And you stood there, Clutching your arms tightly together, as if to avoid their stares or your stammer. Your dark brown hair slickly pulled back behind your ears, your watchful eyes following their prized feet. If only you could see then, what I see now. Your oversized backpack hung from your shoulders like a hopeless cliff, your steady pace, and your new face, untouched by the your hands, yet completely encapsulated in society and what it wanted you to be. Your yearning mind, your salivation at the thought of something new, something blind from the eyes that truly knew you. If only you could see then, what I see now. I would tell you that you have a thousand things to be confident for. You have a million things to smile for. You have a billion things to be thankful for. I would tell you, that, those blonde strands upon their hairs would never be able to measure up to the blonde reflection of the fresh steamed rice that was cooked by your mother’s hands. I would tell you, that you envied them. You envied them for the things they had. You envied how they could readily put little value on those cents tingling in your pockets. And you envied the way, the way… the way they were confident. If you knew then, what I know now, there would be too much to tell, my friend. But if I could, just get myself to utter a breath-ful of words, I would tell you, that you are beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful; and your only flaw lied not in being envious, but in never truly being confident in your own skin, with your dark brown hair, new face, and tired shoulders. I would tell you, to learn from my mistakes. To be confident, regardless of the demand in society to be…well, something else. Inner beauty is about not so much loving every single feature of yourself, but to be confident with those features. Looking back on my younger years, I often wished I was more confident in MY beauty; regardless of whether it fit the the idea society had set out. I was so young and yet…had so much self-hatred. Learning to love yourself because of everything you ARE is inner beauty. Growing mature enough to know you are beautiful (even without Society’s seal of approval) is true inner beauty to me.
It’s quite interesting to see my footprints upon your mind.
How you
ignore,
yet
embrace
the silhouette that once stood next to you.
Oh dear friend.
Perhaps, I should stop using that word.
The word that expresses a million emotions and caps a billion memories into a single 6-letter word.
I see that you’re happier now,
and if only I could
lend you a few words
of my once wise mind,
so that you can
pursue it free of guilt or slime.
If I could,
I would.
I would swing forth my words of comfort,
to tell you,
finally,
that you deserve to be happy.
—that what happened in yesterday’s dream,
was meant to belong to Yesterday.
You need not keep your grip so tight,
let it
have it.
You have a Tomorrow that awaits with a vibrant smile
free from the brushes of masks or distracting colors.
Oh dear fr——..
Oh dear..memory.
I guess, I’ve finally found
another
six letter word to replace the silhouette of your prescence.
My yesterday’s dream, had you in it…
Telling me, that I have a much brighter Tomorrow.
And if I could tell you all of this,
I would,
trust me…I would.
Standing, staring at a gate open wide
asking for my entrance,
asking for my presence onto the other side.
I know not what it has,
but I’m just so curious to know.
How does it feel
to not care
or
breathe the air of friendship?
How does it feel to look at the stranger,
and have them just be a stranger—
nothing more, nothing less.
I guess…
perhaps…
some things were meant to stay broken.
If the consensus
is as stated,
what are we all waiting for?
Composed: March 9, 2011 at 9:35pm
Looking back on all these years,
perhaps sometimes things just change because they have to.
Things change because people change,
when people change,
actions change,
when actions change,
well,
nothing stays the same
for long.
I’m sitting here contemplating whether I should
even
care about this,
about you,
about them,
about everything.
And I find myself
reciting
‘Perhaps sometimes things change because they have to.’
If I repeat this,
If I recite this,
perhaps
I’ll believe
it.
It.
Perhaps that is why there is an end
in
Friend.
And I’m tired of being the one who’s
always
there;
just waiting for you to get hurt
and come running to me
so that I can patch up that
irreconcilable heart of yours.
Maybe I don’t want to do the patchwork anymore.
Maybe I never wanted to do any patchwork at
all.
My head is now held high,
and I think I’m ready to
give it a go,
to give an end
to this
circular train that
we’re all
on.
And I remember when I was in the
6th
Grade;
and I told myself I never wanted a best friend again.
Because she betrayed me.
And I tell myself again,
Maybe I don’t want a best friend.
And when your eyes scan across these words and believe I am talking about you,
I probably am.
Know that I am sick and fucking tired of cleaning up the jobs of others’ doings.
