What's In A Name?

Last night, the new season of American Idol and the Olympics weren't doing much for me. So, I started randomly searching different things in Google, and I discovered that I may have some Indian blood in me. I may not be a purebred after all, but a mutt! I can't tell you how stoked I am about this.

My family had told me that we are descended from a king who ruled some part of Korea 2 millennia ago. What they failed to mention was that his wife might have been a princess from India. So, I have two royal bloodlines in me!

Well, since I don't know if or when I'll ever reach greatness, I'll settle for now with this little factoid. Yes, this will have to do.

Sure, there are 4 million people who supposedly belong to my Gimhae clan. But so what? Most of them just stole our name, just so that they can be considered "blue" blood. That just shows how great my clan is!

Yes.

So. Hear ye, near and far: I am a royal Prince of Korea and India.

Bow before me!

148: A Subcontinental Revelation

So, during my lunch hour, I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known. I don't know where it goes, but it's home to me and I walk alone. Then, lo and behold, over yonder, I see before me a restaurant beloved yet not graced for over a six years time. Standing in front of it, I feel as if I made it through the wilderness. Yes, somehow I made it through and I didn't know how lost I was until I found it, again. Pushing through the door, I strut in. Seriously, you can tell by the way I use my walk. The aroma of spices fills this Indian restaurant and my stomach aches for the goodness. But as I lock gaze with the waiter, who is expectant for the information only I can provide and confirm, I realize I need to act. (Do I say it? Do I voice it? Help! I need somebody. I'm not so self assured.) But resigned, I raise my hand and lift the index finger up to let the good man know that I'd be a party of One. And I can't help but think that One is the loneliest number that I'll ever do.

But then I had the Rogan Josh and I didn't care. I was satiated. Hmm... Rogan Josh!

147: Exhausted

I'm just going to write this post as I would in my journal entry. I usually keep a separate journal, which is just a collection of my random thoughts strung together into one incomprehensible mess. So my advice is, skip it. Seriously, skip it.

Exhausted. Yeah, I'm exhausted. I feel as if I'll literally break apart... No, maybe a better way to put it is: I feel like a broken vase pieced together with glue. You can see the cracks and lines in me. Touch me the wrong way I'll just crumble a little bit more. Yeah! No, a more apt statement would be I am a vase broken and put back together many, many times. I took a half a day because I guess I'm still upset with what happened at work yesterday. With the asshole and the other guy, who I thought was a decent person, but turned out to be an asshole as well. I hate the blame game people play, pointing fingers, passing the buck. I hate it more when I'm called to play the blame game. So, I go into craigslist and check its job postings. Anywhere but New York. But it's a job; it's in the very nature of a job. So, whether I'm here or in London, it'll be the same. I know this. Maybe moving back to New York was a mistake. Maybe I should have found ways to stay in Japan. I had a car, I had the beaches, the mountains, I had my drunken revelries, I had laughters... I had a life... I had friends. God, I'm exhausted.

***
I was asked about the songs I had in my podcast. So here they are:

hype-cast episode 1:
(1) Clear Cut by Lani Pula
(2) Evacuating London from the Chronicles of Narnia: the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe soundtrack.
(3) Just for Now by Imogen Heap

hype-cast episode 2:
(1) Hands by m-flo (original version)
(2) Song 6 by Daniel Powter
(3) Won't You Come Again by Susie Suh

146: So... Well...

Should you find yourself being...

Called into a small conference room,
By the Man of a company that you don't belong to,
But must treat him like he is your company's Man,
Just because of a special (read: shady) relationship the two companies have,

And

Sat down just so you'll be lectured to like a five year old,
Because you disclosed to a coworker last week,
A good thing that happened to you, like receiving a raise,
Which, by the way, the Man did not give you,

What do you do?
What do you do?

You get your coat, go down the elevator, walk around SoHo,
And come back with a cute, brand new hat, of course.

It's really cute. And I got it cheap!

(You have to know when to pick your fights. I chose not to fight, but I'm building up my arsenal.)

145: I Hate Love

Anyone want to speculate as to why?
Do I need to explain? Must I spell it out?

