Nightmares

A bit after midnight last night, I readied myself for bed. Because I was a fool a few weeks ago, I failed to return to school with my bedsheets. Initially, I panicked, since I would have to buy bedsheets yet again this semester (Two years in a row?! Seriously!?).

Anyways, I obviously underestimated my foresight and found, to my elation, a sleeping bag I tucked away in case I had a friend spend the night or something. Of course, everyone knows I have no friends, but it was simply nice to pretend.

The point is that for the last two weeks, I have been sleeping in a sleeping bag and a makeshift pillow I created by stuffing one of my favorite poofy jackets in the sleeping bag...bag. That's a weird phrase isn't it? The sleeping bag bag. The bag for my sleeping bag. It's like putting a suitcase in another suitcase.

Well, according to Kel in the classic made-for-TV-movie Two Heads Are Better Than None, you need to pack multiple suitcases within suitcases "in case [you] lose one."

Thus far, I have not been able to return home to fetch my sheets. I don't mind the sleeping bag too much. If anything, a nice, warm bed is not a conducive study environment. However, after last night, I'm thinking about changing the whole aura of my slumber space.

I had a nightmare. For those of you who are faint of heart, read no further. Well, I'm only saying that because I'm probably overestimating my ability to tell a good ghost story, not toast story.

In my dream, I was kidnapped by a group, headed by a female leader. She looked reminiscent of the lead singer in Feist, sort of a hippie-ish young woman, bangs cut straight in the retro style. Actually, the whole group reminded me of the band.

So I was kidnapped. I think I was kidnapped because I had an agreement with Feist look-alike, and for some reason or another, I was unable to meet my end of the deal. The deal had something to do with meeting them at a street and handing them a case that held contents beyond my knowledge.

Anyways, I couldn't do it. I think I messed up on the case. I must've brought the wrong one because they were pissed when they saw it. The kidnapped me, taking me to their hideout or headquarters or whatever bad people call their abode. They chained me to a mattress without sheets. WITHOUT SHEETS.

Then they took a dead body that had been cut at the torso and placed it next to me to keep me company, presumably. Only his upper body was there, the contents of his guts trailing haphazardly around his half of the bed. They called him Stodge.

I was terrified to be in the presence of a carcass. These people were vicious, bloodthirsty and ruthless. Every night, Stodge's eyes would haunt me, pleading to spare him of a fate he didn't know was inevitable. But I knew, and I still was helpless.

After a few nights, when the stench of Stodge's decaying organs was at its height, the kidnappers burst into my room. I saw a light from outside. I was still terrified.

A lady was screaming as she backed into the small bedroom that held me prisoner and left me with only half a cadaver as company. Was I being saved? Could I finally return from hell? Was there a bathroom?

The answer was obviously no. Even if there was a bathroom, I was chained so I couldn't use it. In my dream, however, I didn't need to pee.

I did want to scream, though. The lady backed into the room, held by the wrists above her head by a large, brutish man. The silhouette of the short-banged female kidnapper approached the silhouette of the screaming lady, who seemed of similar age. A knife flashed, reflecting the once-heavenly light that I hoped was salvation.

That light quickly became dull. My eyes winced as one female stabbed the abdomen of the other. Once. Twice. Thrice. She stabbed a fourth time in the stomach and slashed down. Blood was on her forearm, slowly pouring on the floor. The man let go. The dying woman had stopped screaming and opted to moan, then vomit.

Except her vomit was pure blood. She wasn't quite dead yet.

But apparently she was just in the right shape to be placed next to me. She spasmed. I thought I saw Stodge cringe and make a face as if to cry, then I realized it was my own reflection I saw from the pool of blood the dying lady gave to the mattress as she was placed in between me and Stodge. Her eyes dulled, and she died, taking any hope of salvation with her.

I didn't make a sound. The stabber was wiping herself. And I waited to hear it. Every night since I had been taken captive, they would remind me. I waited for the words like clockwork.

"We're going to kill you soon, Andrew. Very soon."

Every night, I waited for those words and for my fate. I was held many nights more, until the putrid smell from the blood and bodies became my oxygen, the maggots my friends. The stained mattress was my only comfort and the open eyes of Stodge and the dead woman my mirrors. I was alone but always in humbling company. Only when I saw others dead did I begin to imagine my own life being taken away.

"We're going to kill you soon, Andrew. Just wait."
"WHY!?" I would cry back. "WHY DO I DESERVE TO DIE? WHY DO I HAVE TO WAIT? KILL ME NOW! KILL ME NOW! WHAT DID I DO?!" But my tears found no reply, my screams no acknowledgment.

