Words of Moderate Distraction

Lost

2010-11-15T03:05:00.003-05:00

I don't know what to do.

I'm as lost as you.

Everyone says I have all the answers but this time I don't.

I don't know what to say, how to feel, or what the rules are.

I just want to fix it.

I just want you to know that I trust you. With everything I have.

Please be careful.

Please take care.

It's never been broken, but I can feel it starting to crack.

If that's what needs to happen for you to feel good, then I gladly take that burden upon myself, I'll gladly wait, and I'll gladly waste away in silence.

Know that, to me, you mean more than me.

My inaction is not a sign up apathy, in fact it's the opposite, it's me showing you I care.

I hope you get. If not to day, then some day.

Just remember that I'm just as lost as you.

But I trust you.

I trust you.

George Watsky- Go Robo

2010-04-15T12:06:00.000-04:00

Crushing stuff!?

Ga-man

2010-04-14T23:09:00.003-04:00

The Japanese have a word.

Ga-man

"...a code of silent suffering and ability to stand pain."

It's a prized virtue in Japanese culture, and arguable shared with many Asian cultures.

Asians brought this value with them to America

From the Manilamen of St. Malo

To the first Cantonese immigrants chasing gold and laying track

To the sugar cane workers of Hawaii

The refugees of countless American wars

Through racism, prejudice, segregation,

Internment camps

The repeal of Filipino veteran's rights

The murder of Vincent Chin

We stayed quiet.

More accurately, our parents did.

They felt obliged to take these obstacles in stride because they felt they owed this country at least their silence.

It was still better than the old country.

But we know better.

We have had the world equality beat into our psyches from grade school.

And yet we watched our parents suffer countless injustices.

It's time to reclaim this generation's rights.

As Helen Zia proclaimed, "It's time to stop being so fucking polite!"

Let's rally.

Throw our firsts up.

Stop bowing, stop covering our mouths when we laugh

There's nothing funny going on here.

Incomplete

2010-04-13T18:24:00.002-04:00

Was hanging out with a friend a few weeks ago and he was talking about his ex and naturally there was a lot of hating going on. Had to reflect on it. Never finished, I was interrupted and never got back to it.

It's interesting that those so seemingly enamored of each other can so quickly come to spite each other so completely.

What is it about lost love that makes it so easy for us to hate?

I can't say that I know this feeling personally, for I've yet to lose love,

But I've seen friends torn apart.

I've seen tears,

Heard screams, cries, rants.

I've seen the pain and hate in their eyes.

But why?

They were strolling on the shore hand in hand yesterday

Today they struggle to keep hands to selves, for different reasons.

They couldn't stand each other's absence.

Now they can't stand the sight of the other.

Ping Pong

2010-04-12T22:44:00.004-04:00

Again written in GHIST discussion while not paying attention. This is totally for shits and giggles.

Obscure in the West.

Well known in the East.

Asian male sexuality?

No.

Ping Pong.

A sport in which balls are not merely struck

But spun.

Up.

Down.

Sideways.

And every combination in between.

A game?

A hobby?

Perhaps

But at the highest levels: a true sport.

Chess at the speed of light

Tactical, aggressive, thoughtful, instinctive

Everyone has an ego about it

But as MTV told me

"You think you know..."

But you're wrong!

Physics barely holds water in this game

Magnus himself would doubt his own calculations

Serve. Push. Loop. Block. Smash. Fish. Smash. Lob. Smash.

Miles from the table.

Behind barriers.

The impossible made possible.

It's not your grandad's basement pong.

This is Table Tennis.

I'm proud of it...

2010-04-12T06:24:00.002-04:00

I've been up for over 18 hours reading A Rumor of War by Philip Caputo. I've just finished my opening paragraph for a paper due in seven hours. I think it's pretty tight.I might post the rest later upon request.

America’s “police action” in Vietnam has been, to date, the longest armed conflict in U.S. history. Caputo initially began writing A Rumor of War as an autobiography, but his personal project soon evolved into a memoir in which he chronicled not only the events of the war but, more significantly, the way the war changed him and his brothers in arms. Though significantly less deadly than previous American wars, Vietnam was a reaction chamber in which climate, combat, and untold numbers of atrocities served as the catalysts that transformed the hearts and minds of an entire generation. For those young men unlucky enough to be thrown into the steaming jungles and rolling hills of Vietnam, the ideals of war as a glorious endeavor so valued by their father’s generations were shattered by the grim realities of guerilla warfare.

Attention White People:

2010-04-12T04:54:00.002-04:00

White privilege exists!

Racism exists!

Having a black president has changed nothing!

Telling a minority "Obama did it, why can't you?" is the most ignorant thing one can say.

Hmm...I don't know...where to begin?

Maybe because employers see me and already have no on the tip of their toungues.

Store owners follow me from rack to rack and shelf to shelf while white customers roam freely.

White women lock their cars when I walk past and clutch their purses in elevators.

Maybe because I will forever be a "boy" to cops to matter my age.

Because my English is always be "surprisingly good."

Being "color-blind" is bullshit!

I'm brown and proud of it.

For you to ignore that is just as racist as belittling it.

On the opposite end:

If i tell you I'm Filipino, don't tell me about your love affair with Asia groomed over many a pan-regional tour/vacation,

How much you "LOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE Thai curries."

Or how the Pho is just not the same here.

Don't ask me to "Say something in your language!"

I was born here, so how about this:

FUCK YOU!

Bland

2010-04-05T23:46:00.002-04:00

Written while not paying to attention to my GHIST professor in discussion. His name? Literally, no fucking joke: Dr. Bland.

Lacking flavor

When referring to speech, lacking intonation or emotion.

But his man

This professor

This doctor of American history

is beyond the mere definition of the word.

He is indescribable

Bland would have been a compliment

His lectures weren't just droning, they were slow!

S - L - O- W type slow

he spoke and you already knew what he was going to say a quarter of the way through

His drawl, delightfully southern but unbearable smug

Clean & Educated sounding

But it's the tone at the end of every phrase that begged for a pencil tracheotomy

Smug is the word that comes to mind.

That "Everything I say is gold" tone

And the facial to boot.

That's it.

Voltron Girl!

2010-03-08T11:31:00.001-05:00

http://www.angryasianman.com/2010/03/voltron-girl.html

Sad take on the failure of the Mars rover Spirit

2010-03-03T22:45:00.001-05:00

XKCD

Old Facebook note

2010-02-13T22:53:00.001-05:00

Copied and Pasted Rules:
Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 16 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 16 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it’s because I want to know more about you.

1.) In kindergarten, some white kid asked me if I was from China. I didn't get mad or cry, instead I asked him if he was from England and that was the end of it.

2.) I'm 20 with a girlfriend and I still act like girls have cooties around women I don't know.

3.) My accent and dialect have a tendency to fluctuate over the course of a conversation relative to the subject I'm discussing and my company at the time. I like breaking out in random bouts of African American Vernacular English when I'm talking about my childhood friends. When meeting people I've never met and will never meet again, I often put on a Manchester accent and tell them I'm half-Indian and half-Manc.

4.) Apparently my English is "very good" and I'm "very well spoken."

5.) People in my family are often confused as latinos.

6.) I smell my hands whenever I touch something, make that anything. It's an odd habit, I don't know how it started. I never really was self-conscious about it until my girlfriend told me at 20 years old. Now I get really embarrassed whenever I do it in public, even if no one says anything about it.

7.) I HATE writing. Despite that, I'm told I'm pretty good at it. Don't ask me how that came to be. I've no fooking clue, mate.

8.) I've been on academic probation in college for two semesters (going into my third now)

9.) I spend more cash on table tennis equipment in 6 months than I do on tennis equipment in two years. Don't judge me, it's a really fucking expensive sport.

10.) I've never partaken in any illicit drug use but for some reason everybody thinks I have and still do.

11.) I think my poetry is really just oddly spaced prose.

12.) I've performed Filipino folk dances ever since the age of 6.

13.) I've played PC games for more hours in my life than working out, tennis, table tennis, eating, shitting, bathing, studying, attending class, probably fucking breathing combined.

14.) I have the boxes and manuals for all the PC games I've ever purchased saved in a plastic box in my room.

15.) I've never sold back a college text book. Sometimes I read my old books for fun when I take a shit or when I'm trying to fall asleep.

16.) I sleep talk. I'm not talking mumbling or screaming, I mean I can have a full conversation with someone when I'm asleep. My dad used to talk to me when I was a kid and still does it now sometimes. This is the reason I'm deftly afraid of lying and rarely do.

2009-12-26T15:12:00.001-05:00

lifeless

Bobby McFerrin demonstrates the universality of the pentatonic scale

2009-08-06T05:03:00.001-04:00

World Science Festival 2009: Bobby McFerrin Demonstrates the Power of the Pentatonic Scale from World Science Festival on Vimeo.

Simply amazing.

