house of uncommons: January 2006

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

first time

I've lived in Hanoi for about seven or months of intermittent stay for some work. During my first two months, I met three Canadian guys whom I really enjoyed being with. Get a piece of yourself before reading this entry. I've always got tempted to put this entry into my blogs, but something told me not too... not just yet.

But here I am, trying to explain everythign why I hadn't published it before; now, after almost a year of its hibernation in my portable drive, I have found the courage to let everyone have a glimpse of my first time of actually smoking hash (a kind of marijuana-like dried leaves, famous to Caucasian tourists in Asia and Middle East).

This is a true account of my Vietnam life.

February 15, 2005

First time

It was my first time to actually hangout with real English-speaking guys and actually play with them. We dined together, drank together, watched HBO movies together, laughed together, and, for the first time in my life, weeded with them.

I though I was going to die last night. At first, it was just like rolling at the top of a hill with your grade school classmates. But when Rich asked me how I was doing after a few puffs, God, I did not know what to say and feel. My body felt like it wanted to dance or just sway. I felt like I was standing in the middle of the sea, feeling the waves beneath me, but I do not sink. Rich was standing by my back to catch me if ever I fall down. But I guess, I managed to get on with my knees, although they are trembling and swaying.

Then, I heard Tom and Michael speaking in hushed but rigid tones—they were talking about life… I mean, who talks about life in the middle of the night after weeding? Who else, but those who are really smashed by the weed to the head. They asked me how I was feeling. I said, I do not like what I feel.

But I hurried up to my room, they let me write my name, mobile number and email address on a piece of paper. Man, I don’t know if that was readable. Inside my room, yeah, I know I drank a lot of warm sake and 2 bottles of Carlsberg, but this smash was really strong! It was the weed, taking its shot right from my head to my knees, to my stomach and out my mouth. It was a weird feeling.

I thought I was going to die. I felt paralyzed by a big Portuguese Man-O-War who made its way from my nostrils, went straight up my stomach then shot its neurotoxins up my sleepy brain. I really thought it was the end of it. Of course, I was thinking the other way, just to balance my thoughts. I don’t want to die by a weed shot. I was vomiting. My stomach really felt sore when I tried to stop it. But I can’t puke a single anymore. My stomach was well empty and shit-and-pissed.

I woke up past 5 am, with my arms out of the bed’s bounds. It felt cold. It felt like it was drained of blood for 5 hours that I have slept.

I had bombarding amounts of dreams last night. First, it was like showing me all the past lives that I have lived (I was just thinking about it, nothing serious—I was weeded, right!), then those things that made me insane all these past few years of my life.

I don’t know. Really this first time was something.

Monday, January 16, 2006

chickens and butterflies

janet said "i'm afraid i'm starting to feel what i say i would not do...". it was one of those sticky-rice-like-memorable first lines i would never forget--just like this thai style sticky rice i'm battling in this rustic mediocre hotel.

but when was the last time i really said no to something i would not try? hey, spare me those thoughts of sexual innuendoes right now. i'm just not in the mood to hit that track as yet. for all those 2.6 decades i have been breathing, i haven't really said NO for anything i might be able to learn and experience. well, there are times when all those chickens come strutting down my nerves for something that may be so new to me. then those butterflies come flying by... then my thoughts will sing 'what might have been' a-la lou pardini... what if, i do not try and have not seen how will it look and feel like?

it's like that john cussack-kate beckinsale film serendipity when both of them said "what if i never find out who he/she was and was there love, and spend the rest of my life wondering?"and all the sense that i would like to make at the beginning of this entry all fades out, hehehehe... im wandering and wandering again. naaah, just my thoughts, i guess.

i'm afraid i'm starting to feel boredom and loneliness in this kind of life i am right now, when i said i would not feel that... ever!

i guess i'll have to hold my bars properly now and try not sinking the wooden boat im in... hey, hold that bar for me too!

sinking boat

janet said "i'm afraid i'm starting to feel what i say i would not do...". it was one of those sticky-rice-like-memorable first lines i would never forget--just like this thai style sticky rice i'm battling in this rustic mediocre hotel.