"We're going to kill you very soon, Andrew. You're going to die. You're definitely going to die."

They had one more job for me to do. I had to do it. Even if I fucked it up they would kill me, so I might as well do it right, with the off-chance of mercy. They let me go back home. The job was similar to the first. I had to deliver a case.

The case was at home apparently. I went to my mom. She wasn't as worried as I thought she would be, knowing her in real life.

"Mom," I cried to her. "I always talked about being ready for death, living my life as if I would die right away. But right now, I'm not ready. There's still so many things I have to correct, so many things I have to do before I go."

"Take this guitar case," she told me. "It's full of cash. Give it to them to see if they'll take it as ransom instead of the job."

So I did. I met the gang at the appointed spot with the guitar case full of cash. It must have been $2 million dollars worth of bills in there. I cried when my mom gave it to me.

They looked through the contents. Surely this was enough to cover their expenses many times over. The men who were sent to retrieve looked at each other. Maybe I could be spared. Maybe they won't kill me.

They took the case and me along with it. My soul finally understood that I would not survive. I was going to die soon.

This is where it gets kind of weird. In the car ride, a number of things happened. Firstly, the top was off and it was an old 70's convertible. The speed bumps were uneven and made me jump in the back seat. The three guys in the front were happy, and why shouldn't they be? They weren't losing their lives anytime soon. The two men not driving actually kissed each other, which was bizarre to me not because homosexuality is bizarre, but because they were so free in public.

"Please," the driver scolded them. "Not in public. She'll kill you if you draw attention."

I also lost my wallet on the way. A nice policeman stopped us and found a little girl who had it.

"Now, now," the officer chided the girl. "You can't keep that if you found it. Hand it over."

She did so reluctantly, pouting.

We continued to the house that held me in hell. I was back in the room, both corpses still there, lifeless. My horror returned. It was silent this time as I was chained to the stained mattress, lacking in sheets.

When were they going to kill me? The suspense itself was death. I decided I would take my own life first. I would try and kill myself. At least then, I would know my fate and be in control somehow. I wanted to die, to end this everlasting hell.

Before I could, though, I heard laughter. An audience and a stage. I heard them. I was confused because I was still alone in the dark, lifeless room, only a body and a half my company.

I asked out loud, "Aren't you going to kill me now?"

"Oh no," the female leader laughed. "We're just actors, dude. We're not going to kill you at all, Andrew."

"But you guys killed these two!" I cried, still deathly afraid.

"We just like using lifelike props."

Stupendous

The week after my birthday, I received a call from my good friend, Winnie.

"Hey! Did you get your card?" she asked me excitedly.
"Uh, I don't think so..." I replied, concerned.
"Oh, did you check your mail yet?"
I thought.
"No, but it's been awhile. Wait, did you send it to my room?" I asked.
"What?" She exclaimed. "You never told me your room number when I asked for your address!"
So I told her my room number.
"It's not going to help me now!" she yelled in a way I hoped was jokingly.

About a week later, she rang again.

"Did you get your card?" she asked me, a little bit less excitedly.
"Uh, I don't thi-"
"Check you mail."
So I did.

I got two cards, one for my birthday and one for Christmas.

The Christmas card, while sweet, was not quite as hilarious as my birthday card.

A pig with a turban is sitting on a ledge, arms spread in wisdom. Two piglets with backpacks stare at him, hanging off the edge, but waiting comfortably. They have climbed the mountain to listen to the wise sage. On the back of the wise pig is a hole. Large coins are littered around him.

"Remember," the wise pig says to the young adventurers. "Change comes from within."

I open the card up, and inside, it reads,

Happy birthday to someone who has always made a lot of "cents."

And thus in this blog do I impart my cents upon you, my readers.

Adieu.

Observational Ramblings

Skype seems to be a genuine method of communication. I would use to think that it was time consuming and cumbersome, seeing as how the phone was simply there and easily accessible to my texting/calling whims.

But it seems with the right people, the right combination of personality and friends, I have been able to accept this once-frowned upon method of communication.

So yes, I am wasting lots of time.

In other news, my good friend Jagmeet Chuahan turns 20 today. He started off the day rough (ask him for details) which lead him to swear never to consume alcohol again.

Yeah, it was THAT rough. But, at the end of the day, we spent a dinner with him and although the bastard busboy at El Torito f@#$ing forgot to get him the free desert and sing to him the jovial Mexican cumpleaños tunes, I do hope Jag enjoyed his time with his good friends. I know he reads my blog, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIG GUY! May Allah extend his blessings upon you. =)
^Wow, that blessing almost sounded legit...

