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Archive for May, 2003

Friday May 23, 2003 at 06:33 pm

Dear Friend,

// Begin Installation #2:

So here I am in a hospital, in this weird gown that doesn’t cover my backside very well. A doctor keeps asking me questions… I keep telling her I don’t remember a thing, which is for the most part, true.

I’ve always been a really good boy. I’m a law abiding citizen, I don’t drive fast on the highway, and I don’t even like to swear. But… there’s something about drugs and some things illegal that has always been alluring to me. Maybe it’s the danger involved. Maybe it’s the complete freedom, the scintillating feel of adrenaline rushing through my veins as I do something that excites me yet sedates me at the same time.

Maybe it’s the escape.

It’s been a blur, really, these past few days. I wouldn’t say that I’m as crazy as Johnny Depp’s character from that one movie… What was it? Fear and Loathing in LV… No, not as crazy as that… I mean, I never saw any devils, or went out of my mind or anything. It’s not like I’m some kind of druggie or anything. I just don’t remember anything that happened.

I think my last clear memory was when I was just starting to go up when a friend at the party offered a me a few bumps.

Of course, I accepted. Who wouldn’t? It was free!

Have you ever imagined yourself in a world made of plastic? Everything is super shiny, super defined. Your arms, hard to move, your eyes — strangely spastic. And sweaty. Sticky. Everything so very slippery and hot. Yes, a world of plastic that melted into a sea of human flesh rubbing up against itself.

Claustrophobia. Somehow I found myself in open air only to be accosted by the strangly sweet and inviting smell of cigarettes, cloves and marijuana all mixed together. I must have looked pretty bad (or good, perhaps?) because next thing I knew I was sitting down and someone was offering me a puff of something.

Of course, I accepted. It would have been rude push the person away.

Now, after this is when I saw her. At this point, I don’t even remember what she looked like. All I remember was that she was beautiful beyond comprehension.

Blankness, and somehow we were at her house. It was like I was on TV and suddenly the scene changed. Who knew? Groping, grabbing, heat, and lots of snorting is what I remember. Lines. More lines. Where was I again? Another line. What was my name? Just one more time, for old time’s sake. I swear I remember her from somewhere. Oh yeah! The club.

Next, the ATM. More money. More sacks, more lines, more little pills, more fungus, more powder, more bottles. Who knows what day it is at this point. As a true supporter of capitalism, I want to consume! You can’t blame me for that, can you? I’m just working with the system that this country thrives upon!

Binge. Consume. Ingest. There aren’t enough words to express… the feeling of utter gluttony of the mind. I became fascinated with a light. It was as if I was in slow motion. I tried to catch it, this ephemeral dream of a light. And then I knew darkness.


And that’s how I ended up here, in the hospital, in this weird gown that doesn’t cover my backside very well. The doctor keeps asking me questions… I keep telling her I don’t remember a thing, which is for the most part, true.

It’s all been a blur, really.

// End Installation #2


best friends

What does it mean to be “best friends” with somebody? Does it mean you hang out with them all the time, tell them everything about yourself, and share all your experiences with each other? Does it mean you have some kidn of connection with them, deeper than what others can usually comprehend?

If so, it’s hard for me to say that I’ve had a best friend for long, though many people have held this title.

I think it began in kindergarten — this is where the long line of best friends began. I forget her name, now, but I remember that she was Indian. My mom didn’t really approve, but it went on, anyways. We would hide under the bushes at recess and make that our secret house and talk to each other on our banana telephones as if we weren’t less than two feet away from each other.

First grade — Anna. My first Vietnamese friend… However, a few months after befriending her I realised that our brains just didn’t work on the same level. Middle of first grade — Alice. This one’s an interesting one, because I don’t even think she ever knew that she was my best friend. She was very popular (and much taller than me), and she is probably one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. I havent seen her since middle school.

In third grade my best friend’s name was Cindy. That is, until I punched her in the stomach and she had to go to the hospital. — Hey, she squished my ladybug house, what would YOU have done?

Fourth grade was strange, because I befriended somebody who had only recently come to America. When we first met, she didn’t even speak any English. Her name was Amy. She was strangly wizened for a fourth grader, which made me sad many times. I guess that’s what happens when you live in impoverished conditions for so long. I remember she made me cry.

Sometime in middle school I met Carolyn, a neighbor who ended becoming my closest friend in high school… Though we never called each other ‘best friends’. We went everywhere together, liked the same things, we even dressed alike.


Through all this, I don’t think I really learned much about friendship until I met Kim. She became my close friend in high school. Even though we go to different schools now, we don’t share as much with each other, and we see each other only a few times a year, I still think of her as my best friend. Sure there are people that I hang out with all the time, people that I tell my problems to, but somehow I can’t forget her friendship.

What does it mean to be best friends? Does it mean you hang out all the time? Have all the same interests? Talk with each other about everything in our lives?

It seems like that’s the way it should be. But that’s not the way it is…. How come, then, does Kim still feel like my best friend?

