So I finally got that job here. I landed one working at a small production company as a PA. It comes complete with a mac, a small personal office space, free lunches and a really cool boss who keeps a bottle of absolut stocked in the fridge for those really hard days. I'm going to be able to use my mandarin at this job, and she's encouraging me to pick up cantonese as well. I guess this is it, if I want it to be.
Then why am I up at 3am blogging when I really should be getting rest for tomorrow's work day? Can't sleep. Apparently maternal nagging reaches across oceans and keeps you awake in the middle of the night.
It's been a while since I've lived under the cloud of my parent's disapproval. That while has been the half year that I've been here as a language student. It's pretty much the only thing that I've ever done in my entire life that they've supported completely. And now I get the job and announce it to my parents and they say, "we're getting worried about you. This is not what we wanted for you when you went to China." Seems that they'd rather have me go to school full-time and do absolutely nothing with my life.
I'd like to think that there are many mothers out there who would appreciate a son that was smart enough to know his anthro degree wasn't going to land him any jobs, and actually went out to build up his CV... as opposed to the son (like many language students in Shanghai) who doesn't even really make it to all 15 hours of class per week and spends the rest of their time living off daddy's wallet.
I can't think clearly, I can't even write. I dreamed about Steven and realized how much I miss him and the relationship that we had so long ago. I wonder if my parents are just starting to realize that my stay in Shanghai is definitely indefinite. I look around this place and ask myself when the peacefulness of anonymity will turn into loneliness.
I stay away from my parents because it keeps me sane, but it's time like these that remind me why I've never let them in to my life. If it's not about my career, or whether or not I will really be able to speak fluently within a year or anything that they mentioned to me. If they're making me second guess my big move and my career path because they don't want to see me settle out here--because they miss me... I'll tell them that I'm gay and ask if they still want me back.
10.20.2006
9.23.2006
One small step for mankind, one giant step for (a) man.
I've moved into my apartment on beautiful 衡山路 (Hengshan Road) that I can't really afford yet. I decided that when people come to visit me, I want them to remember that Shanghai has trees, and my street is lined with them.
Life continues as normal here: desperately trying to wake up for class on the weekdays with sporadic spurts of creativity/desperately-working-on-my-portfolio. The weekends are entertained with random dates with random guys and the occasional club hopping followed by 4 a.m. dim sum... which is, today, followed by 1 p.m. dim sum as well. For the time being, my desire for the cute, fun, attentive love of my life is placated by the fact that half-naked images of Rain, Edison Chen, Nicholas Tse and Jay Chou are plastered over every single Pepsi can I buy.
I cook in my apartment, but neglect to clean... hense the pile-up. Whether I listen to american music or chinese, it always attracts a comment on msn messenger.
Last night, I walked on my street past the many bars filled with foreigners and locals drinking it up to meet my friends at Bon Bon. And it makes me wonder if whoever wrote 夜上海 (Shanghai Midnight) back in the heyday of jazz in China, was reveling in the lively nightlife that is only recently on it's way back... or if he or she simply loved walking the quiet sidestreets as I had been doing. I guess if my chinese were better I could listen to the song and have the answer right now, but... eh.
Back when I lived in the Wilde House, this guy Jeff once told me self-esteem issues were bull-shit. I assume he was talking about the very specific type of self-esteem issue that we both owned. It's not exactly about you feeling bad about yourself... it's more about not feeling good enough. It's about feeling shitty that you're not this or that much better than other people. Hmm, now where did I get that from? Could it be the fact that my parents were always comparing me to other kids who were doing better than me at a certain thing. I guess I grew up believing the only time I will be loved is when I'm better than everyone else.
Which brings me to a country. China. In a city. Shanghai. On a street. See above. In an apartment. About $200USD over budget. It's been an interesting couple of weeks. Between dates that always fall flat and being groped (again) at the sauna in my gym, I'm finding that not only do you only find a boyfriend when you stop looking... apparently it's the only time you can find yourself as well. I've lived in three different cities in pursuit of... myself. And now when I stop soul searching, I find myself realizing things about myself and my past. The only thing I haven't discovered is how to summarize my feelings into a blog.
This week, I felt pretty bad about myself. But not in the way that sends me running to my local therapist for another set of pills. Not in the what-am-I-going-to-do-I'm-not-good-enough way, but in the wow-I'm-kind-of-a-loser way. I've fallen from the pedestal I built to try to reach my parent's love. I realize being here, struggling with my Chinese, struggling to find work and income, struggling to find someone to love... struggling, struggling, struggling... that while I may have some good qualities, and some amazing qualities... I have a very many bad ones.
For the first time since I started trying to succeed, I feel normal and average. I'm not one of those rank 7 kids who has only 6 more to shove aside. I'm in the hundreds, and every corner that I turn there's gonna be someone taller, funnier, smarter, stronger, more creative, more endearing or more successful than me. But there is no one on this whole world who has the exact balance of all of those things that I have.
I called home last week to ask my mom for money. It's not like I've never done it before, but in the past 5 years I've always been able to say I have this much and I need that much. Now I have nothing. And as I prepared the excuses and explanations, the transfer of funds came about effortlessly, and not just because we both belong to Bank of America. Has my mother given up on expecting me to be a super-child? Or was she all-along only trying in her fucked up traditional chinese way to make me as super as I could be.
So here I am, on the other side of the pacific. Happy for this communist country, because an openly lesbian lesbian from Beijing just released her first album; because I actually had to sit in front of a TV to figure out if the winner of the american idol equivalent was a guy or girl; because a license auction for the hunting rights to exotic animals was actually pulled by the government after the internet reaction; and because blogspot has finally been unblocked by the censors here. And because I realized you actually do get chances in life to remake yourself... and they come when you least expect it.
Life continues as normal here: desperately trying to wake up for class on the weekdays with sporadic spurts of creativity/desperately-working-on-my-portfolio. The weekends are entertained with random dates with random guys and the occasional club hopping followed by 4 a.m. dim sum... which is, today, followed by 1 p.m. dim sum as well. For the time being, my desire for the cute, fun, attentive love of my life is placated by the fact that half-naked images of Rain, Edison Chen, Nicholas Tse and Jay Chou are plastered over every single Pepsi can I buy.
I cook in my apartment, but neglect to clean... hense the pile-up. Whether I listen to american music or chinese, it always attracts a comment on msn messenger.
Last night, I walked on my street past the many bars filled with foreigners and locals drinking it up to meet my friends at Bon Bon. And it makes me wonder if whoever wrote 夜上海 (Shanghai Midnight) back in the heyday of jazz in China, was reveling in the lively nightlife that is only recently on it's way back... or if he or she simply loved walking the quiet sidestreets as I had been doing. I guess if my chinese were better I could listen to the song and have the answer right now, but... eh.
Back when I lived in the Wilde House, this guy Jeff once told me self-esteem issues were bull-shit. I assume he was talking about the very specific type of self-esteem issue that we both owned. It's not exactly about you feeling bad about yourself... it's more about not feeling good enough. It's about feeling shitty that you're not this or that much better than other people. Hmm, now where did I get that from? Could it be the fact that my parents were always comparing me to other kids who were doing better than me at a certain thing. I guess I grew up believing the only time I will be loved is when I'm better than everyone else.
Which brings me to a country. China. In a city. Shanghai. On a street. See above. In an apartment. About $200USD over budget. It's been an interesting couple of weeks. Between dates that always fall flat and being groped (again) at the sauna in my gym, I'm finding that not only do you only find a boyfriend when you stop looking... apparently it's the only time you can find yourself as well. I've lived in three different cities in pursuit of... myself. And now when I stop soul searching, I find myself realizing things about myself and my past. The only thing I haven't discovered is how to summarize my feelings into a blog.
This week, I felt pretty bad about myself. But not in the way that sends me running to my local therapist for another set of pills. Not in the what-am-I-going-to-do-I'm-not-good-enough way, but in the wow-I'm-kind-of-a-loser way. I've fallen from the pedestal I built to try to reach my parent's love. I realize being here, struggling with my Chinese, struggling to find work and income, struggling to find someone to love... struggling, struggling, struggling... that while I may have some good qualities, and some amazing qualities... I have a very many bad ones.
For the first time since I started trying to succeed, I feel normal and average. I'm not one of those rank 7 kids who has only 6 more to shove aside. I'm in the hundreds, and every corner that I turn there's gonna be someone taller, funnier, smarter, stronger, more creative, more endearing or more successful than me. But there is no one on this whole world who has the exact balance of all of those things that I have.
I called home last week to ask my mom for money. It's not like I've never done it before, but in the past 5 years I've always been able to say I have this much and I need that much. Now I have nothing. And as I prepared the excuses and explanations, the transfer of funds came about effortlessly, and not just because we both belong to Bank of America. Has my mother given up on expecting me to be a super-child? Or was she all-along only trying in her fucked up traditional chinese way to make me as super as I could be.
So here I am, on the other side of the pacific. Happy for this communist country, because an openly lesbian lesbian from Beijing just released her first album; because I actually had to sit in front of a TV to figure out if the winner of the american idol equivalent was a guy or girl; because a license auction for the hunting rights to exotic animals was actually pulled by the government after the internet reaction; and because blogspot has finally been unblocked by the censors here. And because I realized you actually do get chances in life to remake yourself... and they come when you least expect it.
8.30.2006
The one about penis size.
A tiny little protective bubble was shatterred earlier today, as I realized someone that I was seeing had freakishly only been with other asian men with exceptionally large penises.
Now, I'm no giant or anything. There is no tree trunk hanging from between my legs, but I'm used to being told by my partners that I'm large. According to studies, I have a slightly above average penis size, but no one really knows how reliable the studies are considering that the smaller men are less likely to volunteer such information. Small Joe with the 3" penis is more likely to pass up the survey and go get a cup of coffee, while Big Swinging Joe, sporting his 10" embodiment of self-esteem would be more than willing to share this private info with anyone willing to ask.
So if I can convince myself and anyone who reads this that I am perfectly happy with the size of my penis, what is it that scares me so much about a guy who has only had larger guys?
I asked him earlier before I had even found out about his sex-life before me, what he thinks is most important in a relationship: sex, physical appearance, conversation or general compatability. His order-general compatability (1), conversation (2), sex (3) and physical appearance (4).
As far as 1, 2, and 3 go, I would say the two of us score very high. So, if I'm roughly the same size as half of all american men, and he ranks appearance as the very last of the four things I could think of that were important to a relationship (I threw out love... the variable), why am I freaked out?
Part of it is in the pure competition of it. You put any guy in front of me that I don't want to sleep with myself, and I'm going to wonder if I'm smarter than him, better looking or better in bed. But it has to be more than that...
Tonight may be the last night I see him for a while, unless he does call on Thursday. And I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't considering how I acted like an insecure idiot today. While he took time to assure that my size was more than enough and that the sex really was great and that I lasted way longer than his other lovers, I was only moderately appeased.
I guess there's only so much someone else's appreciation of your body can do for you, when you still don't really appreciate it yourself. When I look into the mirror, what do I see these days? Am I seeing light reflected off an object or am I seeing myself? More importantly, what the hell am I looking for?
Reading an article online about penile enlargements, I began to play with the idea. What if I did it? One of the natural exercise programs, which probably doesn't work, had a size calculator. It asked you what size you were and how long you would use the program. I entered my size and a year. When 8.25" popped on the screen, I laughed. Which made me think, what about if it were 7"? If I could change the size of it right now with no consequence would I take the extra inch or two?
Probably not. I've been in enough situations where I was already too big for my partner, and we just end up doing something else or lying in bed... a little bit frustrated. I've never topped a guy who didn't seem satisfied, which makes me wonder if gay men fake pleasurable bottoming experiences as straight women do orgasms. It was at this point that I realized I wanted an incredible anamorphic penis.
With this amazing anomaly of human anatomy I would shift larger to match the previous partners of J, and become smaller and more comfortable with the partners that seem to have difficulty taking what I currently have. It makes me think again, what is it I'm looking for when I look into the mirror?
Do I have an idea of who I want to be or what I want to see? Or is that constantly shifting as I date new people? Thinking back, my most successful relationships have been with people with whom I've never second-guessed my own appearance. With Steven, I just knew (or at least felt) he was happy with me just the way that I was. It was the same with Jeff, as well.
I'll go to sleep tonight uncomfortably wondering... Is it that I should only be with the people who never make me question myself? Or is it only the people I truly care about, that can make me this insecure.
Now, I'm no giant or anything. There is no tree trunk hanging from between my legs, but I'm used to being told by my partners that I'm large. According to studies, I have a slightly above average penis size, but no one really knows how reliable the studies are considering that the smaller men are less likely to volunteer such information. Small Joe with the 3" penis is more likely to pass up the survey and go get a cup of coffee, while Big Swinging Joe, sporting his 10" embodiment of self-esteem would be more than willing to share this private info with anyone willing to ask.
So if I can convince myself and anyone who reads this that I am perfectly happy with the size of my penis, what is it that scares me so much about a guy who has only had larger guys?
I asked him earlier before I had even found out about his sex-life before me, what he thinks is most important in a relationship: sex, physical appearance, conversation or general compatability. His order-general compatability (1), conversation (2), sex (3) and physical appearance (4).
As far as 1, 2, and 3 go, I would say the two of us score very high. So, if I'm roughly the same size as half of all american men, and he ranks appearance as the very last of the four things I could think of that were important to a relationship (I threw out love... the variable), why am I freaked out?
Part of it is in the pure competition of it. You put any guy in front of me that I don't want to sleep with myself, and I'm going to wonder if I'm smarter than him, better looking or better in bed. But it has to be more than that...
Tonight may be the last night I see him for a while, unless he does call on Thursday. And I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't considering how I acted like an insecure idiot today. While he took time to assure that my size was more than enough and that the sex really was great and that I lasted way longer than his other lovers, I was only moderately appeased.
I guess there's only so much someone else's appreciation of your body can do for you, when you still don't really appreciate it yourself. When I look into the mirror, what do I see these days? Am I seeing light reflected off an object or am I seeing myself? More importantly, what the hell am I looking for?
Reading an article online about penile enlargements, I began to play with the idea. What if I did it? One of the natural exercise programs, which probably doesn't work, had a size calculator. It asked you what size you were and how long you would use the program. I entered my size and a year. When 8.25" popped on the screen, I laughed. Which made me think, what about if it were 7"? If I could change the size of it right now with no consequence would I take the extra inch or two?
Probably not. I've been in enough situations where I was already too big for my partner, and we just end up doing something else or lying in bed... a little bit frustrated. I've never topped a guy who didn't seem satisfied, which makes me wonder if gay men fake pleasurable bottoming experiences as straight women do orgasms. It was at this point that I realized I wanted an incredible anamorphic penis.
With this amazing anomaly of human anatomy I would shift larger to match the previous partners of J, and become smaller and more comfortable with the partners that seem to have difficulty taking what I currently have. It makes me think again, what is it I'm looking for when I look into the mirror?
