I just finished a book called Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow.

Well, to say I finished it is a bit of an exaggeration… 

I’m not sure if this is a common thing, or a me thing or maybe an ADHD thing. 


Probably a combination of all of them…

But sometimes when I know what’s going to happen next, it’s absolute torture for me to have to sit through everything that has to happen before that thing that I know is going to happen and its inevitable resolution at the end of the book. Especially or maybe even because, “the thing” is usually THE bad thing. 

And that happened to me right around chapter 22 and as soon as we started chapter 23. 

And when that happens…

I know the story is over for me

I read summaries and skip to the end when I’m right. 

If I’m wrong, I’m never disappointed that I skipped ahead.

I know there are a lot of people who find what I do, appalling. Perhaps even disrespectful or irreverent for the artists’ work. 

I can’t necessarily disagree. 



But there is enough drama and nuance of pain to experience in the real world that I have no qualms with picking and choosing my battles when they are elective. 


Besides, endings are sometimes just like the beginning of a book to me. Something I think this book understands. The last chapter is like a book’s second chance with me, much like the back cover is to me when the front cover of a book fails to provide enough information for me to take if of the shelf. 



 

In the end, this book covers so much it’s hard not to be amazed actually. I think if I were to pick out a word to describe what this book has spoken to me, it’s “spectrums.”


Spectrums of relationships, sexism, culture, racism, disability, abuse, ambition, generation, shame, grief, parenthood, identity, pride, death, consumerism, power, commercialism. It even touches on gun violence and abortions. 



Sometimes there is no good guy or bad guy. You just do as much as you can with the rest of the life you have. And there are fights you can’t win, but there are also fights that you can, and you won’t know which is which unless you try. 


Did I like it?... I don't know. Would I recommend it? Yeah... I probably would.

This book is a bit like the period of your life you never want to revisit.
The part of your life that was unexplainably painful.
But also filled with nostalgia and flecks of beauty.
The part of your life you learned the most from.

And so I don't regret reading it. I also don't regret skipping over half of it.
But it is wonderfully written. Full of game references and philosophical questions and concepts. Characters and stories are well depicted, hidden, revealed... beyond my intelligence and I am grateful for my time with it.

There's a line in Hamilton that spoke to a deep seated part of me that I rarely discuss.

"I imagine death so much it feels just like a memory"

It's less that I would imagine manners of dying. Just the concept of it and its inevitability.

When I was at a young age, I was so convinced that I would never make it to high school graduation.
I can't tell you exactly why, it's not like I really ever did anything especially risky.
But for some reason, I was just convinced my life would end before then.
No fear, no sadness.
Just a fact.
Perhaps even an acceptance.

Perhaps if I try to dig deeper into it, maybe it had something to do with the idea that I just couldn't believe in a future for myself. 
Color me surprised when I reached senior year and had to think about my future beyond, applying for colleges I never thought to care about, for a career I never truly believed I'd have.
I distinctly remember reading a book series and realizing that the final book would not be released until the next year, the summer after my graduation, and sitting there in surprise that I'd made it this far. 

 

Things have changed now.
I'm curious for the future, while I can't see what it looks like, I expect it to be there and wonder what it will reveal.
But death has never left me.
Despite every milestone I cross.

It walks with me, almost like a stray cat.
It keeps me company on my walk through the woods.
It weaves its way in and out of the trees,
sometimes walking beside me,
sometimes preferring to stay hidden,
sometimes disappearing into the brush.
Some days it leaves a dead bird on my doorstep.
A gift perhaps.

In some ways I started to welcome death.
The final release of responsibility and my sorrows for the world.
To not have to hunger for healing or nourishment or fulfillment. 

But I made a deal with myself a long time ago, never to seek death out for myself.
In some ways... in my mind death has become something I must earn. 

I fear pain as much as any other sane person in the world. Perhaps more.
But death itself...
My fear, is dying when I haven't earned it.
Caught unprepared, my oil lamp empty. 

I fear the words I wouldn't have said to those I've left behind.
I fear the troubles I might leave for them.
I fear leaving behind a void rather than a filled cup for them to cherish and savor beyond my existence. 

I fear the pure fact of my arrogance for these ambitions.

I fear loss to some extent, though I don't always admit it.
I fear the pain that death can cause for the living.
I fear the intimacy of death, the messiness of it, the decay.
The reckoning with an empty shell. 

I fear death for others, because they either despise it out of fear or rush towards it without thought. 

 

Perhaps the image of death with a scythe is actually the closest to my mental imagery of it.
But the scythe they draw with death is not the weapon. It's the tool.
It demands respect. But acts without malice.

 

If I should die before I wake...

I hope those around me know without doubt, that I loved them. To whatever extent. That I saw them and I loved them. 

I hope that I've added enough to their lives without being a loss when I'm gone. 

That my absence is familiar and almost comforting. 

That they smile when they think of me. 

That it doesn't hurt if I'm gone. 

That I genuinely gave them something good in some way at some point. 

I hope you know I admired you. 

I hope you know that you're beautiful and I was so happy you existed. 