Today is the day I hate the most.

Today is the day I wish to skip.

Today is the day when this rings too true.

But...
Today, as always, I will hold on a little longer,
Keep the faith, sustain the hope, and believe
Love is Real,
Love is Tangible,
Love is for me.

But for now, let me love to hate Love.
I Hate Love.

144: Mumble, Mumble, Mumble

It's that time again when I enthrall you yet again with my sexy voice. Click, click, click away.

143: A Package

An adopted son of stoicism, made of skin thicker than the glacial sheet of Antarctica, impervious to true emotions, expriences a random and unexpected offering, a simple gift, from a true daughter of candle, innocent and incandescent. Ice melts, droplets gather, river forms, filling the recess of my soul with a deeper understanding. It whispers, you are not alone.

Thank you, YM.

142: There's Trouble A-Brewing, When You Start A-Thinking

There's trouble a-brewing, when you start a-thinking.

Not that I'm a thinker, nor a communicator, mind you. Because I believe most, if not all, great thinkers, being also great communicators, when illuminated with an idea, however abstract and intricate it may be, they know how to share that idea, provoking and expanding the minds of the feeble masses, with effortless ease. I mean, one reason among many that we think Bush is an idiot is that he can't speak English; no one understands him.

So, as I was saying: not that I'm a thinker, nor a communicator; but still... I'd rather not think.

You know, at this point, you are supposed to lie and say, "No, you are a great thinker and also a great communicator!"

No? Is it too tiresome and beneath you to stroke the ego of a self-proclaimed loser?

Well, FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU.
No! I love you; I LOVE YOU...
Fuck me instead. Cum on back, please.

So, yeah, I'd rather not think. I'd rather sit in front of a vanity and run a comb down my well-conditioned hair (it's not), counting each stroke (too lazy to do), up to a thousand (up to five is more likely), preening and primping (don't know what that entails), making myself pretty. Because when you are pretty, you are happy. And even if God decides to hate the pretty ones (highly unlikely), cursing them with trials and tribulations (oh no, his Gucci man-purse ripped), but if their beauty is intact, they still will be happy. Sure, they may suffer some. But ugly people suffer, too. And there are more ugly people in the world than there are pretty people. Pretty people intrinsically understand this, and their innate ability to see the world for what it is will give them this natural ability to be happy. Being pretty equals being superior equals being happy. So, I'd rather not think; I want to be pretty instead.

It's the biggest dilemma I have right now: How can I stop myself from thinking and be pretty instead, when any medical alteration, be it a lobotomy or a pectoral augmentation, is not an economically viable option?

But then I've heard it said "throughout your life, God will throw at you life's challenges that only you can handle." This "belief" seems promising to me. It says that there is a way for me to empty my head and fill my biceps, and I'd be better for it. I would have grown in wisdom—wasn't it Buddha who said everything is meaningless? Why then ponder about nothing?; and I would have matured in beauty—like a sole lotus blossoming in a garden pond.

Yet boredom finds me once in a while lifting a book (often drawn to biographies or memoirs), flipping its pages, and reading the words. But, damn it, the voices of the authors encroach my mind, and there's a rapid succession of electrochemical thunderstorms, which makes me see the world in a new light. I'd admire their shear bravado in overcoming difficult situations, the richness of their lives. And inevitably, I'd compare my life to theirs, realizing how easy I have had it. But then I'd find myself turning green, followed by the envious hue deepening, moving one spectrum down to blue.

My mind races: Does God not think that I'm strong enough to overcome more difficult challenges in life, so that I, too, can have a rich life, one that's admirable to others, or rather one that makes others jealous of me? Does he think me that weak that my only concern now in life is to be like Natalie Wood and to sing, "I Feel Pretty?" And WHY THE FUCK AM I THINKING?

GOD, WHAT AN ASS! I HATE GOD!
No, I love God; I LOVE YOU...
Don't smite my back!