Do I have an idea of who I want to be or what I want to see? Or is that constantly shifting as I date new people? Thinking back, my most successful relationships have been with people with whom I've never second-guessed my own appearance. With Steven, I just knew (or at least felt) he was happy with me just the way that I was. It was the same with Jeff, as well.
I'll go to sleep tonight uncomfortably wondering... Is it that I should only be with the people who never make me question myself? Or is it only the people I truly care about, that can make me this insecure.
8.28.2006
Sometimes, I'm just the sidekick.
I drop him off at his place around five in the morning. Turning around his corner I stop at a 7-11 and pick up a bottle of gatorade. As I'm headed out the door, I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the sliding glass. My hair pops out on the sides, and more closely resembles the bowl cut of my elementary school years than at any time in my adult life. I look like shit, but I feel great. I smile as I think to myself... this is quintiscentially LA.
Yesterday, I was having one of the best first dates I've had in a while with a guy. Let's call him J. We didn't actually do anything since it was so late, but we talked and laughed a lot. Anyway, I told him about how I was so amused that I had so much in common with Carrie, Sex and the City's thoughtful bombshell. Among our other conversations was one about how I was fascinated when people ate alone, and how I felt proud at the times when I could do it without being embarassed.
We go home and watch an episode, and 45 minutes later at the closing, Carrie gives a short monologue as she eats alone without the armor of books or something to do. She just sits and makes peace with being single.
It's not the first time I've found myself identifying with a popular heroine. Perhaps they're popular because they're so identifiable. I like to think that I'm a little bit more in sync with them than most--that the writers have been through and thought the same shit that I do on a regular basis. Watching another episode today, I realize that she's shorter than the other cast members... which proves my theory. Height and intrigue are inversely related.
When I was in High School, I found comfort in a little journal they sold at Barnes and Nobles. On the very front was the saying, "I am the hero of my own story". It made me happy. If it were true, it would mean that there was always a point to what you were going through. Stories didn't exist if they weren't saying something, and heroes weren't written if they were static from start to finish.
As I spent the night with J, I had realized I was rewriting my story again. Or at least the part about love. We went to Life Plaza in massively asian Rowland Heights, and I remembered that I had been there at one point with all of my previous boyfriends. Did the memory of my first three lovers get fainter when I brought him there? If my life is a story, and each of them are a chapter how does one analyze the change in me? Life Plaza, this place I used to hate, becomes some kind of landmark. It's the only thing they all have in common.
The thought brings me to J. He's seemingly perfect for me, or at least he is for the time being. But, of course, I'm leaving Friday and he know's it too. The last time I was in a one week relationship it ended horribly and I had a broken heart (or at the very least a broken ego). I look at J and he's nothing like that other guy, which makes me feel happy and even a little safe. But then I consider for a moment, do I really need to do a personality check on the guy, or should I dedicate more time to restraining myself?
I've never been able to just be a fuck or a fling. It's always about emotions with me. I'm going to get attached, and we're going to part ways and I'll be sad for a while. Had the city of Shanghai not existed, I might be in Los Angeles from now on. I might have had the chance to see where it would go. I know that the chances of me being in an actual relationship in China are much lower, and it makes me glad to know that. Maybe now I've earned so much distrust in my decisions that I've decided to put an ocean between me and temptation.
I'm always the one getting hurt these days. After I came out I enjoyed a brief period of invincibility where it seemed like no one would say no. But more likely I probably just didn't give a shit about the people back then who would. Carrie speaks of masochism in Season 2 and the exquisite pain. After thinking about it for a while, it starts to click. What a great adjective for pain. How can an adjective so seemingly positive come out of something as abjectly miserable as a broken heart? The word "exquisite" hints at hedonism--to indulge in something rich and full. But doesn't it matter what it's full of? What is it that some people find so incredibly delicious about hurting themselves. What the hell is so tasty about sulking and bathing in your own misery.
How is it that there is comfort in heartache? I used to believe, coming out of my depression, that I loved the pain because I had lived so long feeling emotionally and mentally numb. When you live in a world where you go to the gym to get the exercise you're not getting because you're working at a computer all day... and you pay $4 for a cup of coffee to make up for the rest you didn't take, crying becomes one of the most rewardingly natural things you can do. So, I wonder if it is really possible to feel good when you feel like dying, simply because you've spent the last couple of years feeling already dead.
I worry about myself a lot, but I think from his side of the story. If I were writing his biography, I would be the fling who comes in for a part of a chapter and maybe even appears a couple times later through the book. Maybe I'd change things or maybe I'd just provide contrast. I learned from my last boyfriend that while you may be the hero of your own story, others will quickly cast you as the comic-relief, the catalyst or even the villain. It's experiences like those that really ground you.
You begin to realize that you don't have to come out on top all the time, because when you're not the hero of the story, it doesn't matter where you end up as long as you're not dead.
Yesterday, I was having one of the best first dates I've had in a while with a guy. Let's call him J. We didn't actually do anything since it was so late, but we talked and laughed a lot. Anyway, I told him about how I was so amused that I had so much in common with Carrie, Sex and the City's thoughtful bombshell. Among our other conversations was one about how I was fascinated when people ate alone, and how I felt proud at the times when I could do it without being embarassed.
We go home and watch an episode, and 45 minutes later at the closing, Carrie gives a short monologue as she eats alone without the armor of books or something to do. She just sits and makes peace with being single.
It's not the first time I've found myself identifying with a popular heroine. Perhaps they're popular because they're so identifiable. I like to think that I'm a little bit more in sync with them than most--that the writers have been through and thought the same shit that I do on a regular basis. Watching another episode today, I realize that she's shorter than the other cast members... which proves my theory. Height and intrigue are inversely related.
When I was in High School, I found comfort in a little journal they sold at Barnes and Nobles. On the very front was the saying, "I am the hero of my own story". It made me happy. If it were true, it would mean that there was always a point to what you were going through. Stories didn't exist if they weren't saying something, and heroes weren't written if they were static from start to finish.
As I spent the night with J, I had realized I was rewriting my story again. Or at least the part about love. We went to Life Plaza in massively asian Rowland Heights, and I remembered that I had been there at one point with all of my previous boyfriends. Did the memory of my first three lovers get fainter when I brought him there? If my life is a story, and each of them are a chapter how does one analyze the change in me? Life Plaza, this place I used to hate, becomes some kind of landmark. It's the only thing they all have in common.
The thought brings me to J. He's seemingly perfect for me, or at least he is for the time being. But, of course, I'm leaving Friday and he know's it too. The last time I was in a one week relationship it ended horribly and I had a broken heart (or at the very least a broken ego). I look at J and he's nothing like that other guy, which makes me feel happy and even a little safe. But then I consider for a moment, do I really need to do a personality check on the guy, or should I dedicate more time to restraining myself?
I've never been able to just be a fuck or a fling. It's always about emotions with me. I'm going to get attached, and we're going to part ways and I'll be sad for a while. Had the city of Shanghai not existed, I might be in Los Angeles from now on. I might have had the chance to see where it would go. I know that the chances of me being in an actual relationship in China are much lower, and it makes me glad to know that. Maybe now I've earned so much distrust in my decisions that I've decided to put an ocean between me and temptation.
I'm always the one getting hurt these days. After I came out I enjoyed a brief period of invincibility where it seemed like no one would say no. But more likely I probably just didn't give a shit about the people back then who would. Carrie speaks of masochism in Season 2 and the exquisite pain. After thinking about it for a while, it starts to click. What a great adjective for pain. How can an adjective so seemingly positive come out of something as abjectly miserable as a broken heart? The word "exquisite" hints at hedonism--to indulge in something rich and full. But doesn't it matter what it's full of? What is it that some people find so incredibly delicious about hurting themselves. What the hell is so tasty about sulking and bathing in your own misery.
How is it that there is comfort in heartache? I used to believe, coming out of my depression, that I loved the pain because I had lived so long feeling emotionally and mentally numb. When you live in a world where you go to the gym to get the exercise you're not getting because you're working at a computer all day... and you pay $4 for a cup of coffee to make up for the rest you didn't take, crying becomes one of the most rewardingly natural things you can do. So, I wonder if it is really possible to feel good when you feel like dying, simply because you've spent the last couple of years feeling already dead.
I worry about myself a lot, but I think from his side of the story. If I were writing his biography, I would be the fling who comes in for a part of a chapter and maybe even appears a couple times later through the book. Maybe I'd change things or maybe I'd just provide contrast. I learned from my last boyfriend that while you may be the hero of your own story, others will quickly cast you as the comic-relief, the catalyst or even the villain. It's experiences like those that really ground you.
You begin to realize that you don't have to come out on top all the time, because when you're not the hero of the story, it doesn't matter where you end up as long as you're not dead.
8.23.2006
What the hell is closure anyway?
Every relationship ends with the search for this particular thing. Good or bad, if your boyfriend cheats on you or if your husband dies, you look for this. The trouble is that it's very different for each person, and for one person it changes over time.
The first time I looked for closure was when I was trying to get over my high school crush. Of course it wasn't really getting over him. My idea of closure was trying to get him to fall in love with me, even though he turned out to be straight. And every time I got beat back down and he wondered why I cared so oddly much about our "friendship", I found a reason to fight again for him. Maybe it wasn't so much of a reason then as it was an excuse.
After that I gave up on the idea: one last conversation, one last look or one last kiss. It was all bullshit to me. What is supposed to be the last for me always ends up getting twisted into the first of a new beginning. I think that in a very wierd way I'm too optimistic. I keep dreaming of something I know will never come.
A month ago, my idea of closure changed again. I wanted him to say he loved me back after all this time. I wanted him to say that he made a mistake. I wanted to be able to walk away from him the way he walked away from me. But that's foolish. I know that if he had asked me back, I could walk away... but I could never do it the way he did. Sometimes I think I was born to give him the advantage.
This week, my concept of closure changed once again. I sat on this computer and wrote an e-mail to him. I wanted to say goodbye and sorry. I wanted to apologize for making my problems his and wish him well in his life. The letter was a good one. It sounded optimistic, civil and genuine. But as I got towards the end, I couldn't press the send button. A thought occurred to me. What if he replied? Is there anything he could say that wouldn't make me feel worse? If he said too little, would my heart break a little like it used to? Maybe he thought of this too.
The problem is I'll never understand how he felt about me, or if he felt anything at all, so I don't know why he hasn't tried to get in touch with me. Maybe he is concerned about my feelings or maybe...
I looked at his pictures on facebook. The ones tagged by his boyfriend and besides for the pleasure of masochism I took from it what I found to be closure. Or at least what I will find to be closure for he and I. I saw how happy he was over in New York with his boyfriend, and I decided not to send the e-mail. I figured it would just remind him of a time when he was unhappy. I mean, isn't it sad when you are personally serving as a reminder to someone of a really bad time. And really, what was I looking to get out of it? I think I wanted some validation that things have changed, and that he still looks at me with some amount of affection. Or maybe I just want him to think of me as much as I think of him... maybe I just don't want him to forget about me until I can finally forget about him.
It's hard when someone you cared about moves on so much sooner than you did yourself. I guess that's been the case for everyone I've ever needed closure from. It's always been excuses to draw them back into my life, even after they're gone.
To end a relationship - beyond the last kiss, last hug or last knowing look - what do you really need from the other person? Does he have anything to say that will set me free? Or does he only have things that I want him to say?
I've come to understand that the only way for me to walk away is to accept all my losses. To take the humiliation and the heartache, and appreciate the part of me that dared to love another in the first place.
The first time I looked for closure was when I was trying to get over my high school crush. Of course it wasn't really getting over him. My idea of closure was trying to get him to fall in love with me, even though he turned out to be straight. And every time I got beat back down and he wondered why I cared so oddly much about our "friendship", I found a reason to fight again for him. Maybe it wasn't so much of a reason then as it was an excuse.
After that I gave up on the idea: one last conversation, one last look or one last kiss. It was all bullshit to me. What is supposed to be the last for me always ends up getting twisted into the first of a new beginning. I think that in a very wierd way I'm too optimistic. I keep dreaming of something I know will never come.
A month ago, my idea of closure changed again. I wanted him to say he loved me back after all this time. I wanted him to say that he made a mistake. I wanted to be able to walk away from him the way he walked away from me. But that's foolish. I know that if he had asked me back, I could walk away... but I could never do it the way he did. Sometimes I think I was born to give him the advantage.
This week, my concept of closure changed once again. I sat on this computer and wrote an e-mail to him. I wanted to say goodbye and sorry. I wanted to apologize for making my problems his and wish him well in his life. The letter was a good one. It sounded optimistic, civil and genuine. But as I got towards the end, I couldn't press the send button. A thought occurred to me. What if he replied? Is there anything he could say that wouldn't make me feel worse? If he said too little, would my heart break a little like it used to? Maybe he thought of this too.
The problem is I'll never understand how he felt about me, or if he felt anything at all, so I don't know why he hasn't tried to get in touch with me. Maybe he is concerned about my feelings or maybe...
I looked at his pictures on facebook. The ones tagged by his boyfriend and besides for the pleasure of masochism I took from it what I found to be closure. Or at least what I will find to be closure for he and I. I saw how happy he was over in New York with his boyfriend, and I decided not to send the e-mail. I figured it would just remind him of a time when he was unhappy. I mean, isn't it sad when you are personally serving as a reminder to someone of a really bad time. And really, what was I looking to get out of it? I think I wanted some validation that things have changed, and that he still looks at me with some amount of affection. Or maybe I just want him to think of me as much as I think of him... maybe I just don't want him to forget about me until I can finally forget about him.
It's hard when someone you cared about moves on so much sooner than you did yourself. I guess that's been the case for everyone I've ever needed closure from. It's always been excuses to draw them back into my life, even after they're gone.
To end a relationship - beyond the last kiss, last hug or last knowing look - what do you really need from the other person? Does he have anything to say that will set me free? Or does he only have things that I want him to say?
I've come to understand that the only way for me to walk away is to accept all my losses. To take the humiliation and the heartache, and appreciate the part of me that dared to love another in the first place.
8.04.2006
Signs of change.
I had another one of those dreams where the people change on you. This one was about my dream guy. We were away somewhere and sharing a room. I didn't know if he was gay or not, so I didn't get interested until we got close to each other. Our beds were pushed together, and slowly I reached around and held him in my arms.
This was my dream guy. You know the one with no face but a nice body. Sometimes I imagine him to be the Taiwanese boy sitting next to me in my marketing class. He asks me to help him read the projection because my professor's handwriting is bad. I like to lean in closer to the board and then to him as I whisper the lecture notes to him.
It's amazing how happy, having nothing, can make me feel... as long as I have the hope that it will one day be something.
The way, that I felt in my dream... I haven't felt like that since Brian Tagiku, way back in high school, during those awkward moments where I would hint to my interest him and in my mind pretend that he returned those feelings, even if only secretly.
So the dream guy changed on my halfway through, thankfully after we had messed around. In another part my brother changed into my dad. I think there's instability in my head.
