092040 @092040 - Tumblr Blog

Who is there but you, the soul, to listen to the silence of a heart breaking?

The flame's last flickers, waning even in the current of the wind, had come to its end—embers fading, dust willowing away.

Many sleepless nights listening to the hums of the AC

Yearning soul empty on mindless thoughts

Questioning why life is full but the heart is not

Is this how seemingly happy people leave without a trace?

Mother's Sacrifice - Part 2

Like a mother bird nurturing her fledglings, I saw Mom learn to let go. Maybe up to this point, her wings were constantly being clipped whenever she spread them, flapped, ready to take off. Maybe life as an Asian woman raised with traditional values with so much burden and emotional trauma weighed her down, despite how much she wanted to fly. Maybe due to this fact, I witnessed the turning point when she realized that no matter how comfortable and big she built her nest, birds were meant to eventually fly.

I first saw the disappointment in her eyes when she came to pick me up from school, just like any other day, but on this day, her silence was deafening, her face stern, brows tight. I asked her what was wrong, she demanded I stay silent. The short drive home was silent, just the motor of the car and traffic in the background in between our alternating breaths. It wasn't until we got home that I realized the disappointment, frustration, and sadness she was holding in.

My sister had run off with her then boyfriend to get married. News had reached home and both my parents were at a loss for words. In three day's time, as per tradition, his side of the family would come pay their respects. I smiled through the windows when I saw my sister. She too would become a mother of her own and make her own sacrifices. But as a fledgling barely ready to fly, she was received by Mom with whips from a wooden stick.

Out of love, out of worry, and maybe the pure disbelief that a young girl would make such a choice. I knew my parents loved my sister, she was the only girl of six kids, the eldest, smart, responsible, and had so much going for her, what was going on in her mind when she ran off with this boyfriend? Years later, while babysitting my nephew would she recall this moment. I listened as my mom's disappointed voice lectured her between whips, her cries tugging at my heart.

This was a sacrifice that my sister had made for the better of all the siblings. The first one out of the nest, tumbling, falling, but flying nonetheless. She unlatched the door and stepped outside alone, left home, left the door unlocked for us. I would forever be thankful for her bravery.

In the following years, I tested my luck. Out of peer pressure and the longing to belong, I signed up for after school track and field without my mom knowing. Shockingly, when I told her, she told me she would make time to pick me up after school every night after practice. Something had loosened after my sister left, the mother who was once very strict about after school programs and having all her children be home after school no longer worried.

As a part of my routine of going to school, going to practice, and meets, my mom would regularly show up to pick me up, no matter the time, no matter how long ago the sun had set. It was during one of these routine drives after a meet that I would come out to her. I did not have the courage to tell her, instead, I went to my sister, who I asked to talk to her beforehand. They were close, they confided with each other, they were like sisters. Mom was the only child and her daughter was like her own sister born from her flesh, bone, and blood.

She naively asked me whether I needed to see a doctor and asked whether anything was wrong. I calmly told her that this was just how I was born. No doctor could fix me, I told her. Even I couldn't fix myself, denied my own identity, hated myself and wished for death to come visit as I cried my eyes out many nights. She did not lecture me on this drive, she did not cry, she only told me to be careful. Maybe deep down inside, she always knew, and now that it was true, she was imagining how hard life would be for someone like me.

As the years went by, I kept on testing her, flapping my wings, getting ready to fly. One summer, I left to help my best friend at the time and his family with their restaurant business in Michigan. Up until the day she drove me two hours to the car ferry to cross from Wisconsin, she cried.

"Are you leaving me because I am poor? Is it because I don't make enough money and can't provide for you?" she said, tears streaming down her face. No mom, it's not because you are poor, but it is that I am poor, useless, and have to rely on you for all my needs, and my desire for independence that I was leaving for the summer.