When you scan your eyes across these words,
you won’t even be able to understand where I am speaking from:
from a place buried so deep down inside of my soul
echoing
How foolish
was I
to let someone in?
Foolish.
Very foolish.
This is the end.
Composed: March 16, 2011 at 10:14pm
Your voice is like
that refreshing breeze on a perfect day.
When the sun kisses your skin softly,
the clouds claim their protective place,
and mumbles of passerbyers tingle your ears.
As I watch
them so gracefully glide by,
I think of you.
And I think of all the things you’ve ever said that’s made me smile,
that’s made me laugh.
As my eyes follow the path that they’ve paved for me,
My lips give in to curling its ends,
showing a side that’s often unseen.
My mind gallops into a realm of
pastel colors,
and I think of you.
I match the colors with the pastel sky and white contrast.
I see the breeze run past me quickly,
and no matter how badly I wish I could hold on to it,
it’s gone,
reminding me that what goes,
knows how to return.
And I think of you.
My Being
Composed: March 2, 2011 at 8:51pm
Each knuckle of joy that wraps itself into hands of apathy.
Dry lips that are caressed by a tongue, half alive.
Innocent palms, with calloused skin so soft that you would swear it was made with silk threads;
that weave in and out,
through and through,
until it is one piece of golden, polished, composed, and presentable substance.
Words that exit the mouth and the mind like letters on a typewriter;
phrases so unique the ears cringe at its unfamiliarity.
Sighs of warm hopeful breaths.
Eyes that flutter their lids when in fear.
She has a Smile that has outstretched and outgrown the digit that numbers her years
of
living.
Naive.
Being.
And so she waits, and ponders and wanders until she finds a face that she can call home.
A place she can recognize.
She seeks
for
A smile
that lays just as outstretched as the dull one that hangs on her face,
hanging by a thread of silk; golden, polished, composed, and presentable.
And there she is content.
Children, oh you see how they play, not knowing that one day they will grow up.
Let us all be as children;
with outstretched smiles that have yet to outgrown the numbers of breaths we’ve lived.
My hair wrapped around my fingers
like babies legs around one’s waist.
How I miss the scent of home
and the feeling of security.
Here.
With glaring eyes that interrogate my character, I do not know how I should act.
Presumably, I act like myself—
I’m bad at playing any other character.
I’m a bit awkward.
Actually, I’m really awkward.
Does this make me ignorant?
No.
It just makes me…awkward.
I stare outside and hues of green welcome my eyes;
they lure me in like skilled geishas.
The sun is quiet but kind today,
with ever flowing rays that caress my skin
and encourage the sweat upon my forehead and neck.
My hands are so young but so worn already.
Dry as callous and dark as chocolate.
As I sit here worrying about the shade of my skin or the desired porcelain texture of my hands—there are problems so much bigger than these.
The banks, the tellers, the stores, and the university—they all want something out of me that I find hard to retrieve.
They push and push and push until my existence is of no more.
I push and push and push until my head explodes with bubbles of pain and tears of surrender.
My heart is weak but my mind is strong.
My heart gives up as my mind recollects what is hers—strength.
So prideful, I am.
The smiles of my nieces whom hate me (aha) and the laughters of my parents are consummated into a ball of strength when met with the beauty of God.
None is greater than the Love of God.
I am still learning this.
He smiles at me when I am at my worse and humbly asks me why I took so long to ask Him for help.
My answer: I do not know.
I guess pride is a double-edged sword; one with the strength to carry on and the other with the temporary strength to withhold the amazing glory of my God.
Naive.
As my hair turns gray, I will always remain naive.
God is a wondrous God and I will spend my lifetime discovering and sharing his breathtaking love.
I love you, my heavenly Father.
Find yourself in chaos—and embrace it.
Learn to love the faults of yourself and others.
Learn to love those who mock, spit on, and laugh at you—because even they are human.
Tell yourself that they meant no harm.
This will take a lifetime of practice and even when you lay peacefully on your deathbed, you will still not be satisfied.
But it’s alright, squeeze all that you can out of life and leave it content.
I’ve been thinking a lot of death and society lately.
Do not misunderstand—I have not been contemplating to actually engage with death (though I know the day will come, where I must set aside my pride.)
But I’ve been thinking about how death is so unfair—and I can’t do anything about it.
