Dimming

From great distances, or microns near
the fibers of my skin remembers - as though you were here.
And the tear, which remains splitting
from your careless folly, is unfair.
Our love holds like the stars - the space between us substantial,
and only grows more colossal, with time.
But by talons of your emotions,
the physical differences become minute - waned memories magnified.
Like a reluctant aperture into the past
the light never dims on you.
No, the light never dims on you,
even as our detachment becomes more vast, and solidified.

The Hard Way

Nobody else around me will ever know the dark, overwhelming, parasitical anger inside, and although I have taken measures to heal or lessen its effects, it is as much a part of me as the warm and caring person who feels for others unconditionally. Finding the balance may take a lifetime, but the rate at which my mind is growing through my studies, I hope my heart follows suit. I know we're all human, but it seems as though the people, especially the men in my life and starting with my own dad, had to first completely debase and mistreat me in order to realize I was worth anything to them. And after repeated careless stakes that pierced me, my rage advanced twofold on the people who caused me pain, and in the moment on anyone who disrespects me just a little. Does it always take hurting someone horrendously first to realize you love them? And I know if I had done the same to them, they wouldn't have allowed it, but I did allow it and it is completely fucked up. Still, I loved them and there is no magical parallel universe I can just slip into where they were magically not fucked up to me. I just need the pain to stop eating away at me.

I have even considered taking anger management classes, though my busy schedule and lack of funds hasn't permitted any such luxuries. Anyways, I'll be ok. The madness comes and goes, and so have the people who proved they weren't supposed to stay in my life. What I need now is to work on forgiving both myself and the people who damaged me. I don't want to let any experience debilitate me, as I've been stunted long enough.

I've had a few guys express interest in me, romantically and otherwise, but right now I feel like it is more of an inconvenience in my life to date. Someday, someone will love me right, for now I'm learning everything I ever slacked off on and never gave myself enough credit to apply myself to in grade and high school, and I will tell you, it is simply amazing. Not just the plasticity of the brain, but the incredible journey of how we understand and came to understand the universe, and how it just works, from the most seemingly simple motions to grand schemes. There is an elegance to everything around us, and I cannot soak it up fast enough.

It would be easier to be insane. But I'm not, and I have to keep learning and growing, the hard way.

Seasons Out of Time

Having a mental breakdown in the midst of pursuing an education, especially a heavily mathematical and scientific one, is never a good idea. Depression is the worst thing to happen to intellect: preying upon logical thoughts and quickly deteriorating even common sense. And unless you're Descartes, talking yourself out of it is not really an option.

I think it's safe to say I'm no longer in danger of the looney bin; however, I can still feel leftover shards. I would never be so selfish and cruel to the people who love me to do it, but it sure as hell sounds pretty bloody damn good at times. Driving home from class tonight, a little left in my mind, I couldn't stop what deeply dismal thoughts came: the pure pain and disappointment resulting from life and all its antics, from the people I trusted and cared most about, from the ugly things they and strangers have done, and from my own shortcomings. The fact is, I know the torment will only continue and sometimes, I would love to let it all end. The more excruciating the pain becomes, the less I care for the repercussions, the more distanced and numb I feel to even my best friends.

But that's so damn dramatic. And at heart, I think, I am a happy-go-lucky, optimistic, and empathetic individual. That's who I really am - who I'm supposed to be. I know my blog is not the most uplifting out there, but if you met me in real life, you'd wonder where all the darkness lay, it is so unapparent in my everyday, smirking self. I use this blog as one of my only outlets of therapy. And life isn't supposed to be easy anyway, just like higher math, or physics, or there would be no point to it at all. Somewhere along the way, someone (or several someones) had the same problems the rest of us did, and having grappled with them, found a pattern and method in which they could be understood. My Calculus professor said mathematics is just the study of patterns, and life is rife with these. Perhaps life's dilemmas are not always solvable, but at the very least, worthy of being challenged.

We had seasons in the sun;
but the hills that we climbed
were just seasons out of time.
Goodbye, my friend,
it's hard to die.

