Extinguished

Another light gone before its time.

Therapy never gets to those who actually need, only to the rich who needs reasons to feel sorry for themselves.

Fault Line

I sit here after a long day of working and writing. It seems whenever the energy is depleted out of me, I can finally feel my true emotions, and I think it is because I don’t have the energy to spare to keep up the façade that I am an understanding an open-minded individual.

Passion is a strong and uncontrollable. Hate is a feeling of extreme aversion for or extreme hostility towards something, more like someone in this instance. For some reason I can’t find a reason to be optimistic. No matter how much I try to share, I just don’t see the point. A lot of people do not believe in hate, they say that people are ignorant and no one is truly hateful.

So here’s my theory, ignorance turns to hate and then hate turns to passion. First off, ignorance is a lack of knowledge or information. Ignorance in the purest form does not cause animosity. How can an Asian male hate a Caucasian male if the Asian male has never seen or heard of a Caucasian in his life? It is the action that gives the pure ignorant person that little tidbit of information that causes feelings of detest. Is it sociological or psychological? I feel that the ignorant actions that stained my blank canvas during childhood has become so expectant in my life that no matter how much I try to erase it or make it unnoticeable, it always stands out because it keeps becoming stained over and over throughout my life. I feel that I can draw around it and make it apart of the picture. The ignorant action is the stain, and once the stain becomes part of the painting, it becomes hate. So my devotion to keep my canvas from being stained again is the analogy for why I am so ignorant racism. My devotion to protecting the already stained canvas is sort of like my passion for the fight against ignorance. I can’t get rid of the damn stain.

I don’t know if it is my fault or the fault of the world around me. It’s like living a life of hypocrisy, preaching compassion and understanding but yet I don’t feel it in myself. I just feel that my gut instinct has guided me true for so long that I do not feel that I should find a new way of contemplation. But in order to truly survive in this world, one must adapt.

A quote that I came upon that has me thinking is by, Francois de La Rochefoucauld. He said that, “we confess our little faults to persuade people that we have no larger ones.” So I’m wondering if this is my little fault since I’m confessing it. If it is then I wonder how horrid the larger one is.

Uncivil

“I’m just not attracted to Asian men,” says the pretty Hapa girl.
I sit and listen to this statement with a civil tongue.

She feels that us, generalized Asian men, don’t have enough balls to spit any game cause we were raised in a collectivist community where it’s better to obey than to speak out.

Apparently she feels that, us generalized Asian Men aren’t compatible with her mysterious American ways, because our stereotypically delirious Asian ways are too male dominated and we might not let her express who she REALLY is.

Whatever the hell that means.

Its not that we don’t have balls, its just that we don’t need the cumbersome cocky mentality that you’re usually attracted to, to win girls over.

Our legendary ancient Oriental orgasm producing techniques gets enough compliments to the point where we don’t need any supplementation, like an oversized ego, to go with it.

I tell her to look around with her half Round Eyes, cause most of the world looks like me.

I tell her its okay to make bigoted statements that indirectly concerns the men who share her same history, because she’s half Asian too.

I assured her that doing so is about as un-ironic as her calling me a harbor bomber.

It took her great-grandfather a hundred years to solidify the family name into this foreign land; it took her a hundredth of a second to make that name meaningless when she scoffs at the thought of getting any sensual satisfaction from us, generalized Asian Men.

I don’t blame you Hapa girl, I’m just curious, I wanna know,

I just wanna know, why do you not acknowledge us, generalized Asian men, on your nights of mental masturbations?

What kind of disgust do you feel when the thoughts of me penetrating you come to mind?

How did it come to the point where your conservative world becomes just black and white and yellowless?

Or maybe its because us, generalized Asian men, with our special ancient Chinese secret powers can sense the fact that we should avoid the path that all too many has traveled upon, but hey, let’s not get uncivil here.

“I AM NOT EMBARRASSED BY ASIAN MEN! I DON’T SEE COLOR WHEN IT COMES TO DATING!” screamed the pretty HAPA girl.

Well honey, since you never saw color, then you’ve never seen me.

Get out my face

Go on and spit yo shit cause that’s your only hobby, when you finish hatin let’s switch gears and take it to the lobby
Doin good for ya age but I’m the real super star
Make me go and get hyped who you think you are?
Tired of your fat mouth! Fuck, the side you claim.
Got you screamin, sweet Jesus I’ll quit the game
I ain’t tryna go the distance I’m just trying to say
If you ain’t first then ya last so get out my way
Loud, and proud, I’m not easily shook
You ain’t pro as me homie, you just a common crook
So don't hate the leader in the game, so stop the dirty look

He is....

He is not a man of faith, he is a man of a conviction.
He does not have the strength of the Lord, he is empowered by Will.
He is not a man, he's just a squirrel trying to get a nut to move your butt to the dance floor.

The Ungrateful Ballerina

One of the biggest fears in life is taking it for granted.
I can’t stop thinking of the simple little things.
I sleep through every sunrise when there are blind people who will never get the chance to see it and feel its warm glow on their skin.
Or how about the annoying incessant chattering of children when there are deaf people who will never hear it or of all the forever unfortunate potential mothers that will never be able to hear the annoying incessant chattering of their own children.
I’m in love with dancing, but I put off reaching my fullest potential and breaking the limits for reasons only known by my subconscious.
Opportunities for me to become something special appear on my doorstep each day.
Dance is everything I am and everything I want to be.
Insecurities drown out my desires like the ever-rising tide to an unmoving shore whenever I think about other girls out there who’s toes have been making love to the polished maple floors before they ever knew what making love actually meant.
Maybe its money, there’s no 401K’s in dancing. Yeah that’s it, the financial instabilities hinder my ability to let my arms cut through the air and to let my body bend and twist in a way so elegant that swans would be jealous.
Whenever I close my eyes, my visions of the future are sutured by me defying gravity while the audience is in defiance of the realization that the beauty in front of them is actually a reality.
Maybe it’s the fear of failure. My past of silencing my violin simply because I got bored with it, or forsaking the chances of being the perfect girlfriend because he was not perfect, or the twists and turns of hula dancing because the coconut bras gave me splinters, or the glory of being a doctor because I sucked at operation, or color guarding because I can only wave so many flags until I become hypnotized by the twirling and be suggested to do something else.
But this is different; I WANT TO BE A DANCER! I am ready to bleed for my chance to spin on my toes so fast that the surroundings around me are melted together in a psychedelic blur.
Dancing keeps me alive! Its beauty becomes the substance of passion that flows through my veins and gives me the strength to stop the world so the noise from its rotation would be ceased long enough for me to tell you that, I! NEED! TO! DANCE!
AND I WANT MY PINK TUTU!

Unfinished

I found an old video of my friends and I in my old hometown, and this is what I have to say.

I hate leaving things unfinished. There was one person who's affected my life the most, she knows who she is. We were young and careless, only thinking of what would happen at the moment. Naive and stupid. But then one day I left, I didn't want to but I did. Things went from bad to worse. There was always a chance that things would get better, but, this time, it was her turn to leave. I never had the chance to fight for her, I never even had the chance to say goodbye. She left with so many things unsaid.

A lot of time has gone by. Both of us have changed in many ways, and in many others, have stayed the same. It may seemed to have finished in her point of view, but there's still too many things I want to say to her face to face, eye to eye, lip to lip. Maybe some day she'll no longer be the one that got away.
I hate leaving things unfinished.