Words I used to live by, and somehow forgot.

Thank you for the reminder.

People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered.
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives.
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies.
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you.
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight.
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous.
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow.
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough.
Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God.

It was never between you and them anyway.


-Mother Teresa.

YES.

Please take the time to read this absolutely amazing article on being Asian, female, and fetishized. SO well written. Thank you.

lol

I've changed Kryptonites name to The Habit. He's starting to feel like all the other things I'm... not necessarily fighting, but growing increasingly out of.

Slow smile*

Of course, I still want to hit that. And I still enjoy spending time with him. But that need for a response is gone. Goddamn, this is liberating.

I'm glad I had that experience to humble me, and start taking the heart more seriously. *Pats chest*

Have a wonderful day! The weather is so beautiful. I am in a tip top mood.

New Girl Crush

I saw a music video with... *squints at scrawl on napkin*... Keri Hilson?.. in it. You can't listen to the radio without hearing her song (Energy), and personally I feel nothing for it, it's bland and it bores me. But I changed my mind when I saw the music video. I'd listen to it all the way to the end now, I swear, just because her body is that amazing. Though I must admit, I don't remember what her face looks like.

This past Friday was my first experience with Cable TV in a long time. And, as it stands, Saturday mornings still suck no matter how many channels you have. Chris Brown is in a Doublemint commercial. What just happened here?

Pickup Lines 9.15.08

"You're beautiful!" He tosses at me, while passing by on the sidewalk.

"Thank you," I nod, and I keep it moving. I need to sit down with some coffee, and read the rest of this chapter before my next class. I've got an hour and a half to read 30 pages. Im weary. I'm so close to the diner, I can taste it.

Lost in my thoughts, I plod along Lexington Avenue. If I take notes now, maybe I can remember enough for the lecture.

"Hello," I hear from behind my left shoulder, close to my ear. Immediately I check my aggravation. Dude had doubled back and caught up to me, but he has thus far remained respectful, so I have no reason to shut him down mean. I give him a tight smile, and he banters the rest of the way up the block.

"I work around the area. Are you a student?" I nod. "I was thinking about going here, blah blah blah. Blah blah, blah blabbity bloo. Blah blah blah?" Nod. "Ha ha ha! Blah blah blah blah! Blah blah blah. Blaaah blahblah blah bah. Ha ha blah!"

I nod. I give absentminded answers, I've barely glanced at him. It's Monday, see. I went to class straight from work, I'm frazzled, I'm running on an hour and a half of sleep. It's not that I'm cranky, I'm just not good at being social if my heart's not in it.

I try to be personable at least -- in all my years of pubertom I've become quite the advocate for the gentle yet obvious let-down. Sometimes, bitch-mode isn't necessary. I am polite, but frank. Stank is for special reserve.

Blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah. "Sweety, where are you from?" he inquires.

"Brooklyn." I say this as dismissively as I could. It's my default answer, I know what he meant.

"You know what I mean," he chuckles. "Where are your parents from?"

I bristle. "Korea."

"That's wassup. I'm from Brooklyn myself."

I should be used to that slice of conversation. It's always asked during pickup. I let it slide. "Oh yeah? What part?"

"Crown Heights. You?"

Insert hometown here.

"Ooh!" He coos. "And you speak English so well! I'm surprised!" He smiles widely.

REALLY?

His smile falters when I don't beam back. "I was born and raised here," I say, raising my brow. What the fuck, I think. This just happened.

"That's cool. Like I said before, you heard me right? I think you're so beautiful. I just thought I should let you know."

I grimace my thanks.

"So what's your name, beautiful?"

Sigh. "Texti."

"Hi, Texti, my name is Reginald."

I nod. "Reginald." I shake the hand he offers.

He breaks out into another smile. "I love that!" He coos. "You pronounced my name so perfectly, too."

My forehead twitches. REALLY?? "Haha. Okay. Wow. That's it."