Oh, how I am constantly reminded of the Japanese lady with two Master's Degrees who tried to work at a Korean deli! She philosophizes almost every night on Avenue Q how two polar opposite forces can inhabit an individual at the same time. I quote: "Love and Hate, they like two brothers who go on a date." Indeed they are like two brothers on a date, "where one of them goes, other one follows. You inviting love; he also bringing sorrows."

Let it be said that yours truly will explore this life's mystery. Why two contradictions exist at the same time and space. Why people have no problems with life's many paradoxes, while I do. And why I am a Gemini—the living embodiment of the two opposites, the wishy and the washy. Yes, I shall investigate why my desire to not think is provoking me to think.

It's a beautiful and ugly world!

***
This post was brought to you by the letter "V" for vapid; and the numbers "3" and "1," the number of comments I've got for my hype-cast and the number of fingers I'm holding up in response to the low number. Oh, and guess which finger. Just kidding—I don't really care... yet I do care...some. Ah, another paradox.

***
Pace ed Amore!
xoxo

141: Say Cheese

I am a point, click and shoot kind of a guy. In a way, my pictures lack a certain depth and sharpness you find in professional work. I've decided that I need to develop this artform; my goal is to be a good photographer, an artist!

So, when pictures are taken of me (self-portraits), they'll look good, or rather I will look fabulous! The next step is I will photoshop them and I'll look beyond fabulous, I will look hot! Then I can start posting my hot mug in some on-line personals. Yeah!

No, seriously, I need to do something creative. So, I've decided to try photography and signed up for a course. Tonight I had my first class. By May, I'll be an awesome photographer. And it's important that I get good by May... I'll disclose the reason why later on.

Yawn... I needs me my sleep.

140: A New Adventure

I dare you to click on the image. See where it'll land you. Only thing I'll say is I hope I'll get better at playing with my new toy... Well, at least for me, it's new. Usually I join in the fad once the interest in it has dissipated to nil, but why not change the paradigm a little, hm? Why the b!&%p not?!

Blogoliday Post: I'm Nauseous

I feel like hurling.
Oh God, here comes the upchuck.
Stand clear, I'm gonna spew.

Dear Commenters,

Thank you all for your kind words.

I'm feeling va-klempt... Oo-Uh... Talk amongst yourselves, I'll give you a topic:
"The writer of the this blog is neither a non-entity nor does he need an identity to define who he is."

Ok, that was not funny. But it's a truth that I'm going to stick with.

Truly, your words of encouragement have uplifted me. It's thrilling to know that what I have to say resonates with you. So, I'm going to vomit.

The fact that tomorrow's hyphenated non-IDentity's 1st blogiversary had no bearing whatsoever in my decision to come back. No siree, none! I mean, it's good a time as any to start writing again, right? Sure, it's lamely symbolic, for me, that I can mark tomorrow as a new beginning, but, hell, we all need a new beginning, sometimes we need as many as we can get.

So, here's to a new beginning!

Blogoliday Post: An Update

I've let myself be cut off from the blogging world.
I'm seeing a different world.
I'm almost tempted not to come back.
But that'd be my laziness talking.
You see, my mind's percolating with thoughts and stories I'd like to share.
And I don't care if no one listens!
My dreams, however lofty, seem vivid and real.
Only I can make them come true.
Perhaps my good friend YM is right:
I can see myself having massive, explosive, uncontrollable word vomit.

'Til then,

Blogoliday Post: Would You Like to Take a Haiku?

FYI: If you say "haiku" many times and fast enough, you'll hear "hike."

***
So, shall I rattle the box of a goblin? Sure, why not? Hehehe.

***
Well, my dear reader(s), I have to say I've been enjoying my blogoliday. I'm not stuck inside my own head as much, and most importantly, I'm not writing about it—repeatedly. I mean, it's not like those entries are something interesting or profound.

No! Wait!—"Mr. Chairperson, I move to strike the previous remark for being too self-loathing."

Anyways, "Enjoying"... yada, yada, yada... "writing"... yada... and, I'm extrospecting* a little. I likey, likey!

***
Well, let me provide you yet again with an exposition: A blogoliday post is a post where I rehash my old post for your reading pleasure. At the end, I give you a little challenge. You must comply. Because if you don't, I'll know you don't love me and I'll be crushed, devastated, extinguished.