"No mom, I want to make my own money, so I don't have to rely on you. I am not leaving you, I am coming back," I told her. Maybe it was part jealousy and sadness that I would rather spend the summer months with another family than my own that brought on her sadness. Nonetheless, she drove me, two summers in a row.

In the coming years, I stayed the fledgling in her nest and attended college while living at home, though I rarely was home, and when I was it was to crash on my bed at 11pm or later some nights, depending on activities, homework, or projects. Even on weekends, I would be involved with volunteer work or events. She rarely saw me, I might as well have gone to school out of state. Regardless, she was happy when she saw me or when I was home.

I brought home my college friends, shared her home with the people I cared about and in turn she became a surrogate mother for my college friends. She welcomed them, she encouraged them to come over as she knew they were also far from home. In the five years I took to complete my undergrad, this was the routine.

When news broke about my admission to graduate school in New York City, she was prepared. I had slowly primed her for my departure. Her child was leaving the nest, literally ready to take flight. My adventurous and independent desire no longer phased her. She encouraged me, helped me pack, flew with me, and toured New York City like a tourist with me for the firs time.

We had gone shopping for the small dorm room I was staying in and we were all exhausted. She and my friend were staying at a nearby hotel on St. Mark's, a 10 minute walk from my dorm on 12th Ave. Everyone was going to take a nap and rest before meeting for dinner. In that moment when I laid by myself in the dorm room, for the first time, I felt homesick. I questioned myself, this decision, this life I was going to live for the next two years. I wanted to quit to go back home, to go back to comfort, but I couldn't, I was already here.

I stayed.

Four years after working in NYC, an opportunity presented itself to move abroad. I took it without a second thought, only when all my furniture was bought by a Chinese mother who had just moved to NYC to be closer to her daughter did I have that same dreadful feeling of uncertainty. What the fuck had I done?

Who was crazy enough to pack up a comfortable life to move across the world for work? Me.

In the two years that I lived and worked in SEA, Mom came to understand and see that I would never be close to home. All the events that had happened during my teenage and college years came down to this. She called me one night and asked me to find a home, whether it was to come back to Wisconsin, or a home in SEA, it didn't matter. She wanted her child to have a home.

At long last, she acknowledged and gave her approval.

Her child has left the nest spreading his wings all over the world.

#part 2 #mother's sacrifice

Mother's Sacrifice - Part 1

Growing up, my parents were over-protective of my siblings and me. All for good reasons, they had gone through war, seen children die in the jungles of Laos and ultimately feared being in a place that was still so unfamiliar to them. Latch-key children, we were told to lock all the doors and windows when my parents weren't home, close the blinds, shutter all visible areas that would signal that anyone was home.

Often, we would huddle up on the sofa, binge watching horror movies, screaming at the top of our lungs or dubbed Hong Kong or Bollywood films in the darkened living room, sunlight barely creeping in through the crevices of the drapes and blinds. In the rare occasion that we were bored, even courageous, I would say, we would unlock the back or side door and venture into the enclosed back yard.

We would run around and play tag, or set up a can and try to knock it down with our flip flops while trying not to get tagged by the guardian. We would frolic in the temporary freedom while my parents were away, it was only natural, we were naive, we felt freed, unlike my parents who were still chained by their traumas of war.

Our laughter would become silence the moment we saw my parent's car pull up on the driveway. Fun and games turned into pure stress and fear as we scrambled through the door back inside. Voices raised as the car doors opened, my parents would warn us of our misbehavior, waving knuckles in the air, telling us of our fate the moment they came inside.

We scrambled back to the sofa, face half hidden underneath our blankets, waiting for our punishment. In retrospect, it felt like prisoners who had escaped their cells for a moment of fresh air, only to be corralled back inside by the firsts of authority. Sometimes it was bare hands that delivered the punishment, other times the metal ends of the flyswatter, wooden chopsticks, anything flexible with the ability to whip back into shape.