BoA Eat You Up MV parody -- BaO Eat You Up Original Spoof music video)

2009-07-31T04:15:00.001-04:00

9-18-08

2009-06-04T13:38:00.002-04:00

Sitting in Warren in front of the post office. there are two white girls talking about food. One is bragging about all the posh spots she's been to. The other claimed she had only been ordering late night pizza and Chinese food: "I LOVE CHINESE!" The other inquires as to her meal. "I had this fried rice and chicken thing, SO GOOD!" Courtney Wu is next to me, I turn to her and mouth the words, "I LOVE CHINESE!" and lick my lips. My God these women are so vain, seriously, the affluence of the students here is sickening, it's not even their affluence that's so bad, it's the affect its had on their attitudes. Being rich doesn't inherently make you a douche/bitch, but it almost does. These people have never seen the rest of America, or the rest of the World, at least not through the eyes of the rest of us. I'm sure they have had more posh vacations and travelled more and further than I ever will but they've viewed the world through the priviledged, tourist, sheltered lense, hardly counts as a knowledge of the world. I've known people who truly believe that the average household income in the U.S. is 100k or more. Six fucking figures, my father is lucky to make 40,000 to support the both of us. these people don't know what saving even means, they splurge, eat out, and burn every fucking -- don't know what I wrote, I guess I was really angry. Every fire drill on campus can be attributed to some dumb bitch burning popcorn, they've never had to take care of themselves. Even a lot of the minorities here are like that. I heard one black girl go "That's why I like being black here, there aren't a lot of us. I don't even feel black anyways." Jesus. They're fucking OCD about their bodies too. I can't count the number of bitches here with eating disorders, or Spartan workout routines and diets. There are more --can't read it-- than their caloric intake for a month. They're so fucking racist, too, or well, that's harsh. They're just ignorant as fuck. Of course there are the rednecks who've never seen black people, I can forgive that, but then there are the super rich kids out of NoVa who have definitely seen black people, they just treat them as a scarey, exotic species of hooligan not to be interacted with. Some are straight scared, other poke fun at their vernacular and mistake it for ignorace. the biggest, most noticable cue as to the racial ignorance is this: NO ONE WILL ACKNOWLEDGE WHITE PRIVILEGE! Oh, for God's sake, people! Black people don't keep themselve down, nor do brown people. There is a fucking system in place that the people here just refuse to acknowledge. Whatver, fucking pawns, sheep, dicks, what have you. At least I know what's up. END RANT.

Freewrite 9-16-08

2009-06-03T21:33:00.002-04:00

I'm chillin in the east campus library, the so-called "ECL." This place owns, the third floor, has study rooms with white board. The common areas have super comfy couches and chairs. There's a Java City on the main floor. There are a ton of PCs and Macs and multiple PC labs. Naturally I'm here with a bunch of asians. By a bunch I mean a ton. It's interesting really that people walk by and take note. A similarly large group of white people goes unnoticed but we are noticed more so. Can't blame 'em, we are called minorities for a reason. I've been in here every weeknight sans Fridays, studying Pychology. It's rather interesting stuff, but it's quite longwinded. I get bored easily because I know quite a bit of it, just not all, mainly the little stuff, details, including the cruicial details. I have a tendency to shun an entire section or zone out if I read something I already know, in the process missing important information. I've no problem at all, however, comprehending principles as a whole. God I'm hopeless. I'm interested in the idea of everything but completely put off by the details of anything. Well, I'm done now anyways. I'm just sitting here with Karen, rea, and Diana while I write. Rez is down on the PCs. Actually she just came back up, so I guess I'm done. Dipset.

Most people...

2009-01-09T00:27:00.002-05:00

...see me as the kind of guy who always seems to say the right thing at the right time. Sometimes smart, sometimes witty, sometimes funny, all the time well said. They think I spend my days reading, thinking, contemplating the world and observing people. I'm middle of the path, never make a wrong decision.

Sure, that's part of me, but the real me remains a child playing with toys and imagining a world outside, or even inside my reality. As a youngster I played with Legos, but I didn't just build things, I created universes. My Lego planes had pilots with names, ranks, individual voices and characteristics. My Legos were drenched in spit from my constantly making machine gun noises and the like, but also from my mock stories, full dialogue with consistent characterizations.

My stuffed animals were much the same. One of my favorites was a tiny panda with a Santa hat that my Ate Margie gave me. It had short hair and was constantly covered in lint and drool (from me sleeping with it) and I named it Furry (I guess in a sort of primitive ironic sense, given fur was the last thing you could call it's covering). I could have conversations with hours with Furry, my mother would observe the fluctuation in my voice when switching characters.

One might imagine a mature college student to have outgrown these stages but, alas, old habits die hard. Sure, I've gone from changing the tone of my voice to changing my accent, and I've ditched the toys for imagining arguments between a gangsta-me and a douche bag or imagined myself talking with Genghis Khan, but I'm the same kid, sitting in my old room with my eyes closed in another world.

Now, I've found a woman, and you might think I'd drop it for real but, again folks, old habits die hard. Fortunately these habits need not die, because I've found a woman with an imagination just as rich, if not richer. We each brought a favorite stuffed animal to school this year. Hers: a black panther, mine: a huge bottle-nosed dolphin a la sea world. Neither had names, but upon arrival they became Isabella Esperanza (Izzy) and Samuel (Sammy). At first they just adopted the names we had thought of for possible children (don't judge, you all do it too!), but they soon became much much more.

They became little kids, perhaps how we were when we were children, or perhaps how we imagine our progeny to be, but they became real, they became ours. Izzy is the sassy older sister, independent, strong-willed, ready to joke, but equally ready to lend a helping hand. Sammy is the easily influenced younger brother, sensitive to Izzy's snaps but friendly and protective of family.

It didn't even end there, a tiny origami crane smaller than my pinky nail became Rily, a tiny younger sibling whose name stands for Reza I Love You. An ugly origami frog became Hippity, and a smaller, but much cooler looking and jump-able origami frog became Hoppity, a favorite playmate of my girlfriend's through boring lectures. An origami mouse became Bonafacio the reading mouse, his time spent folded up in books as a place marker has left him with an endless knowledge of the world and hunger for all things book. Hell, we even have a retarded child with no name, a green balloon I stole from JMU's clubhouse, that somehow still has air in it despite being months old.

I once received a phone call from my girl when I was with family. She asked me who was taking care of Izzy and I told her, "It can take care of itself, it's a cat." Without even thinking, I had given into my fear of being ridiculed. Just being around people who could possibly judge me had compromised my character. I realized it too late, I listened, seemingly in slow motion, as the words slipped out of my mouth but too late. She hang up, agitated and annoyed.

I love them, I really do. They're as much a part of what makes me me as my jokes, my computing, my gaming, my writing, my education, my friends, my family, and especially my woman. Oftentimes I'm confronted by how silly it may seem to others, how crazy I might look, but fuck it. I've made the mistake of dismissing them as mere child's play, and I'll never do it again, because I'm nothing without my imagination. I won't abandon Izzy, Sammy, Bonafacio, Lt. LegoMan, or even retarded green balloon just to fit in.

Home Food

2008-12-19T00:35:00.004-05:00

My girlfriend once asked me how much I love her. She's fond of using the trite "like a fat kid loves cake" line for the sake of being cliche. Abhorring cliche as much as I do, I try as hard as I can to stray from the beaten figurative language path and strive to rarely repeat myself.

That day I responded with, "I love you like I love Sinigang."

Naturally one might expect the worst of reactions; something like: You love me like a fucking stew!? Fuck you, fat ass! She knows me better than that, fortunately, and she remained silent, signaling I should clarify my statement.

"Well, you know how food is nourishing. It makes you feel good. And any food can taste good. Any food can be filling. But you know what beats the best restaurants and the finest dining? Home food.

"Don't get me wrong, I love Fried Chicken, Pho, and Lo Mein as much as the next guy but they ain't got shit on Tinola, Sotanghon, and Pancit. I'm talking food for the soul. For my soul. My nostalgic, Filipino-American college student soul.

You're my Sinigang, my Kare-Kare, my Bicol Express. You know I have other friends, I know other women but I'm most comfortable, most warm, most rested, most at home with you."

Nothing else was said, we remained still staring into eachothers' eyes for ages afterwards, No Reservations providing the background noise to my awkward culinary exploration of our love.

P.S. I promise to write more Jonathan type shit.

This is getting out of hand...

2008-11-23T02:15:00.005-05:00

First, I apologize for not having written in a while. I've been ridiculously busy. Between planning and practicing for my school's Asian Student Union Culture Show, helping to found the Word is Born Poet's Society on campus, and actually giving a shit about my classes, there's been little time for lallygagging (aside from the topic of this entry).

Second, I'm pretty much a NERF addict. I went to COSTCO to buy rice, eggs, and toilet paper. I walked out of the store with rice, eggs, toilet paper, and a NERF Vulcan EBF-25. Now, let me explain. I had already had my eye on this thing from surfing the web. It usually goes for over $40. I walked by it and knew I didn't have the money for it, but then I took second look at the price tag. $35, son! It was on.

So yeah, now it's sharing time:

Truly beautiful

Mere seconds of firing renders a path unpassable. Truly, this is non-lethal firepower at its finest. It makes me want to cry.

There is also a video of me in the store battling my conscience over the purchase of said weapon. We know who won out, but I'll have the video up later when I'm not too lazy to upload it.

I'm an...

2008-08-17T13:22:00.002-04:00

...impulsive NERF gun buyer. I went to Wal-Mart today to get a toothbrush and Drano for my tub. I walked out with both of those things and a NERF N-Strike Recon CS-6. Don't judge me!

Alvin Lau - For the Breakdancers

2008-08-15T23:26:00.003-04:00

Second post in the past few minutes but GODDAMN! Hot fiyah for real. What happens when figurative language meets figurative movement? This!

Hips For The Hop

2008-08-15T23:26:00.001-04:00

Alvin Lau and Dan Sully from Death From Below. Love it love it love it love it. Props to my hip hop ladies!

When I Grow Up...

2008-08-15T22:43:00.001-04:00

...I wanna be Kevin Smith. *sigh*

Ahh!!!!

