On repeat, at the airport

And there's no mystical design,
No cosmic lover preassigned.
There's nothing you can find
that can not be found.
'Cause with all the changes
you've been through
It seems the stranger's always you.
Alone again in some new
Wicked little town.

Continuum

Holy shit.

I decided a while back when I turned 30 that I would post another entry, though I hadn't realized how long it had been or in what condition I last left this blog. Going back to it after three years, you kind of question it's purpose. What was it all about? Love? More specifically, heartache? Or did I just desperately need some kind of outlet?

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I'm in Los Angeles... decided to come back for 7 weeks. A decision made with serious hesitation and pushed through by a refusal to buy two airplane tickets across the Pacific in two months. But it's not just the duration of the visit, it's the mindset that is allowing me to reconnect with my life before I left... the life I had when I first started writing this.

The thing about leaving your troubles behind is that if you ever go back, they're right where you left them. I had no opportunity to overwrite the bad memories with the good ones. The last thing people remember of you are the things you wish they'd forget. Sure, people will assume you've changed, but the right (or wrong) memory can be so visceral.

Everyone who reads this, everyone I've ever met will only get these pieces of me. A segment of me when I was sad. When I was inebriated. When I was powerful. When I was confident. When I was a merely a shell. Or when I was emphatically me. Some will see more pieces than others. But only a few people, maybe only ever myself will ever fully understand that they were all part of the same continuum.

I had a vision of myself on the plane. This crazy, unfiltered version of myself with an uncanny ability to turn things upside down for the worst. He was 23, scared no one would ever love him and so uncomfortable in his own skin. It was like watching a horrible indie movie with a protagonist that you kinda want to slap, but you also feel bad for. Young boy, if you could only figure out a way to save some of that love for yourself. If you could only see what you'd become one day, you wouldn't have to be so afraid all the time.

I wanted to distance myself from myself. But someone said to me, "Look at you. What happened to that boy that I didn't respect?" And in my head, I answered, "He's right here". He didn't just grow up. He didn't fix himself. He didn't change for the better. I imagine that people who haven't seen me in a while, must see a contrast. But a sprinter in a race must look so much more glorious at the finish line than in the middle.

The truth is everything that I am and ever will be is because of that boy. That boy committed to living honestly, to allow himself to be trampled on in the pursuit of happiness, because he knew he could get up after the dust settled. He wasn't just foolhardy, he was brave. Not only dramatic, but sensitive. He didn't hate himself; he was impatient with his own personal development. It's kind of funny to look back and realize every quality you were ever ashamed of was always just one side of a coin.

My life is not fixed, nor am I. It will continue to challenge me. There will always be something or someone to cry over (and write about). It is how it is and also how it should be. Occasionally, in times of togetherness, loneliness is at it's most palpable.

It was almost three years ago, the last time I really felt connected to someone. Our bodies adjacent to each other on white linens, my eyes bounced lazily between his features as we talked. I didn't cry, yet tears streamed steadily, uniformly out of my eyes and into the pillow. What was that emotion other than emotion itself? I saw tears opposite me as well. Were these the elusive tears of joy? Was it a release of sadness and tension? I had to give up. I couldn't figure it out.

They all melted away so perfectly.

What's in my heart.

I need to sit down, boy... 'cause I can't breathe.
You take my breath away from me.

People do stupid things.

As you grow older, you struggle harder to have a generic faith in people. They they're good and that they want good things for other people. You look at yourself and hope that you have that same goodness inside yourself.

But sanity is found in knowing that people are also capable, and more so inevitably doomed to do stupid things. I had a weekend where a bunch of people around me did a lot of stupid things. But I'm not going to talk about that. I'm going to talk about the stupid thing that I did.

I dated someone because I thought I saw myself in him.

Yes, it's an unbelievable act of narcissism. But I thought I saw me in 2006 when I had first arrived, but it turns out we were very, very different. Why did I want someone who reminded me of myself? Have I been having that much trouble connecting to people who were different, that I felt like an island who would only be happy finding another island?

The second thing I did was do something that suddenly increased my seratonin intake... and thus disastrously depleting my supply of it. I'm sitting in my apartment and everything around me that I loved last week, is simply pitiful. Even my dog looks sad.

It feels familiar. I used to feel like this for years, and I think how the hell did I get through my childhood. How did I get up every morning? I can't imagine how I would proceed if this lasted for more than a week. So it's something to be thankful for I guess.

Be thankful that happiness has become something more of a choice... and that with every passing day is potential to feel a little better.

Simply worried.

I'm an insecure piece of shit, and my mind is a jumble of doubts.

Am I working too hard? Am I not working hard enough? Should I be with him? Should I stop spending so much time with him? Do I need braces? How many times should I go to the gym each week? If I dress like this will people like me more? Maybe I should buy more clothes... all of mine are too old. Do people notice this shirt is from college? I wonder if he'd like me more if I were a bit taller or less tan or more Chinese looking. Or maybe he only likes white guys... Why don't I have more savings? I wonder if I'll get a boyfriend once I have more money. Is that the only reason he'll want to be with me? Am I ever going to find someone? Am I ever going to get bigger? When the fuck is this stupid band of fat going to go away? Did I lose myself somewhere along the way? Why do I care so much about all this shit? Did I abandon my art, or did art abandon me? Am I the same person I used to be? Am I better or worse than I was before? How much longer before you really lose it?

I'm trying to be strong, but a lot of things want to put me down. I kind of want to settle. Tired of being told I'm too (insert any adjective... really, any). I wish I could find someone who appreciates all I have to offer, because I do have a lot. Maybe they think I'm a whore. Maybe it's me. Do I go after the wrong guys just because I know they'll reject me? Does it fit the story I've written for myself? I think I need to try to stop hating myself so much.

How old am I? I'm 27. Ok. I want to restart my life. But I can't do that. It's not a game. And I wouldn't want to do high school over... so just have to change things moving forward. Stop regretting everything. Love yourself. Love yourself. It's the only way to live.

It's hard being back.

I told myself I wouldn't come back to California until I was ready. Ready for what?

I have this enormous anxiety being here and I can't really define it's origin. I've been looking through my Facebook page, amazed to have it back and browsing all the people who have come in and out of my life throughout the years. I really have been gone for almost four years now.

Things have changed. Nothing major. My closest friends are still close. Old lovers who truly cared still truly care. But some people have woven me out of their lives. For some, I am a vague memory of this kid who used to live here. And I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn't left.

Would I have fixed the issues I had? Would I still walk into a bar and feel like the ugliest person there?

In Shanghai, I've learned to get past all my drama... but I'm starting to feel more like I haven't gotten over my self-esteem problems as much as I have distanced myself from the source.

I've never been able to fit in with the gay crowds here. Theatre Rice was the first place that I really felt comfortable with myself, until more gay guys started joining.

So what's the deal here? I look at some of these people and I feel like a monster around them. Awkward, limping with boils and slime oozing out of my pores. Did heartbreak and rejection leave me to feel like less of a man?

I lost myself in California, and coming back makes me feel just as lost. For as much life as I have restored, recreated and reinvented in China, there is the part of me that exists here in LA, barely existing at all.