but when was the last time i really said no to something i would not try? hey, spare me those thoughts of sexual innuendoes right now. i'm just not in the mood to hit that track as yet. for all those 2.6 decades i have been breathing, i haven't really said NO for anything i might be able to learn and experience. well, there are times when all those chickens come strutting down my nerves for something that may be so new to me. then those butterflies come flying by... then my thoughts will sing 'what might have been' a-la lou pardini... what if, i do not try and have not seen how will it look and feel like?

it's like that john cussack-kate beckinsale film serendipity when both of them said "what if i never find out who he/she was and was there love, and spend the rest of my life wondering?"

and all the sense that i would like to make at the beginning of this entry all fades out, hehehehe... im wandering and wandering again. naaah, just my thoughts, i guess.

i'm afraid i'm starting to feel boredom and loneliness in this kind of life i am right now, when i said i would not feel that... ever!

i guess i'll have to hold my bars properly now and try not sinking the wooden boat im in... hey, hold that bar for me too!

Saturday, January 14, 2006

i know, i know...

i know you guys have read this story before. maybe through emails or long SMSes. but hey, i stumbled upon it in my highschool ygroup files and read it again, at a time when i was feeling a bit lonely and alone. it struck me again, yeah, the way it struck me straight up to the heart when i read it the first time.

one more time, y'all... reading this makes you want to have that really relieving tear downpour you may want to have after a cozy meal and a good coffee...

here it is...

Story of one-eyed mom

My mom only had one eye. i hated her... she was such an embarrassment...
my mom ran a small shop at a flea market. she collected little weeds and
such to sell... anything for the money we needed she was such an
embarrassment.

there was this one day during elementary school.. it was field day, and
my mom came. i was so embarrassed. how could she do this to me? i threw
her a hateful look and ran out. the next day at school...

"your mom only has one eye?!?!" ..and they taunted me.
i wished that my mom would just dissappear from this world so i said to
my mom,
"mom.. why dont you have the other eye?! if you're only gonna make me a
laughingstock, why dont you just die?!!!"

my mom did not respond.. i guess i felt a little bad, but at the same
time, it felt good to think that i had said what i'd wanted to say all
this time.. maybe it was because my mom hadnt punished me, but i didnt
think that i had hurt her feelings very badly.

that night... i woke up, and went to the kitchen to get a glass of
water. my mom was crying there, so quietly, as if she was afraid that
she might wake me. i took a look at her, then turned away. because of
the thing i had said to her earlier, there was something pinching at me
in the corner of my heart. even so, i hated my mother who was crying out
of her one eye.

so i told myself that i would grow up and become successful. cause i
hated "my one-eyed mom" and our desperate poverty..
then i studied real hard. i left my mother and came to Seoul and
studied, and got accepted in the Seoul University with all the
confidence i had.

then, i got married. i bought a house of my own. then i had kids, too..
now i'm living happily as a successful man. i like it here because it's
a place that doesnt remind me of my mom. this happiness was getting
bigger and bigger, when..

what?!
who's this?!
...it was my mother...
..still with her one eye.
it felt as if the whole sky was falling apart on me. my little girl ran
away, scared of my mom's eye. and i asked her,
"who are you?!"
"i dont know you!!!" as if trying to make that real. i screamed at her,
" how dare you come to my house and scare my daughter!"
"GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!!!"

and to this, my mother quietly answered, "oh, i'm so sorry. i may have
gotten the wrong address," and she dissappeared out of sight.
thank good ness... she doesnt recognize me..

i was quite relieved.
i told myself that i wasnt going to care, or think about this for the
rest of my life. then a wave of relief came upon me...

one day, a letter regarding a school reunion came to my house. so, lying
to my wife that i was going on a business trip, i went. after the
reunion, i went down to the old shack, that i used to call a
house...just out of curiosity there, i found my mother fallen on the
cold ground. but i did not shed a single tear. she had a piece of paper
in her hand.... it was a letter to me.

my son... i think my life has been long enough now.. and... i wont visit
Seoul anymore... but would it be too much to ask if i wanted you to come
visit me once in a while? i miss you so much.. and i was so glad when i
heard you were coming for the reunion. but i decided not to go to the
school. ...for you...and i'm sorry that i only have one eye, and i was
an embarrassment for you.
you see, when you were very little, you got into an accident, and lost
your eye. as a mom, i couldnt stand watching you having to grow up with
only one eye... so i gave you mine... i was so proud of my son that
wasseeing a whole new world for me, in my place, with that eye. i was
never upset at you for anything you did.. the couple times that you were
angry with me,.. i thought to myself, 'it's because he loves me..
my son... oh, my son... i dont want you to cry for me, because of my
death. please dont cry...

