the tango

Taken at Grand Anse Beach where Saurabh and I always go for massages. I like that the clouds were pregnant with rain (and it poured shortly after). Who says beaches are only beautiful on sunny days anyway.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006; 2:51 a.m.

Dear Reader,

How are you? I'm beat, and it's late again. It's been quite a day, partly good but mostly just plain long.

My stomach's in knots and lodged in my throat. I opted not to write a paper for my American Lit class but rather to write a parody. I'm parodying not one novel but rather, a transposition of two. I'm describing the character through the eyes and words of another character, as told by another author, as told by me. I'm calling it "Forty Two" (the next chapter in the book), as my mind thrashes to suppress memories of you. And her. You and her.

I built its framework at Literati Cafe tonight, drowning in the buzz of the people and noises around me. It's all I can recall as the people and conversations of the past 2 weeks blur together in my mind.

I've got this project. And a Milton final. And some meetings in between. But then it's a night out, a celebration of the end of it all. And then it really will be the end of it all. How bittersweet.

Dear Reader, I want you to savor this moment. And this. And this. And this. I want you to pull them off your clothesline of seconds and bottle them. Send them to me some years later so I'll remember you once cared what I thought, so I'll remember our lives crossed once. Even if just briefly. Like now. And now. And now ..

nostalgia

Taken in good ol' New York a couple weeks ago on a day trip with Loan, Saurabh and Thy. We paid homage to the Met, naturellement, and I went to my first Bodies Exhibit! We ended the evening with a lovely dinner, casual yet chic like only New York could do.

My days are winding down toward two finals this coming week so I haven't much to update about unless you want to know about tropical parasites and hereditary diseases. But I wanted to update. So instead, I think I will revisit some old Xanga posts for a while. It's always interesting to remember who you were.

September 2007

I went to a wedding a few weeks ago for a guy I grew up with and hadn't talked to for 12 years. I remember going to his house with a friend when I was 8. He sat on the floor hunched over the coffee table, shaggy haired and wearing a faded purple t-shirt. He was taping a jigsaw puzzle together to frame and was the first person I'd seen do that. I remember thinking how weird it was as I always did my puzzles again and again that I could finish my 1000 pieces before 2 episodes of "Doug" had ended. What a waste of a puzzle, I thought. I stood in front of the restaurant, waiting for my parents to finish gabbing with some people they'd run into. Outside was this giant picture of the couple on a beach, her running away in a giant white dress and him chasing after her in less of an "I love you forever" sort of way and more of a "please don't leave me on our wedding day" manner. Why on earth would you choose this pose? And then to blow it up and display at the entrance? Immediately inside was a table of skinny grinning girls wearing all the makeup they owned. Behind was a scurry of people, talking and walking around shaking this hand and that. I stood alone and somewhat overwhelmed that I'll ask the groom where the groom is. I don't even know what he looks like. In fact, I don't even remember his last name. Then a guy came out of my periphery and before I could even say anything, he hugged me and said, "her name's Phuong too".

I was touched that he even remembered me. We had several small conversations throughout the night as he nudged me playfully, but that was it. I left without saying goodbye. We never exchanged numbers, and I'll probably never see him again. For most of my life, I've been a surprisingly sentimental person. I keep people in my life and in my thoughts for the sake of once strong friendships, but I've accepted that sometimes people grow away and apart. And that's okay. It doesn't make you a bad friend or a bad person. You obviously didn't have some steel-forged friendship, but you still had a good one and in the long run, I think that's enough.

"Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by time" -- Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God. The picture was taken last year at Venice Beach with Chris.

I started the summer with the simple goal of reading 10 books and I'm proud to say that a few days ago, I finally met it. The list is:

1. The Kite Runner -- Khaled Hosseini
2. The Family Man -- Elinor Lipman
3. The Life of Pi -- Yann Martel
4. Catcher in the Rye -- J. D. Salinger
5. Crime and Punishment -- Fyodor Dostoyevsky
6. Eat, Pray, Love -- Elizabeth Gilbert
7. The Glass Castle -- Jeanette Walls
8. On The Road -- Jack Kerouac
9. Love The One You're With -- Emily Griffin
10. A Thousand Splendid Suns -- Khaled Hosseini

While I'm glad I met the goal, having one at all kind of sucked the purity out of reading, if that makes sense. I believe reading should be organic, should be for the soul and I suppose that's why being an English major became such a struggle. I wasn't doing it out of love anymore and how aimless my days are when I lose sight of that.