I don't hold a grudge against the punishments we received, I think it helped shape me, it was done in a way that stressed and indoctrinated me into the mentality and mindset of "stay in your place, behave, and don't cause anyone any trouble." I want to believe, I am a better person because of their disciplinary actions that swayed me to make more rational, responsible decisions growing up.

While many times it was us kids rivaling my parents, there was a memory of when Mom first learned how to drive. She had gotten her license and we had begged her to drive us down the road, only a five minute drive to the park so we could taste freedom and run around at the playground, swing to our heart's content.

We all watched, holding our breath as she backed out the hatchback out of the garage. The right side of the car parked too close to the garage wall, backing out, we saw the side mirror smash into the garage door, bending backwards, falling onto the ground. Our hearts dropped. We were all in trouble. Mom drove the car slowly back into place and we went inside and awaited our punishment.

My dad came back and Mom explained the situation. They argued and Dad had told my mom to be careful, not to do unnecessary things while he was not home. I remember Mom being sad and saying how sad it was being holed up day after day not being able to do anything. The issue blew over and because of one mistake, my mom would become the dependable safe driver, the teacher to all my siblings, myself included, to learn to drive, carefully through any weather.

She too, was a prisoner in her own ways, a woman without a proper job, without education and language, and a newly acquired driver's license. She was so much more than what was holding her down. Little did I know, the things she would sacrifice for her children to have a better life experience.

#mother's sacrifice #part 1

Third cycle, third day, drowsy eyes, body, void of motivation to get up and get the day started.

I tell myself, maybe it's just the drugs, but aren't they supposed to make me feel better? Happier? Less exhausted than I already am?

Who knows?

I've carved this path for myself and I'm afraid of climbing out of this deep ditch road. It may not be the right way, and I may never know.

But the feeling of unknown scares me, at least while there are lingering financials in the air.

Breathe.

Tomorrow, let's start again.

Like a horse, sensing minute changes, subtleties.

It makes me uneasy, like ants crawling down my spine, agonizing.

Silence fills the air

The start of a frenzy—the silence before the stampede.

I feel it coming.

Communicate, I plead.

I cannot read minds, but I can sense the mood and energy.

For if we don't, this too shall end.

The Great Loves - Part 3

It was your birthday a few days ago, K. Happy belated.

You are the one I continually write about through these words and thoughts in cursive, the one tied so close to the cosmic longing so far out of my reach in this lifetime, emotionally. I sometimes wish you would find these confessions and letters to you and confront me, the coward, and ask me why I didn't just speak up when I needed to.

I met you here, of all places, connected through writing and sharing silly posts. What a time it was to be alive, silly teenagers spending late nights dreaming of futures yet to come, to hold each other in the palm of our hands, through audio and cellphone waves. To dream of a potential future then—we were so naive, yet so in love.

I never forgave myself for the decision I made based on my so called "righteous" decisions then. I made a mistake, I admit it. I broke you, I broke us, I broke me. Even then, I was too ashamed to apologize and to ever speak the words that would make the 'could have been' been. You are so close, yet your heart now so far like the cosmic longing I feel buried deep inside my soul.

I wonder where we would be, if I had the courage to pick up the phone, apologize, and selfishly asked for your hand. The would be and could be possibilities fill my body like insects eating me from the inside out.

We will never know, will we?

We were just teeangers when K and I met, coincidentally on Tumblr.

Living in different time zones, good mornings and good nights became a usual thing, like lost souls reaching out into the darkness, holding onto whatever we could at the time. We turned the dark into our comfort, voices comforting one another.

Patiently naive, maybe even dumb, dreaming of one day meeting. How silly, two broke boys so far apart, clinging on to a promise not yet made, silly but still free.

We both felt it when I said those words. I remember your voice your words, and they repeat through my head, even over the years as we have spoken, you joked about it, but I could still hear the hurt in your voice. That was our time, probably our only time, when the stars aligned, when life placed me a fork in the road, I made the wrong choice. Things ended.