2008-07-24T10:39:00.001-04:00

Lego Jewelry!

Ahhh!!!! Let me find out there's actually something I can bling on! I never wear jewelry, I'm talking never (except for that gangsta stage in middle school/early high school when I was rocking the white gold chain, but I don't really count that as being me. I was possessed. Seriously, google it.). For real though, I'd rock this all day every day. The geeks will rule the world!

It's him

2008-07-17T19:31:00.001-04:00

It really is the same priest I met way back when. My dad confirmed it by name, and also when I showed him a picture. Crazy!

It figures

2008-07-14T23:34:00.002-04:00

Interesting update:

I was having a conversation with my father about the corruption of the Catholic church in the Philippines. Eventually, some of the Filipino priests we knew became part of the discussion and he mentioned one Bicolano that served a parish in Virginia that embezelled money to support his wife, kids, and extended family. Suddenly I remembered this entry from a bit back. I have yet to confirm this with me pops, but it may well be the case that I've met this very same priest before. I'll let ya'll know what's up as soon as I find out.

lulz

2008-07-14T13:24:00.001-04:00

The only thing better than tired ethnic stereotypes is reversed ethnic stereotypes. I gotta watch this movie again!

Whiteness is a trick...

2008-06-30T21:35:00.002-04:00

First saw this on Double Consciousness.

Really?

2008-06-19T22:02:00.001-04:00

http://hiphopnews.yuku.com/topic/651

Seriously? Seriously? I was never one for all this "stop snitching" "fuck the police" business, but seriously.

Fuck the police!

Siege Warfare

2008-06-14T14:32:00.001-04:00

Like any good siege tactician,
I know the key to victory is patience
I can throw my forces against the walls day and night,
but a competent fortification will hold.

And even a successful breach is hardly a victory.
The Huns went around it
and the Mongols broke it
but their reigns were but fleeting footnotes in the annals of the earth's history.

I seek eternal conquest.
I seek total victory.
I seek to make my way in and destroy
all that is bad
and then repair and build all that is good
so that my subjects will live forever
oblivious to the evils of the world.

I must wait,
however long it takes
for the gates to open,
because walls are not mere trifles.
I must wait
however long it takes
because this is no Jericho,

I can play the trumpet,
but no tune will take these walls down.
I can march,
but no number of laps will take these walls down.

There is no prayer.
There are no words.
Only time will see the end of this battle.

I must wait,
because the riches that success would bring would last beyond time.
If one must wait an eternity for eternal wealth,
than so be it:

I shall wait.

I should...

2008-06-01T19:11:00.004-04:00

...be a music critic. Really. I'm taking an online couse in Cultural Geography and I have to post responses to questions on a discussion board for a small grade. The most recent question was "just for fun" meaning we'd get an A for our responses as long as we gave it the tiniest bit of though. We were asked to check out a youtube video of a band from Tijuana that plays a supposedly new genre of techno called "NorTec" (from norteno and techno). We were supposed to just write about what we think. So yeah, I wrote what I thought...

What do I think of it? It's ridiculous. I'm a fan of electronic music and I couldn't stand it. More akin to modern trance music than any sort of techno heard today, this supposedly new genre sounds just as ridiculous as it's American ancestors and European counterparts. Sure, there are traditional norteno instruments being played live but that doesn't make it sound special, just novel. The musicians bob their head in the same obnoxious way as Moby at a live concert anyways. Heck, there's even the same repetitive phrase usuage, except instead of the usual German "Ich liebe techno sex, ja ja ja" it's "Sound machine, sound machine." I don't mean to knock 'em too hard, though. I hope they can at least get it played on a cheesy Mexican car commerical. If not, half the people listening to their music are on X anyways, so at least they'll have a loyal fan base...
...until they rip off all their clothes and run into traffic while screaming how sorry they for not rinsing the dishes before putting them in the washer.

I rule.

Ugh

2008-05-28T12:03:00.004-04:00

So I thought I'd never write like this, but I was never a goal oriented writer. I never set out with pen in hand ready to conquer a challenge. I just write what comes to mind. I always told myself I'd never write like this. I thought that short bit from earlier this month was my only concession. Damnit, I kinda feel like a bitch for compromising my own rule. In hindsight, though, the rule bullshit in the first place. It's just me trying to assert the presence of my penis. Damnit. Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn. Ugh.

I love it when she be asking me stuff,
I’m sure it’s been more than 21 questions
But it’s also damned well been more than 21 lessons
On
On
Love?

I been going through affection 101:
A crash course in touching
In holding
Feeling
Kissing
Licking
Living
And
And
Loving?

Fuck if I know.
I don’t know what I know these days
I don’t know I want to know these days
I don’t know what I need to know these days
All I know
Is that
I
I
I miss her

I miss her so much that I curse the sun for yanking me out of the dream that is her reality
I miss her so much that I caress my sheets hoping for them to become warm, to become alive, and become her
only to end up with fingers numb from touch and a mind numb from disappointment
I sit at home and experience a nostalgia that even the Pacific Ocean couldn’t arouse in me:
My hand longs to be at home behind her head
On her arm
On her belly
On her thigh

In her hand

All I have now is her
voice
on the phone
We talk about our day
Tell stories of what I hesitate to call “life”
As if her absence qualified as living
And we ask each other questions
And though we may be apart
she always be teaching me
these
these
lessons

life lessons

Love lessons?

Alaska

2008-05-16T10:15:00.005-04:00

I was talking with me pops over brunch this morning. We were talking about the disasters in Myanmar and China and how the respective governments dealt with recovery and with the media. This naturally led to a discussion of life under the Marcos regime back in the PI.

He was talking about how a combination of factors lead to him leaving home. The obvious factors aside (corruption etc.), he said his boss provided a large bit of the motivation. After returning from a three week engineering seminar in California his boss, knowing full well my father's connections to the New Peoples Army and various other activist groups, told him, "Hoy, Rudy. I'm telling you right now, you have to go to America. It's amazing, you can wash dishes there and still have a better, safer life."

"What about my resignation?"

"Hell, don't worry about it. You can send it to me when you're rich in Alaska. Go!"

Shortly thereafter his brother (my uncle) a navy serviceman was able to petition his mother (my grandma) to the US. He figured he should go accompany his mother to the US because my uncle was active duty on a carrier and wouldn't be able to take care of her. This would also be a great chance to check up on all the stories he'd heard. My father, a prominent figure in the Manila scene already had a US Visa, had had one for two years, and there were three days left on it. Right then, he decided to go. He went to visit my mom at work, whom he was only dating at the time,"Hey, do you want to go to America?"

"What? I guess, sure. Why?"

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

The rest, as one might say, is history. I, on the other hand, would call it my dad's super spontaneous, ballin-ass history.

I LOL'D!

Bow Ties

2008-05-10T23:32:00.002-04:00

One of my cousins got married today. My father was a member of the wedding party and had to wear a tuxedo. While getting ready, he couldn't figure out how the pre-tied bowtie worked. His complaint:

"Ay, burat. I can't do this. The only thing I know how to tie is a water buffalo."

Oh, father.

"You don't know your emcees..."

2008-05-08T16:29:00.003-04:00

The guys came over again, and are actually still here. So I started playing "Rising Up" by the Roots and Pee asks if it's Lupe.

"Naw, man. That's the Roots. You don't know your emcees, son."

"Yeah I do. I know mad Emcees."

Chris comes in with, "Yeah, I know some emcees be smoove with the flow. I pipe some, no homo."

Day chimes in, "I know an emcee I'd pipe. Mariah Carey. Dig that."

By far the most quotable person on the planet.

Late night

2008-05-08T02:13:00.003-04:00

I just finished reading "The Turing Option," and amazing book by the way, and I was about to go to sleep. I layed there, shifting positions awkwardly. Couldn't sleep, despite the time, and stared the the ceiling thinking about how much it sucks to be tired sleepless. I hate taking drugs, so I guess I'll put pen to paper and then tough out the night.

I line up pillows to take her place,
but nothing can replicate that warm embrace,
I miss skin on skin.

And hell, it's not even sexual,
I mean, shit, even porn's ineffectual.
Her absence makes sleeping sin.

George Watsky at Blah Blah Blah Series pt 1 @ the Bowery

2008-05-07T03:46:00.003-04:00

Oh goodness. As a good friend of mine would say, "...alliteration is my fucking fantastically favorite literary device."

"Just Friends" Cover

2008-05-06T16:23:00.001-04:00

Love this guy. They say a competent violinist should also be a competent vocalist. Well, "fuck me upside down and sideways," as a friend of mine would say, if this guy can't singed damned well.

That's some...

2008-05-02T21:19:00.002-04:00

...real nigga words!"

So, Day² (Damien a.k.a. Day Day) and Jon were playing ping pong in my house and Jon won a few points in a row so he started getting mad cocky and talking shit (even more than usual).

"Yo, son, I thought you was sweet! You can't see me, nigga!"

"Fuck 'yo little Filipino ass. Talkin' shit like you a nigga."

"Nigga, fuck you, how you gonna get mad now after I been saying 'nigga' all your life!?"

"I'm not mad you sayin' it, I'm mad you talking shit wrong."

"Yeah, then show me some real 'nigga talk!'"

Day² then hits a winner and declares, "That's some real nigga words, son!!!" He drops the paddle and runs around the house repeatedly screaming "Face, nigga! I keep it real! Buck buck buck buck buck!"

Meanwhile John stands in his place and screams, "Look, son I'm still up. Pick up your shit and swing that so I can finish waxing your punk ass."