This was my dream guy. You know the one with no face but a nice body. Sometimes I imagine him to be the Taiwanese boy sitting next to me in my marketing class. He asks me to help him read the projection because my professor's handwriting is bad. I like to lean in closer to the board and then to him as I whisper the lecture notes to him.
It's amazing how happy, having nothing, can make me feel... as long as I have the hope that it will one day be something.
The way, that I felt in my dream... I haven't felt like that since Brian Tagiku, way back in high school, during those awkward moments where I would hint to my interest him and in my mind pretend that he returned those feelings, even if only secretly.
So the dream guy changed on my halfway through, thankfully after we had messed around. In another part my brother changed into my dad. I think there's instability in my head.
7.31.2006
It all comes down to it.
I'm experience a sort of writer's block. I'm writing a script for a film, that's supposed to be done for my Asian American Film class. Although, it's really not for that at all.
Being in Berkeley again really makes me remember how badly I kicked my own ass. School, work and tons of extracurriculars from Day One. As hard as it is, there is reasoning behind it and it's not just getting away from problems by keeping myself busy (my time honored self-defense mechanism). Life is really, really short. I mean fuck, I'm 23 already and what do I have to show for it?
I was deciding whether or not to go through with this. Should I really go through with it or should I just say fuck it and pull some shitty ass documentary bull and get my passing grade? I need art to survive and sometimes I had wished I just went straight to doing the art instead of going to college and pleasing my parents, but then again I would always feel that I missed out on the college "experience"... whatever the hell that was, haha.
I'm leaving soon and it's making me realize a lot of things. 1) I am definitely going to miss all my friends from around here, but the really good ones will persist, just like Katy, Sam, and Natalia have already proven to do. I mean, those are the ones that you want your kids to get to know. Everyone else is great to see every now and then, but you can't make decisions on where you live for the now and thens. 2) If I stay in the Bay Area, I'm going to shoot myself. I fucking hate BART with a passion. Every meal, I worry about if I'll eat anything that I actually like, and sadly there have been few meals I've enjoyed since I got back. I don't want to be one of those negative people who leave the country and come back and talk all kinds of smack about the place a lot of people call home, but I guess it's too late for that isn't it? I do my best to not exaggerate though... to keep my opinions mild and not overstated... well except for my hatred for BART.
I miss Shanghai... I miss the language, and being surrounded by Mandarin. Watching Taiwanese music videos on YouTube puts a lump in my heart. I want to get started with my life already...
Being in Berkeley again really makes me remember how badly I kicked my own ass. School, work and tons of extracurriculars from Day One. As hard as it is, there is reasoning behind it and it's not just getting away from problems by keeping myself busy (my time honored self-defense mechanism). Life is really, really short. I mean fuck, I'm 23 already and what do I have to show for it?
I was deciding whether or not to go through with this. Should I really go through with it or should I just say fuck it and pull some shitty ass documentary bull and get my passing grade? I need art to survive and sometimes I had wished I just went straight to doing the art instead of going to college and pleasing my parents, but then again I would always feel that I missed out on the college "experience"... whatever the hell that was, haha.
I'm leaving soon and it's making me realize a lot of things. 1) I am definitely going to miss all my friends from around here, but the really good ones will persist, just like Katy, Sam, and Natalia have already proven to do. I mean, those are the ones that you want your kids to get to know. Everyone else is great to see every now and then, but you can't make decisions on where you live for the now and thens. 2) If I stay in the Bay Area, I'm going to shoot myself. I fucking hate BART with a passion. Every meal, I worry about if I'll eat anything that I actually like, and sadly there have been few meals I've enjoyed since I got back. I don't want to be one of those negative people who leave the country and come back and talk all kinds of smack about the place a lot of people call home, but I guess it's too late for that isn't it? I do my best to not exaggerate though... to keep my opinions mild and not overstated... well except for my hatred for BART.
I miss Shanghai... I miss the language, and being surrounded by Mandarin. Watching Taiwanese music videos on YouTube puts a lump in my heart. I want to get started with my life already...
7.21.2006
Mr. Love or Hate
I've noticed a trend an all my pursuers/pursuees, which is that they tend to either really really like me or really really dislike me. Looking back, there were only a couple who were ambivalent. That's what I'm really looking for I guess. That's what seems the most comfortable with me. I want someone who's willing to date me but not crazy about the whole idea.
I know from experience that I can be trained to love someone, although I've yet to figure out if that is the good kind of love. When someone likes me a lot, especially in the very beginning, it makes me question their sanity. I think to myself, "waoh kid, do you really know what you're getting into?"
It also makes me wonder if it could be any boy walking down the street... or at least any cute boy, for the pickier ones. Or even anyone who pays attention back to you. And I do believe somewhat in love at first sight, but I've always thought the type of love I wanted would be mutual... that we'd look at each other and just know that we had a fighting chance in this crazy world.
I find myself speaking like other nutcases: "If only they could treat me a little bit worse, I would like them so much more."
I entertained the thought, yesterday, that maybe I'm just that great of a person. Maybe the ones who like me (as opposed to the ones that avoid me) just get it. Maybe I'm good enough to be loved that intensely by someone.
But that was just a musing. I know there are people out there who can think that way. And I wonder if that kind of thinking is classified as egotism or a healthy level of self-esteem. After all, is it really that concieted of a notion to believe that we actually deserve the good things we get?
If I sit down with someone and ask them to explain why they like me I will be looking for a list of positive, intellectual things. But I won't get them. At least not at the age that I and the people I tend to date are at. So then, will I scoff when they say, "I just like being around you", or will I accept that there are people in the world that actually like to be around me.
I know from experience that I can be trained to love someone, although I've yet to figure out if that is the good kind of love. When someone likes me a lot, especially in the very beginning, it makes me question their sanity. I think to myself, "waoh kid, do you really know what you're getting into?"
It also makes me wonder if it could be any boy walking down the street... or at least any cute boy, for the pickier ones. Or even anyone who pays attention back to you. And I do believe somewhat in love at first sight, but I've always thought the type of love I wanted would be mutual... that we'd look at each other and just know that we had a fighting chance in this crazy world.
I find myself speaking like other nutcases: "If only they could treat me a little bit worse, I would like them so much more."
I entertained the thought, yesterday, that maybe I'm just that great of a person. Maybe the ones who like me (as opposed to the ones that avoid me) just get it. Maybe I'm good enough to be loved that intensely by someone.
But that was just a musing. I know there are people out there who can think that way. And I wonder if that kind of thinking is classified as egotism or a healthy level of self-esteem. After all, is it really that concieted of a notion to believe that we actually deserve the good things we get?
If I sit down with someone and ask them to explain why they like me I will be looking for a list of positive, intellectual things. But I won't get them. At least not at the age that I and the people I tend to date are at. So then, will I scoff when they say, "I just like being around you", or will I accept that there are people in the world that actually like to be around me.
6.30.2006
I'm drunk.
This will be my first drunken post ever. I've come to realize a couple things about myself. Thing the first: I'm a whiney stupid bitch that needs to suck it up. Thing the second: I'm an attractive, smart, talented and mature person and I really need to stop feeling sorry for myself all the time.
I keep on comparing myself to other people and I've only just realized how stupid that is. I have a lot of issues with my height even though I'm not really that short. Apparently a lot of people would go for me if I was just a little bit taller.
But you know what? Fuck that shit! So what if I'm like two inches shorter than ideal. All those tall fuckers in the world don't have nearly as much to offer as I do other than their height. I may not be as big as all the guys that everyone falls over, but I'm still cute and I'm one hell of a good lay. (If you were ever in the sack with me and wasn't that impressed, it's probably cuz I didn't think you were that cute.)
Wow, I type really fast when I'm drunk. It's amazing. Anyway, this no sex pact I have with myself is kinda good. I feel a lot better about myself in general now that I'm not whoring my body out for tiny tiny droplets of self-respect.
I'm really drunk, but my punctuation is still on point. Nerd.
I keep on comparing myself to other people and I've only just realized how stupid that is. I have a lot of issues with my height even though I'm not really that short. Apparently a lot of people would go for me if I was just a little bit taller.
But you know what? Fuck that shit! So what if I'm like two inches shorter than ideal. All those tall fuckers in the world don't have nearly as much to offer as I do other than their height. I may not be as big as all the guys that everyone falls over, but I'm still cute and I'm one hell of a good lay. (If you were ever in the sack with me and wasn't that impressed, it's probably cuz I didn't think you were that cute.)
Wow, I type really fast when I'm drunk. It's amazing. Anyway, this no sex pact I have with myself is kinda good. I feel a lot better about myself in general now that I'm not whoring my body out for tiny tiny droplets of self-respect.
I'm really drunk, but my punctuation is still on point. Nerd.
6.28.2006
Last January.
Last January, Katy asked me to do her a favor. She said, every day, before I went to sleep to write out 3 things that I did well or 3 things that I liked about myself. After laughing at her, I told her that it could never happen... that each day it was hard for me to even find one thing that I liked much less 3 whole things.
But I was thinking about it just now and I have 3 things, so here go.
1. I'm kind of a nutcase. But when I become disgustingly famous, it will complement my gifts. Like Mozart, Howard Hughes or Mariah Carey, at the mention of my name, people will say, "He's really talented... but also a bit crazy."
2. Everytime I try to close my iTunes, I get a message saying that someone is connected to my shared music. Last month, in the dormitory lobby, I guy came up to me and asked me if it was my library that he listened to, and then complemented my taste in music. Later, I hit on him.
3. MY GAME ≤ ZERO. Sometimes it frustrates me to no end that I don't know how to hit on guys. But this is probably a good thing. The less men I sucessfully take home, the less likely I am to contract HIV.
(Katy: See how hard that last one was to come up with?)
But I was thinking about it just now and I have 3 things, so here go.
1. I'm kind of a nutcase. But when I become disgustingly famous, it will complement my gifts. Like Mozart, Howard Hughes or Mariah Carey, at the mention of my name, people will say, "He's really talented... but also a bit crazy."
2. Everytime I try to close my iTunes, I get a message saying that someone is connected to my shared music. Last month, in the dormitory lobby, I guy came up to me and asked me if it was my library that he listened to, and then complemented my taste in music. Later, I hit on him.
3. MY GAME ≤ ZERO. Sometimes it frustrates me to no end that I don't know how to hit on guys. But this is probably a good thing. The less men I sucessfully take home, the less likely I am to contract HIV.
(Katy: See how hard that last one was to come up with?)
6.26.2006
Everything happens for a reason.
Sometimes it seems like the worst things happen to you. I like to think that they happen for a reason... either to prevent you from doing something worse or to teach you a lesson. Natalia told me last year she believed the same thing, and that I should just put my problems exactly where the were--in the past--and move on. It's the same thing that christians are referring to when they say "god has a plan".
I'm sitting in a Coffee Bean trying to study for my final tomorrow. A guy comes up and speaks to me in chinese. He holds out two flash drives. I tell him I don't understand what he wants me to do. He talks some more, and then I tell him I don't speak chinese. At this point I realize he's not gonna leave me alone, so I transfer his damn files for him.
Before I came to Shanghai I thought there was a big plan for me. That everything that happened to me over the past had happened for a reason and it was all pointing me to Shanghai. I thought that Arthur broke up with me because if he didn't I might've stayed for him. I thought I was always depressed because fate wanted me to be able to comfort other people with their problems. In Shanghai, I would find that part of me that I was looking for. Maybe I'd fall in love. Maybe I'd learn to love myself. Maybe I'd get over my depression.
I'm going back home in less than a week, and none of this stuff has really happened. I'll be back in Shanghai in two months. I've come to the conclusion that things happen for a reason, but it's always up to me to figure out why. I think it's about time I grew up and stopped relying on fate to put me in the right direction.
Forrest Gump said it was a little of both. I think everyone is destined to end up somewhere, but it's up to us to decide how we get there.
I shave my head in the summers in the years that I want change the most. Hair has always been symbolic for me. Having no hair means less time in the mirror fixing up my appearance. Less time in the mirror means more time in the rest of the world.
I know where I'm gonna end up in the future. One day I'm going to truly be happy with myself, and I'm not going to need a boy by my side to tell me that I'm lovable and capable of loving other people. I'm going to have a place somewhere and stroll the streets in my off-time walking my puppy through my neighborhood. My boyfriend will run up behind me wrap me in his arms and ask me to guess who. I'll reply "Jay Chou?" I'll love him, but no more than I'll love having my sanity. When my friends visit I'll show them my meticulously decorated apartment and serve them tea or beer; Eve or Rick. I'll ride my bike through the streets and hear the jazz in my head bouncing off the building walls.
One day... I'm going to stop wanting change. But if things ever do change from there, I won't try to get in the way.
I'm sitting in a Coffee Bean trying to study for my final tomorrow. A guy comes up and speaks to me in chinese. He holds out two flash drives. I tell him I don't understand what he wants me to do. He talks some more, and then I tell him I don't speak chinese. At this point I realize he's not gonna leave me alone, so I transfer his damn files for him.
Before I came to Shanghai I thought there was a big plan for me. That everything that happened to me over the past had happened for a reason and it was all pointing me to Shanghai. I thought that Arthur broke up with me because if he didn't I might've stayed for him. I thought I was always depressed because fate wanted me to be able to comfort other people with their problems. In Shanghai, I would find that part of me that I was looking for. Maybe I'd fall in love. Maybe I'd learn to love myself. Maybe I'd get over my depression.
I'm going back home in less than a week, and none of this stuff has really happened. I'll be back in Shanghai in two months. I've come to the conclusion that things happen for a reason, but it's always up to me to figure out why. I think it's about time I grew up and stopped relying on fate to put me in the right direction.
Forrest Gump said it was a little of both. I think everyone is destined to end up somewhere, but it's up to us to decide how we get there.
I shave my head in the summers in the years that I want change the most. Hair has always been symbolic for me. Having no hair means less time in the mirror fixing up my appearance. Less time in the mirror means more time in the rest of the world.
I know where I'm gonna end up in the future. One day I'm going to truly be happy with myself, and I'm not going to need a boy by my side to tell me that I'm lovable and capable of loving other people. I'm going to have a place somewhere and stroll the streets in my off-time walking my puppy through my neighborhood. My boyfriend will run up behind me wrap me in his arms and ask me to guess who. I'll reply "Jay Chou?" I'll love him, but no more than I'll love having my sanity. When my friends visit I'll show them my meticulously decorated apartment and serve them tea or beer; Eve or Rick. I'll ride my bike through the streets and hear the jazz in my head bouncing off the building walls.
One day... I'm going to stop wanting change. But if things ever do change from there, I won't try to get in the way.
6.25.2006
Growth is a kind of love.
I think I've finally come to a point in my life when I'm ready to make sacrifices in order to be the way that I want to be. For a very long time now, I've measured my self-worth by the frequency of sex I've had... as if I'm only as good as I am sexually desired.
So I made a contract with myself, a promise on paper.
No more sex for at least 6 months and afterwards, I can only have sex with someone who considers himself to be my boyfriend... AND we have to have been together for at least 3 months. So realistically looking at this, I will probably be celibate for about a year, maybe less, maybe more.