That your existence gave me so much comfort. I was so content just knowing we lived in the same world together. And I only hoped you were living well. 

That I learned so much from you even if I couldn't show you and you didn't see it. And I wish I could tell you every single thing so you would know. 

I hope you believe it of yourself. And of me. That I truly found you to be something to be grateful for and I was so happy to have met you. 

...I pray the Lord my soul to take. 

 

How did you get here so quickly? 

How, in such a short amount of time, did you manage to worm your way into the crevasses of my life? 

Somehow you're in everything I do now. 

Did you mean to do this?

Did you mean to make yourself the first person I think of when I wake up?

Whether it's waking up under the weight of a blanket that makes me feel safer when you're gone...

Remembering how it felt to wake up to your arm around me.

Seeing the dinosaur you won for me that one night...

Remembering how you disappeared and called me right when I started missing you to tell me to find you.

Turning around to see if we're still in the call I fell asleep to...

Remembering how easily I'd slide into sleep with you near.

Opening the damn pill organizer you got for me...

Remembering how you remind me to take care of myself and the things I struggle to do. 

Putting on the onesie I wear to stay warm when I'm trying to figure out what to wear for the day... 

Remembering how you set up a heater for me so it would be easier for me to get out of bed.

How are you suddenly everywhere?

How did you manage to make each thing just another reminder of ways you care for me. 

Did you realize that would be how I started my day everyday? 

Just loved by you? 

Did you know it would make me remember to take my vitamins? Especially the vitamin C you swear by, even if you've gotten sick more than I have this year. 

Did you know it would make me remember to pack some healthier food for lunch because you might ask and I'd want you to eat well too. 

I put on my shoes and I still have that scar from the blister of walking around San Francisco with you. 

I get to work and pull out the heating pad that keeps me warm in an office where everyone else feels normal. 

Reaching down to press my hands against it when they get cold...

Remembering how you would warm them when you were here. 

There's more. There's so much. 

When I realize it. 

When I look back at it. 

It's terrifying. 

How deeply rooted you are around me when you're not even here. 

But I water those roots. 

I let them grow. 

Wild and foreign as they are...

They show me new things. 

Give me stable ground. 

I climb higher on them as they grow with me. 

They remind me of you. 

Your strong protection.

Your firm foundation. 

The way you push yourself 

and lift others up around you. 

They make me miss you. 

They make me miss the real thing. 

But I'll sit under this tree that you grew for me. 

Make my home in it. 

Until I can see you again. 

Bewildered is the word. But is it even the word?

Is there a word for this?
For something that feels like it's both tearing me apart
and wrapping me so tightly in its arms that nothing could ever divide me?

I feel like I'm caught in the waves of an ocean storm,
Tossed back and forth by unforgiving waves.
Overwhelmed by forces beyond my own strength.

And laughing with the wind.
Blissfully wrapping myself in the roiling waters,
Finding a peace I didn't know existed.

I'm caught in you.
Split on the edges of a hundred paradoxes.
Bound together by a strength I didn't know I could have.

I am so lost.
Tumbling through the water,
Closing my eyes to feel the waves break on my skin.
Opening them to a world I don't know.
And feeling like I am exactly where I'm supposed to be.

I feel full.
Bursting.
Barely holding it together.
Overflowing with everything you've ever given me.
I am Generosity.

But I am hungry.
Starving.
Craving more of you
Every day that I don't have you.
I am Greed.

For the first time, I'm afraid of dying.
Sure, I've been afraid of pain and loss.
But Life was a long day.
And Death was a sunset.

And yet...

To have even lived this long.

To just experience this. 

To experience you. 

To love you.

To be loved by you.

How could I complain about losing all of this?
When it means that I had you to lose?

I am yours.

To have. To lose.

I have wandered off the path that was beaten down for me
Here the brush is verdant and wild
I stumble through their reaching arms
Branches and burrs clutch and cling

Their hands batter and halt my step
Their fingers write on my flesh in black and blue
Their persistence consumes me
Their numbers confound me

and yet I love them. 

Green and alive
Shadowed and defiant
Unapologetic in survival

this is my crusade
to witness their existence
and attest to their glory.
I will carry their stories to the fire.

1) He told her to kiss him, So she did

2) She didn't know when she'd lost her heart but she found it in his sleeping arms

3) She did everything she could

SO... I'm struggling. Get ready for a stream of consciousnesssssssssss

I keep realizing that I'm attaching these labels to Lily and Inara: weak/afraid/courageous/strong Which is exactly what I'm trying to call attention to.... or is it?

LABELS
I want people to know that they both think they're strong.
They both think they're doing the right thing. And that's just who they are, they were created that way.

ME OR THEM?
I keep pouring parts of myself into each of these characters which I guess was only to be expected, but I'm not sure that's really what I want.

I think people are automatically assume that Lily and Inara are supposed to be personas of myself.... ARE THEY?
 I want to say no, because I can't really say that they are.
I suppose I'm most like Lily, but there are moments where I'm nothing like either Lily or Inara, but I also wouldn't call those moments "Mia moments"

There are days when I wear the Lily t shirt and I think to myself, "I am Lily."