~Terry Jacks

Growing Pains

Although I feel Summer's end closing in on me, the last two months have been jam-packed and well-spent seeing friends, working 'till I dropped, and finally learning Calculus the proper way - in a classroom. Undoubtedly, there have been growing pains for me, internally, since leaving my last rocky relationship, but it has gotten better. My ex is like a ghost. He likes to haunt me. And by that I mean not in my mind, but he actually makes repeated calls from unblocked numbers and writes heartfelt emails unable to be ignored. I even met with him once to give him closure - maybe for us both. Some couples can end on good terms. We tried and have many times, including the last episode. But for me, the memory of him includes not just the good times, but the horrible ones which have left discreet scars. And after repeated contact with him I start to feel the subliminal burn of those wounds. He blames me for not letting go of the past he put me through, and perhaps he's right. Our last exchange over the phone was beyond unpleasant. I hope he heard from my voice not just the petty words, but the pain - the pure agony that has resulted from the past year of keeping and trying to stifle those demons. Now it's time to let them go. I hope to God he leaves me be.

I made another difficult but good, gut decision to leave my job at Bevmo. It has been a fun and educational job, but I have more important and bigger things to move onto and pursue. For now, this Calculus class is the next step towards those goals. I might go on a date this Friday with a new guy I've been talking to, but my heart will stay focused and dedicated to the dreams I want and will accomplish.

SI

I want to keep cutting myself. I want to saw and bleed out all the pain from my body, until I'm depleted of all the ugly emotions and stirrings inside. Starting again after so long is intoxicating, better than any drug or drink I've taken, and more effective. I've cut superficially since, but not like this, enough to fully soak the band-aids I haphazardly tape on. The relief is immediate, and sometimes followed by an giddy high.

The aftermath is a different story. Even if some secret satisfaction lingers, I have to deal with the shame of hiding my wounds and later scars, making up lame excuses for their existence if I slip in coverage, and dreading the next heated episode of wanting to continue the act. Because I don't if I really think about it. The part of me that conquered this before feels disappointed, pathological, and defeated. If I can't deal with this now, how will I ever? Life will always be full of small and large crises, and I can't keep turning to this ritual which solves nothing.

Most of all I want to learn not just better coping skills, but communication as well. A lot of my desire to cut stems from an inability to convey what I am feeling in a productive and healthy way. So what other people see as a psychotic, angry outburst, I know is really just a plea for an ear to truly listen.

Wonder Waves

The rage inside me is a wave, continuous

and always on the move, changing

with each new amplitude - breeds a unique battle ground,

each more calamitous than the last.

But the words rolled around, over and over again

in my head, and on my tongue

are the same, trite and crass.

The meaning of them grows obsolete

and only proves the mind's subservience to a distant past,

as the will to fight fluctuates in violent streams.

Like the Sun I hold no peace,

but there is equilibrium within reach.

I believe I can but just can't figure out

how to stop, or fool, or destroy an enemy

which is neither man nor ghost,

but inherent contradiction

between the self and the soul.

Body Fear

Please do not try to touch me
for what you perceive as my body - is not,
is an empty carcass which does nothing
to protect me from others' harm.

Either the world is blind or am I, and surely twisted.

And none who hold more shame in knowing

that truth was only myth, incarnated.

They say enveloped in another's arms,

all perils not gone shall be diminished,

so I never would have envisioned

beyond my wildest fabrications,

that love itself was the specter;

the demon in my view.

Feigning to be the greatest guardian,

then turning inward to covet

the very seed you created.

So tell me what is Truth?

I know not what intimacy is, only that it handles

my body in hands which are cold, thus a degree of potency

I could not sever myself from such strange affectivity.

Now I am older, and still I feel the same.

Nowhere to place this anger,
so it stays inside my veins.
I thought I would heal with time,
but my skin would not let me forget.
I would like to love again, but you are just like him:
whereas once I held you in such high revere
now I shrink back from you in fear.

Retrograde Motion

I am back in the 90's, musically. The sweet, old school tunes of Sugar Ray, Everclear, Third Eye Blind, 2pac, Notorious B.I.G and many other gems are my only company deep into the night. A warm, fuzzy, familiar feeling returns every time I play these songs, and in my dismal circumstances I feel a balm-like hope seeping out of my troubles.