"And you just have the most perfect voice--"

I turn. "Hey, Reginald, listen. Thanks for the compliments, really." Smile. "But you've managed to offend me two times already in the ten seconds we've been talking, and I think our conversation is over."

"Offend you? How? I offended you?" He is genuinely bewildered!!!

I open the door to the diner and start pulling it closed behind me. Smile. "I don't know if you got the memo, but Asian people speak English, Reginald. Well. You were surprised that I spoke so fluently, and now you are amazed that I pronounced 'Reginald' right?" Insert real life equivalent to LOL here! "Fuck outta here with that, sweety. Take care, goodbye--"

"Wait!" He says. "Let me explain." Ooh, a bullshit artist. Well? "See, asking you where you from is just making conversation--"

"That wasn't one of the things I listed, was it, Reginald."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. And I said the pronunciation thing because people always pronounce my name wrong! I swear. I didn't mean to offend you."

"Goodbye. Take care." He's following me inside. "NO," I say firmly.

I turn and signal to the waiter, lifting one finger. "One please."

The waiter looks behind me, and asks, "Table for two?"

"Yes, table for two," says Reginald.

"NO." I glare. "TABLE FOR ONE. THANK YOU."

I turn. "Go away Reginald. Have a nice day! I'm just... so not in the mood, you know?" I try to smile, Stank Bitch is still being kept at bay. Ignorant is not the same as intentionally leering. He's just a fucking idiot, breathe.

"Let me buy you dinner, Texti."

I hold up my textbook. "Like I said earlier, I have a lot of studying to do, and you fucked up, so I'm going to have to say no." I shrug in mock apology. My eyes are hard.

"I understand," says Reginald. He nods. "I'm sorry, again." I smile tightly at him, and he backs out the door.

Sighing in frustration and relief, I briefly flash back to all the other wonderfully racist come-ons I've encountered in the past. ("Hey, miss! Is your pussy really slanted?" being the most extreme). Because I feel my chest getting tight with rage, I turn my attention to the menu, choosing to forego my usual mid-class snack of toast and coffee for a pizza chicken sandwhich. Ey, it's payday, I tell myself. I'll splurge.

While I make my order, I see a flurry before my eyes. Suddenly, Reginald is inserting himself into the booth across from me. There is a bouquet of flowers in his hand. "I'll have what she's having," he declares, and the waiter shares a smile with him. "So two?"

I turn to the waiter, stunned. "No, sir. Just one." My eyes flash as I hold his gaze.

"Two," Reginald says. "And I'm paying for the whole thing."

The waiter takes the order and walks away.

My head cocks once in warning.

No this little bird bitch didn't.

To be continued.

**I wrote this the same evening it happened. There is no continuation post. I tried, but it ended up being a musing about the boundaries of respect vs. disrespect, and why I actually ended up having dinner with him. Maybe, if you know me in real life, we can talk about it. It is less of a story to tell, and more of a conversation to have.

"Well Excuuuse me, Miss Life Changes"

I'm at an odd period in my life where I'm weaning myself away from all the things I used to be passionate for. Or with. A part of my mind labels these things as "addictions," and I'm highly inclined to agree. The drive, the need, and motivation I had for them always overwhelmed, to the point where I had happily abandoned logic to pursue those desires. Desires to expel, to create, to take in.

Once I quit cigarettes I quit everything else, as if this new-found will power exploded and stained the walls. Around the same time I dropped the addiction to smoking, I lost the desire for everything else. One of these "passions," I've come to realize, was blogging. (I would say writing, but in all honesty it started and ended behind a keyboard. I was never a writer by way of the pen. Gems dropped by accident during the publishing of musings.)

For me, one compulsion always replaced another. Once upon a time, I used to draw constantly. On my wrists, hands, knuckles, fingernails, tissues, margins, all over my notebook. I drew them quickly and if it were on my skin, I would wash it off after I tired of it; if on paper I handed the masterpieces out to friends like spare gum. I figured my talent would always be with me, just bigger, better stronger. Today, I have no proof of my own artwork. It's all damaged, distributed, or gone.

