A few weeks before Chinese New Year, my dad’s uncle passed away. Pancreatic cancer. When it was diagnosed, it was already stage IV. I can’t say I am close to him, since I rarely see him, being out of the country and all, but I do like him. I remember the first time I met him was during the first Gulf War. He had a mustache at the time, and I seriously thought he was Saddam Hussein incarnate. He spoke honestly and crassly, but I liked him.

( My parents asked me if I would like to accompany them to the funeral and stay for new years in Taiwan. For once, I felt a duty toward family. And this is where the story starts. )

this, on the other hand, is as dirty as it looks.

it looks dirtier than it is.

Tuesday, boy calls girl. She says she’s busy on Saturday. She has homework to do. Boy washes down rejection with a grilled cheddar and jarlsberg sandwich.

Thursday, girl calls boy. She asks when are they going out on Saturday? Surprised, Boy celebrates with a bowl of grapes, after agreeing 11 A.M. for dim sum.

( That was the introduction. )

I open the gate and see a familiar face walking toward me.

“You look great.”

“It’s just the same outfit I had for the wedding,” Angie answers. She has on a simple black cocktail dress with a short pink cardigan. Simple, yet elegant, but it reminds me that I should bring my overcoat just in case the weather gets colder.

( “I’ve never seen it before, and it looks great on you.” )

五年前一個悶熱的夏日，我從教室前跟著課本與朋友一起回宿舍，而你從我們面前走過，兩耳塞著耳機，咂咂的放著重金屬，手中拿著一本很艱深的書是本生物化學的基本入門。身邊那些的死黨應該是依照規則，在五年前遇上真命之子，三年前結婚，去年懷孕，三個月前生下了第一胎，肥胖的小男孩，屬狗，早在三個禮拜前就從算命師那求了一個陽剛的好名字。我並不是很清楚，我跟她們早就失去了連絡。

( 五年後，我卻學會放下以前不符實際的白日夢而屈膝在現實下， )

The ballet starts at 7:30, and I picked up the tickets at 6:50. Standing outside the bridge that connects Orange County Performing Arts Center and the nearby parking lot, the time is now 7:40. I suddenly remember that it had rained earlier that day; I walk back to the car and tuck an umbrella under my overcoat.

( The phone rings. I snuff out my cigarette and pick up. )

( company christmas party. )

baby boomers + open bar = hilarious.

more songs. i'm on a roll.

one. two. three.

for those who grew up in the nineties. i recommend song two. Power Ranger theme (sans-prozac mix).

and pictures that are long over due.


hula 1.

hula 2.

hula 3.


strangely, this was for midautumn festival, and not halloween. i don't know why. and honestly, i wasn't the worst one there.

new song.

this is to you, J.

Last night was about two girls. One that has been a continual support to me, the other, has just entered my life.

The night began with K. Picking her up from her house, in an area I vowed would never return to just three, four months ago, I rang the doorbell to unit C of a series of cookie-cutter Mediterranean styled condominiums. The street number was 365. I have come full circle. The condominium was set above a hill, on top of a long flight of stairs, over looking a strip mall headlined by a certain Chinese restaurant with indecipherable English names.

As she rushed into the garage, she told me that she would be out in just a second. As we were ready do leave, I kicked over the small placard to the god of fortune in front of her house. She giggled, “Oh my god, isn’t that really bad luck?”

( “Yea, I think so,” I cursed under my breath. After straightening the placard, I offered a small prayer and apology. )

join the revolution.

museumspotting.

i disgraced david duchovny's desk. and became e-famous. i know you want to be e-famous too!

I am not a person for celebrations. Fortunately, my friends understand that, and I was spared the awkward moment where I yell “get the fuck out of my house!” when the well-wishers throw their enthusiastic “surprise!” at me.

I am also not a person for clubbing. Unfortunately—I suppose this time, it’s actually quite fortunate that I went—Franklin’s birthday dinner, which i was conned into going moments before it was to take place, is followed by a trip to the infamous Paris Hilton hang out, Garden of Eden. I had no way out of it because I carpooled with him. Hey, I’ll do what I can for the environment, even if he drives a Mercedes SUV.

( Twenty-dollar cover charge. Check. Six-dollar shots of Patron. Double check. )

「我不會回來這裡了。」

聽到這些字，凌全身的肌肉不由自主的僵硬起來。她知道現在只要微笑，接著一聲誠懇的「你什麼時候走？」或是「什麼時候決定的？」就是最正確的反應，可是她做不到。她慢慢的把嘴角往上移動，把空氣從肺經由聲帶擠壓出來，就像以前做過的，就像以前在鏡子前練習過的。從很久以前，她對自己最自豪的優點就是不論世事有多麼的堅坎，不管內心裡有多麼的矛盾，別人絕對看不出她的掙扎。當同事篡位奪去應當是她的升遷，她也是甜甜的笑，説了聲恭喜，握了同事的手。在友人的婚禮上，就算她多不想到場、多麼忌妒，就算她多想在家裡倒杯好酒、念本好書，她仍然機械般的伸出右手，緊緊的握住新娘的手，左手輕放在相纏的手指上，燦爛的祝福那對新人。這是她還是青澀的社會人時慢慢磨練出來的擬態。笑容可以帶過一切，不管是真是假，只要笑，什麼事情都可以淺淺的帶過。

( 可是這次她做不到。 )

new songs.

a triple header this time.