Yesterday I attended my second SIA meeting, and actually opened up to several other survivors, and one woman in particular named Evelyn, who knew exactly what I've been through, and worse. In 2 meetings, this support group has already been more effective than 7 sessions with my previous therapist, not to mention without a bloody $400 dent in my pocket. Although my abuse was short-lived, no one around me, not my family or exes or best friends, knows or is even vaguely aware of how traumatized and scarred the experience left me; how much shame, loneliness, and anger I have harbored for so long, or how detrimental the effects have been. But I'm getting better, and now I have a small, close-knit community which not only understands but helps to pull one another through the painful darkness.

Revisiting the past doesn't always necessarily mean moving backwards. Tycho was wrong about the planets, after all. Settling the past will help me get back on track with my goals, whether those are academic, financial, or emotional. Already I'm formulating and focusing. The past is a cripple to me now? I think not.

Two nights before I turned 13. I know because the morning after, all I did was play Blink 182's "Take Off Your Pants and Jacket" album over and over, that the next day, I almost forgot I had become a teenager overnight.

Paraview

I can see the horizon
just as well as concrete under soles,
others' benevolence -
covering black perilous holes.
But I am fixed on those
strange things, perfectly human deeds
unable to accept the abhorrent beast
existing within myself and other close bodies.
Roaming free, harmless
except when eyes averted, darkness
allowed to flourish, preys upon weaker beings
and engulfs the organs capable of vision.
I thought I was happy once,
until one night he crept on me, in my sleep
and since then I have been ever increasingly disfigured,
unable to love or understand
the image in the mirror.

So Long, 2010

I don't really wanna be awake or sober when the ball drops. It has been both a spectacular and painful year, and all I wanna do is down this bottle of sparkling rose and pass the fuck out. 'Cause I didn't get anywhere academically, but I went to Africa. Yeah, I saw all the lions and elephants and giraffes and shit, and even taught kids a little. But what I really learned myself was that I was a slacker and an idealist. That, and you can't really know anything about another person from first conveyances, until you find yourself at a disadvantage and see how much or how little they stick their neck out for you. That's when you really understand. People are really beautiful inside, but twisted. And I've been in love the past couple months, and where has that gotten me?

I'll probably call my dad after the year changes, 'cause my mom is in Taiwan. Thanks Dad, for fucking up my perception of love and men from the very beginning. Yet I adore him despite all the fucked up things he did, and still acknowledge what a great person and father he was and still is. And all the (2 or 3) boyfriends I had - maybe their emotions for me were real, but that didn't stop them from mistreating me or screwing me over. That's what bothers me the most, even with people who love you, you're not really safe. But that's all in the past. And the past makes up a vital part of who you are, but doesn't determine the future.

And I swear to god with a lowercase "g", I'm gonna get it right this year, which really means shitty things are bound to happen, but it doesn't have to destroy me and prevent me from moving forward. I gotta get my grades up, my body sharpened, my music in line, my mind and heart right. No resolutions, just a better understanding of life and a determination for positive vectors.

Cheers.

Brain Therapy

I have gone to three sessions of therapy and although I have revealed quite a bit about myself and my past, I feel no significant breakthroughs. I know it is still early, so I'm not concerned. Furthermore, I like my therapist. I think I lucked out in finding a gay male. Not that being a gay man has anything to do with my issues, but I'm most comfortable around men, and preferably, those who wouldn't exacerbate any soreness surrounding my feelings about the straight male species. And finding a female therapist who felt any trauma similar to mine would only make it worse. And of course, my best friends happen to be gay guys, so it only seems natural to find the same.

So my doctor is an easy and interesting person to talk to: we usually sit and reflect on our travels, pop culture, and other fun topics before settling into more serious ones. But I am afraid. I'm afraid that he can't help me, that he doesn't really understand, he doesn't really care, and despite pouring money and breath into these appointments I will come out of it no different and no better than I am - alone and in pain.

You're a lost little girl
You're a lost little girl
You're lost
Tell me who
Are you?

I think that you know what to do
Impossible? Yes, but it's true
I think that you know what to do, yeah
I'm sure that you know what to do.

-The Doors, "You're a Lost Little Girl"

Moments like this, I wish I had died instead of my aunt.

Liver Therapy

I've laid off the booze for 2 nights in a row and sleep has been pure agony. Sometimes I feel as if there is a heavy, metal plate on my chest, constricting my breathing and crushing me down. My head is filled with furious and painful thoughts. My heart is in horrible shape, and sleep has been sporadic. But when I wake in the morning I feel a little better, a little more confident that I can get through this, and that one day the torment will inevitably end.