Death can take the life of an 85 year old grandfather who finally found contentment when his wife’s in his arms, his children look at him with mature and understanding eyes, and his grandchildren give him tight hugs. Death can take something too precious to be exposed to this sinful life—a child before it is even given chance to live this challenge we call life. Death can take two teenagers who are anxiously hand in hand on their first date as they drive down the highway to only find themselves lying on broken glass next to each others cold bodies.
Death is this approaching shadow that lingers on your lips, eyes, lashes, toes, smile.
Society.
Society is the adaptation of death.
Always shaping, lingering, and pestering you—never will you be at ease with society as your model life to live.
Society superficially classifies individuals as if they were products in a grocery store.
A heart shape drawn on my hand as I sit in my decal thinking about all of this.
Yes, I’m well aware—I’m weird.
Look me in the eyes and tell me that.
At least then I’ll know that I am not letting society shape, linger, and pester me…
Oh yes…I am naive—because society’s toll is inevitable; just like death.
It approaches us all—interjects just when we are at our best, it comes and reaps the benefits—like someone stealing the bobas once you’ve finished your drink…Yep..just like that.
I mean look at Emily Dickinson—always wrote about death..and then finally it took her. Unfortunate—one of the best poets to have lived, in my opinion.
April22,2010;1206am
the concept of time and life and death and society keeps me attentive.
How is that I am this bridge between the past, present, and future?
This is the best time to figure out the rest of my life.
Often times I find myself being a stubborn brat in overlooking AMAZING beings, things, gifts, etc. in my life. So I’ve decided that in order to keep myself grounded, I’m going to write this blog and devote it completely to the many, many factors in my life that make it so worth while. Here goes! (Mind you, there is no such order to this..just kind of a mind puke)
I am thankful for God.
I am thankful for my parents.
I am thankful for my siblings.
I am thankful for Geoffrey Ong.
I am thankful for my friends.
I am thankful for the Ong family.
I am thankful for flowers.
I am thankful for motivation.
I am thankful for my HSAB family.
I am thankful for AIM text messaging.
I am thankful for MSN.
I am thankful for Skype.
I am thankful for technology that enables me to connect with my family, 400 miles away.
I am thankful for a mind.
I am thankful for being able to completely bomb a test, call home and have my Parents and siblings tell me it’s okay so long as I gave it my best.
I am thankful for being able to call my parents and know that they are always willing to pray for me before I take a test.
I am thankful for being able to finally say “I love you” to my parents.
I am thankful for diligence.
I am thankful for work that keeps me on my toes.
I am thankful for time—especially the moments that I will always remember.
I am thankful for the summer memories.
I am thankful for my parents’ smiles.
I am thankful for pictures that makes me miss but also feel more at home.
I am thankful for my work study job.
I am thankful that i did pretty well on my back to back midterms and 2 essays.
I am thankful for GBC (cafeteria on Berkeley campus)
I am thankful I got into and am currently attending Berkeley.
I am thankful for the douche bags who have hurt me in the past—this may sound cliche, but they’ve made me SO much stronger.
I am thankful for ASUC elections.
I am thankful for knowledge.
I am thankful for my mom’s food.
I am thankful for Geoffrey’s mom’s food.
I am thankful for MY food :p
I am thankful for the opportunities.
I am thankful for the sun.
I am thankful for the GORGEOUS day today.
I am thankful for prayers.
I am thankful for having the privilege to know Christ as a child.
I am thankful for everyone reading this.
I am thankful for his morning calls to wake me up.
I am thankful for Bla.
I am thankful for Pang.
I am thankful for Zen.
I am thankful for John.
I am thankful for Sandda.
I am thankful for Brian.
I am thankful for Angela.
I am definitely thankful for baby Kaitlyn.
I am thankful for May.
I am thankful for John Y.
I am most definitely thankful for Joycelynn.
I am thankful for Mee.
I am thankful for Tony.
I am thankful for Chee.
I am thankful for Vang.
I am thankful for Arsia.
I am thankful for Chewy.
I am thankful for Nhia.
I am thankful for Taffie.
I am thankful for Long.
I am thankful for Pang.
I am thankful for having the wisdom to live above the super-random-liberal-crazy-smoke-weed-drink-alcohol-and-have-crazy-sex hype these days.
I am thankful to be the weird one.
I am thankful to be the one that it’s awkward to talk to.
I am thankful to be Hmong.