There are moments when I'm putting on makeup and getting ready to step out of my comfort zone and I think into the mirror "You are Inara."

Does that say something? I am Lily and my reflection is Inara. Should that be the point I'm making? Is that what I want to say?

Figuration
I don't know if I want them to be real or like the spirits in A Christmas Carol. I want them to stand out from the rest of the world. I

  God has been showing me just how much he is involved in my life. I realized at the end of the last year that as much as I believed, I didn't have my identity in Christ and there were parts of my life that I wasn't giving up to him. I had been having a really hard time for the year leading up to that and I so desperately wanted things to change and I wanted to be His completely. I prayed for God to radically change my life, and I prayed for him to open my eyes to the ways he was working in my life, as well as praying for specific areas of my life that I knew I needed Him to be in. And he gave me very clear answers. Answers about my romantic relationship, my family, and my school life and career. Currently, I am single, I probably have ADD, I'm closer to my family than I've ever been, and I'm still working on my identity but I'm not so worried about it anymore. God is giving me the ability to love again but to love from His ever flowing fountain, not from my own.

What can I say?

So much can change in a year

Most of these photos are actually from my good friend Michael Vo. I took mostly film shots that weekend, but there are a couple shots of mine that I'll mark.

I can't believe it's been a year since I left this place. It was a true cosmos amongst the chaos for me.

A small group of my home town friends decided to go beach camping together at a place called Camp Merryeland. People usually hear me saying that I hate the beach, sometimes I even trick myself into thinking that too. But what I actually hate, is the noise and crowded cacophony that comes with the vacationers that flock there. That, plus the constant awareness of beer cans and toxic trash embedded into the sand, the attacking seagulls.... you can see why people think I hate it. But I actually love the sea; I used to want to be a marine biologist. Though I was never a strong swimmer (or a swimmer at all) so I never actually got to spend much time in the water. There's something so enthralling life underwater, where flight loses it's meaning because everything is already flying.

Anyhow, being there was all so surreal to me, mostly because I usually never get to go to these types of outings because financials or protective parents were always in the way. A few of us arrived a day later than the others because of work, but lucky for us we missed out on all the chaos that ensued that night before. We arrived right after a huge storm passed through the camp, the heavy rain flooded the tents and the winds threatened to blow the tents away. By the time we got there the others had already set and cleaned everything up and gotten deep into the sixpacks and jungle juice. Most of them drank enough that night to have mellowed out in their party urges for the rest of the week haha.

We spent the days

I want to know why something is good, not because I want to analyze it. But because I want to be able to then use that information to recognize the beauty in other things. --0

I'm here to reopen the case of the effects and implications of negative knee-jerk reactions as it is applied to other people. Recently, I've developed the theory that many of these reactions often stem from developed biases and can plant a seed of prejudice slowly creep into our beliefs and actions. While typical and generally benign, I think it can often choke our ability to reach our full potential for love and respect and thus induce significant losses of respect that would be otherwise unwarranted.  In the process, I'll have to define an understanding of the negativity that term "ew" here, represents, as well as discuss the distinctions between human and natural knee jerk reactions.

In this specific instance, the situation is of thinking "ew" as an internal reaction to a girl wearing too much makeup because it could be a sign of little confidence.

The more I think about it. The more I realize that succumbing and giving into mental health struggles such as depression and anxiety and even my ADHD symptoms, is a luxury. As well as a privilege.

That is not to say that it is not right for us to do so, but only that indulgence can do us no good.

Of course, only a thought in the shower could have compelled me to come back and write.

We live in a strange time. Where there is no war in my country and crime rates are lower than ever.  And yet, as I run soap and steaming water over my skin, I wonder if that skin might feel the piercing blow of bullets pass through it by the end of the weekend.

I've always been afraid of large crowds. Large miracles can quickly become large catastrophes when humans congregate in masses. I work for a company that organizes community events that are free of charge for those attending. As they are free of charge, it is also the goal that all are welcome, but this opening of arms also means that we are opening ourselves to vulnerability. With all that has happened and is happening, all it takes is one. One person, one minute and suddenly 60 people are dead or wounded.

So, now only time will tell. Whether or not I will have bullets in my body by the end of the weekend.  Whether I will watch people fall around me while I run and spare no regard for the sounds of their limbs hitting the pavement. The grunts of impact as something hits them in the back, a scream of pain and terror. Only time will tell if my nightmares will become my reality. It's no longer ridiculous. It's no longer a work of fiction.

*2 shootings since i wrote this. 4 in the past week

I tried to tell myself that I would draw instead. 

But I found that my hand would lose heart after the first few marks. I forgot how to have faith in those simple little squiggles and lines. 

But I never stopped searching for words. I started writing for others, hoping to find an echo that would tell me what I wanted to hear. 

And my words lovingly bent to fit into the puzzle piece sides of the minds I wrote to. 

But with that, came the realization that true love never craves a matching piece. 

After all, no one fits together perfectly. 

The grooves of our minds are the cuts of keys, ordained to open doors to sights that no other can see. 

To love someone is to love what they can show you. And echoes are the loneliest sounds in the world.