This is the repercussion of not drinking myself to sleep - a whole lot healthier, and definitely a lot harder. My ex has finally left me alone. Funny I thought breaking up and healing would be simple, of course he had to persistently stay in contact with me for another 3 weeks and make that impossible. I guess we all want to know that other people care, that the time we had with them meant something. And although he has finally let me go, one thing that would secretly ease the pain is if he gave me some sign of concern like he always did, as I would always respond affectionately, and we would reconcile. That always did the trick, killed the anger, at least temporarily.

But now I am decidedly alone, and wherever I am, out with other people, in class or work, I feel a sharp, singular pain which I and I alone am aware of. Again, luckily, I have my schoolwork cut out for me until November, where I can bury myself and the aching. I have many terrific concerts to see, hobbies to undertake, and friends to lift my mood the way I deserve.

Summer of Love

Checking in after an eventful summer, for the urge for me to write has been rare and comes and goes as quickly as my paycheck. I did end up fulfilling one of my dreams to visit the African continent this summer, and while it was not and could not be all I had romanticized, I must say it was one of the most astounding and capricious experiences of my life. I learned a lot more than I had originally thought I did about Kenyan history, saw some really beautiful landscape, witnessed wildlife and mother nature in all her splendor, picked up some Swahili, taught a class of fourth graders, made new friends, and observed human culture and behavior, both of the Kenyans and of the UC Berkeley students whom I traveled with -a real interesting lot.

I also picked up a boyfriend, who was one of the Cal students on the Kenya study abroad. Our relationship has recently come to an end, but my summer has really revolved around him. Other than the obvious time we spent getting to know each other in Kenya, the following 2 months was a whole 'nother adventure. Every week and eventually nearly every day we planned a new excuse to have fun together, whether that was white water rafting, camping, rock-climbing, beaching, or just going over to his house to watch a flick and fall asleep and have breakfast in the morning. Although it was only a measly 3 month relationship, I fell for him. It wasn't just our mutual activities that captured me, it was his complexity and compassion - moral and emotional, and depth as a person. But I should have seen not what was deeper but what was obvious, and so I can only blame myself for the ultimate heartache. He's the first guy I've allowed myself to love for quite some time, and I suspect he will be for a while, especially given the damage that has come after our breakup. While I won't go into why it ended, I will just say that he is 4 years my junior, and that dishonesty is something I am learning not to tolerate, since my forgiving and somewhat doormat nature has caused me a lot of pain and unnecessary problems.

So I'm simplifying my life. And I'm doing really well now. I took the breakup horribly at first, even regressing to some old adolescent pathologies, but I am well on my way to recovery. There's no denying some agony buried there along with the rest of my exes, but surprisingly my head is level, my heart is already healing, and my intuition is to be optimistic instead of fearful and bitter. Thankfully I have good friends, who are rational and understanding and help me look at things objectively instead of with my own fucked-up, insecure, and depressed head. I'm formulating new and old goals: getting my act together at work, motivating myself for school, rekindling hobbies I dropped, and developing my relationships. And listening to a lot of reggae-rock, which brightens my mood to new levels.

Twin Peaks

Very rough sleep last night. Woke to the sound of my roommate's mule-like laughter, bass-heavy music, and apparently hilarious morning show. Got to bed at around 5am, but the eerie sound of creaking forced me to get up to shut a wind-molested laundry door. Heavy rain started in around that time. Not the comforting, melodic kind of pitter-patter, the obnoxious, threaten-to-cave-in-your-roof type of rain.

I dreamt of being murdered. Incest, rape, and the inadvertent killing brought tears to my murderer's eyes, but all I could feel was fear and disgust. Flashes. Heavy darkness. Grotesque laughter. A menacing presence, intangible.

Obviously, I've been watching too much Twin Peaks. David Lynch is a genius director. And the actors and actresses' talents are very well worth noting. But somehow the unraveling of lives, of hearts, and of secrets hits a little close to home. A combination of Donna and Laura, the surface never tells you quite as much as the past.