Day² made an epic comeback to win the match and proceeded to take off his wifebeater and twirl it around while running around the house. He finished his circuit and returned to rip the fitted off Jon's head and stomp on it.

Anyways, predictably more shit was spoken and they fought outside the house. No one was hurt and they ended up hugging in the end and returning into my house to eat Honey Nut Cheerios together while watching the Tennis Channel.

Again, I love coming home.

W.M.D.

2008-04-05T23:04:00.002-04:00

Random thought:
If I ever wanted an MC name, it would totally be Weapon M.D. aka Dr. Weapon.

Also, Circles 9 was sick as fuck. I'm so mad I left my camera's upload cable at home. I have tooo many pics to post.

Janelle Monae - Violet Stars Happy Hunting

2008-04-04T17:47:00.001-04:00

This is my jam for the weekend. That is all.

My Father's Tongue (final)

2008-03-28T21:47:00.007-04:00

Big ups to Kuya Bobby for helping me with the translations, I'm really bad at that. Most of the guesses I came up with were way off. Thank you so much for your help! I'm going to be performing this along with other members of JMU's Word is Born during the Vision Conference in Memorial Hall on Friday, April 5th. Be there!

My Father’s Tongue

At birth, God gave my father his tongue:
Muscle
With it came the freedom to laugh
Mag-tawa
to cry
mag-tangis

At home, my grandparents gave my father his tongue:
Rinconada, Bicol-Nabua
and with it the knowledge to speak truth
kamaturan
or tell lies
ambog

At school, the teachers gave my father his tongue:
Pilipino, Tagalog
and with it the skills to read
mag-basa
to write
mag-sulat

In college the professors gave my father his tongue:
English
with it a taste of America
a taste of the dream
pangaturugan

When martial law came, Marcos cut off my father's tongue:
Revolution, democracy
Because he wore jeans and rode a motorcycle
Rebelde
He spoke of freedom
Kalayaan

In America, my father silenced his own tongue:
Career, American dream
His silence brought odd jobs washing dishes and making decks.
Trabaho?
On minimum wage? Di, you mean slavery.
Pang-aalila

Now, here I stand
American born and raised
High school degree out of the way
college degree on the way
hell, maybe even a six pack on the way

It seems like I know everything

And yet,
I stand before you ashamed
ashamed of what I don't know:
My Father's Tongue.

My Father's Tongue

2008-03-26T03:17:00.002-04:00

I was lying in bed staring at the ceiling when I started to repeat words in my head. I don't even know why. The phrases started to get longer, and they started to gain structure, and then they started to actually sound good. So i got up and started writing. Not because I wanted to, but because I probably wouldn't be able to sleep if I didn't. So yeah, here it is straight from the page. I'm going to talk to my dad tomorrow and ask him to help me with translations. After every emotion, or whatever, I'm going to have a translation in the different dialects. I have big plans for this. Expect updates.

At birth, God gave my father his tongue:
Muscle
With it came the freedom to laugh
to cry

At home, my grandparents gave my father his tongue:
Rinconada, Bicol-Nabua
and with it the knowledge to speak truth
or tell lies

At school, the teachers gave my father his tongue:
Pilipino, Tagalog
and with it the skills to read
to write

In high school (college?) the teachers (professors?) gave my father his tongue:
English
with it a taste of America
a taste of the dream

When martial law came, Marcos cut off my father's tongue:
Revolution, democracy
Because he wore jeans
he spoke of freedom

In America, my father silenced his own tongue:
American dream
His silence brought odd jobs making decks
minimum wage

Now, here I stand
American born and raised
High school degree out of the way
college degree on the way
hell, maybe even a six pack on the way
It seems like I know everything

And yet, I stand before you ashamed
ashamed of what I don't know:
My Father's Tongue

I'm Cool

2008-03-19T01:58:00.001-04:00

My roommates rock...

2008-03-19T00:02:00.002-04:00

...for four reasons:

“I really wish the ‘T’ in T-Pain stood for Thomas. That way he could name his next album Common Sense.”
“There’s this weird Asian guy in my Math lab that walks up and down and always has his head to one side. He’s the most socially awkward person I’ve ever met. So this guy and my friend were working on a Math lab project and they needed a third person for their group. The weird kid literally looks around and calls out ‘Looking for party!’”
They are the whitest people on the planet and they have a large poster of deceased hip hop artists on their wall (next to a poster of Dora the Explorer, but that's another story).
Moments like this.

Sagaba

2008-03-13T02:31:00.002-04:00

Blue Scholars - Sagaba

I've been running this track at least ten times a day for the past two months or so. Everything from the break to the flow just screams chill...

Best line:
"fo shizzle it begins to drizzle"
Clearly someone ran out of rhymes but how can you beat that?

Honestly, this is my jam and I was bummed as shit when they didn't perform this at their show in February up at Cornell. DJ Sabzi dropped the break for this track but Geo started up some other flow. I was kinda pissed but it was a Blue Scholars show, son, so I couldn't really be mad. I still want Geologic's Katipunan hoodie, I would rock that shit all day every day.

Yo, for real, son...

2008-03-07T19:29:00.004-05:00

...I say "nigga" a LOT. For real, today I was chilling with my boys because it was raining and we couldn't play tennis (real hood, street tennis of course) and I'm pretty certain I said "nigga" more than ten times in one sentence. Mind you, it was a long sentence. It was one of those distinctly Jonathan sentences that goes on for a while but doesn't necessarily mean anything once it's out there. Frankly, I don't even remember what we were talking about. All I know is that once I was done with my bit it was quiet. My boy Day-Day was the first to speak up:

"Son, you said nigga a LOT."

Again it was quiet, we were thinking about it. He spoke up again:

"For real, though, we all be saying shit way too much."

Once more, silence, even longer this time. The six of us: three Filipinos, one Cambodian, and two "Niggas" were somehow made to ponder our diction for what seemed like hours. As I considered how it was I became so comfortable with the term, I also wondered what the others were thinking. The thoughts of my black brothers were of particular interest to me. I'd always wondered what their stand on our use of the term was. What were the rules for its use? The black man has since come to own the term, but did we qualify? Was our status as minorities payment enough for a title that had so long been derogatory? Was the power of the term's negativity derived from the word itself or merely from the history we had so long associated with it? Were we niggas or did we just want a nigga be?

As all these thoughts ran through my mind and, I can only assume, the minds of my friends Day-Day looked around and then stomped his foot. We looked up, stunned out of our mental meanderings, expecting a revelation to end all revelations.

Day, with a passion in his eyes opened his mouth and declaratively asked:

"Yo, how a bitches cooch gonna smell like strawberries!?"

Shock.

"Naw, for real though, nigga. I dun smelled a lot of pussy in my day and I ain't gonna say they stank or nothing but they smelled like pussy. I was 'chilling' with this girl the other day and I wiped my nose, you know, cause I had the sniffles and I breathe in and I'm like, 'Damn, girl, what is that smell?' And I didn't mean it like that but she definitely thought I did. She started yelling at me like a nigga supposed to know every smell in the world."

Shock.

"I be wondering what she be washing with, you know? It's whatever, though, I still piped. Fuck that bitch, anyways. Whatever the fuck her name is. I just call her strawberries, now."

The moral of the story? Fuck if I know, it's just funny.

God, I love coming home.

Another ride home

2008-03-02T02:22:00.002-05:00

My dad asked me if I was keeping track of election news, knowing well the answer. He told me he was as excited as ever about this year because it would be his first time voting for anything relevant. He's going to be taking is oath as a naturalized citizen in April and plans to register to vote later the same day. He's lived in the U.S. for 27 years but hadn't even considered becoming a citizen until just last year. His disdain for the American way of life had prevented him from doing so, but he has since come to terms with the fact that other people are wasteful and it doesn't mean that he has to be. He's going to make is own American lifestyle.
Back to his first vote. In the Philippines, the voting age used to be 21, and the year my father turned 21 was the same year Marcos declared martial law in the P.I. Shortly thereafter my father had to flee the country because of his ties to communism and the New People's Army. He nearly cried when he told me this story, it was an odd and rare moment of weakness. At the same time, however, it was more a show of how strong his idealism is. Now, 27 years after arriving in the U.S., he will finally have a voice, however small, in the discourse that decides the destiny of his home nation and he couldn't be prouder.

Neither can I.

Bastos, Padre...

2008-02-24T11:50:00.002-05:00

Retired Priest Sentenced for Bilking Two Churches

Oh, Filipino priests...
Obviously, what he did to the people of those two parishes was grimy, but a lot of people like to focus on the fact that he was married and had kids. Honestly, I've met a lot of Filipino priests with illegitimate children, or with legitimate ones. Frankly, that doesn't make them bad priests, if anything these have been some of the realest people I've ever met and they have a love of God that is hard to find in others.

My Godfather had studied in a seminary for a long time, but he met his wife shortly before he was supposed to "marry" God. He respected the laws of the church enough to drop out of the seminary but, frankly, I don't think it was necessary. He's one of the most intelligent and devout men in the world. I've been in too many masses with priests that seemed disenchanted with their profession, that preached their parts as an afterthought. My ninong lives his life for God, so he has a wife and a kid, if anything that's strengthened his faith more than anything.

Hell, my fondest memories are of 10 visiting Bicolano priests and my Ninong in the backyard singing songs and telling dirty jokes while drunk out of their minds and then celebrating a joint mass the next day. Priests are people too. I think Rome needs to take a new look at old laws.