Sometime during my senior year at a well-known high school for the arts, the drive sputtered out and exhausted. But I'd hardly noticed, because words took over. I embodied everything about writing. I became it, it became me. Blogging was an obsession. I did it at work, I did it at home, I did it at friend's houses, I'd hold in my pee. I did it in the early mornings, I did it most late at night. I did it twenty times a day. And I was SO good at it. Until, one day, that went away too.

I spent some time shifting from one extreme to another. There are some things I picked up, excelled at, and never forgot. I learned how to listen, to move a man to whimpers. I learned how to roll the perfect blunt. Needless to say, I enjoyed both triumphantly. I ate junk food in excess: burgers for breakfast, hot sauce with everything. I yelled at people for their insecurities. I became hellbent on fixing my own. I smoked like a chimney and I fucked like a porn star. That's what made me. That's Who I Was. And then, one day, silence.

I'm slowly forming my way around paths I once used to scoff at. And the biggest transition of all, I think, is this shift I'm making from being an opinionated, i'm-here-get-used-to-it, take-no-bullshit optimist, who dripped sexuality no matter what she tried to do, to being this... whatever the fuck I am right now. LOL! It's a little unnerving, to suddenly realize what it is to walk into a room and not be once-overed by at least 3/4ths of the people in it. Men watched me, women watched me. And I chose to remain oblivious to all of them, until one day I noticed that nobody really looked at me that way anymore.

My clothes don't hug the curves that somehow shifted as time went by, and my sexy is mad undercover. My Swagger doesn't fit with the rest of me anymore, so I tucked her away too. I think this is what I wanted, though. It became tough to bear that kind of attention after a while, like I felt raped by the end of the day. I'm just still not used to it.

Something in me stopped wanting people to want me. I think it was after I recovered from The Heartbreak and started making steps in letting go of Kryptonite. My confidence is quieter now, not so daring, no so present. Fuck that though, I still want to be pretty. It's an interesting balance to find. LOL.

I am still a fool.

My brother is making coffee, at 10:30pm. It is to keep his hands busy. His posture tenses with the pretense of indifference, and he takes a breath, suddenly changing the air of our banter.

"Nuna," he starts, the way he does all dialogue with me (it means 'older sister'). He stumbles and stalls, using a lot of filler words and laughing. Trying to keep it light. Trying to prep himself, or me. I know he is embarrassed and uncertain; it sounds like when I read poems to friends.

"What's up," I respond, raising my brows. I'm scarfing down a hurried, tasteless dinner after coming home from class. He's still stammering, but eventually he runs out of things to do. The coffee is brewing. He's tapping his fingers. I tell him to get to the point.

He mentions his ex-girlfriend, and I know where this conversation is going. He's been bouncing around the house, traveling hours out of his way just to catch movies, suddenly determined to get back on track with work, school, physical fitness. Still, I leave my face open and curious. He eases into his discomfort.

A little backstory: They dated briefly. He genuinely liked her, possibly even loved her. She acted in ways that drove him nearly crazy with insecurity. I pointed out the obvious signs, but I didn't expect him to listen. Naturally, she played him.

I mean, what can I say. They're kids. She's younger than he is, and attractive girls in big urban cities are a different kind of "young" than other young are. Too old for her age, you dig?

Only recently I learned the value in keeping my mouth shut, and I learned to weigh situations that called for words better. Only recently I realized how damaging and useless pointing out flaws can be. Only recently I began practicing neutrality in situations where people come to me for advice, especially when it comes to issues pertaining to love. How can you truly experience the falling into (and out of) Love, if you simply monkeybarred on people's advice? This was not the time for it, so I nodded, and merely listened.

Basically, after he convinced himself he was over her and spent all that time healing, they start hanging out again. They go to movies, they enjoy the shit out of each other's company, they laugh and they talk on the phone. And this time, it's her calling him. Her seeking him. Everybody loves to be pursued by the one they really want.