I've started writing again to gain control and perspective on my life, for the past few months, it seems like everything I've done to get back on track has landed me in a quandary. A closer examination of my thoughts, patterns, relationships, and dreams will have to take place. I intend on writing often, every morning if possible.

Today, though sluggish, sleep-deprived for over 48 hours, I begin my day with sit-ups, a shower, a bagel, and a trip to the local coffee house, Roadhouse Coffee Shop. Go figure.

strings

My life is the string which oscillates violently between two extremes, and all those I love a vital piece of the symphony.

2009 doesn't have paragraphs.

Shortly after the holidays last year I received a phone call from my dad telling me my aunt was undergoing brain surgery to remove the larger tumors which had spread from her lungs. She had just been diagnosed with Stage 4 Lung Cancer. I was on a weekend excursion with my best friend, Anthony and was caught by the startling news which filled me with unease. Around this time, my first ex boyfriend, distraught and plagued by his past and present relationships, found me after four years to sort out old emotions. We had dinner, emailed each other several times, and even considered the possibility of rekindling an old romance, until he proved, for the last time, his inability love me. This destroyed me. This also put me at peace with the past. I moved places, twice, the first being a comfortably darker pit of the city. Ditto with my jobs. I bought a really crappy car, which my brother replaced with my old precious Rav4 out of the kindness of his heart. I took Physics 111 and loved the lectures, but became wrapped up in my two jobs, social life, and riches to get anything but a D. However, what began as a purely academic and perhaps business arrangement became a close and terrific friendship with my tutor, Samy. I dropped Pre-Calculus in the summer, but I retook Physics 111, finally joined a study group, made new friends, of course sought Samy's help, and pulled off a B+. I left both my jobs during these months, and it was beautiful. But I needed to pay off debt, so I was hired at Bevmo at summer's end and began a grueling and chaotic whirlwind of 30-40 hours a week while studying late nights and in-between work for 3 classes. This time, so wrapped up in work and academia, I barely had time for my social life, much less myself. I had several breakdowns, including broken objects in my room and strained friendships. Things hit rock bottom when I received two calls, one from my dad and another from my older brother, telling me that my aunt was not doing well and I should take the weekend off to see her. I took the weekend off, but worked Thursday, then hopped directly on the Greyhound and began my nightlong visit to LA. She passed away at 1:50 a.m. She was gone by the time I arrived by bus Friday morning, 2 weeks before Thanksgiving. I attended the wake ceremony and the funeral, but I had no chance to say goodbye. I then continued my schooling, continued heavy hours at work while battling feelings of depression and guilt. Thanksgiving came, the first holiday without my aunt. I spent 3 days with my friends in Vegas, San Diego and LA - the only vacation I allowed myself since the summer. Directly thereafter, I came down with a fever and bad cough - 2 weeks before finals. Somehow I managed to survive holiday hours and lines at work, severe stress with school, and hanging connections with my friends until it was all over. Christmas with my family was heartfelt. I couldn't love them more. "Life waits for no one," wrote my youngest cousin, Amy, and I have say it's true. Exactly how I feel. I wasn't ready for what 2009 brought, but 2010 will not wait for me.

Bleed American

A week ago, I painfully woke from a nap between classes and work, and groggily drove to my next obligation. But on this day, unlike so many others from the past two months, I looked outside as the sun shone on the parking lot outside the store where I work, and thought to myself, "What IS stopping me from being in control of my life?" This question followed me for the next few hours, tossing over and over again in my head while I cashiered, bagged, took money, gave change, smiled at customers, moved boxes, arranged bottles, until the answer became quite clear: nothing. And it was during those perfectly ordinary hours of my day that I decided to take my life back.

The past 2 months have been frustratingly depressing for me. I've been pulling 30+ hours a week at my new job, which devours my entire weekend and majority of the week. I have two days off where I am cramming in schoolwork and studying between classes, catching up with friends, family, household necessities, and sleep. I've been going to bed wretched and waking up angry, agitated by seeing my paycheck disappear to what seems like an insurmountable credit card debt, and aggravated by my friends for their well-intentioned, though time-consuming phone calls. But ever since the moment I decided to be in control, I've felt surprisingly more relaxed, taking on the same load but not fretting over life's blights. And maybe I'm just starting to get used to it.