To Magibon from GyaO 1(http://www.gyao.jp/)

2008-02-13T21:51:00.001-05:00

So for those of you waiting for me to write something original, it'll happen when it happens. Until then, I think this is hilarious. If you don't know who Magibon/MRiaian is then check her out: http://www.youtube.com/user/MRirian

All of her vids involver her staring into the camera doing nothing. In some she talks, but it's really just staring. Some think she's a hapa Japanese girl, but there's increasing evidence pointing to her being an Asian-looking white girl that knows basic Japanese. If you listen to her talk, her accent is a little off and she speaks very slowly. Also, when she uses English words she uses little to no inflection (i.e. she has an American accent). A lot of her popularity is due to her being "kawaii!" Honestly, I wouldn't pay half as much attention to her account if I just knew the truth, damnit.

For those of you wondering what's being said in the vid, basically these people think she's cute and they want her to go to Japan and "perform" though I really don't know what it is she would do...

Who knows? Japanese people will watch anything.

Video of Silly Cambodian Kid

2008-02-06T00:35:00.000-05:00

How cool is that? He's on Al Jazeera! You know you're interested in the right things when you find stuff before a major new network does.
Honestly, though, that's really really really cool, and his Buddhist take on things kinda makes it logical, in a way.

Joy Luck Club Review (High school essay)

2008-02-04T01:21:00.000-05:00

So, yeah. I wrote this as my first assignment in 12th grade for AP English Literature. I usually make my first essays for writing classes as close a reflection of me as possible, and leave seriousness for later in the year. I actually don't have this essay saved anywhere, I was looking at my rarely updated MySpace page and saw this as the only entry in the blog. I read through it and was thoroughly entertained by past-me, however recent ago it may have been. I like to think I'm not nearly as bitter. Note: The weird characters are how MySpace interpreted apostrophes. I just copied and pasted this and am far too lazy to go through and fix all of those. Just use your imagination.

The Joy Luck Club is a novel that is widely praised for itÃ¢s detailed description of life in America for newcomers and their children; celebrated for delving into the relationship between mother and daughter and highly acclaimed for celebrating AmericaÃ¢s diversity. Despite all of these credits, this book is ludicrously mundane as well as boring. In fact this novel is among the ranks of other powerful sleep aids such as The Scarlet Letter, To Kill a Mockingbird and elephant tranquilizers. I literally had to go to my doctor and ask for a prescription for Zoloft after completing this book, not even because it was depressing, but because the thought of people actually enjoying it lead me to lose all hope in humanity.
Being the son of immigrants, IÃ¢m sure I was able to better understand a few of the novelÃ¢s motifs and themes such as differences in ideology between the generations, difficulties in communication and the desire for immigrant parents for their children to strive and fit in while unreasonably expecting them to become slightly Americanized versions of their parents. Granted, yes, I do understand TanÃ¢s message, IÃ¢ve even witnessed it in my extended family and among others but I feel itÃ¢s been made overly dramatic.
While reading the novel, I often found myself sympathizing more with the parents of these rebellious, disrespectful second generation children. I know my language and I can communicate with my elders just fine. IÃ¢ve always obeyed, IÃ¢ve always capitulated and IÃ¢ve never come across complications as a result. I can honestly say that IÃ¢ve never spoken back to my parents, even once. I just donÃ¢t get why these girls have such resentment for their mothers. What did their mothers ever do to wrong them? They came to America with hopes of raising children in a world where water flowed into their homes and replenished instead of killed; where they didnÃ¢t have to worry about where the next meal would come from; where women were respected and judged as individuals and not just accessories to husbands. They exercised their rights as mothers to do what they thought best for their children, thatÃ¢s what they did. What did they get in return? They ended up with daughters that looked down on their parents as ignorant because they couldnÃ¢t speak English. They ended up with daughters that ignored all their advice as over-used Confucian banter. They ended up as old women without respect, without prestige, whose only joy was playing mah jong on weekends and comparing the successes of their unappreciative children. What reward is there in such an end?
Another thing adding to my dislike of TanÃ¢s supposed masterpiece is the overtly feminine nature of the novel. I guess it canÃ¢t be avoided, being as she is a woman, but I really donÃ¢t care why so and so cried, how bad it hurt, or how a guy gave the character multiple orgasms. Honestly, a motherÃ¢s intuition and daily gossip just donÃ¢t matter.
In short, The Joy Luck Club may be the greatest novel even written, but itÃ¢s over dramatized situations and overly feminine nature make for a ridiculously bland reading experience I can truly say reflects nothing of importance in my life. In fact, I once held the book while looking in the mirror and saw myself holding a steaming pile of feces, true story.

Note: I got a B on this essay. Yeah, I'm sweet like that.

Milk

2008-01-31T15:22:00.001-05:00

No, I'm not asking if you've got any. I stumbled across an amazing artist who goes by this lactose pseudonym. Frankly, her stuff is amazing. I really just don't know what to say. Check it out, let me know what you think.

Unrelated to this:
I've been jamming to Janet Jackson's Got Til It's Gone featuring Q-Tip from a Tribe Called Quest. It makes me feel good...

Random Flashback

2008-01-31T15:00:00.000-05:00

Last semester, two of my roommates and I were walking around campus (probably towards or away from food) when we saw this girl walking with two dudes. The following conversation ensued and entertained us for the next week or so:

Ryan: That girl is totally getting banged twice.
Me: Let's make it five.
Ryan: She doesn't have that many holes, silly.
Glenn: She's got two hands, though

DJ Mike Rizzy

2008-01-29T01:24:00.000-05:00

Mike Rizzy is a DJ from the 757 that makes some solid mixes. Unlike most of the DJs I recommend, he doesn't really scratch or cut, though he does produce breaks. I just like to check up on this page every once in a while to see if he has a new mix up.

Dahlak - Just Another Routine Check

2008-01-29T01:20:00.001-05:00

Goddamn!

Call of Duty 4 -- Sniper Montage

2008-01-27T19:59:00.001-05:00

This is for my reference. I'm in a computer lab and I want to save this video for later viewing. I guess you could enjoy it while it's up.

Battle for Haditha

2008-01-27T16:14:00.000-05:00

I really really really really want to see this movie. You should too.

That is all.

Doctor Miracles

2008-01-23T14:23:00.000-05:00

I was sorting through my bookmarks in search of videos to use in a presentation when I came upon this oldie but goodie. I remember this vid was made before YouTube made it big, and before Randall Park was on Whylin' out. This is some OG shit. OG, and hilarious as fuck.

Yet another example...

2008-01-21T18:46:00.001-05:00

Seriously, Asian kids, just chill out with the being awesome at stuff. Let's let everyone else catch up, at least a little bit. Start working on getting taller and playing basketball or something.

Alicia Keys and Arturo Sandoval

2008-01-19T15:02:00.001-05:00

Two of my favorite true musicians performing one of my favorite songs. It speaks for itself. Arturo makes any song better.

Wallace!

2008-01-19T01:03:00.000-05:00

The guys on the tennis team I coach like to scream out the names of basketball players when they make awesome shots. However little sense the use of unrelated player allusions may seem, it strikes me as particularly hilarious. Honestly, how can you go wrong by screaming "JORDAN!" at the top of your lungs after or while hitting a jumping overhead smash? Or screaming "KOBE!" after hitting a stretch, drop-volley winner?

So I just watched a highlight reel of Ben Wallace's blocks on YouTube:

I am now seriously committed to screaming "Wallace!" after blocking/counter-hitting a winner in table tennis a la Waldner:

Silly Koreans...

2008-01-15T10:39:00.000-05:00

Mock funerals give 'dearly departed' new outlook on life

I prefer killing other people but that may just be me.

Missed Opportunity

2008-01-11T01:29:00.002-05:00

I realize I've already posted something today but video in the last post got me all inspired and fearless and shit, so fuck the consequnces. This next bit is intended to be performed, and I think is much better that way but it's kinda late and I'm only in the mood for copying and pasting. I wrote this last month but didn't post it up immediately, I needed it to marinate. I made my last edits tonight (for now) and now I feel like sharing. Also, note that this is what was referenced in the past.

*Edit:
It's been brought to my attention that this shit is really personal. I'm pretty sure I've made out to be more than it is, so stop IM-ing me with advice, guys. Thanks for the thoughts though. I just like the way the story sounded in my head, especially the John Mayer allusions.

Missed Oppurtunity

I was DD.

Party was over and I was driving ladies home.

Last one,

a girl I had known but never really known.

I take her home, and on the way I check my pockets.

Now empty of the various phones and cameras I had to hold as proxy for purses,

they were also empty of my access card.

I wouldn’t be able to get into my dorm and my boys sure weren’t gonna open the door this late.

I ask her if she’s doing anything tonight

she says she wants to go somewhere and chill.

I pull over and we make some calls but no one’s willing to host.

So now I find myself at her place,

We’re eating cold food, watching re-runs of the Fresh Prince,

It’s like a dream,

She’s cool,

she’s cute,

and even more importantly she’s being both

with me.

It’s late so I ask where I can lay.

I’m expecting the couch but she’s says her bed is game.

Word!?

So we sleep.

Nothing happens, we’re touching but we’re not touching.

I can feel her close to me but my awkward, inexperienced self avoids making moves.

I’m just happy to feel her warmth on this cold, winter night.

I wake up past noon,

she’s still asleep.

I’m looking at her, and I can’t help but stare.

I examine every detail of her face.

Every line and curve,

the form of her eyes, the way her "hair falls in her face."

I think of all the things I could say or do at this very moment.