It's two a.m., and I cannot fall asleep for the life of me.

I turn on the stereo. Beethoven's "Kreutzer" violin sonata fills the empty space with glorious arpeggios and sonorous chords. I light a Gitanes, and in the ash and smoke, a figure appears. I take another drag.

"Are you happy?" I asked. The apparition flickered, and then disappeared, leaving me with my own harrowing question, "are you happy?"

I lie down on the couch, snuffing the spent cigarette in the ash tray. The question echoed even as the first movement's adagio ended and in an act of sleight, transitioned into the andante. It seems happiness is a luxury I can't afford. But I am not alone in this quagmire. Last Saturday before we went bowling, I filled Chris in about my life, while Drew hammered away on Guitar Hero. After the third gin and tonic, we started to talk about our parents, and how parental archetypes shape one's view on relationship. We were one and the same.

Then I realized that based on my parent's archetype, I am fucked.

That epiphany gave me the strength to bowl the greatest game in my life, drunk or sober: I broke fifty.

Three-fifteen. I have work in 3 hours. I close my eyes, and the apparition returned to me. "You made me human," I said, "you taught me what it means to be lonely."

I open my eyes. It would seem that the same darkness resided there as well. The Finale is nearing its cadence, and so is the night. I stumble into the bedroom, collapse on the bed with my eyes still open.

It's been a month since I threw everything away. It's been a month of insomnia and dreams: terrifying dreams of the Elysian Fields, in which all my hopes come true. Then I awake, drenched in cold sweat and reaching for a cigarette.

The Kreutzer is on its third or fourth repeat. The sun rises, and I have yet gone to bed.

check it. tim hsu & min-hsu makes an atm run.

Cigarettes, alcohol and music would be the best way to summarize this past weekend. Whether at my apartment, or at a friend's house, I can be seen out on the patio—or balcony, if I was at an apartment—a drink in hand, and a lit cigarette in the other.

Conversations in the smoker's corner is always lively, or does it seems so because of the exorbitant alcohol consumed I can no longer tell. On Saturday, we were nostalgic for the olden days, or more specifically, the Clinton days. We were discussing at length the merits of Clinton's character, and how he was impeached for banging a Jew on Easter.

( Read more... )

今天是父親節，我沒回家，也沒打電話回去。我坐在餐桌前面，吃著昨晚剩下的義大利麵，血液裡還留著昨晚在朋友那裡喝的酒。胸口那兩條平行的傷口還在淺淺抽蓄，我已經不記得我是多久以前受傷的。喉嚨裡一坨濃稠的痰尷尬的坐在喉結上，是昨晚的便宜雪茄和啤酒留給我今天的禮物。站在流理檯前我突然想到小予今天要回北加，不由的感到有點落寞。「我們嚐過太多的悲傷。」前幾天她喝著紅蘋果奶茶對我說，咬了咬吸管後又加一句：「而且是那種下三濫電視劇裡才會有的那種。」我想想後也只能默然點頭。人生總會留下傷痕，下三濫的傷痕好歹也是傷痕吧。只不過現在我只記得是什麼割傷我，只記得受傷時的痛楚，而傷口流出來的不是血，卻是淚水。

( 我對時間的概念因該是隨著搬出來後的第二個星期一的日落失去的。 )

最近，我一直讓自己保持在一種忙碌的心態以不要去想這幾個星期所發生的事情。酒變成我身體裡少不了的一部份，而我的謬司卻隨著巴可斯遠離我而去。約翰走路是現在最熟悉我的朋友，孟買的藍寶石是我手上最亮麗的裝飾品。腦裡的旋律少了點感動；腦裡的角色也缺乏了點必有的活力，取而代之的回憶是酒肉朋友們在微醺的大氣裡炫耀著最近的戰利品和他們昨晚做愛時進出最近那管馬子幾次。觀眾們努力的隱藏著羨慕的不滿與淫蕩的忌妒讓訴說者更興奮，於是越說越投入卻也不會忘記當有女人在聽的時候裝出些靦腆的笑容才不會被認為是只會玩女人的傢伙。

聽這些故事時，我都會暗暗竊笑。竊笑所有被自己的陰莖牽著走的男人，只為了證明自己男性的雄威以及自己抵不過先天傳宗接代的衝動。在怎麼進化，人不過就是沒有毛的猴子。有在多的科技與文化，也不過就是退去了尾巴，退去了天真與無知。接著我都會不自主的在陽台上抽著苦澀的煙，想要自己靜一下。我唾棄那些人，不過我所恨的卻是我自己。

( 上次當我陷入低潮時，拯救我的是音樂。這次，我以為連音樂也棄我而去。 )

—你為什麼要抽菸？ 

我早就不記得了。我只知道我是在大學時抽了我第一根菸。躲在公寓的廁所裡，開著抽風機，蹲在馬桶上，邊咳嗽邊吸著空虛的味道。我把這件事怪在那時升學、工作、生活的壓力；不過現在想起來，只是我不想面對自己吧。 

我記得小時候我恨透了菸味。我父親的味道。甚至還逼過他戒煙，誰想到四年後我也開始抽。陷入的搞不好還比他深。 

( —你該戒了。 )