This is not to say that all is peachy, for even as I write this blog I am tired. So tired, with so much to do this week, even the upcoming holiday gives me a few grey hairs. And I still have a bit of a grudge, and I can feel the urge to retract back inside myself. Solitude is a coping mechanism I've used against the pressures of the outside world for a long time, but one which is dangerous and cannot be over-indulged, for it is also a quick route to insanity. But I feel 10 times better than I did a week ago. Good news: I was accepted into the Physics and Astronomy Department at school, and I'm pretty sure I aced my first Pre-Calculus midterm. And I see no reason why I can't continue to do well, why I can't see my dreams through academically, why I can't get on top of my finances, why I can't be attractive and visit the gym regularly, why I can't make new friends and spend time with my current ones, why I can't read for fun or make music! I see daunting odds and obstacles ahead: days, weeks, years of exhaustion maybe, but I have no doubt of my ability to get through them.

Only the weak are every really strong.

It is well-known, though a myth, that all women are deceitful, conniving beings unworthy of being trusted, just as it is well-known but a myth that all men are brutal, hateful animals whose only motivations are power and sex. The only truth when it comes to the sexes is that ALL people are capable of treachery and harm, and the expression thereof will vary from person to person.

I have seen men ruined by women. Yes, it happens, absolutely. And I, as a female, have undoubtedly been ruined by men. What most people do not know is that I have been so deeply and repeatedly hurt and abused by men, by multiple men in fact, that if it were not for the fact that my closest friends are male, and my father and brother both outstanding people, I would be bereft of the ability to trust and love them. But even my own father instilled such great pain in me that I have only once spoken of, and never again will. It is hard to come to terms with just how injured I really am, and I think in some ways, always will be.

I always told myself that I would never do to another, male or female, the cruelty I had done unto me. And to the best of my knowledge and ability, I have stayed true to this form. I have always tried to be as honest and respectful of others as I could, though I'm sure I have had to let people down sometimes, for I'm not a perfect person by far.

What I don't understand is, why then, when women who are so powerful in the society we live in, who can turn men to butter simply by existing, who can crush even the strongest man with her words or actions, why is it, that I am so weak? I have pondered this over the years and come up with a few answers such as needing more self-love, being honest with myself, seeing reality, and finding the right people, and while all of the above are valid, I think it boils down to this: our greatest weaknesses are our greatest strengths.

The most frail part of me is where I gather the most resilience; where I am vulnerable to be hurt, I am most fiercely devoted to myself and to those I care about. And until someone comes along who can actually prove his worth, no man, or woman for that matter, will be allowed into my heart.

Beauty and Eroticism

It's around that time of month again, and I'm not talking about my menstrual cycle. Though for some reason I feel most like blogging around the 26th. Each few weeks changes rapidly, yet it's the same...

I'm taking an Images of Eroticism class this semester, and other than being able to watch some very enjoyable (and some NOT so enjoyable) erotic films, I feel I am getting something out of this course. One of the topics that came up today was our view of beauty, and the challenge thereof. For every day we are forced to consume this representation of what makes a person attractive, and while beauty is in the eye of the beholder, this eye is heavily influenced by our shallow and materialistic culture.

I, being female, being an Asian female, and not a bad-looking one at that, have never had a problem getting laid. Yet I feel, almost every day, the immense pressures of being a woman in this society. Because, let's face it: if I were fat, or old, or had a nose scrunched inside my face, who would want me? And that's the ugly truth: no one, or at least damn next to it. Not to say that every person who ever wanted me was shallow, for I consider myself far from what you would call "hot," but there will always be some outward aspect of anyone's attraction to me, and there is nothing wrong with that. My ideal is to find someone who thinks I'm one sexy bitch yet appreciates and respects my mind and heart above all else, and here is where it gets tricky. My first boyfriend loved to fuck me, could barely do anything but when we were together. Alas, his problem was that he didn't respect me, didn't value me or my thoughts, and through mind games and hurtful actions, made me feel deep shame for my body, as well as my soul.

What do I find beautiful? Hard to say, for I have been attracted to people of all sizes and shapes and genders and so on. However there are things I'm clear on: I like people who are not afraid to get dirty, who are intelligent and so comfortable with themselves that it naturally emanates from them onto me. I want someone who is not ashamed of him/herself, because for so long it has been made to seem like I should be of myself.