There are days when you feel ugly, or feel ugly—it's an introspective view; an extrospective* view is—there are days when the world feels ugly, or feels ugly. And the summation of them says ALL is U.G.L.Y.

There's chaos, disharmony, an elegy.

But there was this one tiny insignificant moment in time and space that uplifted me: the world looked beautiful to me, I felt beautiful in it; I felt connected to the world, the world felt connected to me. And I tried writing a normal post, but it kinda evolved into.., well, it was partly because of the great doctor's haikus, which later found themselves bound in paper. I'm no poet, but I like to play one in my blog. So, without further ado...

019: I Live in the Now

On a Sun soaked day
In the greatest town on Earth
I'm taking a stroll

From down the street...

A boy throws a fit
Tugging at his nanny's arm
But she trudges on

As we cross path...

Her face is stone cold
Revealing nothing, but wait—
Did her eyes just roll?

Giving her a nod
One, full of understanding
I crack a huge smile

How precious is this
A moment of connection
Between two strangers

Continuing my walk...

On a Sun soaked day
In the greatest town on Earth
I realize it

I am fortunate.

I live in the Now.

Now, for the challenge: Write your own haiku(s). Write about some small moment in your life, a moment you felt at peace with the world, at peace with yourself. The teacher in me would like to see you in your haiku. There's no deadline. Consider this an open challenge running indefinitely. Once you post your haiku(s), let me know by sending me a comment or an e-mail. You can even A.I.M. me (fullofhype).

So, would you like to take a haiku? With me?


*I can make up words because I used to be an "English" teacher.

***
***
Addendum (01/18/06 09:51PM): Oh, I almost forgot. I'll consider this challenge a success if I get—and I'm going to dream big here—if I get at least five bloggers to take a haiku with me.

Oh, as I'm watching Lost, I can't get over how hot Matthew Fox is!

139: Here's My Two

I'm... I am temporarily taking myself out of my blogoliday (I used to teach English to Japanese high school students, so I can make up words!) just to respond to my "about-a-month-and-counting long" blog crush's recent posts: this and this, because I also feel that I need to clarify my position. (Although I could just shut up since no one hurled any hate e-mails my way or asked for my "Gay Membership Card" back for believing something that amends the statement: "gay is genetic," I won't.)

So, here's my two cents:

I am a queer because I am a queer. (I do not discount nature; my brethrens and I are in agreement.)

And I am a queer because of how I grew up. (Very controversial, I know! I strongly believe nurture affects the person you are. It may be that some of my brethrens seem to ignore/minimize/deny this view because of the current political and cultural war waged in America.)

I would never say that being gay wasn't genetic. But I think it's a part of the equation—a very significant part. And most of you would agree that what I'm saying isn't new.

***
Consider this: some women are predisposed to some rapid and uncontrolled cell growths in their breasts—they have the "breast cancer genes," but they may live their entire lives without ever having to suffer from the disease; some women do not have the genes, yet they need a mastectomy and chemotherapy. (By the way, if there's any confusion, I am in no way, no how equating being gay is the same as living with (and then perhaps dying from) an "abnormal" state.)

Also, we haven't even found a so-called "gay gene."

So, how can we then give so must credence solely to genetics?

***
And no, I do not think there is just one "gay gene.” A gene usually expresses a state that's either is or is not; on or off; black or white (in the figurative sense), with no shades of gray in the middle. Clearly our experiences and observations in the Human population have taught us that, in human sexuality, there isn't a clear break from gay to straight (see Kinsey). And even biology has taught us that: multiples genes influence the vast array of differences in a trait; for example, your eye color. Then, something as complex as human sexuality cannot be dismissed as something controlled only by just one gene. Even in an evolutionary point of view, if such a "gene" existed, nature would have whittled it away from the population, provided that gays, the absolute polar opposite to the straights, would not breed, because he or she is unable to or unwilling to do a little dance.