He's frustrated because he's getting hopeful again, and that should I? Should I not? is returning. He lists the details of their days together as if it was evidence to a better second chance. I nod, even though every part of me wants to warn him. That it sounds like she hasn't changed at all. I see where the loopholes are.

And then, I cringe inwardly. Oh, God. Oh God! It all sounds so familiar. Agh! AGH!

I recognize the carefully controlled look on my face as that of my friends when they listen to me speak about Kryptonite. I don't realize how unnecessary all my details are. I could talk about him for days. I mention every nuance of his actions as if breaking them down would stretch them out longer, give them more meaning. I think about the judgments that scroll between my ears as I watch my brother rant about JM, and I mentally kick myself in the neck.

Word, I recently spent an hour -- my entire lunch break! -- detailing a single weekend with Kryptonite. A total of 5 or 6 hours with him combined, turned into a one-sided musing that went on for much too long. And though all the signs are there, and obvious, the way my heart blushes makes mountains out of garbage piles. And it took my brother to show me that.

"So... what should I do?" He asks me, for the second time.

I blink. I don't want to tell him anything. People like us have to find out for ourselves; and as much as I want to protect him, my advice will do nothing. The Bitionists are also an indulgent blood; we disregard logic often to seek what we want deep down inside. No matter how bad that may be for our well-being.

"You're just gonna have to run with it," I say, thinking about my recent settling into contentment away from my K. It took another last try, and another period of separation, for me to realize just how okay I was without his validation. He has to get there on his own.

I mentally thank my good friends for letting me come to my own conclusions, no matter how obvious the signs were. Thank you for your patience and the hold you had on your tongue. For letting me hope as hard as I had to. For knowing and accepting that tomorrow, no matter how much progress I make, I'll probably be sending yet another frustrated email that's three paragraphs too long and four signs of affections too short, and for responding with nothing but a hug and a Good Luck.

Haha. I am ridiculous. And he is following in my footsteps. *Messes up his hair*

Dear Writer:

Accept loss forever
Be submissive to everything, open, listening
No fear or shame in the dignity of your experience, language and knowledge

Be in love with your life


-Jack Kerouac

Gah! Agh! AHH!

My mother: a POOR. MINORITY. FEMALE, is voting for McCain this year.

Please let me pause, so that this post doesn't turn into a vomit-tastic jumble of profanity.

My shoulders are up to my ears right now. She voted, both times, for Bush before. During our argument about her decision, it slipped out that one of her main deciding factors was because she didn't believe in gay marriage. What kind of --- OOOH, texti, hold it. Hold it. Breathe.

When she said this, I looked at her, calmly, and asked, "Is it because Obama is black?"

To which she replied, "No, of course not!" (By the way, she is an admitted racist.)

I breathed out. I collected myself. "Okay," I said slowly. "Do you realize that voting for McCain is only going to help the rich people?" Which, look around, is a demographic we are clearly not a part of.

She stopped, thought, smiled, and quipped: "Well, if I want to be rich someday, I got to aim high, right?"

*Storms off into a corner and seethes*
*Knocks over a cup*
*Breaks a pencil*
AGH!

Seriously. Dear all: even to those who don't believe that Obama is the best candidate (I waited before deciding to push for him, he makes me hopeful in a way I never imagined I could be with a politician), or that "America's not ready" (yo, if not now, when?) etc: Right now, we are heading towards -- if not already in -- a deeeep state of Crisis. We need someone who has a much clearer picture, who understands what needs to be fixed, in order to reconstruct and move ahead properly.

This is not about your money. This is not about your personal race to win. This is about fixing the crumbling foundations of your home - rewiring the right way, fixing shingles, clearing the gutters, insulating, etc - instead of divorcing the wife thats been nagging you about fixing it because you just didn't want to hear it anymore, sending your 16 year old kid out to suck dick for money (to fund both your survival and cocaine habit), and holding on to the hopes that this way, you'd be able to buy a bigger, better, shinier TV. When your house falls apart, none of that shit is going to matter.