my son, i love you so much

wealth and babbling

you see, you have been meeting a lot of people and buying them drinks at the bar or from that real yummy-looking barrista at your favorite starbucks kiosk, and chatting them wildly like there's not a piece of you you can't share, and where's the punch there?

and you see, again, that you can't deny me that you have been wanting this thing that you do for a longer time that i have thought, but can i accuse you of something that i myself would like to know first-hand from you right now? what right do i clench?

for more what i see, i think i see a lot of deviance from how you have been behaving lately. make myself a fool sometimes, but you can't fool me with those uncunny jokes that you throw. and i know, that you see, i am not making any sense right now. just babbling ang babbling until my mouth bubbles up and my nose bleeds ferociously.

and then again, what do i make out of this? nothing, just being a friend to you means more wealth to me than making a living out of somebody else's wealth.

now that's what i call sentimental babbling...

Friday, January 06, 2006

beg

if there's one thing that a roll of cinnamon does to me while sitting at a starbucks coffee shop in downtown bangkok is thinking about the way a shot of amaretto would do my nerves.
ironic, though, that when you try to sulk yourself into that delicious cinnamon roll i bought from a nearby pattiserrie and indulging with that wonderfully mixed raspberry frap with mocha syrup, you're thinking of a bittersweet mixture that you do not know how they leave your mouth and dedicated tongue while both slip down that mighty esophagus.
beg off, try entertaining sweeter-than-cinnamon-roll-and-raspberry-shake thoughts! it might do me better than trying to think im a beggar in that sourly crowded street.
whew!

nine cigarettes

(story by drew golden from the capitol gay podcast)

I am sitting in my chair next to the bed, looking at where I should be sleeping. I pull a Marlboro out of the half smoked pack of cigarettes, and light one, blowing the first drag out slowly. I look at the clock, it is now 2:57 in the morning. I move my eyes to Chris laying there sleeping contently dreaming dreams which I am unaware of. I take another drag off my cigarette. Looking at him laying there, I realize why I love him, he looks as if a fallen angel as he sleeps. He doesn’t realize that I am sitting here smoking and watching him, contemplating many things which will change the course of our lives. He shifts and moves, as if calling me back to bed now, yet I know he is not awake. I put out my cigarette, grab another, light it, and continue thinking.
It’s a cold December day, as I lay in bed, wondering to myself if I will ever find true happiness. I have been interested in this one guy now for weeks. I finally get the nerve to call him, I dial the numbers on my cell phone as if I was calling my mother, slowly and with punctuality. Suddenly, the phone is ringing.

“Hello”

“Hey is this Chris?”

“Yeah”

“Hey it’s Mike, what’s up? What do you have going on tonight?”

“Nothing, I am sitting here drinking bored out of my mind. What about you?”

“Nothing at all”

“Want to come over and chill?”

“I don’t know, do you think that would be cool”

“Yeah I really want to meet you!”

“Ok, I’ll need some directions”

“Not a problem”

He gave me the directions, and I told him that I would be there soon. I get into my car, and start driving on I-87 North to his house. The entire way I keep thinking to myself how good of a sign that this is. I pull into his driveway, and call him.

“Hello”

“Hey, I’m here”

“I will be right down to bring you in”

“Ok, see you soon”

Moments later, he was outside. I could not see his face, nor any part of the front of him. He was about 5'4", I could see the spikes of his hair, the piercings hanging from his ears, and I could see the slim outline of his body as a shadow with light behind it.

I turn off my car, as the song “Desperado” ends. I get out of the car. The cold December wind throws another punch at me. I tighten up my black trench coat jacket, and start walking towards him. His face still unclear to me as I approach him. He is now walking towards me at the same pace that I am walking towards him. As we get close enough, he opens his arms, I open my arms, and we fall into a warm embrace, his hair brushing up against my cheek. He whispers into my ear “You are more beautiful than I could have ever imagined”. For the first time, I can see his face, and I realize how badly I want to be with him. I can’t help feeling that possibly the song playing in my car as I turned it off has made me want to be with him even more.