The way my mind works, I go through hypothetical situations in the blink of an eye

but one rises above the rest:

I could wake her up with a “Damn, baby”

then smoothly disguise my virgin self by saying

“I ain’t never woke up next to someone as beautiful as you.”

Shit, it wouldn’t be a lie, but it wouldn’t be a complete truth either

A truthful line would have started the same way but my response would be a completely honest,

“You’re the first girl I ever woke up next to that wasn’t related to me.”

I think about it for a while, weighing the consequences of such a move.

The two extremes on either end of the spectrum of the time continuum split me in two.

On the very optimistic end: lazy, tired, morning sex.

On the opposite: awkward silence and likely expulsion from the apartment.

It’s too early

I’m too scared to lose what I just found

and I’m just too fucking nice.

I just stare in silence, continuing to think too hard, but enjoying every second.

When she begins to wake I close my eyes and pretend I’m asleep.

Damn.

Another missed opportunity.

George Watsky - V for Virgin

2008-01-11T00:34:00.001-05:00

This poem is amazing. If you know me, you probably know why I think so. If you don't, it doesn't matter, because it should still be amazing. I just want to know how it is I just heard of this kid. I literally stood up, knocking my chair back, and threw my V up like I just didn't care while my roommate stared at me. Props to Watsky.

Random Freewrite

2008-01-09T23:37:00.000-05:00

I ate breakfast this morning between classes, but I still had time to kill so I broke out the pen and paper and wrote non-stop for about 40 minutes. Not much of it is coherent. It's random stuff that came to my mind, from the things I observed in the dining hall, out the window, the song on my i-pod, thoughts of life.

I love cheese paper. No, not the paper that is used to protect cheese, but the paper used to wrap warm sandwiches and is inevitably covered with bits of melted dairy goodness. How I love thee. You are a delightful surprise no matter how many times you light up my life (and fill up my arteries). Frankly you are the highlight of my meal.

Breakfast? Sausage, egg, and cheesy cheesy paper.
Lunch?

BLEH!!!

Lovey dovey couples agitate me. I need no reason. Pussy-whipped dudes make my self-esteem skyrocket. I think I should be allowed to hit girls. Some of them bitches deserve a good ovary punch. Not all asians look the same. But a whole fuck load of them do. The grass is greener of my side of the fnce. And if it isnt? Sounds like fire-starting time. There's a Guido at the table next to me. He's huge and I think he just got a new haircut. HGH! Viva la nuestra senora de Peniafrancia! I wish my mind was quicker. I wish I learned to rhyme. I wish I learned to break. I wish I learned to spin. I wish I learned to dress well. I wish I had taken normal classes in public school with normal people. I hope table tennis becomes a legitimate sport in the eyes of Americans. I kinda wish I had kept singing. I wish I had the balls to let people down and work for my self at least once. I'm glad that not everyone knows what a 1337 h4x0rz is. I want to learn a shit load of languages. I don't want a degree. I want every degree possible. I'm not interested in a field, but in knowledge. I want to read more mythology and stories so I can make awesome allusions on a whim. Loincloths are really comfortable. I want to be a professional athlete. Education was overrated. I don't know any Spanish except Filipino and Latin cognates. Who's idea was it to take German anyways? Oh yeah, mine. Oh well, es hat viel spaß gemacht. The term "white people music" makes me giggle. Why do some white people do "black music" better than black people? I should have practiced the piano more. Singing at the same time is hard. I need to get the mouthpiece pulled out of my trumpet. That shit has been stuck forever! I should have kept writing music, I mean really. Damn you video games! I'm 1337 at all the wrong shit. I really want to fight someone right now. I miss black people. I don't like Barack or Hilary. I wish I could grow real facial hair. I bet I would rock a bangin' soul patch. Why does under achievement feel so good? I never understood the draw of eating with other people. Some people wait forever just to eat with a friend. Some don't eat at all if they can't find anyone. A bunch of black kids a the table next to me just sat down. Some random white kid with a big douchey grin on his face walked up to their table, set his tray down and took a seat. The looks on all their faces were priceless. ISAT looks like a space station. I should cop a pair of chuck taylors. Not everyone should to to college. A lot of people don't belong here. People who don't care about learning make me angry. Ignorance is acceptable as long as one makes it a point to eradicate it in the future. Those that are dumb and don't give a fuck? They hold back evolution. Evolution is not dead in humanity. It is only dead in the civilized world. Those living in the third world still must be the fittest to survive and they drop babies like clouds do rain. Smoking makes people look like douches. Literally. Smokers clean out vaginas for a living, or at least they look it. Asian people are too quiet. It's kind of a good thing, though. If people heard what we all had to say, their heads might explode. Why? Chinese is actually an audible form of binary (beacuse they're all robots). Not everyone is ready for this math.

Thoughts of a Physics Student

2008-01-08T16:03:00.000-05:00

I was sitting in my physics lab waiting for the rest of the class to finish a small quiz to test how much we know about the subject. I broke out the pencil and started writing. This is unedited.

I sit in my physics lab staring at men. All men, sans one woman. ISAT students, all. We, earlier, sat waiting for class to begin in complete silence. Com-fucking-plete. It was deafening in its utter completeness. I wanted to break it, but how!? I thought for what seemed like hours but it all seemed silly and destined to fail. I had no hope. Only one with the bravery and valor of Beowulf or the divine strength of a fully-maned Samson could break something so imposing, so complete, so utterly intimidating that the force of its will to survive was enough to break bones. It was hopeless, I was desperate for a cry when suddenly, the old man in the front of the room, with bifocals precariously perched at the tip of his nose, bald head shining slowly stood up. He examined the room and enthusiastically said, "Well, then. Let's get started."

ALSO, PENIS.

I don't know about the last part. There was still a lot more time to wait after I finished writing. That last part was even written in pen and all caps. Weird.

I want.

2008-01-05T02:28:00.000-05:00

I want to write something so extensively expressive and epic that I need never write again.

Just kidding.

Collie Buddz - Come Around

2007-12-23T23:17:00.001-05:00

So, in the fine tradition of other white reggae artists, I present to you Collie Buddz. Me mate linked me to the vid and I immediately thought of MC Snow. Appearances aside, this is still a solid track. I've tried pretty hard to hate it, it just isn't working out. Oh well. This hate is gonna have to wait for another day.

Tales of fish and fightin'

2007-12-22T00:14:00.000-05:00

After dinner tonight, me pops, meself, and the dude renting out a room in our house were chilling about the table and story time started up again. The conversation lasted two hours and was all over the place but it was mainly about "home."

I especially enjoyed these two bits:

"During the rainy season we always ate fish. Why? Because when it rained the fields would flood and there would be fish everywhere. It was a matter of sticking your hands in the water and picking them up. We had a bunch of different ways of catching fish. Your uncle and I would make big footprints in the mud by stepping and twisting our feet around. When the water drained away, there would be a fish in every footprint you made. Another way was to cut a thick piece of bamboo into about the length of your forearm. You just plunge it into the water randomly and when you felt the bamboo shake you would stick your hand into the bamboo and pull out the fish. One time my dad was unlucky enough to catch a very angry snake this way.

My favorite memory was from when I was really little, maybe four or five. I asked my dad, 'Pa, why are there so many fish in the fields but only when it rains?'

'That's because it rains fish during this time of the year.'

The next day it rained, I remember getting on top of the house with a bucket and staring into the sky for an hour while all my brothers laughed at me. My father took me down and asked me what I was doing. I told him I was trying to catch fish like him and he put his hand on my head and laughed. He worked hard for us and it was always great to see him smile, however rarely."

This one's a bit more trivial:

"Your Uncle Badong was the most expensive student out of all of us. The reason was he was always getting in fights. Him and Entie would spend the entire day playing basketball and they'd always start fights. He would take a grudge on the court into your own house. Seriously, he'd bust into some guys house and raise hell like no other. And the thing was, he never tired of fighting because he knew that if he got in a fight, we all did. There was no way to lose. Eventually, when he was going to college in Manila, he was in jail like every other day. I ended up enrolling him in martial arts classes out of my own paycheck just so he had somewhere to release stress."

That's some gangsta ass shit.

Feel Me Flow

2007-12-18T14:39:00.000-05:00

Naughty by Nature - Feel Me Flow

I can't get this song of my head. The lyrics are just fun, without being overly ridiculous -- *cough* southern hiphop *cough* -- I'd post the video here but the person who posted it up disabled embedding. I played around with the code a bit but I couldn't get it to work.

Here's a link to the vid, though.

Enjoy.

The Drive Home

2007-12-14T15:26:00.001-05:00

The drive home with my dad was, as usual, full of stories and randomness. We always end up on the subject of "home" which, for him, means the Philippines. I told him about how everyone back home told me stories about my mother (R.I.P. Ina ko) that revealed a side of her that rarely exposed itself in America, where she was just another woman.

They say she was a natural born leader with a loud, powerful voice and that she always said the right words. She could sway a group of people in seconds. She was never alone, people followed her just to hear her talk. Classmates hoped her knowledge rubbed off on them. The people there that remember her were only children or teens when she left, and they say everyone wanted to be like her. Dad affirmed it all, adding that a lot of them wouldn't admit it but she also fed most of them as children on days when parents came home empty-handed.

My father worked as a government engineer in her town, and he formed a little gang of his own. Many of the older teens latched on to him, because he bought them drinks and food, and was also a strong personality. My pops had a private car and a driver and was stacking mad paper working for the government. When he went places with my mom, he preferred to hire two jeepneys, because even though they were on dates, the kids still followed them around. He made a deal with them that he would provide them transportation to the beach, as long as they brought a little of their own food. Weekends would see a convoy of jeepneys full of poor children bearing stolen coconuts, bananas, mangoes, avocados, and various other produce.