I was talking to Sean today before we entered El Torito, and he brought up a good point. No matter where you want to eat, in the end, whomever owns the birthday gets to decide. You simply cannot force your desires on someone else's day. If Jag had chosen to eat at In-N-Out, we are spending time there and eating our asses off, Sean said.

I was SO ready to eat 2 4x4 burgers. That's one more goal of mine.


More surveys coming soon! =)

Facebook Notes

I logged onto my Facebook the other day as I do every so often (hourly, really), and I was somewhat surprised to see that I had been tagged in a note. Now, I knew that I hadn't recently hacked onto Sean's account recently or anything, so I knew it wasn't some grotesque note about Sean's sexual tendencies (I do love those notes. You guys should check them out). Also, I knew it wasn't one of the Andrew-Writing-As-Sean notes because I had tried to write one a few weeks previously only to find that the moron had changed his password.

Jerk.

So it was to my somewhat pleasant surprise that Christian Deguzman tagged me in a random survey about random facts, entitled "16 Candles". Now, in the old days of MySpace notes and Xanga subscriptions, to which I'm sure many of you still follow, surveys were plentiful and manifold. They were generally pointless ramblings, asking about specific questions regarding the surveyed. And normally, other people were chosen to continue and spread the survey love. They consisted of lame questions on random things, about which I knew few people really cared. In short, I generally despised them, seeing them as a cheap, easy way to fill up space and time.

Regardless of my blatant disrespect, however, I filled a few out, contributing to the insignificant myriad of words to waste time. We all have done things about which we may not necessarily be too proud...especially in boredom.

Anyways, the purpose of this rant is not to condemn surveys, even though I must add that they are worthless and pointless. The point of this rant is to fill out another one. Mr. Deguzman was not the first to tag me in such a survey. Helen Nguyen and Tiffanie Lee have also graced me with mention. Thus, I am triply obligated to fill out this crap myself.

I particularly enjoy this one because while most surveys ask random things, this one simply asks to write anything. That freedom itself makes it appealing. That, and the fact that a 2 hour lecture at 8 in the morning cannot possibly sustain its excitement in the allotted time.

Oh, and my last note was a result of a tag from Francesca Lomotan. Thanks, Franny =)

"The brief: "Once you’ve been tagged, you have (can if you want) to write a note with 16 random things, shortcomings, facts, habits or goals about you. At the end choose 16 people to be tagged, listing their names and why you chose them. You have to tag the person who tagged you."" -Xtian

1. I'm a huge fan of Disney films, mostly musical films made after The Little Mermaid in 1988, which was technically the beginning of what is now known as the Disney Renaissance...

2. I once wrote a lengthy research paper on Disney and the Little Mermaid.

3. I've seen close to 800 films, and my favorite three are Beauty and the Beast, Pride and Prejudice and Lost in Translation.

4. I love my friends more than anything. I value interpersonal relationships above all else, and my religious views stem from this (See previous entries).

5. I usually don't do things in moderation. I'll eat a meal or two a day, but they'll be meals large enough for two healthy people. If I work out, I'll go as hard as my body can humanly handle (or if I cramp...), but I seldom work out. I either pull all-nighters or sleep in excess of 12 hours at a time. I am a child of extremes, but I'm trying to change it.

6. I was born in Worcester, Massachusetts and moved to the Bay at an early age. This justifies my being a fan of the Celtics, Patriots or Red Sox. I'm not a fan of any of the three, but I could justifiably be one! (PS Go Warriors and 49ers!)

7. Before my current permanent residence (what some call home), my immediate family had never lived at one address for longer than two years. My former addresses include 609 San Miguel Ave. Santa Clara, CA, 95050; 1454 Don Ave. Santa Clara, CA, 95050; 244 Smithwood St. Milpitas, CA, 95035; and my current address. I lived in two places prior to the San Miguel house, but I was too young to remember the addresses.

8. When I was young, living in a duplex before we moved into the San Miguel house, I was once woken up by the sound of a police interrogation in the middle of the night. For some reason, I was sleeping in the living room that night. As it turns out, the Mexican family to whom we let out the other side was in the middle of a feud. That night, the husband stabbed his wife and killed her outside our place. It was all over the news, and our house was on TV and everything. I wasn't scared because I knew it was over, and the guy was caught. They were survived by at least two daughters near my age, who were then raised by grandma. The mom was buried out front. Her name was Charlotte.