We end up inside his house sitting on his couch drinking and talking. We talk about our past, where we want to go with life, what we want in a partner, anything and everything. I was now on my fourth screwdriver, and I’m starting to feel it. I wanted to avoid getting drunk around him because I feared that I would say something that would offend him. Seeing that my glass was getting empty he asked if I wanted another, I said yes. As he moved to the kitchen to make another, I couldn’t help but realize how much I admired his body. I light up another cigarette as he mixes the drink, and think to myself. He comes back with the next round of drinks. He sits next to me, and cuddles close to me. In a moment his lips are searching for mine.

I light up another cigarette, the time is now 3:15 in the morning. He is still sleeping like an angel in bed. I am still sitting in my chair looking at him.

We are sitting on a couch, watching our favorite movie, Interview With a Vampire. It is just him and I in the house, we are cuddling on the couch, hidden beneath a blanket which my great grandmother made for me when I was ten. The movie is about half way over, he looks up into my eyes, his eyes dark like night.

“I love you Mike”

“What”

“I am in love with you Mike”

“I think I am in love with you too”, a nervous tone in my voice at hearing myself saying what I knew I was feeling, just afraid to admit it.

“No, I know I am in love with you too”

Could this be, I asked myself. We have only been together three months and I am already completely in love with him. His eyes are still piercing deeply into my soul, as if peering into an open door.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure”

“What do you think about people getting married at a young age?”

“What do you mean”

“Like people our age”

“It depends on the relationship”

“Can you see yourself with me the rest of your life”

“I can see myself being with you for eternity”

“Mike will you marry me?”

“I wouldn’t miss out on us for the world”

“I love you so much”

“I love you so much too baby”

I light another cigarette, as a tear falls down my cheek, and across my lips. The bittersweet taste, reminds me of so much, yet reminds me of so little. I look at the clock 3:27 now. He has not stirred from slumber, and has moved my pillow to cuddle with it as if it were me laying next to him. There is no light on his face now, only shadow. He has moved positions since the last time I really looked at him.

“What the hell do you mean the check bounced?”

“The check to the landlords bounced Chris.”

“How did that happen?”

“You used the debit card”

“I had to pay the phone bill”

“You should have asked”

“I didn’t think that I had to ask to use OUR money!”

“Well you should have”

“What the fuck ever Mike”

He stormed out of the room. I could see his point, but had he seen mine? I am so mad, that I hit the refrigerator as hard as I can with my fist. The thud of my fist on the pale yellow door, reverberated throughout the house. Pain now shooting through my hand, I look down at my fist and see that I had broken my knuckle. I light up a cigarette and ponder if I am really this mad, before I have time to answer myself, the silence of a moment is shattered.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I was mad and rather than argue with you, I took it out on something I couldn’t hurt”

“What the hell are you holding your hand like that for?”

“I think I broke my knuckle”

Instantly, his black as coal eyes, widened and lightened. He crossed the room and opened the freezer, he starts chuckling to himself. Filling a Ziploc bag with ice, he came over and delicately took my injured hand into his.

“Hold this here, while I grab our jackets”

“Why?”

“Because Love, you need to go to the ER.”

I light up another cigarette, not realizing that I have just finished one. I shift myself in the chair, looking at him again, half of his face is drowned in the candlelight from the candle that I have just lit, while the other half I can not see. He is covered completely in his blankets, and the only thing that I can think of is that he is an iceberg on the open sea, with just the tip revealed. I look at the clock, 3:42 now.

It’s our second anniversary, we are having dinner at Chris’s parent’s house. I really hate coming here, all that I ever hear is how we are evil and going to go to Hell because we love each other. I am starting to feel the strain that they are causing on us and our relationship. They are accepting and hateful all in the same sentence. We finish up social hour and get into the car.

“Why were you so quiet tonight Mike?”

“You know how your parents hate me hun.”

“They don’t hate you”

“Bullshit, don’t tell me that, you and I both know that they don’t want us together”

“What do you mean”

“You remember how they reacted to the news”

“Yeah I guess your right”

I start up the engine to the car, the song “Kissing You” begins to play on the CD player, as if meant to be.