We spoke about "home" for quite a while and then somehow segwayed into life in America. As I've become older he's become a lot more reflective about his first years in the States. This time he told me how much he regretted never being able to use his degree here in the US. At the time he was so focused on keeping the family together that taking odd jobs making porches and decks for rich white people wasn't even a problem. Once he got over how wasteful Americans were, he was just happy to be here. Now, he says, he can't stand his job anymore. He has a new boss every year, college graduates with a B.S. in Industrial Engineering that doesn't know shit about the industry. They constantly ask questions when they need help but then act cold towards their employees when they don't need them. They take forever to address problems while he McGuyvers solutions in seconds.

Despite the regrets, though, he says he's glad he was able to help raise all his nieces and nephews and that he wouldn't trade his time here for a stable, high-paying job under a corrupt government. He wouldn't trade learning to change diapers three at a time on the rare occasions he was off. He claims he'd never trade having to eat the dozens of eggs that my Ate refused to eat because the yolks popped. He says he'd never trade cooking ramen noodles at two in the morning for my Kuya when he had the flu. He says he'd never trade having to wear pink clothes for a week when my cousins mixed up the colored clothes with the whites when they were supposed to be babysitting me. He'd never trade the looks on all of my cousin's faces when he was the first one who let them drive his car, even though they only had just gotten their permits. He says the countless high school, college, and grad school graduations of his blood are payment enough for any of the frustration at work, from racism, bigotry, and ignorance that he's had to endure.

Now he's starting to talk about going back to school. Maybe becoming a professor in the Philippines when he retires. It fits; he's always learning. I bring my old textbooks home and he reads them while taking a shit. We spend nights together on the couch with one leg up. eating rice with our hands while watching the Discovery Channel. We don't discuss the scores of "the game" in the car, we talk about politics, and the economic situation in the third world. I'd always loved my dad, mostly because I have to, but the last two years have given me a respect for him that is unequaled. He is, by far, the most amazing man I've ever met and I just can't believe it's taken me so long to discover the treasure I've lived with my whole life.

Ones and Twos

2007-12-14T07:19:00.000-05:00

So I'm sitting here right before my exam, chugging an energy drink and not thinking about the exam at all. I was thinking about all the things that I wish I could do. The foremost among them are the four elements of hip hop. I have a passion for them now that's hardly matched by many other thing in my life right now but somehow I feel like it's too late to do anything about it. For instance, I sincerely wish I had learned to spin:

Cutting skills aside, Kid Koala has an amazing ability to visualize phrases in music. Honestly, how many times do you think he's listened to every set of vinyl in his library? To be able to just sit down and jam to funk and soul records all day just to find the perfect breaks and then become so absorbed into the music that eventually learn the ability to find the music within the music. I'd fucking kill. And, hell, I'd love to start learning now but then I watch vids like this:

Oh, Asian kids. Is there anything that you can't make grown ass people feel more inadequate in?

TheRebel

2007-12-13T20:53:00.000-05:00

http://www.therebelmovie.com/

I fucking called it. The historical epic genre is taking over Asia. Now Vietnam is in the mix, man. When is it the PI's turn?

Also, take note of the use of scissor kicks in the trailer. This is a signature move of Vovinam Viet Vo Dao, the premier Viet martial art. This, if I'm not mistaken, will be the first feature film released in the United States to feature Vietnamese martial arts. I'm psyched.

You silly Cambodian kiddies...

2007-12-09T01:59:00.000-05:00

Boy befriends 4.8-metre-long python

How crazy would it be if this happened to you as a kid? I really want a Burmese python stuffed animal now...

I found an Al Jazeera report on this. Check it.

Clazziquai - Fill this Night

2007-12-06T02:39:00.001-05:00

I don't understand Hangukmal but I can't get over Clazziquai. I'm going to be screaming Korean melodies in the morning and I won't have any idea what I'm saying.

The Death of Me

2007-12-05T23:25:00.000-05:00

I'm starting to think too much about this blog. I couldn't sleep on Monday night/Tuesday morning because I had an idea stuck in my head. I ended up getting up and then writing a block of broken prose. It sounds good and it's kinda spoken word-esque which I think is what I'll make it in the future. I would usually post something like that right away but it's kinda personal and I'm scared the person it refers too might read it. That's another sign that I'm thinking about writing far too much. I'll post it up here in some indefinite amount of time in the future. Some of the shit I write is really raw if it comes out of me right away. I also made a little note in italics that describes my mindset at the time just to remind me when I look back at it:

12/4/07 3:32 AM

Man, I have been thinking about this too much. I couldn’t sleep last night because I felt cold, even with the sweat on my skin. I was trying to sleep tonight and I while I recounted the weekend in my head I thought I was repeating lines that I didn’t think sounded quite right. I had to get up and write. This blog is going to be the death of me. This may well become a poem in the future. Who knows.

I need time to mature before reflecting. I'll be sure to link back to this. This blog will be the death of me.

"Feeling Fucked Up"

2007-12-04T00:29:00.001-05:00

I was wasting time on youtube again, just now. I watched Def Poetry Jam season four, episode three and I came upon this bit by Tracy Morgan. As I listened to it, I thought to myself, "Why have I never felt this way before?"

My own question caught me off guard. Would anyone ever want to feel like that? I imagine most would say no, but for those uninitiated to "love," it's an enviable emotion. Sure, it's not as enviable as, say, love itself but it's an experience that I can admit I've never had. Is that fucked up? Seriously, I hear all this shit from people about first kisses and sparks and fireworks and passion and shit, but I still don't feel drawn to it. I've never been on a date, which I imagine is a consequence of me never having asked anyone out, which I imagine is a consequence of my fucked up sense of what I want. In all honesty, despite all the effort to come off as intellectual (not really effort, but more just the way I am) and despite the way I think people think of me I just don't give a fuck about having a close, lovey dovey relationship with a girl. Don't get me wrong. I'll talk to a girl that's cool, and I'll hang out with the ladies. But in the end, it just isn't that different from hanging out with my boys (except, perhaps, for limitations in what you can say, and those don't even exist with some girls). Frankly, I don't desire anything more from a girl in terms of a relationship.

If I wanna fuck, then I just wanna fuck.

Maybe it sounds like hookup culture is what's for me, but even then: Where's the draw? Fuck and run? Maybe I'm too nice, or maybe I have a disillusioned view of what a relationship should be. Not even peer pressure, the mightiest of all forces in the adolescent universe, has yet convinced me to give it a try. What's the problem (is it a problem?)? Am I too nice? Am I too scared?

Am I actually thinking too much?

I want to be an amored ice bear when I grow up.

2007-12-03T01:12:00.001-05:00

The Golden Compass Trailer

Blue Scholars - Joe Metro

2007-11-30T19:04:00.001-05:00

Always finding new shit, man. Filipino MC from the west coast, this is from his new album Bayani (hero). I'm diggin' his Katipunan hoodie. I guess the revolution never ends.

The 25 Most Infamous Yellow Face Film Performances

2007-11-30T11:48:00.000-05:00

The 25 Most Infamous Yellow Face Film Performances

Seriously, that's ridiculous. Oh, America.

Snow - Informer

2007-11-28T22:02:00.001-05:00

I had an itchin' for some old school and I came upon this classic. Whatever happened to Snow? Sure beats Vanilla Ice.

Random

2007-11-28T10:21:00.001-05:00

Every morning when I wake up I get on the laptop and start surfing (given I have time, that is). I surf the same sites in almost the same order, it's sort of a ritual to get my mind moving. School e-mail, g-mail, facebook, myspace, a few blogs, and a few forums. Now, I've just finished my rounds and I've had some random thoughts.

First, does anyone else think that Kim Jong-il's shades make him look like a porn producer?

Second, how sick would a T-shirt with Bruce Lee on the ones and two be? I was just thinking about all the stock images of Bruce Lee* I've seen and I remembered this one:

I want to ask a competent graphics design major on campus to photoshop turntables under his hand and then put headphones on his head with the right phone on and the left hanging around his neck. Tell me I'm not a fucking genius. Get at me if you wanna work with me.

*Yesterday was Bruce's birthday, so that's why he was on my mind. Well, more than usual. I'm always in the Bruce state of mind.

Music Hunt

2007-11-27T11:24:00.001-05:00

I went shopping this past Black Friday for my first time. I didn't go crazy or get caught up in the hype. I ran into Best Buy with an agenda and ran the fuck out of there as fast as I could. I copped an external hard drive to store my po...videos, music, and important documents. Anyways, so I was transferring all my shit and I fucked up big time. I copied over all my movies and then I went and deleted all my music. In my defense, they both started with the same letter so fuck you.
So now I gotta rebuild my library which, honestly, is fun for me. It gives me another excuse not to do productive work and I'm always finding new shit. Here are some new finds and some classics:

The Visionaries - All We Need Randomly found these guys while researching DJs. Good, fun stuff.

Justice - D.A.N.C.E. feat. Mos Def and Spank Rock Got a tip on this track from Adriel over at http://www.adrizzle.com

East Flatbush Project - Tried by 12 A classic.

Swollen Members - Aggression

DJ Shadow and DJ Q-Bert - Organ Donor

Soul Position - I Need My Minutes Another fun track.

