counting stars

lately I've been
I've been losing sleep
dreaming about the things that we could be

hello world

Woke up 29 and feeling fantastic.  Happy birthday to me!

code blue

The Last Bookstore in LA, 2013

Medicine
is sucking
the artistry
out of me.

deus ex machina

James:  literature is just different people telling different stories.
me:  literature is different people telling the same story.
James:  that's complexly simple.

ennui.

Musician in the Rain (1957), Robert Doisneau

This day / this month / this year, I feel jaded / restless / uninspired.
Life feels redundant and I need a change.

hark!

Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a special
providence in the fall of a sparrow.  If it be now,
'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be
now; if it be not now, yet it will come:
the readiness is all.

- Shakespeare's Hamlet

through the looking glass

UCR campus, 2013

I went on a date last night.  I arrived horrendously late because of traffic.  We opted for a hole-in-the-wall place, my favorite, where we talked of travels and art and school and travels again.  I'll never understand the need to elaborate (unprompted) on all the places you've been to like it's some sort of feat.  But with the night still young, we walked over to a nearby pub.  The lights were dim and all the tables had newspaper for place mats.  Live music echoed from the front of the bar as we made our way to the back.  He told me more about his job, about his mom being a psychologist, about his former best friend and the friend who's now taken his place, how they met in college at Chapel Hill, how they both wanted to go to law school, how the guy used to be a staunch conservative until his trip to Bangkok ... I sipped my Guinness as the band crooned its rendition of Marcy Playground's "Sex and Candy"in the background.  You always drank Black and Coke.

You did the night of our anatomy midterm when you dragged me out to Bananas for a quick bite that ended in us coming back at 4am.  You wore a green V-neck t-shirt with those cargo shorts with the faint floral print with brown sandals.  We were sitting on the bench in front of SD5.  The air was crisp and I was tipsy and rambling, but you were looking at me like you could listen to me forever.  You then launched into the confession that will forever be ingrained in my memory where you'll always be out on the balcony, looking out against the evening sky.  It survives alongside the splash your feet made in the water when I flooded our apartment, the face you made when you tried that bitter black drink on our layover, our countless grocery lists, the hum of our transformer, the feel of your hand across the table at Aquarium, the curl of your hair against my cheek on rainy nights, the look on your face at JFK the last time you were mine and I was yours.

Everyone keeps asking how I'm handling your recent big news.  I tell them how much I support you.  I explain that it never would've worked between us, that we knew this would happen from the start, that I want you to be happy.  And I do, so very much; I love you more than my need to be selfish.  I love you enough to never see you again.  But the ugly truth is that I'm a mess, and all of this is breaking my heart.  When did being with people become so lonely?

summertime sadness

I think I'll miss you forever

like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky

later's better than never

even if you're gone I'm gonna drive

kiss me hard before you go

- lana del rey

in case you didn't know

the juice
it drips and drips,
the heart
it beats and beats,
the lines of your fingers
the way your scent lingers
I fall and I fall and I fall.

purple does something strange to me

Crossing the George Washington, 2013

I've been in an introspective mood lately.  I suppose it's natural when your life solely consists of work and study.

I spent half of this year surrounded by people.  I was texting constantly, seeing friends often, dating someone across the country and yet I felt so lonely.  Something was missing and I just couldn't seem to patch the hole.  In the last month or so, I've stopped returning phone calls.  I ended my short-lived never-should've-happened relationship.  I did it for pragmatic reasons of studying, but I think part of me just craved the solitude.  I've been using external band-aids to fix internal wounds.  Is 8 years too long to find forgiveness?  Maybe it was foolish to think it could've taken anything less.  Either way, this must be what metempsychosis feels like.  Something familiar is coursing through my veins and it feels like the crisp air at 6am, like the glow of late night lamps, like James Joyce and I are friends again.

albatross

Lately I've had a storm in my heart that can't be quelled by any deep sigh, any good book, any loving man.  It follows me around, is across from me at coffee shops, in the corner of my bedroom, in my ear with every song.  I know I have to put it out myself; I just haven't a clue where to start.

there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled

a space

and even during the
best moments
and the greatest times

we will know it

we will know it
more than ever

there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled
and

we will wait
and wait

in that space.

:: Charles Bukowski ::

hellooo

I stopped writing because I stopped taking pictures.

But that's a lame excuse.

My most pressing thought currently is that New Jersey's fickle weather has my sinuses doing somersaults.  And I am not an acrobatic person.

magic

Sandra’s seen a leprechaun,

Eddie touched a troll,

Laurie danced with witches once,

Charlie found some goblins’ gold.

Donald heard a mermaid sing,

Susy spied an elf,

But all the magic I have known

I’ve had to make myself.

- Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends

the long haul

Carriacou Island on a mini-vacation with S, A and D, 2011. After some rain, the sun was just beginning to peak out.

March 16, 2006; 2:15am

Anh called today and in the span of 20 minutes, the last 21 years flashed before me. And I cried. To Skot. For the years passed, for those to come, for those unfolding uncontrollably before me.

But things picked up; they always do.

Walking home I saw a single cloud feign as if it were swallowing the moon, the dying incandescence of the glow diffusing across the sky.

And I realized the beauty of life is in its abuse. Beating, kicking, waning, falling, life runs away and you chase down long, lonely corridors of endless memories. But now and then it lets you win; you catch life in all its intangibility and you spend the rest of your days searching for that high.

----------------------------

January 30, 2012

My own whining is starting to bother even me. At some point the whole world enveloped around me and I can see nothing beyond my own troubles. I forget the bigger truth and the bigger goal to be "a force of nature instead of a feverish clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy", to quote Shaw. Luckily it's never too late to learn and you're never too old to change; it is a leap year after all.

coming home

Wednesday, July 26, 2006; 1:06 p.m.

I sit at Northern Lights, finishing off Mildred Pierce and taking notes on a napkin. Between chapter turnings and the whir of nearby espresso machines, my mind wanders to last night, to my paper, to my messy schedule. I think of those deliciously comfortable sandals at DSW yesterday meanwhile knowing I should stop shopping. I thought the same then, before buying a pair of black, close-toed heels. I've got 29 perfectly good pairs of shoes at home. I've got about 11 pairs of sunglasses collecting dust on my bookshelf. I've got 15 or so hand and shoulder bags hanging languidly in my closet. I've got a problem.

I'm not a slave to brand names. I don't need expensive things, flashy things, class-conscious things. I just need things. New things. All the time. I've become desire driven and involuntarily self-indulgent.

I think of the disparities between monetarily delusional Westwood and barren, desperate Rialto/Colton. I'm carefree and comfortable in my parents' house, sleeping/dancing in my room and reading/chatting in the study. I lounge on the couch, watch tv and basically eat my parents out of a home. But once I step outside the house, soak in the town, soak in the people, I wonder how I ever lived there. I feel every street, every store, every house sucks the life out of me. I run errands for my parents when I'm home, leaving my neighborhood to pass dilapidated buildings and ratty metal fences. I pass apartments with broken windows and equally broken families. Dry, yellow grass half-heartedly pokes through the ground, hoping someone will think of them. Men pass by with sun-baked, orange skin and sweaty countenances while women stand in grocery lines in clothes too tight to conceal their post-pregnancy bellies. People drink to oblivion and devour STAR magazines, wishing their years had been different. Humidity waits to slap you around every corner as you make grandiose plans to save the deflating bubble of mighty dreams. I live in a town where you run for your life.

I'm afraid I don't belong there anymore. I've been tainted with bigger and better things. After living here, do we ever really go home?

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.