I talked with some friends about this and they all thought it was a good idea. Annalyn once told me a couple years back that I was addicted to sex, but I didn't really understand what it meant. I didn't take it seriously, because I know I didn't have that much sex. But now I realize it's not so much about how often it happens. It's more about what it means to you and how you use it to escape the world.
It's my heroine, my crack cocaine. I start to feel bad about myself and the world and I go and find sex with the next moving thing. Yesterday I did it again. I didn't even know him and afterward, I felt numb and empty... but I still think it felt better than sad and unstable. Within the past couple of weeks, the zoloft has completely left my body, and I'm back where I was November 2005 or February 2002 or October 2001.
These months aren't when it was worst. They're right before they got worse.
So I get to make a decision again. Do I let history repeat? Do I fall until I can barely stand to pick up the scattered pieces and find myself another niche in the world--full of people who don't know about me? Or do I make a decisive move and grow up? I'm 23 right now, and I feel like a child. Ridiculous tantrums dressed up with all the words and sentence structures I learned to use throughout my college years. But in the end, maybe I am just a baby... crying the minute someone leaves the room, because I really can't stand to be by myself.
I came to Shanghai to learn to love myself again. But I realize now that it's going to be really hard, because I'm not sure if the word "again" applies. Was there ever a time when I really did? Probably not. If I remember my life by months and years, then maybe sometime in 2008 or 2009, I could look back on June 2006 and remember it as the month when things started getting better. For good.
So I made a contract with myself, a promise on paper.
No more sex for at least 6 months and afterwards, I can only have sex with someone who considers himself to be my boyfriend... AND we have to have been together for at least 3 months. So realistically looking at this, I will probably be celibate for about a year, maybe less, maybe more.
I talked with some friends about this and they all thought it was a good idea. Annalyn once told me a couple years back that I was addicted to sex, but I didn't really understand what it meant. I didn't take it seriously, because I know I didn't have that much sex. But now I realize it's not so much about how often it happens. It's more about what it means to you and how you use it to escape the world.
It's my heroine, my crack cocaine. I start to feel bad about myself and the world and I go and find sex with the next moving thing. Yesterday I did it again. I didn't even know him and afterward, I felt numb and empty... but I still think it felt better than sad and unstable. Within the past couple of weeks, the zoloft has completely left my body, and I'm back where I was November 2005 or February 2002 or October 2001.
These months aren't when it was worst. They're right before they got worse.
So I get to make a decision again. Do I let history repeat? Do I fall until I can barely stand to pick up the scattered pieces and find myself another niche in the world--full of people who don't know about me? Or do I make a decisive move and grow up? I'm 23 right now, and I feel like a child. Ridiculous tantrums dressed up with all the words and sentence structures I learned to use throughout my college years. But in the end, maybe I am just a baby... crying the minute someone leaves the room, because I really can't stand to be by myself.
I came to Shanghai to learn to love myself again. But I realize now that it's going to be really hard, because I'm not sure if the word "again" applies. Was there ever a time when I really did? Probably not. If I remember my life by months and years, then maybe sometime in 2008 or 2009, I could look back on June 2006 and remember it as the month when things started getting better. For good.
6.14.2006
Get lost.
I walk down the street, with all my focus buried in the attention of my cell phone. I need minutes, and badly. As I listen to the automated voice instruct me in broken english, I wonder if I'm at the point in my studies where I can start pressing 1 on my touch tone keypad for Mandarin. Two boys come out of the storefront up ahead, one with his arm around the other. I think to myself, "how cute". The other boy's arm reaches up to the small of his back, as if he were trying to reach a higher hetero-appropriate area. His hand then falls to the other guy's right buttcheek and gives it a long hard squeeze... then I think to myself, "how long has it been since you got laid?"
I've been working in front of the computer for several hours trying to get this contract graphic design business of mine going. Two weeks = two customers = $600 US = 2 mo. rent in Shanghai. But it's not enough. As good as it sounds right now, I can only live off the gap between the US dollar and Chinese RMB for so long. I need consistent work and a good profile. Plus, by this time next year, I want an apartment with a hot tub. Yeah, that's right... hot tub.
I think maybe I can be one of those really sought after designers like Paul Rand. He designed logos for ABC, IBM and NeXT among all his big corporations. I just like the idea of being paid literally hundreds of dollars per hour to sit and think. I could go in the park, wander around and wonder if I should use circles or squares, serif or sans serif. This would all be great if my designs didn't suck ass. But I guess it's ok for now and not having any formal design education.
If I can support myself doing this, I can use the spare time to go on auditions for random things. When I return to Shanghai in August I'll be bringing a flugelhorn with me. Maybe I can get into a jazz band or something here. Then I won't actually have to speak chinese. I'm going to meet Coco Zhao Ke this weekend hopefully, who is a famous shanghainese jazz singer, also gay. Supposedly his stuff is good but I wouldn't know where to find his CD.
Regardless, I can't help but feel like such an idiot here. I was supposed to start my business 3 months ago. If I had, I would have plenty of money for a new place. I see all the material things that I want and kick myself in the butt just a little bit for not already having them.
And in regards to relationships, haven't found one worth talking about yet. I think it'll be a long time coming though. For now I'm happy with the occasional lay, which will hopefully come more often once I have my own place. I think it's about time that I really raised my standards for men. I've noticed that since I've arrived in Shanghai that I've been pretty good about that. Whoever this guy is... the one that I'm going to meet and know that I'll want to be with for a very long time, I'm sure he's on his way to Shanghai within the next 5 years. I'm thinking that he'll come for the jazz.
I've been working in front of the computer for several hours trying to get this contract graphic design business of mine going. Two weeks = two customers = $600 US = 2 mo. rent in Shanghai. But it's not enough. As good as it sounds right now, I can only live off the gap between the US dollar and Chinese RMB for so long. I need consistent work and a good profile. Plus, by this time next year, I want an apartment with a hot tub. Yeah, that's right... hot tub.
I think maybe I can be one of those really sought after designers like Paul Rand. He designed logos for ABC, IBM and NeXT among all his big corporations. I just like the idea of being paid literally hundreds of dollars per hour to sit and think. I could go in the park, wander around and wonder if I should use circles or squares, serif or sans serif. This would all be great if my designs didn't suck ass. But I guess it's ok for now and not having any formal design education.
If I can support myself doing this, I can use the spare time to go on auditions for random things. When I return to Shanghai in August I'll be bringing a flugelhorn with me. Maybe I can get into a jazz band or something here. Then I won't actually have to speak chinese. I'm going to meet Coco Zhao Ke this weekend hopefully, who is a famous shanghainese jazz singer, also gay. Supposedly his stuff is good but I wouldn't know where to find his CD.
Regardless, I can't help but feel like such an idiot here. I was supposed to start my business 3 months ago. If I had, I would have plenty of money for a new place. I see all the material things that I want and kick myself in the butt just a little bit for not already having them.
And in regards to relationships, haven't found one worth talking about yet. I think it'll be a long time coming though. For now I'm happy with the occasional lay, which will hopefully come more often once I have my own place. I think it's about time that I really raised my standards for men. I've noticed that since I've arrived in Shanghai that I've been pretty good about that. Whoever this guy is... the one that I'm going to meet and know that I'll want to be with for a very long time, I'm sure he's on his way to Shanghai within the next 5 years. I'm thinking that he'll come for the jazz.
6.04.2006
Let's get serious.
Standing outside of the ridiculously named Frangipani, he stands still as I pace in circles around him. Playfully, stand-off-ish... I question his motives. And then I tell him, "I'm nothing special". I lie, because I know I am. Looking into his eyes melts my heart, though. It's like looking into a mirror.
5.17.2006
From closet to classroom in china.
By Howard W. French The New York Times
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 2005
SHANGHAI As the class got under way, the diminutive teacher standing before an overcrowded lecture hall in this city's most exclusive university handed out a survey. The first of several multiple-choice questions asked students what their feelings would be if they encountered two male lovers: total acceptance, reluctant acceptance, rejection or disgust?
As a way of breaking the ice, the teacher, Sun Zhongxin, 35, with a doctorate in sociology and a fondness for PowerPoint presentations, read aloud some of the answers anonymously. Judging by her sample, most of the 120 or so students said they would reluctantly accept gay lovers in their midst.
The Fudan University class, Introduction to Gay and Lesbian Studies, is the first of its kind ever offered to Chinese undergraduates, and Sun briefly wondered why it was so well attended, before providing her own answer.
"The attitude toward homosexuality in China is changing," she said. "It is a good process, but it also makes us feel heavy-hearted. What's unfortunate about such heavy attendance is that it indicates that many people have never discussed the topic before. Not only are people hiding in the closet, but the topic itself has been hiding in the closet."
Among China's gay and lesbian population, which may be as large as 48 million by some estimates though it remains largely invisible, the new course is being portrayed as a major advance.
Less than a decade ago, homosexuality was still included under the heading of hooliganism in China's criminal code, and it was only in 2001 that the Chinese Psychiatric Association removed homosexuality from its list of mental illnesses.
"This is definitely a big breakthrough in the contemporary society, because for so many years, homosexuals, as a community, have lived at the edge of society and have been treated like dissidents," said Zhou Shengjian, director of a gay advocacy group in Chongqing, an inland city far from Shanghai's cosmopolitanism.
"For such a university to have a specific course like this, with so many participants and experts involved, will have a very positive impact on the social situation of gay people, and on the fight against AIDS."
However much they welcomed the academic breakthrough, which is likely to prompt similar courses on other campuses, many gay and lesbian activists in China say they are no longer willing simply to wait patiently for the society to accept them. In particular, gay activists have been able to leverage the rising alarm over the spread of AIDS to win more maneuvering space, including more acceptance from the government.
Currently, by some estimates, there are as many as 300 Web sites in China that cater to the concerns of gays and lesbians.
Some of the sites focus strictly on health issues. Others tread into the delicate area of discrimination and human rights, and these are occasionally blocked temporarily or shut down by the government.
Others feature downloadable fiction by gay writers, who deal candidly with matters of sexuality in ways that few publishers in China's tightly controlled book industry would allow. One of the most popular sites (www.gztz.org) includes detailed maps of gay entertainment areas, from saunas to nightclubs, in China and overseas.
"In each provincial capital there is at least one gay working group that is active on HIV-AIDS prevention," said Zhen Li, 40, a volunteer for a gay hot line based in Beijing. "AIDS is not the main focus of our lives, though. We use the discussion of AIDS as a way of coming together on other issues, from getting coverage of gay life in the media to starting a discussion with the society."
For the most part, activists say, the government's attitude has been pragmatic. Groups that say they want to work on AIDS get official support. Those that focus on equal rights for gay people generally do not.
In almost the same breath, though, many also acknowledge that their strategy of using AIDS to create greater freedom carries a risk that they will be blamed for the spread of the disease.
"This is a very sensitive issue among homosexuals, thinking that outsiders are equating them with AIDS," said Gao Yanning, a professor in the school of public health at Fudan University, whose course on homosexual life for the medical school was a precursor of the new undergraduate class.
"But we, the professors, have been very careful about this. When I was first thinking of a course called the theory and practice of homosexuality, I was approached by another professor who told me I should call the class 'Homosexuality and AIDS."'
Gao said he would have refused to teach the class if he had been forced to use such a name.
Many gay Chinese say that it is social conservatism more than the government, whose policies during the communist era have veered from repressive to prudish, that has discouraged gay people from publicly acknowledging their sexual orientation.
Chinese are hard pressed to name a single celebrity or notable person from their country who has lived an openly gay life, meaning that except for foreigners, young gay men and lesbians have no prominent role models. Explicitly gay literature or cinema and television roles are equally scarce.
A 52-year-old lesbian in the northeastern city of Dalian who gave her name as Yang said she had discovered her sexual identity only at age 36, after marriage, when she had her first relationship with another woman, a factory co-worker.
"When we were together, people would talk about our relationship behind our backs or sometimes ask outright whether we were gay people," Yang said. "I was just ashamed and didn't know what to say, so I avoided my girlfriend in public occasions. The young gay people in Dalian today, though, seem to live in a very comfortable time."
"They're not forced to get married," she said, "and they take new partners one after another."
Many others, however, said the issue of marriage continued to weigh heavily.
"If you tell your parents you have a boyfriend, that may be O.K., but you've still got to get married," said Wang Xieyu, a junior at Fudan University. "The parents have their own concerns, their friends and their reputations. China today is like the U.S. in the 1960s, but we are changing faster. What took 40 years in the States may only take 10 years in China."
NOTE: This class at Fudan is extremely packed all the time and overenrolled. I'm going to sit in eventually but am putting if off until the end of the semester, since I hope my chinese will be better then.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 2005
SHANGHAI As the class got under way, the diminutive teacher standing before an overcrowded lecture hall in this city's most exclusive university handed out a survey. The first of several multiple-choice questions asked students what their feelings would be if they encountered two male lovers: total acceptance, reluctant acceptance, rejection or disgust?
As a way of breaking the ice, the teacher, Sun Zhongxin, 35, with a doctorate in sociology and a fondness for PowerPoint presentations, read aloud some of the answers anonymously. Judging by her sample, most of the 120 or so students said they would reluctantly accept gay lovers in their midst.
The Fudan University class, Introduction to Gay and Lesbian Studies, is the first of its kind ever offered to Chinese undergraduates, and Sun briefly wondered why it was so well attended, before providing her own answer.
"The attitude toward homosexuality in China is changing," she said. "It is a good process, but it also makes us feel heavy-hearted. What's unfortunate about such heavy attendance is that it indicates that many people have never discussed the topic before. Not only are people hiding in the closet, but the topic itself has been hiding in the closet."
Among China's gay and lesbian population, which may be as large as 48 million by some estimates though it remains largely invisible, the new course is being portrayed as a major advance.
Less than a decade ago, homosexuality was still included under the heading of hooliganism in China's criminal code, and it was only in 2001 that the Chinese Psychiatric Association removed homosexuality from its list of mental illnesses.
"This is definitely a big breakthrough in the contemporary society, because for so many years, homosexuals, as a community, have lived at the edge of society and have been treated like dissidents," said Zhou Shengjian, director of a gay advocacy group in Chongqing, an inland city far from Shanghai's cosmopolitanism.
"For such a university to have a specific course like this, with so many participants and experts involved, will have a very positive impact on the social situation of gay people, and on the fight against AIDS."
However much they welcomed the academic breakthrough, which is likely to prompt similar courses on other campuses, many gay and lesbian activists in China say they are no longer willing simply to wait patiently for the society to accept them. In particular, gay activists have been able to leverage the rising alarm over the spread of AIDS to win more maneuvering space, including more acceptance from the government.
Currently, by some estimates, there are as many as 300 Web sites in China that cater to the concerns of gays and lesbians.
Some of the sites focus strictly on health issues. Others tread into the delicate area of discrimination and human rights, and these are occasionally blocked temporarily or shut down by the government.
