Posts in category "Thoughts"

I Wanna Hold Your Hand (In The Car)

When I was young, the only affec­tion my par­ents ever showed for each oth­er was occa­sion­al­ly (maybe five times ever) hold­ing hands in the car. They nev­er kissed, nev­er hugged, nev­er said “I love you”. Aside from sit­ting down to eat din­ner, their lives were com­plete­ly sep­a­rate. They would­n’t even sleep in the same room.

Now that I have a car, hold­ing hands while dri­ving has come to define a rela­tion­ship for me. I leave my right hand on the shifter, tap­ping it to the beat of my music, but I always have this urge to hold some­one’s hand, as if it’s some strange ide­al I’ve nev­er been able to expe­ri­ence.

Questioning Happiness

Last class, Mike asked how I was doing, and as a some­what phat­ic response, I told him I was doing well.

He told me, with a chuck­le, that if he did­n’t know me any bet­ter and went only by my writ­ings, he would imag­ine me to be like Joe Btfsplk, with a per­pet­u­al rain cloud above my head.

So I went home and read through the last cou­ple pages of my entries, and found that they paint­ed a some­what lugubri­ous pic­ture.

I’ve always con­tend­ed that hap­pi­ness is too hard to write. When I feel like express­ing myself, it’s often because of a prob­lem of some sort, inter­nal or exter­nal, that I need to fig­ure out. Writing has always been a way for me to get my thoughts in line, and off my chest. Not much of a peace­ful, detached, care-free Taoist, am I?

Perhaps I’ll always lead a Cohen-esque life, where love, sex, phi­los­o­phy, and depres­sion are the dom­i­nant themes.

The fun­ny thing is that my life has improved tremen­dous­ly after ther­a­py. I used to be a very dark per­son. After gain­ing the sta­bil­i­ty of a house and a career, along with sep­a­ra­tion from my moth­er, not much else has changed. I’ve come to real­ize that it’s not so much the things in my life that’s improved in the last few years (aside from the strug­gle with anx­i­ety), as my atti­tude. To be hon­est, I have noth­ing to com­plain about.

That does­n’t change the fact that my entries have been some­what depress­ing.

Perhaps I’m still not tru­ly hap­py yet.

Or per­haps I’m still not look­ing at things the right way.

Kar-Ma

If you beat a dog, don’t be sur­prised if he runs away.

—let­ter to my uncle, March 2008

When I was a child my mom would always ask me if I’d let her live in a nurs­ing home. She would do this as a form of reas­sur­ance, a way of address­ing her inse­cu­ri­ty about dying alone. To Chinese peo­ple, this is a fate worse than death. I under­stand that there may be med­ical con­di­tions or oth­er cir­cum­stances that make it imprac­ti­cal for a fam­i­ly mem­ber to live in your house, but that does­n’t change the fact that being put in a nurs­ing home is like wait­ing to die.

At the time, I was too young to under­stand the grav­i­ty of such a ques­tion, so I would always reas­sure her, no. Maybe I even loved her at that point, and meant it. But I’ve since cut off all ties with her, and after the divorce, she has no one left. Her rel­a­tives lead their own lives, and she’s nev­er had enough of a per­son­al­i­ty to make any friends. I’ve lived with her long enough to under­stand what a hol­low, emp­ty exis­tence she has.

Now I’m old enough to know that she’ll die alone.

And that it’ll be exact­ly what she deserves.

Be Still, My Heart

Muse side face

In the dark, our bod­ies fit like puz­zle pieces — face in neck, crest in val­ley, curve in curve. I’m com­plete­ly vul­ner­a­ble when she lets me love her like this. She brings my guard down.

It’s the way she makes me hap­py with­out try­ing. The way I’m filled with ten­der­ness every time I feel the warmth of her skin against mine. The way her exis­tence gives me hope for the rest of the world.

If I chose to fall back on old habits and kept my dis­tance to pro­tect myself, I would­n’t know this inef­fa­ble feel­ing. I may get hurt, but it’s worth every moment I can be next to her.

Maybe she’s right, and I’ll feel dif­fer­ent­ly by the time it’s nec­es­sary. Until then, there’s no use in fight­ing it.

Not that I let myself fall for her.

My heart nev­er gave me a choice.