We watched as each other burned, rolled around in the fire of others, hurt, never speaking what we both knew were at the tips of our tongues, riding on our lips. Were you also scared K, or was it just me? Were you just waiting for me to apologize, to say sorry, to ask you to do the unthinkable and ask for you back? Or is this just all delusional fabrication of my mind, to make up for the shitty asshole of a person I am? Probably the latter.

It hurt, when you were hurting. When I could not do anything. It was like seeing you walk away slowly, chasing after you, but never catching up, wishing you would turn around, but you never did, did you? Or maybe you looked over your shoulder when I had stopped to catch my breath. I don't blame you K, what I did then was stupid.

We went on through constant cycles of one person being single while the other wasn't. Kept in touch through distant messages, checking up on each other once in a while. Phone calls while chained, unable to speak our truths.

K, I hated myself for letting you go. I can never forgive myself.

Through heartbreaks in New York City, I called you in the middle of the night, in silences, crying, selfishly, without a reason, you listened, you never asked, just waited until I stopped, and we'd hang up. During these nights, I wanted so bad to tell you K, that I wish things were different, that if I wasn't so stupid, so naive, maybe then, we would be on the same paths.

I never worked up the courage to tell you through the tears and I'm sorry.

Even now, though all tears have dried up, when I think of you, you are the only well of tears that are infinite.

I took you for granted K. I don't expect you to forgive me, as I won't forgive myself.

I wish you nothing but the best, the happiness you deserve.

I miss you K. Thank you for loving me and letting me love you from afar. The lesson of us has guided me to this day, to love unapologetically, to hold on dearly to someone because life is fleeting, moments woven in space, two threads momentarily crossing.

Thank you again.

Cosmic Longing

I was briefly reminded about a door I had closed long ago in the acceptance that I would never find anyone who could truly understand my soul. It creaked open letting out a rush of emotions ready to burst through the crack.

I contained it, held back the tears.

There will never anyone who will understand this cosmic longing.

I closed the door, no keys needed to lock, this intense surge of energy and emotion will drive anyone near away. There's no use in locking away something that no one will dare to come close to.

Until my body turns to dust will my soul continue on the cosmic journey home.

Sometimes, when I look at old photos of myself, for a short moment I forget who I'm looking at.

The Great Loves - Part 2

Before I met A, I had gone through whirlwind of short-term, unhealthy relationships. While some of them lasted longer than I thought, all of them had one thing in common, they should have ended sooner than later, but my stubbornness pushed against the will of what the world was telling me.

Through the betrayal and abandonment that T left me with, I'd learn later in life why I stuck through these relationships, though they brought me no benefits, even after the lesson I needed to learn had been learned. In hindsight, they were teaching me something more valuable and were helping me shape me into the person I would be today.

The last relationship before 8 left me with bitterness and a sort of self-hatred and disgust with myself. It was a long journey of healing and learning to love the person I was. My trust in people who would hold a part of my heart was fragile and with that fragile trust came a host of toxic behaviors that I was too afraid to consume me in any relationship. They would surface like monsters under my bed and in my closets before anything substantial could come to fruition.

In many cases, these monstrous tendencies were a blessing in disguise. They taught me much about how far I was willing to go and how low I had sometimes stooped, showed me a side of me I wasn't willing to accept. I made many mistakes, spent too much time on people who were not worth my time, but also let go of people who could have been.

The early stages of dating A were pleasant, but like any other relationship I had faced, came with its own challenges.

This would be the first time I would be asked about an open relationship. And for the first time in my life after 8 years of loneliness and pondering, I knew my answer. The younger and naive version of me would have been ok with it, to please, to do anything not to be abandoned, but this mature version of me said 'No', it was all-in or nothing with me. I was done being second choice, an afterthought.

I was being tired of being someone's "You're too good, you're too perfect, I can't be with you," kind of excuse. If I was too good, too perfect, then why the hesitation? I didn't need these half-assed excuses. I gave A an ultimatum and I left him with the decision. I was clear with mine.