Others feature downloadable fiction by gay writers, who deal candidly with matters of sexuality in ways that few publishers in China's tightly controlled book industry would allow. One of the most popular sites (www.gztz.org) includes detailed maps of gay entertainment areas, from saunas to nightclubs, in China and overseas.
"In each provincial capital there is at least one gay working group that is active on HIV-AIDS prevention," said Zhen Li, 40, a volunteer for a gay hot line based in Beijing. "AIDS is not the main focus of our lives, though. We use the discussion of AIDS as a way of coming together on other issues, from getting coverage of gay life in the media to starting a discussion with the society."
For the most part, activists say, the government's attitude has been pragmatic. Groups that say they want to work on AIDS get official support. Those that focus on equal rights for gay people generally do not.
In almost the same breath, though, many also acknowledge that their strategy of using AIDS to create greater freedom carries a risk that they will be blamed for the spread of the disease.
"This is a very sensitive issue among homosexuals, thinking that outsiders are equating them with AIDS," said Gao Yanning, a professor in the school of public health at Fudan University, whose course on homosexual life for the medical school was a precursor of the new undergraduate class.
"But we, the professors, have been very careful about this. When I was first thinking of a course called the theory and practice of homosexuality, I was approached by another professor who told me I should call the class 'Homosexuality and AIDS."'
Gao said he would have refused to teach the class if he had been forced to use such a name.
Many gay Chinese say that it is social conservatism more than the government, whose policies during the communist era have veered from repressive to prudish, that has discouraged gay people from publicly acknowledging their sexual orientation.
Chinese are hard pressed to name a single celebrity or notable person from their country who has lived an openly gay life, meaning that except for foreigners, young gay men and lesbians have no prominent role models. Explicitly gay literature or cinema and television roles are equally scarce.
A 52-year-old lesbian in the northeastern city of Dalian who gave her name as Yang said she had discovered her sexual identity only at age 36, after marriage, when she had her first relationship with another woman, a factory co-worker.
"When we were together, people would talk about our relationship behind our backs or sometimes ask outright whether we were gay people," Yang said. "I was just ashamed and didn't know what to say, so I avoided my girlfriend in public occasions. The young gay people in Dalian today, though, seem to live in a very comfortable time."
"They're not forced to get married," she said, "and they take new partners one after another."
Many others, however, said the issue of marriage continued to weigh heavily.
"If you tell your parents you have a boyfriend, that may be O.K., but you've still got to get married," said Wang Xieyu, a junior at Fudan University. "The parents have their own concerns, their friends and their reputations. China today is like the U.S. in the 1960s, but we are changing faster. What took 40 years in the States may only take 10 years in China."
NOTE: This class at Fudan is extremely packed all the time and overenrolled. I'm going to sit in eventually but am putting if off until the end of the semester, since I hope my chinese will be better then.
5.11.2006
Better late than never.
I've been having a lot of anxiety towards my return home. Even though I'm only going to be back for less than a week it scares me. Well, I should be more specific really... I'm having a lot of anxiety towards returning to Berkeley.
Like... I don't want to see... people. I've noticed that the thought of running into people from the past scares the crap out of me. Even if they didn't really have any particular meaningful role in my demise, I still fear.
I tend to associate places with events. It's why I can never go back to Boston, really. The place reminds me of too many things that I want to forget. But Berkeley should be different. I spent almost four years of my life there and had many good memories among the bad ones.
I'm riding my bike through campus. It's beautiful weather here in Shanghai. Sunny. Cool. Breezy. Why am I so ready to throw this place away? And relationships with so many people who may not have even known what was going on inside my head?
I started thinking about what I'm doing in Shanghai... besides for occasional studying and working on my portfolio. I mean, what am I really doing in Shanghai. Did I come here to find myself, or did I come here to run away?
I remember once when I was six, my parents got into a fight. My mom walked out of our little apartment in North Hollywood, got into our one and only car... a broken down BMW, and drove away. She came back two days later and said nothing. Sometimes people leave for a short while when they know they have responsibilities. In this case: me. But then sometimes people leave for a while, and once they've past a certain time, they never come back. They stay away because they never came back to take care of that certain responsibility... and after a while they just think it's too late. The damage is done. (Which incidently is the way many of us think about walking into class 5 minutes late.)
I realized that I have a responsibility that I haven't taken care of yet. It's in Berkeley, but I can deal with it here. And well, even though you might think it... it's never too late.
I never forgave myself for what happened. For punishing myself everytime I met a boy who wouldn't love me back. For the night I spent wondering what the tiling would look like red. For giving in and giving up, I never did. But you can't forgive someone who never apologized. So I guess what I'm trying to say... is sorry.
I'm sorry I let it get so bad. I'm sorry for blaming myself for everything that went wrong. I'm sorry that I said I deserved it, and that I would never be happy. And I promise that in the future, I will take my feelings more into consideration.
Like... I don't want to see... people. I've noticed that the thought of running into people from the past scares the crap out of me. Even if they didn't really have any particular meaningful role in my demise, I still fear.
I tend to associate places with events. It's why I can never go back to Boston, really. The place reminds me of too many things that I want to forget. But Berkeley should be different. I spent almost four years of my life there and had many good memories among the bad ones.
I'm riding my bike through campus. It's beautiful weather here in Shanghai. Sunny. Cool. Breezy. Why am I so ready to throw this place away? And relationships with so many people who may not have even known what was going on inside my head?
I started thinking about what I'm doing in Shanghai... besides for occasional studying and working on my portfolio. I mean, what am I really doing in Shanghai. Did I come here to find myself, or did I come here to run away?
I remember once when I was six, my parents got into a fight. My mom walked out of our little apartment in North Hollywood, got into our one and only car... a broken down BMW, and drove away. She came back two days later and said nothing. Sometimes people leave for a short while when they know they have responsibilities. In this case: me. But then sometimes people leave for a while, and once they've past a certain time, they never come back. They stay away because they never came back to take care of that certain responsibility... and after a while they just think it's too late. The damage is done. (Which incidently is the way many of us think about walking into class 5 minutes late.)
I realized that I have a responsibility that I haven't taken care of yet. It's in Berkeley, but I can deal with it here. And well, even though you might think it... it's never too late.
I never forgave myself for what happened. For punishing myself everytime I met a boy who wouldn't love me back. For the night I spent wondering what the tiling would look like red. For giving in and giving up, I never did. But you can't forgive someone who never apologized. So I guess what I'm trying to say... is sorry.
I'm sorry I let it get so bad. I'm sorry for blaming myself for everything that went wrong. I'm sorry that I said I deserved it, and that I would never be happy. And I promise that in the future, I will take my feelings more into consideration.
4.29.2006
The boy with no arms.
She comes up to me on the subway and kneels down right in front. She is only about 9 years old. Placing her hands on my knees, gives me the most pitiful, yet adorable look she can and says, 先生(sir). As I dig into my wallet to find some coins I think to myself... You had me at 先... you had me at 先.
The homeless and poor have given me some memories that I don't think I'll ever forget. When I was still in elementary school, my family took a trip to Las Vegas, where I bought my first ever piggy bank. It said "I love Las Vegas" on it. Before leaving the mall, I also unfortunately let go of my balloon and preceeded to bawl like the baby that I was. My mom was so frustrated with me that as soon as we got out side she took that piggy bank and smashed it on the sidewalk. And as the rest of my family headed back there towards the van, I cried among the shattered pieces. So engulfed in my own agony I was that I didn't even notice someone else standing sitting on the curb. A homeless man with concern in his eyes leaned over, "Hey. Hey. Don't cry. It's gonna be ok. It's gonna be ok."
I used to think that in my adulthood I would go back and find him, but I soon realized that I didn't even remember what he looked like. And I also knew, that if he had even survived through my adolescence, he would not still be sitting on the curb outside of the shopping mall.
Homeless people aren't always so benevolent, though. Once in New York, some homeless guy spit on me for seemingly no reason as I was coming out of the bank. I noticed his glare on me the whole time as I was waiting for my friend. And I had wondered then like I wonder now, if he was looking at something that maybe not everyone can see. I often wonder if crazy people are actually crazy, or if they just have one foot out the door.
Outside (xiangyang market) there is a boy with no arms who sits with his shirt off. He is there every day and he is always looking down. His skin is almost perfect until it leads to the stubs that are his arms... and imperfect as they are, you can see that they had been cut with some precision. Where foreigners come from all over the world to bargain for cheap brand-name ripoffs you can gaze at the horror that is undeveloped China. But few ever look. Even I turn away because it hurts to look. In the western areas of China, underdeveloped and undersecured, children are stolen to sell to families. They are sold to couples in Singapore, Malaysia or any other place that can afford to buy lives, and in the case that they do not sell... they are used to muster up pity from foreigners.
But no one ever looks. Across the street there is a man with a boy on his lap, fallen ill. He cradles him in his arm and crowds gather around mumbling things to themselves. (he's fallen ill), I hear. And the coins fall into the cup one after another. I guess people want to know that there's hope. They find comfort in the possibility that that man is his father and that that man will find a way to make his son better.
But there is no one to make the boy with no arms better. I wonder, what could I possibly give him?
We see homeless people too much. And we always say we've become desensitized. I know that I've said it several times in the past. But it's not true. To be desensitized would mean that you don't feel anything when you see someone who's lost everything. To be desensitized would mean to lack anguish and pity. I am very much still sensitive to them. But still, I do nothing. I find it strange that someone with nothing can give me so much with a few words, yet people with everything always appear empty-handed.
The homeless and poor have given me some memories that I don't think I'll ever forget. When I was still in elementary school, my family took a trip to Las Vegas, where I bought my first ever piggy bank. It said "I love Las Vegas" on it. Before leaving the mall, I also unfortunately let go of my balloon and preceeded to bawl like the baby that I was. My mom was so frustrated with me that as soon as we got out side she took that piggy bank and smashed it on the sidewalk. And as the rest of my family headed back there towards the van, I cried among the shattered pieces. So engulfed in my own agony I was that I didn't even notice someone else standing sitting on the curb. A homeless man with concern in his eyes leaned over, "Hey. Hey. Don't cry. It's gonna be ok. It's gonna be ok."
I used to think that in my adulthood I would go back and find him, but I soon realized that I didn't even remember what he looked like. And I also knew, that if he had even survived through my adolescence, he would not still be sitting on the curb outside of the shopping mall.
Homeless people aren't always so benevolent, though. Once in New York, some homeless guy spit on me for seemingly no reason as I was coming out of the bank. I noticed his glare on me the whole time as I was waiting for my friend. And I had wondered then like I wonder now, if he was looking at something that maybe not everyone can see. I often wonder if crazy people are actually crazy, or if they just have one foot out the door.
Outside (xiangyang market) there is a boy with no arms who sits with his shirt off. He is there every day and he is always looking down. His skin is almost perfect until it leads to the stubs that are his arms... and imperfect as they are, you can see that they had been cut with some precision. Where foreigners come from all over the world to bargain for cheap brand-name ripoffs you can gaze at the horror that is undeveloped China. But few ever look. Even I turn away because it hurts to look. In the western areas of China, underdeveloped and undersecured, children are stolen to sell to families. They are sold to couples in Singapore, Malaysia or any other place that can afford to buy lives, and in the case that they do not sell... they are used to muster up pity from foreigners.
But no one ever looks. Across the street there is a man with a boy on his lap, fallen ill. He cradles him in his arm and crowds gather around mumbling things to themselves. (he's fallen ill), I hear. And the coins fall into the cup one after another. I guess people want to know that there's hope. They find comfort in the possibility that that man is his father and that that man will find a way to make his son better.
But there is no one to make the boy with no arms better. I wonder, what could I possibly give him?
We see homeless people too much. And we always say we've become desensitized. I know that I've said it several times in the past. But it's not true. To be desensitized would mean that you don't feel anything when you see someone who's lost everything. To be desensitized would mean to lack anguish and pity. I am very much still sensitive to them. But still, I do nothing. I find it strange that someone with nothing can give me so much with a few words, yet people with everything always appear empty-handed.
3.29.2006
3.28.2006
For the lesbians.
The Bisexual Boogie Man
By Dinah Gardner
A Beijing magazine recently launched an online women seeking women personals section. So far, though, it’s been a big disappointment. The majority of ads are either posted by unsuspecting straight girls seeking female language exchange partners (sigh) or the dreaded straight couple out for some bi-curious fun.
Check out one of the latest cringe worthy ads.
“I’m a foreigner girl. I’d like to organise a private party for my boyfriend’s birthday and give him a special gift – You (not Chinese) with me are the gift ;-)”
Give me stilted conversation with an earnest English student any day.
It’s pretty obvious why many lesbians get bi-furious about the bi-curious – we have made our bed and we only want women in it – but why are we afraid of dating girls who play for both sides?
First off lesbians are a jealous breed. We have enough on our plate obsessing our girlfriend might be sneaking off behind our backs with another woman. If we’ve got to worry about her getting funky with a guy then we’d never get enough sleep.
At the back of our minds is that nagging conviction that one day she will leave us for a man – especially when the pressure is on to marry and have a conventional family.
There’s a scene in the 1994 lesbian flick, Go Fish where a jury of gay women get stuck into one of the butch characters, Daria, after she sleeps with a guy. “It was just sex,” she pleads.
But for us, ”it’s not just sex.” Sleeping with a bisexual puts you one step away from sleeping with a man. Like tucking into a vegetarian mapo dofu that has had its pork bits scooped out by the kitchen staff.
You would think that as a group that has been marginalised since time immemorial, lesbians could be more open-minded. We label ourselves GBLT – gays, bisexuals, lesbians and transgendered – in a bid to embrace all sexual minorities, but many dykes still find sexually fluid women are not their cup of tea.
Of course some lesbians have no problem with bisexual girls. A number of local butch lesbians in Beijing treasure feminine qualities so much that even lipstick lesbians are not girly enough for them. I met one Beijing dyke who goes even further and exclusively hunts out straight girls. She became a make-up artist so she could spend all day surrounded by hot hetero chicks.
I had a near brush with the bisexual boogie man myself last week. An evildoer texted me posing as the boyfriend of my partner. Although we have an open relationship, the idea that she is “sleeping with the enemy” made my stomach curdle.
After vehemently denying the boyfriend in colourful putonghua, she put her mother on the phone. In a glorious reversal of the expected parental attitude to homo offspring, this is what Ma said:
“Dinah, I swear to you, my daughter is 100 percent lesbian. She has never slept with boys. I won’t let her sleep with boys. Oh! And by the way Happy Birthday. Why don’t you come over on Sunday and I’ll make you birthday lunch!”
Let’s hope she makes it vegetarian. From scratch.
By Dinah Gardner
A Beijing magazine recently launched an online women seeking women personals section. So far, though, it’s been a big disappointment. The majority of ads are either posted by unsuspecting straight girls seeking female language exchange partners (sigh) or the dreaded straight couple out for some bi-curious fun.
Check out one of the latest cringe worthy ads.