I am thankful to be educated.
I am thankful to be judged.
I am thankful to know the difference between their judgements and who I really am.
I am thankful for Edison High School…changed my life. (specifically Mr. Ethen’s class)
I am thankful to realize that College is 4 times harder than high school.
I am thankful to realize I’m managing.
I am thankful for PPLC.
I am thankful for light.
I am thankful for my heavy laptop.
I am thankful I have goals (like working to get money to get myself a smaller laptop and possibly giving this laptop to Aimee or whoever needs one)
I am thankful that when Geoffrey texts me through AIM and I dont respond because I’m writing a blog, he texts it to my phone to get my attention haha <3
I am thankful to finally realize (after tagging people to this note) that “wow…my family’s really not that big…” I found myself going “wait..that’s it?”…I am MOST thankful for this. *sigh <3How we’re all growing up already…
I am thankful to be the last of 9 children to two of the best people I will ever know.
I am thankful for L I F E.
*sigh… :) This list will grow, I just know it. <3 <3 <3
Off to do my papers! :)
To feel a pain that is different from emotional pain doesn’t make someone crazy—
It makes them human.
To want to feel a pain that stems from somewhere other than emotions doesn’t make them crazy—
It makes them human.
It’s okay to want to feel pain
And it’s okay to want to hurt
It’s okay to want…
Just as it is okay to laugh
—it is okay to cry.
Just as it is okay to rejoice
—it is okay to mourn.
Just as is an introduction
—a farewell is as equally intriguing.
Feeling the want to let go
Doesn’t make someone crazy
It makes them human.
http://apps.facebook.com/chasecommunitygiving/charities/1002942?src=invite&cmfs_typeahead_req_form_4b06c8c6bd0e78534720666=Start+Typing+a+Name&ids[]=100000250118219&ids[]=633831333&ids[]=100000200010363&ids[]=1445912858&ids[]=762577575&ids[]=708613242&ids[]=100000404148105&ids[]=592553691
Walk to class
How pretty the air looks,
And how fragrant the tower is.
Green grass – so vibrant, I don’t know if my eyes are brave enough to face it
—What is being brave?
Is it protesting in front of thousands of people about a cause you care about?
Or
Is it walking to class on zero hours of sleep?
What
Is
It?
Who
Am
I?
I like how the trees are so friendly
How they wave every time I walk by them.
Look.
Look at how passive the bushes are;
Not willing to move, budge or even wink at me.
Reminds me of people I once knew
—they were “too good”…so I left them behind.
They’re elegantly frozen in a glass mirror that I look at every now and then;
I like to call this mirror my past.
—Nostalgia—
—of—
—the—
—good—
—that—
—once—
—was—
.
Blue walls,
How the sun knows exactly how
—how to choose its angle to touch upon the bed sheet in a manner that can capture my attention.
The blue on the walls;
The blue: my eyes are so drawn to it—
Happiness—
Is watching you as you so innocently eat your meal like a 3 year old.
So careless
So happy
So…mine.
Look at you.
Ad
Or
Able
Mai—ne
Your pale complexion—
Obedient hair
And pink lips—
The reflection of the sliver around your finger—
That is now my mirror.
—not one I call the past, but..
my present;
I am there.
And
You
Are
Here.
We’ve got eachother wrapped around our little fingers.
We
Are
So
In
Love.
And no one can do
En
E
Thing
About that.
Teal Winks
Silver Smiles
For
All.
Green grass
Blue sheets
Pink lips
Teal winks
Silver smiles—
All
Mine.
life has changed all around me;
I hate change—
with a passion of a million burning suns.
The faces I’ve grown so accustomed to — Gone.
My Heart — Gone.
My Mind — Gone.
My Laughter — Gone.
My happiness — Gone.
But one thing remains;
and it’s rooted in everyone that I’ve ever met.
My mom.
My dad.
My family.
My cousins.
My lo<3r.
My God.
My strangers.
My despise-rs.
Everyone
I’ve met
Has made me
NO.
Is making me
S T R O N G E R.
And that is something I can’t repay.
I may have lost everything to keep me strong;
But my WiLLPOWER remains;
I can have willpower and build strength, but i can’t have strength without willpower.
Laugh at me.
Yum, the smell of strawberrys with sugar.
You can’t bring me down ;)
When you’re having your worst day, I’ll be smiling love. :)