Over the next 3.5 years, A loved me, unlike anyone else. A was the great love that healed my broken soul. While we were not perfect and we had our flaws, our disagreements, and our differences, A smoothed all the sharp edges of me that were a result of my previous traumatic relationships.

Things had gotten so bad 2 years into our relationship that any small thing he did or said would trigger the deepening anger within me. In tears he said, "I don't know what to do, it seems like everything I do, you are upset." And he was right. I reflected like I once did with how I was reacting towards my own family. All the little things he had done that irked me went unvoiced, went unnoticed, and built up, overflowing at the seams.

His genuine consideration and sometimes FOMO made simple tasks, decisions, and outing frustrating. While I knew deep down inside, his intentions were genuine, the feeling of false choice and back and forth drew a hard line with me. I acknowledge this with A. This is who he is and who he would be, with or without me and would I be able to live like this?

3.5 years into our relationship, I think we both could feel an unspoken tension. While we loved each other very much, our goals, visions in life, and desires were starting to drift further and further apart. On a Friday evening, two weeks after our anniversary in February, A mentioned something I had asked him each and every year. In my own selfishness and desire to create a more seamless experience between the life I led in NYC and with my family, I asked A to show more commitment, to slowly become a part of the other side of my life. It always became a tense conversation.

Ultimately, that night became the deciding factor of our relationship. I was old enough and had gone through enough to understand when I should walk away. "Who knows, maybe in ten years, I might decide that I don't want this anymore," A told me during our conversation and debate about what I wanted from a committed relationship.

"I don't need anymore uncertainty in my life, there are so many unknowns already," I answered.

I didn't want someone to be with me with unclear intentions. Sure, there was the future to unfold, but without clear intentions, I didn't want to be just another ride as a part of someone's life. So I left that night because I didn't want to be a second option. A would have to decide for himself, what he wanted.

I was clear: I wanted a committed partner in my future.

We never got back together—I think we both knew we loved each other enough to let the other one go to truly be happy.

I loved A for healing me. For becoming a safe space in which I could unpack all my trauma. He didn't need to stay for that and he didn't deserve to be a punching bag. In turn, I didn't want to be his punching bag for the time being either.

We both felt our time come to an end. Neither one of us conceded to our true desires and to stray from our path we were headed.

The relationship came to an end, but we carried our love for each other forward through our friendship. I had nothing but thanks for A.

Two years later, A and I caught up and he came to the realization that he needed to better understand himself as I mentioned during our relationship. I was happy he was finally unpacking some of the things he wasn't willing to during our time together.

I loved him seeing him in NYC, but no longer intimately, just as a soul I once held and cherished and wished he would find his path.

The Great Loves - Part 1

In the early age of the internet and social media I was still trying to find myself and understand the person I was and will be. Through a stroke of luck I met T when I was seventeen, bonding over photography, editing photos, and geeking out about early website developments.

We each had our own personal page with our unique personalities. What started with messages became more frequent text messaging that led to late night phone calls. I hadn't known how much T liked me then, but he told me about a dream he had, that I was dating someone else and he woke up crying. It was naive and young love, but pure to say the least.

How long did we go messaging each other throughout the many days and how many nights did we stay asleep on the phone with free minutes after 9pm? I can't remember but it was months before T and I finally met.

Imagine meeting in public at a huge festival with thousands of people and two boys who had fallen in love over messages and phone calls finally meeting, where could we go to finally be who we were as we spoke on those nights laying hundreds of miles apart. We found our way to the edges of the parking lot, hidden under pine trees, chatting, giggling, happy.

For the first time in my life, I was with someone who was like me, someone I had met by some odd chance. T smelled of the acne medicine he slathered on his face, but it was fine, we were teenagers, puberty was not kind to everyone. We sat there and leaned in for a kiss, a sloppy teenage kiss, butterflies shooting through my stomach, releasing through my mouth.

I'd never feel like this ever again.

