Perhaps

Perhaps
we are all poets
a little inside
we feel the undertones
the undercurrent
of a silent river
flowing
silent, but always flowing
and we feel the current
within us
even though we know not
the name of the river

perhaps
we are all musicians
and the songs of the winds
are just echoes
of our souls
and we chime in
we chime in when we run
and we listen for the breeze
like notes

perhaps
we are all artists
creating and making
as we have been made
have been created
and as all things are made
differently
so too are we different
but it is all still art
it's all still art.

Century Gothic

This is my 100th post on this blog. I don't know if that's a lot, or if it's one of those, I don't know, milestones waiting to happen. It's like driving 100,000 miles in your car. It's probably going to happen, but you take note of it anyways.

I wish I had a car, though.

Or maybe it's like reaching a certain age. Like when I turned 20. On that day, I noticed that I felt special, even though I had convinced myself that it was just another day and any uniqueness was simply a matter of perspective, that billions of others saw it as another day. Still, that day was unique to me, even if I publicly denied it.

Like New Year's. We have an arbitrary calendar, with an arbitrary beginning and end. So really, the beginning of the year could have started anytime. I guess we just need that day, a day to remind us that there's still hope for the future, that life isn't some unending and mundane linear progression, that if time can start afresh, so can we.

But look at me, running on with my sentences.

This is my 100th post. I should be writing about something profound! Something U-NEEK!

Or I could just sit here and stare blankly at my computer screen, switching my tab occasionally to Facebook, and continue my AIM conversations.

Or I could talk about what's on my mind. When your love life is this stagnant, sometimes writing about it is the only outlet. I don't know if I want to talk about my love life (or lack thereof) but I do want to talk about the perceptions of my relatives and their love lives, especially those Baby Boomers.

My Aunt Van has three kids, Henry, Bridgette and Christopher. Chris is in third grade so his time will come, but Henry is in his mid 20s (I'm being a bit generous, here) and Bridgette is a senior in high school. Naturally, my mom likes to talk about boys with her, and as anyone with a parent knows, talking to people who are 20 years older about relationships is not only a lost cause, but may incur permanent psychological damage.

Once, we started talking about how strict the family was, how only Vietnamese, Catholic options are allowed into the family. But my aunt wanted to clarify a bit further while still pretending to be opened minded.

My aunt says, "Bridgette, you can date anyone, as long as he's Vietnamese or Vietnamese and Catholic."

"So you're just saying she can date Vietnamese guys?" I ask.

"No," she replies. "Actually, she can date other Asian boys too."

We listened and she continued. "Japanese, okay. Korean...maybe. Indian, okay as long as he's rich. But no Chinese."

What?

"No Chinese, I said!"

Apparently, Vietnamese people are still mad at the Chinese trying to invade them 2000 years ago. My mom and my aunt then got into a big rant about how Chinese people always oppressed Vietnamese people. Talk about a grudge.

Recently, Bridgette visited the West Coast and Andy, aka Leroy (long story) took her on a tour of a few schools. My mom, being the classy matchmaker she is, suggested they get married. Pure tact.

But they were good sports about it...until we had our family reunion. We kept giving Bridgette a hard time about it and I think she was truly annoyed. But when has that ever stopped the ever-endearing Nguyen family?

We got to talking about couple names. Henry and his girlfriend Thu are HenThu, which I thought sounded like "hentai" (Mat: You've ruined their couple name forever Andrew. FOREVER.) and my grandparents' couple name is "Ong Ba." Yeah, we were really creative on that one.

But the best one would have been Leroy and Bridgette.

Ledgette.

Letting Go

As the new year rolls around, ready to pounce on us like a LOLcat on a ball of yarn, or just any cat really, it's easy to feel both nostalgia and hope. That's what year-end festivities do to us. They make us happy, but they make us recall the year that's been, and sometimes the years before the last.

I appreciate nostalgia as much as the next person. In fact, just yesterday, I hung out with two of my friends from St. Justin's. It wasn't weird, but I think they felt that I changed. For one, they thought I was smart still. Also, they were in the midst of me and my brother, so we were singing a lot...Needless to say, it must have been an almost surreal experience for them. Then we watched Scrubs, and I think I fell asleep because I woke up to Samantha about to suffocate me with a pillow while Francesca (quiet Francesca!) was recording.

Thus, I am not unused to nostalgia, as few people are, since it visits us every day. We don't always see it, but it does. And for those of us that do see it, and dwell on it, I contend that it's healthier to let things go. This doesn't mean that we should forget what makes us who we are, but if we live our lives in regret, won't that impede our future? Won't that even impede our present?

We need to let things go. Even as a culture. We gotta stop talking about Michael Jackson's death and Tiger Woods's infidelity (for the first, it's been 6 months, the second, who really cares?). I know how hard it is to let things go. That baby picture of your ex, that letter you wrote to me when we were 14, that prom picture we took that hangs out behind my closet. These things don't have to be thrown away, no. But they do have to be removed from our subconscious so we can move on with our lives.

Regardless of our need to move on, though, I really hope you threw away my thong. Please. Just throw it away.

Attached By the Hip

Last night, I was given a complimentary suite at the Sheraton San Jose, which is in Milpitas. It was a lovely room, similar to the one my Uncle San had when he stayed at the Element in Irving, Texas, except less contemporary (and eco-friendly).

I didn't want to have a party or anything, but I did end up playing Settlers of Catan. Things get crazy sometimes, and who am I to control it? I woke up around 2, and checked out at 4. Then Helen and I went to Applebee's because she was craving a steak. She got me two frogs for Christmas. One is a lot fatter than the other, so I'm naming them Kermit and Miss Piggy.

Anyways, the purpose of this post is to inform that I had a wonderful day today, even though it started late. My phone was out of service the whole day for reasons unknown, but I paid the bill yesterday. My throat has been in pain for the last two days, ever since I went to the Warriors game (beat the Suns<3), but even though I was hurtin' like mad today, I felt wonderful.

I wasn't near a computer all day, and my phone was rendered useless. I think it just shows how much happier I am without being rooted in technology. When we give into those needs to reach out, I guess I feel like we're losing a part of ourselves, asking ourselves to look outward and therefore be empty inwardly.

Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm the weird one who's missing that inward connection. I don't know. I do know that while few things truly made me elated, while I didn't laugh extensively, while I spent most of my time alone at home, I caught a tantalizing glimpse of what seems to be true content.

But seriously, why aren't my calls, and more importantly, my fucking texts going through!?

Hey

Hey, hey. For all of you who have read what's-his-face's works, James Joyce, in the vernacular of Gaelic dialect, in the Irish tones of the lost English. Well, speaking of stream-of-consciousness, here I go.

I have possibly, maybe, possibly, probably drank more than I have in awhile. This means, combined with my little food consumption, I am probably at the most honest level as I will ever be. HAHA. Jk. I am never honest. The thing with inebriation is that it reveals your true self, or rather, exaggerates those qualities in yourself that most represent the natural tendencies of your mind or soul.

Thus, if you have secrets that are simmering, brimming, ready to seep over the already boiling pot, then those secrets will more likely be revealed with a small percentage (relatively) of alcohol in your system. However, and contrariwise, if you are a liar by nature (as I am) then those very qualities will exacerbate in you, promote the verbosity and strangely undisciplined nature of your tongue. Ergo, this blog entry.


More to come later.