I was just talking - or rather hopelessly rambling - to someone about the wonders of LA, its nuance, its colors, its soul and while spilling on about all the things I miss about it, I had the gut wrenching realization that I never went back to any of it this summer. Two and half months at my disposal and nothing. I never saw a single play. Never went to a single museum. Saw a single jazz band. Took a single photo for myself. And what gets me is not that I never did any of this but that I never even THOUGHT about it! Who have I become? I refuse to let med school and its toxic people suck the personality and values out of me.

Blades of grass in my backyard taken this morning. I edited the photo and added a touch of sepia on top. It was supposed to be on the bottom but Blogger doesn't seem to want to cooperate these days. Perhaps it's time to change.

I recently tried to volunteer for Planned Parenthood, something I've always wanted to do. They have this opportunity to speak to middle schoolers a few times in the fall, but turns out you have to be 18-24 years old, the "college ages" they call it. Apparently once you're 25, you become an adult in the eyes of adolescents who will now go back to rolling those eyes and completely ignoring what you have to say. It's becoming harder and harder to believe how old I am. I know it's a petty complaint, but hell, it's freaking me out and come this October, I'm sliding down the other side of the mole hill. I still remember my own "you're not old" reassurances to others. Nothing ever seems like a big deal until it happens to you.

paper planes

Taken at Lake Casitas in Ojai, CA in 2008.

Life is funny, somber, irate, bipolar. Sometimes it takes me through windy canyons and dilapidated sanctuaries, long forgotten hither and yon. It keeps me guessing, keeps me sailing only to show itself once again, center stage and throwing its script for the masses to see. Life, your mood swings give me whiplash. But I keep following, keep chasing, keep wanting because the greatness buried at the heart of you is so enthralling, so invigorating, so worth the journey. So let us go then, you and I, through certain half-deserted streets, the muttering retreats .. let us trust that the end is worth it, and never let go of its promise.

tenon's space

Taken by Chris today from UCLA without me :( I changed the colors. In the background is Powell Library.

Today marks day 5 or so of cloudy skies. It rained last night and today so the hallways permeate with the earthy after-the-rain smell. Walking up to my place today, I thought of third grade at Myer's Elementary School where the hallways would permeate with after-the-rain earthworms, lying haplessly on the ground as girlish giggles led boyish tennis shoes, their soles lighting up as they ran. I thought of Mrs. Taylor's big multiplication chart and the race to see who would memorize it all first. Diane was my competition, a raven-haired girl with a pretty face who was all smiles on the outside and pure evil on the inside. It's like girls come out of the womb crafty, but I digress.

I think I have such a soft spot for rain because I associate it with most of my childhood. Rainy days forced you back inside and I remember sitting by the window sill watching the water wash over the street and the pitiful tree outside my room. I remember dreaming of some man being so fascinated by me like Darcy by Elizabeth. I remember dreaming of being a doctor. Traveling. Learning how to play the piano. Moving out and being on my own. Being on 'Jeopardy'. The Nobel Prize. It didn't matter what had happened that day or who said what because I was going to go places. I have a soft spot for rainy days because it takes you back inside to a place where things can still happen because you believe they can. I think I've since forgotten how to get there and I wish there were more rainy days to help lead me back.

Lisztomania

Taken at the Griffith Observatory at sunset in November 2007.

I've been absent from everything lately because I thought it would help me concentrate and focus better. Rubbish. I lost touch with myself and reality basically. Why shouldn't you walk down the avenues you enjoy? Put on your dancing shoes now and then? Reach out to people you need? It keeps you sane. It keeps me sane. At least now I know.

I made an emergency call to my twin in LA last night because I've been carrying around such a burden and I needed to talk to someone lest I burst and give up. He could've told me I'm doing fine, that I'm a rock star and I have no flaws, but instead he told me I'm screwing up, that I'm getting lazy and I'm forgetting the basics, because he loves me. I've spent most of today just taking responsibility for everything I've done and for who I've become. It's liberating to know you're both the cause and the cure. Back to the drawing board.