***
The examples I'm giving aren't to discount that being gay is genetic. Heaven be damned, should some misguided fundamentalist says that there are gays who believe that being gay is a lifestyle choice and that they can change, and that I am one of those delusional gays. No, I don't want to hear that I can happily be married to a woman with two kids, a dog, and a picket fence around my house, living the ultimate American suburban NIGHTMARE!

***
All I am saying is that genetics is not the end to human sexuality; it's definitely a start. Yes, I believe our sexuality starts with multiple genes working in concert or perhaps some working against some to make you the sexual being you are. But a trait that’s controlled by multiple genes, the expressivity and penetrance of genes, and their combinatory effects, affect its outcome. A colony of E. coli with a lac operon living on a Petri dish with glucose as their main source of energy will have its lac operon muted; a colony of E. coli with a lac operon living on a Petri dish with lactose as their main source of energy will have its lac operon functioning. Yes, we must look at the environment.

We must also take heed that in biology, and it’s a fascinating aspect of it, that there always are exceptions to the rule. A certain stimulus that elicits a certain response from an organism may not elicit the same response from another organism, even if they are the same species. These variables in the equation make it hard to say that one who grew up a certain way will be one thing and another who grew up another way will be another. Or saying that both who grew up a certain way will end up the same would be absurd.

I grew up with an absent father and an overprotective, controlling mother. But ours was a very traditional Korean household, with my uncles and older male cousins acting the surrogate male role models. Some of whom had… well… When I was a child, I was molested—and I liked it, because it was their display of love; and when I was a child, I molested other boys (and a girl) younger than me—and I liked it, because it was my display of love. I got caught; I was reprimanded. Like Adam and Eve, my shame was exposed. I hated myself. I found forgiveness in the church, and I suppressed all things sexual about myself, believing I must be something I am not to be forgiven and loved. Indeed I shouldn't be a molester, but a homosexual? I don’t know, I could have been very successful living that life, and I’d have died a heterosexual. But I found the gay blogosphere and heard from it many voices showing me the true face of God, gracious and loving. Again, I say, I don’t know… I wonder if I had been nurtured some other way, would my true natural tendency—minus the inappropriate hands—had found expression and penetration early on, as I wish it had?

You see, when we do start to look at how nurture, including all aspects of nurture, the controllable and the uncontrollable facets of our surroundings, can strengthen or weaken our natural tendencies, now then, when we truly ponder this, We, the humankind, who hold life’s many diversities and mysteries, We indeed are the true image of God.

***
***
And now, back to my regularly scheduled blogoliday. :-)

138: Post Script

I hadn't planned on blogging anymore...

***
I think I still need time to clear my head...

***
I feel too much like a singer in an empty closet singing to himself. Don't get me wrong, I love singing. But more and more, I've spent many a night wondering what kind of songs I should sing, hoping to get more people to join in, to harmonize to my melody, with counterpoints and gracenotes, together becoming a choir; our voices reverberating, filling the world's greatest cathedrals with a sweet, sweet, heavenly sound.

Yet... My ethereal cathedral is but an enduring closet. I've built nothing.

And in despair's comfort, I am cloistered; because in the abundance of my care, I am suffocated, dead, and buried.

***
...Last night, one of my favorite bloggers, to commemorate his first year anniversary, came out...AGAIN. In front of an orange tree stands Simon shedding his secret: his handsome mug revealed, his apprehension cast aside, Simon revels in his quiet triumph of the unexpected. As his orange tree, for the first time since being planted, bears fruit, an unanticipated gospel, Simon heralds in a new birth.

As I sat watching his videocast, my eyes were heavy with welled tears of happiness and of admiration. But I guess Saul reigns in me, for I, too, was at the ready with a spear to thrust into the heart of a boy with his lyre.

***
Stuffed and packed inside the Orient Express, with John Vanderslice crooning into my ears, I empty my head; my thoughts are supplanted with his words, "dance dance revolution..." and my body feels... heavy and light, grounded and uplifted. I see in front of me the World glisten from Helios's gentle caress, his august fingers, more glorious than Midas's, anointing her, the drabiest of drab, my Queens. Robed and crowned, now, with regal splendor, hued with gold and bronze, holds she the globe, her royal orb, the towers, her maces. Her majesty overcomes me. This morning, I am broken; I am blown; I am burnt.