How come every time we see each other it’s like we never left for college?

I think a best friend is more of an essence, a feeling that you get when you’re with someone that makes you feel bonded with them further than just an aquaintence, further than even a friend, but something so close it’s like having another sibling.

Yeah, like a sibling. I miss you Kim, my silly close as a sister all the way in berkeley, best friend.

Friday May 23, 2003 at 11:50 pm

Dear Friend,

Here is my first installation, it’s about a friend I had in high school. What do you think?:


New faces, new people, new friends. I find it funny that my parents made me transfer schools to keep me away from friends that were so-called “bad influences” on me. Now the tables have turned — I am the so-called “bad influence” at this school.

It wasn’t long before I made some friends. Though it was long before I could open up to them.

I would always get the same weak consolations time after time. They’d say I have a perfect life. I’m told I’m beautiful. They say that they wish they were me. How come, then, do I wish to be anybody but who I am? Anywhere but where I am?

It’s strange how being alone makes you think of things that you don’t think of normally. I mean, if I were with my friends right now instead of at home waiting to pick my brother up from school I wouldn’t be thinking about my life.

Why is it that a house that can be so cozy and comfortable at times feel so big and empty? Even my dog doesn’t want to be alone. I absentmindedly stroke her ears as my thoughts drift along, each one getting darker, heavier.

My eyes fall on a bottle on my dresser.

It’s amazing how easy it is to slit your wrists when your body is filled with painkillers.



Friday May 23, 2003 at 11:21 pm

Dear Friend,

I have an idea, I think I’m going to use this place to write short stories [true,half-true] about events that pop into my head through my point of view. People have such interesting lives, sometimes it’s nice to step into their shoes for a little while.


Friday May 23, 2003 at 11:16 pm

Dear Friend,

It seems like everybody is going towards Xanga now. It’s kind of funny because I was telling everyone about this page about 2 years ago but no one listened to me. :P It’s alright everybody, Stephanie pointed out that I’m pretty nerdy so it’s normal for people to overlook things like that. >:P

This used to be the place for sad entries, but maybe I’ll be able to write something nice here once in a while.



No place to put it.

Just like I had nothing to put on Live Journal, so it became my place for poetry, I had nothing to put on Xanga, so it’s become my place for a collection of short stories. They’re all going to be about people’s lives that I’ve lived vicariously, but written in a first-person point of view.

I think that it’s always important to look at someone’s situation through another point of view in order to better understand what they may have felt during the event or to piece together answers that lay hanging in my head.

This project has really good potential. I just hope that I can keep myself motivated.


So my computer was broken for a while, but now it’s fixed so there’s nothing to worry about anymore. As you can see, I have a brand-spankin’ new layout [what else is new?]. This one, though not as creative as my last, feels a lot better to me. Don’t ask me why, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.

Nothing much has been changing in my life as of late. Which, I suppose, is a good thing. Although it would be nice to have excitement sometimes. Perhaps I will try a new hobby or something. HA!

Been pretty wrapped up with Circle K. You’ll often see me here. Yeah, I’m a nerd, I can’t deny it. ^_^;

Somehow, I feel I’ve changed, but I can’t put my finger on it. I want to write about it, to express it from the bottom of my heart as I have in the past, but my skills have withered with time, it seems.

Incidentally, I don’t feel bad about it.

what it means to listen

Today I rediscovered what it means to actually *listen* to music as opposed to just hearing it. How long has it been since I have actually just sat still and let a song penetrate my brain and not just graze the surface? Too long.

It’s easy to hear a song and like it, but to be able to tolerate a song while listening to it is another matter. In this case a catchy tune and a repeated chorus is no longer enough to keep my attention. Somtimes I might even dislike hearing a song but enjoy listening to it.

Why is that?

Music is such a mysterious medium. Lyrics can bring a smile to your lips or tears to your eyes. A tune can be so poignant that your whole body shivers — like the pain in your chest before you start to cry or with the pleasure of knowing that such art can exist.

Music can inspire you, depress you. The right song can motivate you to move faster or stop you in your tracks, closing your eyes to enjoy the moment. It’s a comedy, a story– a drama that’s so sad that you can’t turn away from it. Music is an art that is always perfect but can never be perfected.

Music is art.


It’s amazing how with bad luck, even the easiest things to take care of can die. My boyfriend got one of those living ecosystems with the shrimp for his birthday. You know, the ones where you don’t ever have to feed them or change the water — all you have to do is leave them there.

It all started with one shrimp. All of a sudden he fell dead! (WTF), as if that wasn’t sad enough, the next day my bf woke up and then 2 more were dead…. And then the third day all of them were dead!

What gives? How could he have done something wrong? The shrimps are in a glass egg w/ no holes and no opening and you CANT feed them and you CANT give em water… So sad, so sad.

On a brighter note, he gets an exchange because they’re guaranteed to last at least 6 mo.

the shiznet.

I am so cool!! I made a new layout and it looks like an aquarium!