“Ever feel like we’re slipping apart?”

“Yeah whenever we are with your family”

“Don’t insult my family”

“Why you just did?”

“Don’t give me that”

“Pot callin the kettle black don’t you think?”

“Why do we always fight after we go to my parents”

“Because they bring us to it”

“Whatever”

“Whatever”

I throw my cigarette out of the window, and light another. The rest of the ride is silence, not until we get home and cuddled in bed does he speak to me. “I’m sorry, I love you so much. You know that right?” I meet him with silence, roll to my side, and he cuddles up behind me knowing that he has been defeated in this argument.

I light up a cigarette, shifting my view from the clock back to him. Its getting cold in here, I get up out of the chair for the first time all night, and go over to the thermostat. Sixty-Eight Degrees, which is what it has been set at all night, I click it up to seventy-four, and to back to the bedroom. He hasn’t shifted in a while. The candle light begins to flicker. The clock reads 3:59 now.

I am having coffee with my best friend Amanda. She takes a sip and looks at me across the table in the coffee house. He’s cheating on you, you know, she said almost as if it didn’t matter. I was silent, looking down at my coffee. She continues, Alan your best friend, I told you that you can’t trust old men. He’s been getting him while you are working. I look up at her, feeling like I am ready to scream, cry, and remain calm all at the same time. I work up the nerve to respond to her not knowing how things would go.

“I know he is, I just don’t know what to do, I love him to death”

“You should dump his ass before you get hurt”

“I love him too much”

“You don’t love yourself”

“I love him and myself, I love everything that we are”

“I know you do, but you have to protect yourself”

“What do you know about protecting yourself? All you do is get a man, have sex with him, dump him and move on to the next.”

“I know what I want”

“Do you?”

“Yes, I want you to be safe, I don’t want to see you go through another Scott”

“I will make my own decisions”

“I know, you always listen to your heart, but don’t you think that it could be wrong for once”

“My heart is never wrong”

“Have it your way”

“I will have it my way, and there is nothing that you can do to sway me on this”

“I know, your stubborn just like your mother”

“Why did you have to bring her into this”

“No reason, I said all that I have to say. Besides all you two do lately is fight, I don’t think that you love him anymore”

“Yes I love him”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night”

She gets up from her chair, and goes for the door, turns to me and glares. I got our coffee today, she snaps at me, as she throws me a five dollar bill.

I look at my half smoked cigarette, he has now rolled over in bed, his back turned to me. The clock now reads 4:08. I grab the ashtray from the desk, and put out my cigarette without finishing it. I look at the empty place in bed where I should be. The song “Hurt” comes on in the background. My head is spinning as I get out of the chair. I look at my pack of Marlboro cigarettes sitting on the desk, there is one left, my lucky. I reach into my pocket and grab out my new pack of Kamel Reds. I open the pack, grab my Zippo, and light one from the new pack, leaving the Marlboro on the desk.

did you get my message?

do you ever wonder what happens to the words that we send? do they bend, do they break from the flight that they take? and come back together again with a whole new meaning in a brand new sense, completely unrelated to the one I sent...

dispersion (from the rule of four)

the thing people like to say to victims is that time is a great healer.

the great healer is what they say, as if time were a doctor. but after six years of thinking on the subject, i have a different impression.

time is the guy at the amusement park who paints shirts with an airbrush. he sprays out the color in a fine mist until it's just lonely particles floating in the air, waiting to be plastered in place.

and what comes of it all, the design on the shirt at the end of the day, usually isn't much to see.

i suspect that whoever buys that shirt, the one great patron of the everlasting theme park, whoever he is, wakes up in the morning and wonders what he ever saw in it.

we're the paint in that analogy.

time is what disperses us.

i wish...

… the rain had not fallen on me like giant needles prickling in the dead of the night.

… the sun had shone on the perpetually darker side of the moon while I am there, longing for warmth.

… the stars had shown me the way to the Holy Ground of my emotions—where everything I fear dissolves.

… the trees had embraced me and lull me to a deep slumber—watch over me and shield me from harsh realities.

… the hilltops had brought me higher to see the adversaries coming.

… the wind had blown me to the right track of resolution—where things may come by and gone away so easily as dreams taunt me.

050702:12:24

house of uncommons