Through that year, T and I followed our routine. We had known each other for at least 2 years, and dating for almost a year. One late night, he called me with a strange tone in his voice. He passed the phone to his mom, who insisted on speaking with my parents. As obedient Asian children who listened to elders, I handed off my cell phone to my parents in fear.

This wasn't the coming out story I ever wanted. Sure, I'd struggled with hiding like anyone else, cried myself to sleep thinking about the horror of having to admit to my parents about something I was still coming to terms with.

That was the end of between T and I. He confided in his aunt who he thought he could trust, who in turn told his mom, who called me and asked to speak to my parents. Silly me, I could have hung up.

Over the next year, T went to hurt me, to become someone I did not know showing me a side of him I had not seen before—the extent a filial son would go to make their parents happy and to seek approval. I was upset, I was stubborn, I knew it was all a lie.

I held on for dear life because I had no one else. Life at that time was so lonely, isolated and far from anyone else who could understand me, in the middle of America. I forced myself on him, refused to let go, went through my own hell as he dated girls and kissed them, had them curse at me for trying to steal him away, he wasn't theirs to start with.

"You are my soulmate," T told me once.

Those words burned. Why the hell tell me that only to leave me? I hated those words. If I was truly your soulmate, why did you do everything in your power to push me away, to let me burn in the aftermath alone?

It hurt. He hurt me deep down to my soul.

Almost one year of clinging on, T finally agreed to meet me as I forced my way his hometown.

That was the end of it. Overtime, I saw T move on as if I didn't mean a thing. He told me he would never date another guy and yet, when I saw that he was with another guy, the betrayal I felt through my bones destroyed me. It would have lasting effects and create toxic behaviors that would take me years to uncover and understand.

Many years through failed relationships and desperation, I made peace as I left the midwest. Onto New York City I went. A homesick suburban boy living in a bustling city in America, I felt so out of place, so out of my comfort zone. I learned and I grew into someone I could start to love, started to understand my flaws and the mistakes I made, and learned to accept them as part of my growth.

T reached out, years later.

He was visiting NYC with a friend. We had made small talk. My feelings were no longer there, dried up and blown away after the flames engulfed me whole, to grow anew. I would help show him and his friend around.

We ate, we laughed, we sat and we enjoyed sunsets at my favorite park: Sunset Park.

At the end of the day, I went back to their AirBnb in Jersey to make sure they were back safe. We would continue to hang out the next day too.

That night, T and I shared the pullout couch, sleeping side by side.

He forced himself onto me. For what reason I did not know.

"Even if you hate me," he said.

How selfish, I thought. How selfish of him to make me burn all alone and to grow myself back again, only to try and break me again?

"You can't come and go as you please," I told him, "it's not fair."

I held my ground, arms and grip stronger than what people may have taken me for. I slept with my back against him, hands folded between my legs. If he didn't fight for me then he didn't deserve me now.

The next day came and I pretended nothing had happened.

He had no power over me, he presence could no longer soften my heart. The door was closed, locked, and burned away. The home that was there no longer stood.

I loved T when I did, my first great love, the only person that physical butterflies in my stomach manifested and I felt them flowing through my breath, but that was all he would be.

Betrayal was the sword that cut our red strings, so called soulmates slashed into two.

I think it's time to finally let go.

#midnight musings

Do people even still visit other's blog website or are we just viewing on previews?

Happy 8th Birthday

Blog turned 8 years old one month ago. I didn't think I'd ever have this blog for this long. All the 'virtual friends' have semed to move on to different platforms. I'm a little scared to go searching through the past, through the archive of emotions once captured through my words, anticipating the wave of emotions it will bring, the memories it will spark, the tears I'm not ready to cry.

I decided I'll come back and write for myself now that I am again a stranger in this quiet place.

Where are you Friend?

The phone is silent without your voice

Messages gone dry

Not an e-mail in sight

Disappeared into thin air

All traces of our conversations

Dear Friend, are you there?

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