“I’m a foreigner girl. I’d like to organise a private party for my boyfriend’s birthday and give him a special gift – You (not Chinese) with me are the gift ;-)”
Give me stilted conversation with an earnest English student any day.
It’s pretty obvious why many lesbians get bi-furious about the bi-curious – we have made our bed and we only want women in it – but why are we afraid of dating girls who play for both sides?
First off lesbians are a jealous breed. We have enough on our plate obsessing our girlfriend might be sneaking off behind our backs with another woman. If we’ve got to worry about her getting funky with a guy then we’d never get enough sleep.
At the back of our minds is that nagging conviction that one day she will leave us for a man – especially when the pressure is on to marry and have a conventional family.
There’s a scene in the 1994 lesbian flick, Go Fish where a jury of gay women get stuck into one of the butch characters, Daria, after she sleeps with a guy. “It was just sex,” she pleads.
But for us, ”it’s not just sex.” Sleeping with a bisexual puts you one step away from sleeping with a man. Like tucking into a vegetarian mapo dofu that has had its pork bits scooped out by the kitchen staff.
You would think that as a group that has been marginalised since time immemorial, lesbians could be more open-minded. We label ourselves GBLT – gays, bisexuals, lesbians and transgendered – in a bid to embrace all sexual minorities, but many dykes still find sexually fluid women are not their cup of tea.
Of course some lesbians have no problem with bisexual girls. A number of local butch lesbians in Beijing treasure feminine qualities so much that even lipstick lesbians are not girly enough for them. I met one Beijing dyke who goes even further and exclusively hunts out straight girls. She became a make-up artist so she could spend all day surrounded by hot hetero chicks.
I had a near brush with the bisexual boogie man myself last week. An evildoer texted me posing as the boyfriend of my partner. Although we have an open relationship, the idea that she is “sleeping with the enemy” made my stomach curdle.
After vehemently denying the boyfriend in colourful putonghua, she put her mother on the phone. In a glorious reversal of the expected parental attitude to homo offspring, this is what Ma said:
“Dinah, I swear to you, my daughter is 100 percent lesbian. She has never slept with boys. I won’t let her sleep with boys. Oh! And by the way Happy Birthday. Why don’t you come over on Sunday and I’ll make you birthday lunch!”
Let’s hope she makes it vegetarian. From scratch.
3.26.2006
Are you happy?
"You miss America? I haven't really thought about it much."
"Yeah, I never really appreciated it before. Why don't you miss it?"
"I don't know. I guess I just wasn't happy there."
"And you're happy here?"
"Yeah. I think I am."
It's really late right now, and I can't go to sleep. That and I have to wake up in two hours to take my parents 杭州 (Hangzhou) tomorrow. I've been thinking a lot lately about reconciling my life here with my life back in the U.S. Because I'm not a big fan of leaving your baggage behind only to have it come back and bite you in the ass years later.
I've told a couple people here about my past and about last semester, but when I start to speak too much I have to stop. Because I really can't take it. I had 螃蟹粥 (crab congee) today with a guy who is allergic to shellfish. He said he wanted to build up a tolerance. Maybe, it's the same with me. I have to build up a tolerance to my past.
I don't think most people know how certain points of my life have been for me. I don't think they know that I took Tylenol pills until my body couldn't take it and puked it out last semester, so that I could sleep. But I was really looking for a permanent fix. I don't think they know that I stood in my kitchen a couple of times with a knife pressed to my gut while I told myself, "just push".
Last year, I really wanted to die. There's a difference between wanting to die and wanting to kill yourself though. If I had wanted to kill myself, you wouldn't be reading anything right now because I would have done it. I'd have bought a hose, connected it to the exhaust of my Mustang and driven out to the bay to wait for the carbon monoxide to take over my body. No, I did not want to kill myself... though I did want to die. Wanting to die is different in the sense that you don't actually want to do the work yourself. Either your religious beliefs prevent you from doing it or you're just shit afraid of making such a big decision. I wanted a big fat semi-truck to make the decision for me. It's why I only took 10 pills that night, and it's why the tip of that blade never pierced my skin.
"I know a lot of people like you. You move around a lot and you can't stay in one place for more than a couple of years. You get there and everything seems perfect for a while, but as soon as the dust settles, you remember you have to deal with your problems again."
I think I'm not as naive as I used to be. At least not enough to believe that in the six weeks that I've been here the dust has already settled, and I'm ok. But regardless, today I told my parents that I'm going to stay here. After I get my degree this summer at Berkeley, I'm going to come back and stay here indefinitely.
Something about Shanghai tells me to let the dust settle here. Here I can be lost among the millions of people, and as long as I don't open my mouth, I melt into the background. Here, I have a new start and I get to use different decisions for the same problems. It's hard to explain without sounding a little granola, but I just feel at peace here... and I feel safe. And in my lowest lows, I feel like somehow the world still cares about me. It makes me know that I will never try to hurt myself again.
"Yeah, I never really appreciated it before. Why don't you miss it?"
"I don't know. I guess I just wasn't happy there."
"And you're happy here?"
"Yeah. I think I am."
It's really late right now, and I can't go to sleep. That and I have to wake up in two hours to take my parents 杭州 (Hangzhou) tomorrow. I've been thinking a lot lately about reconciling my life here with my life back in the U.S. Because I'm not a big fan of leaving your baggage behind only to have it come back and bite you in the ass years later.
I've told a couple people here about my past and about last semester, but when I start to speak too much I have to stop. Because I really can't take it. I had 螃蟹粥 (crab congee) today with a guy who is allergic to shellfish. He said he wanted to build up a tolerance. Maybe, it's the same with me. I have to build up a tolerance to my past.
I don't think most people know how certain points of my life have been for me. I don't think they know that I took Tylenol pills until my body couldn't take it and puked it out last semester, so that I could sleep. But I was really looking for a permanent fix. I don't think they know that I stood in my kitchen a couple of times with a knife pressed to my gut while I told myself, "just push".
Last year, I really wanted to die. There's a difference between wanting to die and wanting to kill yourself though. If I had wanted to kill myself, you wouldn't be reading anything right now because I would have done it. I'd have bought a hose, connected it to the exhaust of my Mustang and driven out to the bay to wait for the carbon monoxide to take over my body. No, I did not want to kill myself... though I did want to die. Wanting to die is different in the sense that you don't actually want to do the work yourself. Either your religious beliefs prevent you from doing it or you're just shit afraid of making such a big decision. I wanted a big fat semi-truck to make the decision for me. It's why I only took 10 pills that night, and it's why the tip of that blade never pierced my skin.
"I know a lot of people like you. You move around a lot and you can't stay in one place for more than a couple of years. You get there and everything seems perfect for a while, but as soon as the dust settles, you remember you have to deal with your problems again."
I think I'm not as naive as I used to be. At least not enough to believe that in the six weeks that I've been here the dust has already settled, and I'm ok. But regardless, today I told my parents that I'm going to stay here. After I get my degree this summer at Berkeley, I'm going to come back and stay here indefinitely.
Something about Shanghai tells me to let the dust settle here. Here I can be lost among the millions of people, and as long as I don't open my mouth, I melt into the background. Here, I have a new start and I get to use different decisions for the same problems. It's hard to explain without sounding a little granola, but I just feel at peace here... and I feel safe. And in my lowest lows, I feel like somehow the world still cares about me. It makes me know that I will never try to hurt myself again.
3.09.2006
请你不要打碎我的玻理心。
"So are you... a player?"
"No, I don't think so. Well if I am... I'm not a very good one."
Before I left Berkeley, my doctor told me, Zoloft is not a drug you want to just go off of. I nodded my head, but to be honest I didn't really know what she meant until last week. Anyone who has spoken to me online or on the phone knows that last week I was incredibly sick. Thought it was a flu for a while that gave me the dizziness but after the coughing went away I couldn't even turn my head without feeling all the fluids swishing around my brain.
Which is when I remembered those little pills I stopped taking shortly after I arrived here. I know I should be on them, but I've decided yet again to quit taking them. This time I think it's for a better reason, however, I don't really want to say the reason right now. But in my mind it makes sense.
So I went back on to make the pain go away, and now I cut my dosage down day by day. Dating boys in Chinese is incredibly difficult, especially when they can't understand english. I think my english-speaking chinese friends here take it easy on me, because they usually know what I'm trying to say. Some boys aren't as forgiving on my pronunciations. Words that I thought I could easily say... are more or less incoherent.
Luckily for me, my desire to date guys here has also dwindled. Tons of cute Shanghainese boys, but strangely enough at the end of the day I'd rather stay at home and study mandarin. My teachers compliment me in class, about how well my pronunciation is. They keep asking me if my parents speak mandarin at home which makes me feel pretty damn good. Maybe I just need to speak louder. I wonder how my friends will react if I return to home as a louder me. Quietness has always been one of my defining characteristics.
I went out into the city last Saturday on my own. It was one of the only times in my life that I've ever felt truly comfortable being alone. I think back in the states I feel pressured to be social and have friends around, when most of the time I'm happiest at home in bed. I think I always feel pressured to have something interesting to say about who I'm dating or how my sex life is. Less than a week after I've arrived here I already had several friends ask me if I had met anyone yet. And for some reason, reminding them that I had only been in Shanghai for a couple of days really didn't alter their curiosity... so I went out that weekend and got laid.
And now I don't really give a shit anymore about how long I go without having sex. Always felt like I was on a timer, as if people expected me to have a lot of sex and if I didn't then I was some kind of loser. I don't think it was other people's fault really... I'm pretty sure that I convinced myself of those opinions.
I wonder now if maybe I'm supposed to be alone. If maybe there isn't someone out there for everyone. After all what are the odds of that happening. Realistically speaking there should be several people out there for some people and no one out their for others. People get married and divorce mid-life to live the rest of their lives alone, yet content.
Walking around the city, I see that there are lots of beautiful places, and there are lots of things that I would like to show to some friends, some things I want my parents to see... and a couple things that I would want to share with a boyfriend. But I think that I would very much like to start finding places that I don't mind keeping for myself.
"No, I don't think so. Well if I am... I'm not a very good one."
Before I left Berkeley, my doctor told me, Zoloft is not a drug you want to just go off of. I nodded my head, but to be honest I didn't really know what she meant until last week. Anyone who has spoken to me online or on the phone knows that last week I was incredibly sick. Thought it was a flu for a while that gave me the dizziness but after the coughing went away I couldn't even turn my head without feeling all the fluids swishing around my brain.
Which is when I remembered those little pills I stopped taking shortly after I arrived here. I know I should be on them, but I've decided yet again to quit taking them. This time I think it's for a better reason, however, I don't really want to say the reason right now. But in my mind it makes sense.
So I went back on to make the pain go away, and now I cut my dosage down day by day. Dating boys in Chinese is incredibly difficult, especially when they can't understand english. I think my english-speaking chinese friends here take it easy on me, because they usually know what I'm trying to say. Some boys aren't as forgiving on my pronunciations. Words that I thought I could easily say... are more or less incoherent.
Luckily for me, my desire to date guys here has also dwindled. Tons of cute Shanghainese boys, but strangely enough at the end of the day I'd rather stay at home and study mandarin. My teachers compliment me in class, about how well my pronunciation is. They keep asking me if my parents speak mandarin at home which makes me feel pretty damn good. Maybe I just need to speak louder. I wonder how my friends will react if I return to home as a louder me. Quietness has always been one of my defining characteristics.
I went out into the city last Saturday on my own. It was one of the only times in my life that I've ever felt truly comfortable being alone. I think back in the states I feel pressured to be social and have friends around, when most of the time I'm happiest at home in bed. I think I always feel pressured to have something interesting to say about who I'm dating or how my sex life is. Less than a week after I've arrived here I already had several friends ask me if I had met anyone yet. And for some reason, reminding them that I had only been in Shanghai for a couple of days really didn't alter their curiosity... so I went out that weekend and got laid.
And now I don't really give a shit anymore about how long I go without having sex. Always felt like I was on a timer, as if people expected me to have a lot of sex and if I didn't then I was some kind of loser. I don't think it was other people's fault really... I'm pretty sure that I convinced myself of those opinions.
I wonder now if maybe I'm supposed to be alone. If maybe there isn't someone out there for everyone. After all what are the odds of that happening. Realistically speaking there should be several people out there for some people and no one out their for others. People get married and divorce mid-life to live the rest of their lives alone, yet content.
Walking around the city, I see that there are lots of beautiful places, and there are lots of things that I would like to show to some friends, some things I want my parents to see... and a couple things that I would want to share with a boyfriend. But I think that I would very much like to start finding places that I don't mind keeping for myself.
3.04.2006
Drive through art at 115 km/h.
A futuristic structure enclosing a freeway. This work of art was part of many improvements celebrating 复旦大学 (Fudan University's) 100th Anniversary. Also part of the celebration were several free on-campus concerts... even one featuring Andy Lau!
3.03.2006
Communist China and the Internet
Living in Shanghai as an expatriate can give many foreigners the illusion that China has reached grandness on the level of Tokyo or Taipei. While incredibly beautiful as a country and as a people, sometimes I forget that communist China is in fact... communist.
I blog to this page using a proxy server based in the U.S. Why you ask? Because the Chinese government has effectively banned BlogSpot and several other online blogging sites with the exception of Xanga (I have absolutely no idea). Maybe you Xanga folks are slightly less opinionated. =P
A proxy server works by redirecting my internet inquiries to a server in the United States, (or possibly any varying country that does not impose similar restrictions on their citizens). Therefore when I request access to an internet site, the servers are somehow tricked into thinking that it is an American computer contacting them. This bypasses the restrictions on China, because they don't see that I am looking at sites such as BlogSpot, or Google.... or anything involving Taiwan. Haha. Instead it appears that I am really really interested in this American site... which in actuality is the proxy server.
Though I'm not afraid of getting caught for any of my blogging, since I am not calling forth a revolution from within China. Several internet bloggers, which have effectively exploited this from of free speech have actually been imprisoned for as much as 10 years.
Here's a quote from Guo Liang from the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences in Beijing: "Mao Zedong said that to have power you need two things: the gun and the pen ... The Communist Party has the gun, but the Internet is now the pen. If they lose control of it, something will happen to challenge their authority."
They've in fact responded drastically to the new threat closing down hundreds of internet Cafes in Beijing after one cafe had a fire accident. They claimed that having several computers in one room was a serious fire hazard. If this were truly the case, no one would ever play Counter-Strike... because they'd all have died 5 years ago in America.
I've noticed that a vast majority of the foreigners studying here at Fudan treat it as a semester long vacation, which I find a bit annoying. However, I have to remember that most people aren't like me and actually look forward to vacations. I doubt many people have travelled the way that I have though. I doubt many visitors to New York have walked through Alphabet City past midnight. Or that many people living in Boston had tutored kids in the impoverished suburb of Dorchester.
Probably the difference with me is that I've always known that I was gonna leave home. So every where I go I kinda scout the place out and that's why it's important to see the worst areas. From the Bronx to the very worst of Oakland, you have to look. Because the only time you can tell that you're in love with a place is when you want to see it--and help it--get better.