9. When my brother and I were younger we both had our own favorite bedsheets/blankets. His was Barney and mine was the original Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers. While Matt's Barney blanket was soft on one side, mine had the Power Rangers on it. A fair trade off in my opinion.

10. Though I'm an Eagle Scout now, my first Scouting experience was as a Cub Scout in Lien Doan Ra Khoi, or Troop 285, in San Jose. My first camping trip was horrible. I think I cried and missed my mom. I remember doing push-ups for doing something wrong. Looking back, it wasn't so bad, but I was new to it, and probably whiny to begin with. I was then a Boy Scout in Troop 74 until my parents moved us to Milpitas, where I joined 101 Lac Hong, which later split into 101 and 111, Lien Doan Hoa Lu. It was with 111 that I earned Eagle Scout. I know this doesn't make sense to lots of you, but I hope it was random enough.

11. I played the flute for a year in 4th or 5th grade. Manly, I know.

12. In second grade, I pretty much thought I was a badass, flipping off all my friends and whatnot. Then I transferred to St. Justin's in third grade. I suddenly became the only Vietnamese boy, and one of like 5 Asian kids. It was weird, and I was quiet and shy around these people until I left them in 8th grade. I mention this because I got in trouble my first few weeks for pretending to flip someone off. The jerk told on me. I learned.

13. If I ever come off as someone who is very aware of his grammar, I attribute all such awareness and grammatical knowledge to my middle school English teacher, Mrs. Wayne. She had us write often in our headings, "English is my favorite subject in the world!" and had us analyze and diagram sentences. *Shudder*

14. I secretly love and enjoy analyzing and diagramming sentences.

15. I used to play with Barbies with my cousin Phuong, Chị Bé, when I was much younger, but it wasn't like dress-up or hair-combing play normally found in young female circles. It was more like I-have-control-over-someone's-fate play where I enjoyed controlling or living vicariously through the dolls. In my defense, GI Joe dolls are played similarly, but yes, it's still feminine because they're Barbies. And lastly, for some reason I can't seem to understand,

16. I'm still single. I'm picky too, so that may have something to do with it. But I'm sure the Barbie thing doesn't help much.

DHDH0809 (Jan. 7)

Every three years, the Dong Hanh family, a Vietnamese Christian Life Community, gathers at the De Paul center in Montibello, California. Though the intricacies of the organization of Dong Hanh still elude me, I DO understand that my parents have dragged me monthly to a prayer group since before I can remember. As it turns out, some of my closest friends have grown out of this family prayer group, and as I write this, I am waiting for them to call me so I can drive back to Northern California with them. The years have not been able to break down our friendships.

And yet, when we think we have found our particular group of friends, just when we think we have found the ones that will stay with us and no one else could possibly offer similarly, we are proven wrong. We know nothing of the workings of the world or our destinies and paths of life. We are forever oblivious, naturally, of our future, bound only by our knowledge of our past and the continuing confusion of our present. Still, we have no choice, and we leave ourselves open to both pleasant surprises and painful risks.

Dong Hanh is the Vietnamese equivalent of a Christian Life Community, an organization of prayer groups that consists of thousands of Vietnamese across the United States and Canada. Every member of Dong Hanh shares a common heritage, but more importantly, shares a common faith. My mom grew up with many members of the Dong Hanh family so as expected, I was born with a strong Vietnamese Catholic mentality. When we moved from my birthplace in Worcester, Massachusetts to sunny San Jose, California, my family quickly established a Dong Hanh group, consisting of four or five families (possibly more, my memory stretches not that far), from which I would significantly derive my Biblical and social understanding (or lack thereof for all you comedians out there).

At first, these monthly meetings were a chore, forcing me to read and understand a text that was beyond my scope. In addition, these meetings were fearsome and intimidating, since I had little knowledge of the Vietnamese language. The language of my parents and their friends was one of subtle inflections and immense vocabulary. English itself was difficult to learn in school, but I was now forced to learn a second language simply to keep up with my parents. Fuck, I mean, screw that.

But as much as I wanted to run away from the Vietnamese in a different way than my parents ran away, I could not escape the inevitable, the unchangeable. Years of Vietnamese catechism, toiling away in classrooms every Saturday afternoon for years, thrust me constantly into a Vietnamese awareness for which I would eventually thank my parents, no matter how much I begged and complained and screamed to escape. Every Saturday afternoon captured the epitome of hell for me: A tender dose of Catholic teaching followed mercilessly by a whopping serving of Vietnamese grammar. For seven years I was tortured until I saw the light, both literally and spiritually I guess, in the seventh grade when I was confirmed into my Catholic faith.