***
The map and Site Meter are gone from my blog. I'm liberated.
I am going to take a hiatus from blogging. It's sensible.
Should there be something to say, I'll visit.
In the meantime, there a world out there to "extrospect."

Forget waiting for Prince Charming.
There's a princess to rescue!
Hermit crab, come out and play.
Hermit crab, come out and play.

137: REsolved to DisSOLve the Malcontent, Une SoluTION

Batter my heart, three-person'd God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd towne, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie:
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot againe,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Holy Sonnet XIV - by John Donne

A New Year's Day is some arbitrary day when most of us resolve with a fancy declaration vowing to turn our lives anew. In my mind, I've done the same; I've resolved to dissolve the malcontent. Yet in all honesty, starting this post has been extremely difficult. (Well, then again, nothing for me has ever been easy. But we're not going to talk about that. Let's talk about this:)

As John Donne notes, it's not enough for the Divine to "knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend" his enslaved heart. Or rather if you do not like idea that the Divine of the Christian faith pulls the strings on the marionette of your constitution, let it be said, then, that it's not enough for "you," the wholly independent "you," and I'd even dare say, the divine in "you," as the puppeteer, to mend the symptoms of your sorrow. It's like taping cracks on a dam ready to unleash thousands of gallons of destruction and death. I believe as John Donne does, I must be overthrown; I must "break, blow, burn" so that I'd be made new. As freshly mined gold ores are refined by fire, let me also be purified into something precious.

But I need help—your help. "Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend / But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue." Plans and goals, I've thought out for myself; faithful and true, I want to remain. However, on the wayside, should these aspirations be lost, despairing I'd be, for yet again, is found, my friend, Failure. Tragic is this that I'll still exist devoid of life; sorrowful still is this that I am a non-entity.

How funny though, the despair is my very own... my baby, my child I've nurtured for far too long...

I should just fade away... This exercise, this blog... of useless introspection, of vanity and pride... just so that I can find myself... Am I finding myself? I am lost. Relevance? Acceptance? Immortality? Love? They don't apply to me. I'm done. I'm finished.

No more...

Let me disappear into oblivion... The splendor of my life was but a futile dream.

136: A Prayer

Dear God,

I ...

...

...

... Fuck it. Forget it.

Amen

135: A Year in Review

I am a minus 11 years, reflecting back on 2005. I admit it hasn't been an easy year. It's been one of struggles, trying my best to keep the darkside, like the one of from overwhelming and consuming me into oblivion. Indeed, it has been a year of realization: I've cradled for far too long too many of my hang-ups and fears. But it has also been a year of recognition: like , I need to confront my short-comings, letting them not become a crutch and growing to become a man I should be. Whether I'd be a sidekick or a hero, like those from , I have to know that I am a man with tremendous worth, a man who is a hero to himself. I've too long dwelled on my limitations, real and perceived, like Sofi from . But through her trials and tribulations, Sofi found a diamond within her, something precious and something strong. Once she gained her power, she was able to save her true love. That's the power of loving the person you are! So, I shall shed my and I shall let love in, empowering me to be unashamed and happy. Yes, Jake, you must grow up like is growing up. So Jake, hustle,, hustle!!! I don't know what 2006 will hold for me, but I feel good things will happen to me. I've always thought that I needed to friendship, because I'm always uprooted, from one place to another, leaving behind loved ones and carrying only memories. No, this time around, with the friends I have, I'll root myself deeper into their bed of friendship; with the friends I will make, I'll embrace them with all of myself. Yes, I feel good things will happen to me. Perhaps even romance will right into my life, heating up the coldest recess of my heart. Once I find romance, I won't have one memory, one place, like , be the end of all; I shall fight for love! I am ready to crawl into the wardrobe, brushing aside from fur coats to fir trees, finding myself in to become a King!

Good bye 2005; Welcome 2006!

134: Ooh Baby Baby

Here's to a shitty 2005! Good bye!