You have to heavily consider the state of AMERICA and what it NEEDS, rather than keeping ignorant to something that has to seriously get addressed. If this goes on, even the Content is going to lose it all. I guarantee this.

The Republicans are going to come out in droves to ensure that Obama doesn't get elected into presidency, for reasons that have nothing to do with current America. That's all I can really say about that. ("They have not served a Red America or a Blue America - they have served the United States of America.")

Sigh. I wish I could be more profound on this subject, but I can't. I can only express my urgent plea, to stop being selfish and to start looking outwards. We're crumbling apart, yall. Consider the state of working class Americans. Consider the state of the immigrants that are holding the fucking fibers of this economy together by doing all the shit you don't want to do with shit pay, no benefits and constant belittling. Consider the Grand Jury, and its split down the middle in its current state. Consider the imbalance, and how impartial is a very, VERY hard thing to come across in the political world. We need you. We need you.

Mom, you're such a douchebag. I love you, but seriously, wtf.

Lullabies for My Favorite Insomniac

Not really. That's just the name of this album given to me by my musically adventurous friend. Always stuck with me. What a great title for a classical joint, and a perfect one for a gift to me. (The album itself, is okay. In case you were wondering.)

"I also lost the ability to write somewhere, when things got hard. Do you know what I think it might be? I think I lost the ability to shape my own world the way I saw fit, on paper, in retrospect, whatever. Reality kept slapping me in the face, and I had no choice but to accept her."

Meh. Shit happens. I stopped being frustrated with my loss of words. It is what it is. I'm looking up again, so I've got bigger things to focus on other than where the hell my talent's disappeared to.

Besides, it didn't really "go" anywhere. It's just drugged out in a dirty, boarded up corner of my soul, covered in its own piss and blissfully ignorant of what the rest of me is going through. Good for you. Go get you some.

Santana and Nujabes are amazing soul healers when you need them. Some suggestions, if you didn't already know them:

Samba Pa Ti
El Farol
(-Santana)
Aruarian Dance
(-Nujabes)

And that's obviously not the best of their abilities. You find what settles you though. Dig deep.

Who the fuck are the Cheetah Girls? I just found out what a Hannah Montana was. Oh, boy, our next generation is going to be interesting.

That's it, really. I'm awake because I spent a nice night out with Kryptonite and friends, and I'm trying to avoid overthinking and overanalyzing shit like I do. It was nice. End of story. It made you smile and capped your night nicely. No hidden meanings, no secrets. Just good company, which is exactly what you wanted. Leave it at that. Haha at firm third party coaching.

I tried smoking weed again last night, to quiet my thoughts enough to doze off, and I woke up fucking stuck on stupid. Enough of that. // Quitting is an interesting thing; I know in my mind that I've made leaps putting distance between the times I smoke up, and to me that's progress (will power is the hardest thing, if you have none to start with). It was the same with cigarettes -- I was quitting for about 4 months, from when the distaste became too strong to ignore, to the fifth morning I didn't by my own pack. To this day, I bum a cigarette when the moment's right, and it might have been 3 weeks since my last pull, or a month since my last full, but shit, I know that I'm still not a smoker. When I get berated or laughed at for the few times I do indulge, it just makes me... resentful. Not enough to dive into the habit again, but enough to doubt what I know is an accomplishment, even for a little bit. And we all know, that a little doubt can go a looonngg way.

"Quitting means never doing it again. If you're still partaking 'once in a while,' you haven't quit." Whatever, babe. I chose to spare you the reminder of your long battle with addiction yourself. To things beyond that nicotene, sticky green, and the many, many slippery slopes you've had since you first realized you didn't want to do it anymore. Bah, leave me the hell alone, I don't like resorting to this. Quitting, okay? (Note to self: Check when you do this to others. It's human nature to lash out when frustrated.)

I'm glad I came home tonight. Even after all this time, he stays on my mind. Will I ever go a day without him in my thoughts?

Oh. Happy September. Where did summer go? Is it just me or did 2008 go by in a blink?