I had finished Vietnamese school, as we called it, even though I had not learned an ounce of Vietnamese. However, I was definitely exposed to Bible and that has influenced me very strongly in my knowledge today.

My life story aside, I am Vietnamese. The Vietnamese Christian Life Community, or Dong Hanh, group to which my family adhered was called simply “Family Group.” I would learn later that Dong Hanh groups across the country would have much cooler names, but I’m not writing to complain about my obvious jealousy. I’m here to relate a recent experience I had.

Every three years, the National Dong Hanh convention gathers. Vietnamese Catholics form all over the nation convene to organize the next three years of national CLC events and all that crap (like I said, the Dong Hanh organization still eludes me…).

Three years ago, my family decided to join them. As a matter of fact, my parents had already been to the national convention a few times, as made evident by their semi-obnoxious shirts riddled with Biblical verses in both English and Vietnamese. This time however, in the blasé winter of 2005, as the years wound down, ready for the slick ’06, we spent our time in Southern California.

My brother and I had developed a certain attitude for things my parents wanted to do that was related to Church. As antagonistic as we were, however, mommy and daddy won out, and we abandoned all plans in order to follow our parents into the unknown darkness that was Dong Hanh.

We had the time of our lives. There was not much of a Youth Ministry in Dong Hanh at this time, so the kids were generally left to their own devices. Sensing this, I found anyone I could who was around my age or my brother’s age and we just played. We did everything together, sharing meals and losing sleep. Our parents were off to do their own thing, so we had no other choice but to enjoy our strangely acquired freedom. I met kids from all over, Han and Francis from Montreal, Stephanie from Maryland (I think), Linh, An and Tam from New Jersey, Savio from Arizona, Mark from somewhere in SoCal, Steve from UC Irvine, Paulina from New Orleans and fresh from Hurricane Katrina and a crapload of others. We owned Dong Hanh, and they didn’t even know it. There was no way they could have had as much fun as were having at that moment.

And when it was time to leave, we were all extremely happy with the new friends we made and were sure we’d have a life experience that would be unforgettable. My brother Matt claims we made a promise to come back in three years, but I don’t remember that.

But three years came. The rather sultry winter of ’08 bled slowly into ’09 and once again, Matt and I found ourselves unsure whether we wanted to go or not. Some of the people we met last time weren’t going to make it, so what was the point. Plus, there was no way it could have been the same as last time, right?

Right. There was no way it could have been the same. It was different this year, and in many ways, much more awesome. All the beauty we captured as a small group three years ago was magnified a hundred times fold. Simply by virtue of a greater population of youth, we were able to find a greater ability to enjoy ourselves.

Familiar faces made themselves apparent immediately, as Han and Francis smiled from Canada and Linh, An and Tam made themselves known.

“Andrew, do you remember our names?” An and Linh asked me.
“Linh and…”
“An,” my brother whispered, out of hearing from the two sisters.
“An,” I finished emphatically.
“Oh, damn,” An replied, evidently impressed. Matt saved my ass many times more afterward.

I then found myself tying bows onto index cards with people’s names on them. I had no idea why I was doing it, but Tam had asked me, and I had followed. There were people with matching red T-shirts walking around, apparently part of a group to which I had not yet been introduced, but I kept my head low, tying and curling the pretty bows…And yes, I lost man points.

That night, we all introduced ourselves, and obviously, I remembered no names. The names tags did not help either, since after that first night, few people wore them. But a night of games and fun forced me into slumber around midnight. Those of you reading this may realize that midnight is early for me. While this may be true, those of you who are reading this may also realize that I pull all-nighters more often than is healthy for the normal human being. It was the night after one of these notorious all-nighters that I had stayed up to meet all these new people. I was tired as hell.

From midnight, I woke up 18 hours later around 6PM, just in time to make it to the evening mass. I had spent little to no time getting to know my new friends, but I reasoned that I would eventually have time to get to know them better.

What transpired over the next few days, I cannot explain. I can only relate the hundreds of thousands of stories and inside jokes that were made, but even if I did so, it would not do the reality justice. All I can say is that there will be few jokes better than the ones to which I laughed this last week, few friends better than the ones I have made, and few experiences greater than the ones I have shared.

And for sure, there will be no love more profound than the love I gave and received. For in trying to avoid God as much as possible before this week and my entire life, I only found Him more true and ringing in my heart and soul through myself and through my friends.

No matter how much you try to avoid things, they will always catch up to you. As I have found, those that do find you and make a lasting impact are always worth it.