Souls of Mischief - Center of Attention

Jurassic 5 - Cut Chemist Suite (feat. Ozomatli)

Shit's Hot

2007-11-26T22:40:00.000-05:00

Awww, fuck yeah. Check out the new album by Dahlak: Dual Consciousness. It's free but you should cop it for real. I did, and that's saying a lot. Support real hip hop.

http://www.thisisdahlak.com/download.html

Another Father-Son Moment

2007-11-26T22:19:00.000-05:00

I wrote this as another facebook note (yeah, too lazy to start up a blog) shortly after arriving home for Thanksgiving break. My dad likes to talk a lot and we always talk about random shit in the car. His stories are amazing and you should expect to read some in the future. This one is a bit more frivolous.

"Some guy at work yesterday got fired for threatening to kill someone. I hate people that threaten bodily harm. In the Philippines, you don't get a warning, someone just shanks you. That is the reason no one messed with the Belmontes back home. We rolled deep and we kept it real. If I wanted to punch you, I'd have let you know by fucking punching you."

-Rudolfo Floriano Belmonte (translated into contemporary English)

Father, your words of wisdom never fail to entertain.

Tonight (but actually the night of October 6th)

2007-11-26T22:12:00.001-05:00

Another facebook note from a while back.

So I'm a little tipsy. I'm not stumble fucked but I'm wobbly knees fucked. It's times like these where I think about my time in the Philippines. The most drunk I ever got was in the P.I. and my grandmother's words always echo in the back of my mind in moments of inebriated epiphany.

"Ay, bastos. Burat ni apo ko."

"How shameful. My grandson is a drunkard."

-Consolacion Roda Nogra

I love the woman.

Marco Demoño. "The Mark of the Demon." It tastes like gasoline. Oh Filipinos, is there anything you won't drink?

P.S. I later made another note in response to some people asking me to clarify the original:

It's been brought to my attention that my translation of my grandma's quote was confusing.

"Ay, bastos. Burat ni apo ko."

The way I put it may have sounded like she hates me. Not true. The word "bastos" is kinda tricky to translate because it depends on context. Perhaps I should have used "ridiculous."

Anyways, to sum it up. My grandma loves me. She was making a joke.

Facebook Copy-Pasta (delicious!)

2007-11-26T22:04:00.000-05:00

Note: I wrote this as a facebook note shortly after my return from my trip to the Philippines this past summer. It is unmodified.

Haha. Candace wrote on my wall asking me about my summer. I thought about it and realized that it was the first time I had even stopped and considered what I had done. I wrote an unnecessarily long and elaborate response on her wall (come on, it's me) and then read it. I realized it was bloggish. I thought about expanding on that shit in a note but I got lazy. Honestly, I wrote it about 3 minutes ago and I woke up about 5 minutes ago. So I'm just gonna quote that shit.

"My summer has been full of miscellaneous travels and activities. Thankfully it wasn't nearly as uneventful as breaks past. I went to the Philippines for the first time and had a blast. Trips like that are 50% awesome and 50% depressing for fairly obvious reasons. I've been humbled by how unintentionally gangster my relatives are. Necessity is more than just the mother of invention; she's a bitch."

I'll probably come up with something to elaborate on what exactly all that means some other day when I feel more reflective but I'm sure some of you get the point.*

Real men drink 40s and eat goat heads.

*I still intend to write more on my trip to the P.I. I need more thinking time.

"Are you from England?"

2007-11-26T21:33:00.000-05:00

Note: This essay was written for my freshman writing class. It was supposed to have sources and shit but it evolved into a pure narrative. I ended up still getting a B on it because I'm awesome as shit. Also, I know it ends kind of awkwardly but that's a consequence of it being an assignment. It had to end, and I was too lazy to write anymore so I just kinda ended it. Enjoy.

I used to have an accent. I grew up listening to two languages but my knowledge of English, prior to elementary school, was limited to my parents’ proper, yet stilted Filipino English and the extreme west coast quips of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Needless to say, my first days in kindergarten were awkward. Not only did I have to worry about not knowing what the Pledge of Allegiance was, but I spoke English like a foreign extreme sports aficionado. The predominantly southern classroom didn’t know what was “wrong” with me but they knew the one question to ask to find out:

“Where are you from?”

Without looking up from my toy, I immediately responded with, “Newport News.”

He looked at me, clearly puzzled. “No. Where are you really from?”

Not knowing what he wanted to hear, I simply responded, “I dunno.”

Again he stared at me, clearly wanting to hear something specific. There was a brief silence during which he examined me, quite intrusively: getting in my face to see my eyes, examining my skin (by sight and touch), even sniffing me down. I continued with my imaginings in silence, a silence he promptly broke with a loud, almost declarative, “Are you from China!?”

I stopped, shocked. I looked up to examine my interrogator, though admittedly not with equal zeal as he. The boy who asked me had blonde hair, blue eyes, and the faint southern accent typical of modern Virginians. I eyed him up and down, thinking silently. The silence, at this point, was tense and awkward as was evidenced by the uncomfortable look on his Aryan face. I stared him right in the eye and asked him, “Are you from England?”

Without thinking, he opened his mouth to respond but then stopped. He wanted to say, “No, silly goose,” I’m sure but he instead slowly closed his mouth. The look in his eyes embarrassingly said, “Oh.”

This was the first time I had ever even considered this question but it wasn’t the last. That day marked the first time I ever really noticed myself. Before then, I was Jonathan, I was “this many” years old, and my favorite color was green. After that, I was Jonathan, I was brown, and I talked-ed funny.

What seem like trivial differences now, were the things I paid attention to most. My physical traits were obvious but I paid little heed; I figured no one gave the black kids any trouble and they were way darker than me and their hair looked funny. The one thing I was most insecure about was my speech. I grew up in the U.S. and I spoke grammatically flawless English (most of the time) so I was never put into any special programs, but I did have a very strong accent that frustrated the most patient teachers and put off most every classmate. The first days of school frustrated me too and I swiftly came to the conclusion that the only way to alleviate my communication problems and, even more importantly, my insecurities was to master the English language like no one had ever done before. What everyone else took for granted was what I wanted most, I dreamed to take language for granted.

The journey was long and arduous, consisting primarily of people-watching and TV-watching. I spent many days in class or in front of the television with my mouth closed but my ears very much open. I absorbed every syllable and spent my spare time repeating words and sentences to myself. Kids at school just thought I was really shy and my parents never minded the sight of their only child talking to himself.

My endeavor finally reached its end in the second grade. How is it that I can pinpoint second grade as the end of my endeavor to master English? That’s the first time I heard an adult tell me, “You’re English is very good!” At the time I felt elated; enough to run home from the bus stop that day and tell my parents about the event with a huge smile on my face. That elation faded as time passed, however, as repeated inquisitions into the high quality of my speech made me realize that people were genuinely surprised because they expected my physical foreignness to express itself verbally as well. Though initially disheartening, I decided that what I had accomplished was one more step towards breaking that stereotype.

Elementary school was enjoyable from that point on; I was able to talk to people without difficulty and I soon found myself enjoying “normalcy.” My comfort was short-lived, however, as my parents found it fitting that I be transferred to a school with a focus on science and technology. This was all find and dandy with geeky, little me, but I was ill prepared for my new intellectual home. It turns out that this program was a cleverly designed way to get children from the suburbs bussed into the poorest part of the city.

My first day was much like kindergarten except that I didn’t speak at all. There were customary inquisitions in to my ethnicity that went unanswered, which was apparently fine with them as that left them free to create absurdly long lists of made-up countries, and even begin to place bets on whether or not I even spoke English. It was all alien to me: the odd contractions, the slurred words, the mixed up grammar, and the rhythmic pronunciations and flow of sentences. The reason I remained mute wasn’t shame or fear; I was in linguistic heaven. My silence was me soaking in this new, beautiful dialect. I was determined to make my first words to these kids the most un-different, and non-foreign words they had ever heard.

The first weeks of class heard no words out of me for I was too busy listening and watching. When I was home I listened to as much hip-hop radio as possible and even tried practicing dialogue with my mom, something she found horribly amusing.

The day I felt prepared enough to engage in hip conversation with my classmates, saw me walk into class decked out in Fubu attire purchased the day before: jeans half-way down my ass, two large tee-shirts, and a white gold chain around my neck; I was so nervous that my first words didn’t come till recess. We had gathered on the basketball courts to begin the daily rounds of insult trading. “Yo mama” jokes and fat jokes abounded. Nappy hair, light skin, dark skin, big lips were open for all to burn. My shining moment came during a lull in the laughter. I don’t exactly remember what I said, but I know it something to do with, “That nigga’s ashy knuckles.” The seconds afterwards felt like hours, as those about me realized who had just said what. Thankfully, my execution was flawless and I’m sure they noticed that I was dark enough to know what ashy actually meant. Laughter followed but I had just begun…

With two languages and two dialects under my belt, I felt ready to take on the linguistic world. My love for words soon matched my love for numbers and facts. Accent impersonations became a hobby that randomly expressed itself in conversations. I often found myself in airports repeating interesting sentences I had heard from people shuffling through. Time indoors was spent watching Discovery Channel, History Channel, and the BBC as much for the narrator’s speech as for the fine educational programming. Soon I had the dialects of the Deep South, Oxford, Manchester, Scotland, Ireland, Australia, France, Germany, China and every region of the English speaking world in my head and I practiced them like a sport.

To this day I continue to observe and learn from the ways people around me use language but I always, in the back of my mind, remember those days in school when I envied everyone for being comfortable with their words. Now I know that many envy my mastery of language. The one thing that I thought exiled me from the rest of America became the one thing that made me appreciate one of the most diverse and exciting aspects of American culture.