I have a lot of faith in the People's Republic and I think it will get better in the coming years. The blatant capitalism now visible in the country's major cities although not entirely welcome by everyone is at least a great way of thwarting the communist (but more accurately fascist) government. Communist societies are built on the principal of a classless society, whereas the efforts made by the PRC government to censor the internet are efforts to maintain power and oppress opposing views. It actually sounds a little bit like... america. Anyone hear of the Patriot Act? Or the more geeky news of Blizzard Entertainment temporarily banning the in-game advertisement of gay-friendly guild recruitment in World of Warcraft? The only difference is in the way that these efforts are organized and centralized. I think that there are problems with almost every government, though.
I don't have faith in governments really, but I have faith in people. I have faith that the demonstrators that died at the hands of the Chinese army 15 years ago in Tiananmen Square did not die in vain.
I look forward to the day that I can walk through the streets of Shanghai and feel the city's tremendous wealth spread beyond the Western expats that flood the richer areas. I look forward to seeing Chinese-born enjoying the same luxuries that I receive so easily here... I look forward to getting access to www.wikipedia.org back.
I blog to this page using a proxy server based in the U.S. Why you ask? Because the Chinese government has effectively banned BlogSpot and several other online blogging sites with the exception of Xanga (I have absolutely no idea). Maybe you Xanga folks are slightly less opinionated. =P
A proxy server works by redirecting my internet inquiries to a server in the United States, (or possibly any varying country that does not impose similar restrictions on their citizens). Therefore when I request access to an internet site, the servers are somehow tricked into thinking that it is an American computer contacting them. This bypasses the restrictions on China, because they don't see that I am looking at sites such as BlogSpot, or Google.... or anything involving Taiwan. Haha. Instead it appears that I am really really interested in this American site... which in actuality is the proxy server.
Though I'm not afraid of getting caught for any of my blogging, since I am not calling forth a revolution from within China. Several internet bloggers, which have effectively exploited this from of free speech have actually been imprisoned for as much as 10 years.
Here's a quote from Guo Liang from the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences in Beijing: "Mao Zedong said that to have power you need two things: the gun and the pen ... The Communist Party has the gun, but the Internet is now the pen. If they lose control of it, something will happen to challenge their authority."
They've in fact responded drastically to the new threat closing down hundreds of internet Cafes in Beijing after one cafe had a fire accident. They claimed that having several computers in one room was a serious fire hazard. If this were truly the case, no one would ever play Counter-Strike... because they'd all have died 5 years ago in America.
I've noticed that a vast majority of the foreigners studying here at Fudan treat it as a semester long vacation, which I find a bit annoying. However, I have to remember that most people aren't like me and actually look forward to vacations. I doubt many people have travelled the way that I have though. I doubt many visitors to New York have walked through Alphabet City past midnight. Or that many people living in Boston had tutored kids in the impoverished suburb of Dorchester.
Probably the difference with me is that I've always known that I was gonna leave home. So every where I go I kinda scout the place out and that's why it's important to see the worst areas. From the Bronx to the very worst of Oakland, you have to look. Because the only time you can tell that you're in love with a place is when you want to see it--and help it--get better.
I have a lot of faith in the People's Republic and I think it will get better in the coming years. The blatant capitalism now visible in the country's major cities although not entirely welcome by everyone is at least a great way of thwarting the communist (but more accurately fascist) government. Communist societies are built on the principal of a classless society, whereas the efforts made by the PRC government to censor the internet are efforts to maintain power and oppress opposing views. It actually sounds a little bit like... america. Anyone hear of the Patriot Act? Or the more geeky news of Blizzard Entertainment temporarily banning the in-game advertisement of gay-friendly guild recruitment in World of Warcraft? The only difference is in the way that these efforts are organized and centralized. I think that there are problems with almost every government, though.
I don't have faith in governments really, but I have faith in people. I have faith that the demonstrators that died at the hands of the Chinese army 15 years ago in Tiananmen Square did not die in vain.
I look forward to the day that I can walk through the streets of Shanghai and feel the city's tremendous wealth spread beyond the Western expats that flood the richer areas. I look forward to seeing Chinese-born enjoying the same luxuries that I receive so easily here... I look forward to getting access to www.wikipedia.org back.
3.01.2006
Twenty days in Shanghai.
Today I have been in Shanghai for roughly twenty days, and I'm realizing that my blog is in desperate need of an update, before I disappear into the vast emptiness of travel like I tend to do... this blog shall act as a tether from me to the United States.
As always, too much to write not enough time... so I'll start with a summary of my experiences and you can fill in the blanks for now. In 上海(Shanghai), I have:
- said 听不懂 (i don't understand what you're saying) a total of 130 times.
- been to about every shopping street in the city and bought no clothes.
- eaten until my stomach cried uncle just about every day.
- had a "thai massage" from a shanghainese boy.
- been hugged in a club by a chinese money boy.
- fallen knee-deep into a large pool of wet cement.
- dreamt I was in a city that was crumbling down.
- unwittingly been on half a dozen dates.
- used the phrase 我们做爱吧 (let's have sex) although not in the context I had originally anticipated.
- actually said to a person "no, I will not take a picture of my penis for you"
- bought a bike to ride to school every day
- learned the meaning of 帅.
- been disappointed in myself.
- stopped my medication for the sake of rationing out my remaining pills.
- leveled my priest to 60 and bought an epic mount.
- picked out the first chinese song i'm going to learn on the guitar.
- come to terms with the failures that are my past relationships.
- eaten with three japanese students who spoke little to no english or chinese.
- been kissed.
- hit on my first shanghainese boy.
- was promptly rejected by my first shanghainese boy.
- watched the sun rise and set over 浦西。
- had a $0.25 dinner
- ordered my first meal from a menu with no english.
- realized how happy i could be when i'm alone.
- fallen in love for the first time with a place.
- believed that i could fall in love for the first time... with myself.
I hope everyone is doing well.
As always, too much to write not enough time... so I'll start with a summary of my experiences and you can fill in the blanks for now. In 上海(Shanghai), I have:
- said 听不懂 (i don't understand what you're saying) a total of 130 times.
- been to about every shopping street in the city and bought no clothes.
- eaten until my stomach cried uncle just about every day.
- had a "thai massage" from a shanghainese boy.
- been hugged in a club by a chinese money boy.
- fallen knee-deep into a large pool of wet cement.
- dreamt I was in a city that was crumbling down.
- unwittingly been on half a dozen dates.
- used the phrase 我们做爱吧 (let's have sex) although not in the context I had originally anticipated.
- actually said to a person "no, I will not take a picture of my penis for you"
- bought a bike to ride to school every day
- learned the meaning of 帅.
- been disappointed in myself.
- stopped my medication for the sake of rationing out my remaining pills.
- leveled my priest to 60 and bought an epic mount.
- picked out the first chinese song i'm going to learn on the guitar.
- come to terms with the failures that are my past relationships.
- eaten with three japanese students who spoke little to no english or chinese.
- been kissed.
- hit on my first shanghainese boy.
- was promptly rejected by my first shanghainese boy.
- watched the sun rise and set over 浦西。
- had a $0.25 dinner
- ordered my first meal from a menu with no english.
- realized how happy i could be when i'm alone.
- fallen in love for the first time with a place.
- believed that i could fall in love for the first time... with myself.
I hope everyone is doing well.
2.28.2006
2.10.2006
This is the sound of settling.
Someone wrote me an e-mail last week. Someone that I used to care a lot about, and who I still care a lot about... just in a different way. We don't talk very much anymore cuz I always end up mad at him, but he finds me online. Says he always leaves a little sad. Seems like I'm always searching for something. Hopes I'll find it in China.
Plane leaves in six hours. I have so much to write and not enough time to write it. I have pictures to post but not enough time to find them. I think I tend to look over the positive in my life, and for that I'm sorry for anyone who cares about me and actually checks up on me through this. I will try to give a more unbiased account of the occurrences in my life. =P
All I can think about right now is how familiar this feels... to leave again. I spend so much time not caring about my surroundings and when I'm finally going the emotions start to swell up. And in my brain, all the memories swirl together, beautiful in it's unapologetic melancholy.
I remember the night before I left to Boston, watching cartoons with my brother until 5 am when I had to leave. I remember the silent 1 hour drive to LAX with my dad, and how he told me to be a good boy. 10 months later I left the city, head pressed against the window of my friends car as I watched the city lights fade. Body pressed against the airplane window as I looked down and saw how Commonwealth snaked along the Charles River. And far down where the road intersected Harvard Ave. I could see the little building that I called my home.
I remember a lot of things from a lot of places, but it's not so important to list the right now.
Five years ago, I left my home, my family, my friends and everything I knew about myself to find a new me. I ended up in a city where I knew no one, had no place to live and had no idea about what I would be doing for work. I like to think that I've grown up a lot since then. I used to tell people that I was going away to find myself, but now I know that I was just a coward, getting away from my problems. And now I know that the only time you ever really find yourself is when you stop running.
So yes, maybe I'll find myself in China. But if I do... it won't be because of China.
Plane leaves in six hours. I have so much to write and not enough time to write it. I have pictures to post but not enough time to find them. I think I tend to look over the positive in my life, and for that I'm sorry for anyone who cares about me and actually checks up on me through this. I will try to give a more unbiased account of the occurrences in my life. =P
All I can think about right now is how familiar this feels... to leave again. I spend so much time not caring about my surroundings and when I'm finally going the emotions start to swell up. And in my brain, all the memories swirl together, beautiful in it's unapologetic melancholy.
I remember the night before I left to Boston, watching cartoons with my brother until 5 am when I had to leave. I remember the silent 1 hour drive to LAX with my dad, and how he told me to be a good boy. 10 months later I left the city, head pressed against the window of my friends car as I watched the city lights fade. Body pressed against the airplane window as I looked down and saw how Commonwealth snaked along the Charles River. And far down where the road intersected Harvard Ave. I could see the little building that I called my home.
I remember a lot of things from a lot of places, but it's not so important to list the right now.
Five years ago, I left my home, my family, my friends and everything I knew about myself to find a new me. I ended up in a city where I knew no one, had no place to live and had no idea about what I would be doing for work. I like to think that I've grown up a lot since then. I used to tell people that I was going away to find myself, but now I know that I was just a coward, getting away from my problems. And now I know that the only time you ever really find yourself is when you stop running.
So yes, maybe I'll find myself in China. But if I do... it won't be because of China.
2.09.2006
I have been having the worst dreams.
I woke up this morning to the sound of my guitar... because I punched it. Last night I dreamt that I was leaving my house after an argument with my dad, and right before I left the door, I grabbed a gay magazine and walked up to him. "Oh, and guess what," I said, "I'm gay". I flipped through the pages and showed him all the pictures, and then I rolled it up and lunged to smack him in the face with it.
What I ended up smacking was my guitar.
But before that I dreamt about him. I keep dreaming about him. That I'm back in that place where it feels horrible and I still love him. I wake up and I breathe a sigh of relief that it's over and I go about my day. But today was different. Today felt different when I woke up.
I believe in fate. I really do, and I think that something wanted me to find closure so I could stop having these dreams. It led me to his blog and I read it and wept. I guess I needed to know that he was doing well. I guess I needed to know that he was happier than I could have ever made him...
What I ended up smacking was my guitar.
But before that I dreamt about him. I keep dreaming about him. That I'm back in that place where it feels horrible and I still love him. I wake up and I breathe a sigh of relief that it's over and I go about my day. But today was different. Today felt different when I woke up.
I believe in fate. I really do, and I think that something wanted me to find closure so I could stop having these dreams. It led me to his blog and I read it and wept. I guess I needed to know that he was doing well. I guess I needed to know that he was happier than I could have ever made him...
2.07.2006
It's hard being at home.
Everyone's yelling at each other and it makes me sad for home. Though it seems I try so hard to keep my distance from my family, I often wonder. I wonder what it's like for my mom to go into the same office every day for the past 20 years. I wonder if Nordstroms makes her happy on the weekends. I wonder if she ever thinks of learning new dishes to cook, or if she's content with the same ones she's been making for us all this time. I wonder if she ever wanted to be a mom. I wonder if this is what she wanted for us all.
I wonder what it's like for my dad to hold on to a business that everyone else seems to hate. I wonder what it's like to make a company your life. I wonder if he'll ever be okay with the way things are going to turn out. I wonder how often he regrets marrying my mom.
I wonder about my brother and the girl he's chasing. I wonder if he loves the chase or if he just wants to love something. I wonder if he's getting lost in someone outside of this house. I wonder if he'll have the first grandchildren, if I'll become an uncle to his children.
I wonder about my older brother and what will make him happy. I wonder if he even knows himself. I wonder if he's as much like me as I think he is. I wonder if he worries about his siblings. I wonder if he thinks it's his job to make sure that we turn out ok. I wonder if he knows when to be selfish.
I wonder what it's like for my dad to hold on to a business that everyone else seems to hate. I wonder what it's like to make a company your life. I wonder if he'll ever be okay with the way things are going to turn out. I wonder how often he regrets marrying my mom.
I wonder about my brother and the girl he's chasing. I wonder if he loves the chase or if he just wants to love something. I wonder if he's getting lost in someone outside of this house. I wonder if he'll have the first grandchildren, if I'll become an uncle to his children.
I wonder about my older brother and what will make him happy. I wonder if he even knows himself. I wonder if he's as much like me as I think he is. I wonder if he worries about his siblings. I wonder if he thinks it's his job to make sure that we turn out ok. I wonder if he knows when to be selfish.
1.26.2006
Patient is a virtue.
I still have two and a half weeks 'til my freaking plane leaves from LA. Jesus christ, man. I bought my ticket last week for $800... not too shabby. Flying on JAL with a frequent flyers program. Two more roundtrips and I can go to New York, haha.
I may go to Mexico again before I leave with Chris. We'll see. I really have a craving for those $1 raw oysters...chance of death...(drool). The Frostmane server was down yesterday, so I couldn't play WoW... so instead I clocked in 8 hours of GTA: San Andreas. They actually made a version of the Castro in their San Francisco. And there's a gun shop in it. I just thought I should share that.
I may go to Mexico again before I leave with Chris. We'll see. I really have a craving for those $1 raw oysters...chance of death...(drool). The Frostmane server was down yesterday, so I couldn't play WoW... so instead I clocked in 8 hours of GTA: San Andreas. They actually made a version of the Castro in their San Francisco. And there's a gun shop in it. I just thought I should share that.
1.23.2006
Say it again.
He tells me he loves me, and asks why I can't say it back. I tell him, "It's too soon" and "we don't even know each other, yet".
And for some reason, when I look at his face, neither explanation seems to satisfy him... or me. So I say, "I'm not sure what love is anymore"...
I think he understands that I've been burned. Those scars don't heal; you just get used to them, that's all. She used to say that I was so brave, for being able to love again but it was never courage--only curiosity. I had never truly been hurt. I had only been the one who was hurting. Loving someone was without risk, until now. Where is this bravery you speak of?
People say that we throw around the word love too much. But I think that we don't say it enough. Everyone's trying to bottle it up until they can trust someone to bare it all. But it's a wildfire and it is infinite and you don't have to worry about running out.
It's just a word and a feeling. I have a feeling... and "I really really like you" just doesn't cut it anymore, so why not? Follow the rules, Sun. Wait 48 hours. Love doesn't come in prescriptions. You can swim right after eating. There is no sweet without the sour. So maybe I'll say it. I love you too.
And for some reason, when I look at his face, neither explanation seems to satisfy him... or me. So I say, "I'm not sure what love is anymore"...
I think he understands that I've been burned. Those scars don't heal; you just get used to them, that's all. She used to say that I was so brave, for being able to love again but it was never courage--only curiosity. I had never truly been hurt. I had only been the one who was hurting. Loving someone was without risk, until now. Where is this bravery you speak of?
People say that we throw around the word love too much. But I think that we don't say it enough. Everyone's trying to bottle it up until they can trust someone to bare it all. But it's a wildfire and it is infinite and you don't have to worry about running out.
It's just a word and a feeling. I have a feeling... and "I really really like you" just doesn't cut it anymore, so why not? Follow the rules, Sun. Wait 48 hours. Love doesn't come in prescriptions. You can swim right after eating. There is no sweet without the sour. So maybe I'll say it. I love you too.
1.18.2006
The first day of instruction.
Today was the first day of instruction at Berkeley. It's weird to be sitting here in LA while all my friends are trying to get their schedules in order... doing that Berkeley thing.
Especially since the school doesn't know I'm not registered yet...
Especially since the school doesn't know I'm not registered yet...
1.16.2006
Sever your hearts.
There's a certain quality of mind and body that refuses to be very far apart. I think it's why people cut themselves and say it makes them feel better. There's something very unsettling of feeling like you're dying on the inside and being totally healthy on the outside. I've never cut myself or anything like that but I can see why someone would.
From a very early age we develop a strong desire for things to just make sense.
From a very early age we develop a strong desire for things to just make sense.
1.15.2006
I think too much or not enough.
I got home this morning at 6:00 am... drove past my house, saw that my living room lights were on and said "shit" as I rolled by. Then I sucked it up, turned around and headed in with my alibi prepared. I do this thing now where I explain every little detail of the situation before my parents can even open their mouths. I find it prevents much of the anger build-up.
So I creep through the door. My dad is sitting on the computer. He turns around, smiles and says "Hey boy!"
... I swear to god, I thought the was gonna pull out a shotgun. But he didn't care. Told me he wasn't feeling well. I said he should see a doctor if it doesn't get better soon, and he let me go. Parents are an interesting being. You spend so much time thinking of them as infallible authority figures, that your world kind of crumbles a little when you realize they're human. That they're prone to emotional fluctuations like you are; they can take misplaced frustration out on someone like you do; they're vulnerable to sickness and disease.
I was trapped in a house of annoying queers in Tarzana for two hours. Oh god, it was painful and creepy. They kept calling each other bottoms and I just wanted to smack them. One of them said I was stuck up because I wouldn't drink. I wanted to kick his ass so much, but he didn't know that the reason I don't drink is because of the pills. It's hard to explain that to people you've just met, so I've decided to tell them I have a "condition".
I've been trying so hard to find myself... fitting in to all these different groups and wondering what it's like to be someone else. But maybe the only time you actually find anything is when you stop looking.
I'm done... with all of it. Some people think I was popular in high school, like I was the ASB President or some shit. I was never popular, always an outsider. And I never really wanted to be popular. It meant you didn't get to be so picky about who you kept around you.
I'm not a party animal. Thinking back on college, the best saturday nights I spent were passing out among a small group of friends in the early morning, the times I played video games throughout the night, or those couple of nights I watched a movie and fell asleep with Steven.
I need to start being myself. But it's so hard when the best way to do that is to stop trying altogether. I've always believed that we are exactly the way that we wish to be--that we are happiest the way we already are.
Maybe this is my happiness. Not a bright, gleaming afternoon picnic, but a soft, moody night among turbulent waters.
So I creep through the door. My dad is sitting on the computer. He turns around, smiles and says "Hey boy!"
... I swear to god, I thought the was gonna pull out a shotgun. But he didn't care. Told me he wasn't feeling well. I said he should see a doctor if it doesn't get better soon, and he let me go. Parents are an interesting being. You spend so much time thinking of them as infallible authority figures, that your world kind of crumbles a little when you realize they're human. That they're prone to emotional fluctuations like you are; they can take misplaced frustration out on someone like you do; they're vulnerable to sickness and disease.
I was trapped in a house of annoying queers in Tarzana for two hours. Oh god, it was painful and creepy. They kept calling each other bottoms and I just wanted to smack them. One of them said I was stuck up because I wouldn't drink. I wanted to kick his ass so much, but he didn't know that the reason I don't drink is because of the pills. It's hard to explain that to people you've just met, so I've decided to tell them I have a "condition".
I've been trying so hard to find myself... fitting in to all these different groups and wondering what it's like to be someone else. But maybe the only time you actually find anything is when you stop looking.
I'm done... with all of it. Some people think I was popular in high school, like I was the ASB President or some shit. I was never popular, always an outsider. And I never really wanted to be popular. It meant you didn't get to be so picky about who you kept around you.
I'm not a party animal. Thinking back on college, the best saturday nights I spent were passing out among a small group of friends in the early morning, the times I played video games throughout the night, or those couple of nights I watched a movie and fell asleep with Steven.
I need to start being myself. But it's so hard when the best way to do that is to stop trying altogether. I've always believed that we are exactly the way that we wish to be--that we are happiest the way we already are.
Maybe this is my happiness. Not a bright, gleaming afternoon picnic, but a soft, moody night among turbulent waters.
These are the rantings of my dillusional mind.
[16:15] tangs410: mmmm....well if it makes you feel any better
[16:15] tangs410: i'm a total whore now
[16:15] samish823: hm
[16:15] samish823: should i be?
[16:16] tangs410: ummm... well i think i'm one notch more fucked up than you
[16:16] samish823: lol
[16:16] tangs410: decided to give up on love
[16:16] samish823: i'll follow you in your footsteps
[16:16] tangs410: at least for now
[16:16] samish823: ... same here
[16:16] tangs410: so i'm just fucking whatever looks good
[16:16] samish823: hahaha
[16:16] samish823: nice
[16:16] tangs410: i'm gonna sleep with all of china
[16:16] tangs410: and some guys in LA too
[16:16] samish823: hahaha
[16:16] samish823: =)
[16:16] samish823: go for it!
[16:17] tangs410: get up to 40 ppl by the time i come back
[16:17] samish823: omg
[16:17] tangs410: then when my true love finds me he'll see that i've been damaged
[16:17] tangs410: and try to fix me... and then we'll have a dramatic moment where i tell him i'm damaged goods
[16:17] samish823: wow
[16:17] tangs410: and part ways for 5-10 years
[16:17] samish823: thats wonderful
[16:17] samish823: omg
[16:17] tangs410: and run into each ohter in a coffee shop in paris
[16:17] samish823: then realize your belong to each other and come back?
[16:17] tangs410: yea
[16:15] tangs410: i'm a total whore now
[16:15] samish823: hm
[16:15] samish823: should i be?
[16:16] tangs410: ummm... well i think i'm one notch more fucked up than you
[16:16] samish823: lol
[16:16] tangs410: decided to give up on love
[16:16] samish823: i'll follow you in your footsteps
[16:16] tangs410: at least for now
[16:16] samish823: ... same here
[16:16] tangs410: so i'm just fucking whatever looks good
[16:16] samish823: hahaha
[16:16] samish823: nice
[16:16] tangs410: i'm gonna sleep with all of china
[16:16] tangs410: and some guys in LA too
[16:16] samish823: hahaha
[16:16] samish823: =)
[16:16] samish823: go for it!
[16:17] tangs410: get up to 40 ppl by the time i come back
[16:17] samish823: omg
[16:17] tangs410: then when my true love finds me he'll see that i've been damaged
[16:17] tangs410: and try to fix me... and then we'll have a dramatic moment where i tell him i'm damaged goods
[16:17] samish823: wow
[16:17] tangs410: and part ways for 5-10 years
[16:17] samish823: thats wonderful
[16:17] samish823: omg
[16:17] tangs410: and run into each ohter in a coffee shop in paris
[16:17] samish823: then realize your belong to each other and come back?
[16:17] tangs410: yea
1.13.2006
What happens in vegas...
... may not stay in Vegas. I've come to a revelation, haha. Well not quite a revelation. I think I'm just tired of shit. I'm tired of dating. Tired of taking it slow. I don't need Mr. Right... just a warm body.
I think I've given up on love... at least for a while. Which is probably a good thing since they say it'll only come to you when you stop looking for it. Yesterday marks the beginning of a whole lot of secrets, probably.
I wanna be stupid. Tired of being responsible. I wanna fuck strangers. I wanna do drugs. I wanna lose respect for myself... I want others to do the same.
I think I've given up on love... at least for a while. Which is probably a good thing since they say it'll only come to you when you stop looking for it. Yesterday marks the beginning of a whole lot of secrets, probably.
I wanna be stupid. Tired of being responsible. I wanna fuck strangers. I wanna do drugs. I wanna lose respect for myself... I want others to do the same.
1.06.2006
Porn
I just downloaded a video called, "Shibuya Boys are Money Slave"...
...
...
...
HAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAAH...
...
...
...
HAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAAH...
Falling Out
You ever have one of those friends who just seemed to thrive off your misery? I've had a couple people like those in my life. We'd spend a lot of time together, bitching about boys and how we were gonna be single for our entire lives. Now, it seems like we put ourselves in that position... to never get better or feel better about ourselves.
If being miserable was what made us so close... then we no longer have that in common.
If being miserable was what made us so close... then we no longer have that in common.
1.04.2006
The First Goodbyes
Today, I went shopping at Santa Monica. I had one of the best shopping experiences that I've had in a very long time and I even bought something for my brother as well. I really miss the Promenade... it's so gorgeous. I went with Sam and I think that the last time I was there I was with him too, but that was like two whole years ago. Pretty crazy, yo. Anyways I got some cheap ass clothes from Club Monico (i'm smiling) bought Burnout for PSP and ordered a digital camera off cnet.com.
So pretty soon, now that I'll be owning my first digital camera, there'll be pictures up on my blog. Huzzah! I'll be going up to SF this weekend on Sat to chill and say goodbyes before I head off to China. Maybe I'll take some pictures then.
Last week, I realized something weird... that I was actually going to miss people here in the U.S. I know I won't be gone that long but still... I said the first goodbye to Kaelynn after New Year's Eve. And it hit me that I wouldn't see her for a long time. I have so many more goodbyes to say and this weekend will be the last time I see all my Norcal-based and some of my Berkeley friends.
I'm not sure I'm ready for this because I thought I hated you all. No, not really... it's just that when you go through times as I have, you forget about all the things and all the people that got you through... until after. I just wanted to be out of Berkeley. I never really wanted to be a student, I just happened to get good grades. I think towards the end, it ate away at me, because as Eve would say, that city is too small for me.
Sam is the oldest friend from Berkeley I have. We met our first year together living at the Wilde House. He moved in to my room to save me from my terrible roommate/hook-up buddy. And it's been three years and hundreds of revolutions after. He says he doesn't know what he'll do without me.
So how could I forget all the love around me? I was surrounded by it, but I couldn't appreciate it... because no matter who was there for me, it didn't come in the form of a boyfriend. I've been a fool. But I still have some time to say my goodbyes and appreciate everyone as I should have before I leave.
God, I'm going to miss you all...
My place in Shanghai is a single in a 22 story dormitory complex with a private bathroom and private balcony. It costs $300/mo. and comes with internet. That's a fucking tight bachelor's pad, yo. I have adult ADD.
So pretty soon, now that I'll be owning my first digital camera, there'll be pictures up on my blog. Huzzah! I'll be going up to SF this weekend on Sat to chill and say goodbyes before I head off to China. Maybe I'll take some pictures then.
Last week, I realized something weird... that I was actually going to miss people here in the U.S. I know I won't be gone that long but still... I said the first goodbye to Kaelynn after New Year's Eve. And it hit me that I wouldn't see her for a long time. I have so many more goodbyes to say and this weekend will be the last time I see all my Norcal-based and some of my Berkeley friends.
I'm not sure I'm ready for this because I thought I hated you all. No, not really... it's just that when you go through times as I have, you forget about all the things and all the people that got you through... until after. I just wanted to be out of Berkeley. I never really wanted to be a student, I just happened to get good grades. I think towards the end, it ate away at me, because as Eve would say, that city is too small for me.
Sam is the oldest friend from Berkeley I have. We met our first year together living at the Wilde House. He moved in to my room to save me from my terrible roommate/hook-up buddy. And it's been three years and hundreds of revolutions after. He says he doesn't know what he'll do without me.
So how could I forget all the love around me? I was surrounded by it, but I couldn't appreciate it... because no matter who was there for me, it didn't come in the form of a boyfriend. I've been a fool. But I still have some time to say my goodbyes and appreciate everyone as I should have before I leave.
God, I'm going to miss you all...
My place in Shanghai is a single in a 22 story dormitory complex with a private bathroom and private balcony. It costs $300/mo. and comes with internet. That's a fucking tight bachelor's pad, yo. I have adult ADD.
1.03.2006
WeHo Whores
Yesterday, I think I had a dream that I was a West Hollywood snob. I think I might have just been delirious though, because I've been recovering from food poisoning for the past 48 hours. I think it was the steak I had at Denny's (never ever order food that isn't cooked at least "well done"), however my mom is convinced that I got food poisoning from partying too much.
Anyhow, my past couple of visits to WeHo have been interesting. I think I've only been two or three times in the past year, and I always get catcalls from older men. Not that I ain't flattered but I wish some young guys would give me a holler too, you know?
The first time, a late 20's/early 30's black guy came up to me when I was walking to a club and asked me, "Which one of your friends has the biggest dick? I bet it's you, right?" (Yeah, that was my fav.)
This last time, it was "Damn, boy! Which club are you going to?" Anyway, I mention this because I think that if I stayed down in LA long enough, I would become a WeHo snob, considering I already made out with a random guy on New Year's Eve, who I met five minutes just before the countdown. Hooray for good timing, yea?
Anyhow, my past couple of visits to WeHo have been interesting. I think I've only been two or three times in the past year, and I always get catcalls from older men. Not that I ain't flattered but I wish some young guys would give me a holler too, you know?
The first time, a late 20's/early 30's black guy came up to me when I was walking to a club and asked me, "Which one of your friends has the biggest dick? I bet it's you, right?" (Yeah, that was my fav.)
This last time, it was "Damn, boy! Which club are you going to?" Anyway, I mention this because I think that if I stayed down in LA long enough, I would become a WeHo snob, considering I already made out with a random guy on New Year's Eve, who I met five minutes just before the countdown. Hooray for good timing, yea?
1.01.2006
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