I see him every other night. Sometimes his hair is black, others it is blue. At times, his eyes are fixed on me, others, they are downcast. He asks me, 'Haven't you noticed?' to which I don't respond.




    The frigid August dawn greets me when I wake, and though my covers are squeezed against me, I still feel the dread chill of the upcoming winter. On my bedside, an elegant, dark Chinese-style table, lei, bahts, pounds, wans, yen all meet my fuzzy, prescription-less stare. The day, the origin of a goal every other cent I worked to achieve was put into, had dawned. The apprehension in my gut was tremendous. My hands shook every time I shifted. Such sweet excitement tremored through my heart at every thought.
    I rise, the wintry cold biting my exposed feet
    I look out the window, and with the first crimson streak in the twilight air leave to shower



    The memories haunt me...
    The faint swirl of an icy chill laying across the countries, the endless massacre of hearts. I remembered...in Abo Losang, the children beat a baby chick to death. The adults took a pig and set its head on fire so they could use it to feed us. The death, the uncomfortability...we could never get away from it. I could never forget the way the pig shreiked in pain, and even though we were higher on the mountain, we could still hear it clearly. There were times when I would have liked to have been born in times where things were simple white and grey--things were as they were presented, and you never questioned it, because it was life; plain and true.



    The engine growls to a start, riding a cage with a prowling tiger. The wheels of the white car grind against the cement as they begin to roll backward. The tiger roars more. I am on the road, no turning back to what I am leaving. I said my good-byes...maybe too long ago. A someone is already pulling at the strings of my heart. The drive to D.I.A. seems to swift in the relativity of time. Maybe, for now, too fast. Men in uniform and marble floors engraved with diamonds and various other geometric shapes greet me. I am at the literal sense of purgatory, the gateway between one world and the next, the escape or condemnation. Blessed tidings to some, unnamable fates to others. These emotions stifle the air, a large melting pot of the hopeful, the excited, the spiteful, the bored, the curious. The meeting of each world. I exchange my bags for my tickets, a lovely purple cover with a yellow emblem on it encasing them. They are gold.
    He is waiting at a table outside the fast food sections. He is much taller than I anticipated, has chocolatey hair and warm, stained-glass royal blue irises. He greets me kindly, and an instant respect for him wells in my mind. I am, in fact, so familiar with his name because of another that it seems strange...foreign to me when I repeat it for conformation. It rolls around in my throat like some odd piece of plastic, a build-up over time. I nearly choke. There are others, though I was the first. They trickle, one by one, up the elevator toward us.
    The billowing gaps in the white, white coverings above and the vaccuum of space between us and the other bustling business give me tremors of nervous beginnings, some strange distance and slowing of time that warms the air, giving a sense of peace in alienation, a common goal that is so breathtaking to all of us. In all of our fingertips this shimmering gold.



    I see those troubled, big eyes. They saw so much of the world all too early, and the only word I knew how to say. Di. Di-ma.



    We are brimming with information, surrounded by almost uneasy, but welcoming silences. There is no more we need to know, it is all just go, go, go. The man who brought us together surveys us all, a pleasant furrowing of his brow to make sure that all is well in our company's numbers. He gives us leave, and in great strides we make our way toward the next station. Past glowing screens bearing our good tidings in tiny, white scripts. Past the swarming in the faux ethnic restaraunts. Into the portal by which humans, in all their genius, may claim their most greatness. The passing of worlds. The disembodied voices send excited chills of eager waiting down my spine. It is all so tantalizingly close!
    My mind feeds on my nervousness as I squat on the chair next to a smaller, average-looking blond girl, of whom I am too busy mindlessly chewing my left thumb nail to pay attention to. However, I see in the unfocused region of my eye when she quickly glances at me, takes half a second to soak up her first judgement, then she shifts her eyes to the device she has just extracted from her bag, inserting tiny buds into her ears. I hear soft sounds of electric guitars wailing.
    A boy, or should I say a man? He was both--is sitting across from me, reading a novel, not exceedingly thick, but verging on it. He has dirty blond hair, carefully sculpted into a faux-hawk in the center. He has greenish eyes and thin lips, and does not move save for breathing. Subconsiously, a thought whisps though my mind as to what book he is reading, and whether I should ask him. There will be much time to get to know anyone, I think. Whether it is by laziness, or a pure wish to not start any conversation that may end up awkwardly, I keep my mouth shut. I still save an eye for him, because I do have my camera, and there is a unique lilt to his features that I find quite irrisistable.
    Photography takes me to that embodiment of bliss. May I take a hundred pictures or just one on an occasion, I live for those few photos in which everything, the focus of the camera, the light, the complexity of patterns, are perfect. I strive for beauty. Whatever I cannot achieve by way of looks I draw from my surroundings and develop onto a sheet of clean, glossy paper.
    I had taken classes, but all I truly learned was how to operate a camera. The teacher could not give soul, one had to begin with it. Putting it bluntly, and not to sound pompous, I believe I just had that extra something, and I ended the class with great praise and the promise from my educator of a bright future, whether in photography or elsewhere.



:DD to be continued...

HOLY SNAP I HAVE A JOB!! At White Fence Farm >> (I would say something quite incriminating at this point, but I believe I should avoid that...) I'm sure it will be less glamourous as soon as I get there, yet any occasion that allows me to buy new clothes allows for excitement. They just better have air conditioning. And water. Also, I have an appointment scheduled to get my drive test on the 31st, and we'll get my license on the same day, assuming I pass the test. Which I am feeling very confident about. I'm a good driver, I swear! Plus, I just came back from my grandparent's house where I had been since Friday having fulfilled all 15 hours of driving I had left to do for my log. I am incredibly sick of driving at this point, though it will be much more useful for me to have my license as I will be able to go to the library as often as I want (XDDDDDD yessss!), not have to plan around my parents for piano lessons, drive myself to work and school, go to the Asian grocery (XDDDDDDD!!!!!!), or just be able to go out with my friends without asking them for the rides :P 2 more weeks until that, though >> Ah, well. At least I will be getting it soon ^^ Plus, my parents will let me use the white car even though I was supposed to pay $3,000 for it. I at one point told them that I would not be buying the car from them becuse, first of all, I only have $2,000 in my savings account from my past deposits and interest, and I would much rather use the money on the $14,300 trip to Thailand I am planning on taking when I take the half a year after high school and before college, though it broke my heart to give up the possibility of getting that car, because I really do like it. Apparently, my parents did some talking amongst themselves and decided that we would temporarily keep the car for me to use as long as I paid for half the insurance and the gas. So I got to keep both the money and the car, and I didn't have to argue for it >> Besides that, I believe I will go to read one of the many books I have checked out from the library. Or even better, get working on the one I bought for the English assignment. Maybe. Not much else to say about my life, kudos to those who read it all the way through. And no, I don't mean those scrumptious little munchies with the M&Ms in them.

たとえ これ の のど が ずたずた に ぶ こわれて も 話すことができなくて も いっしょう がい, きみ の ため, あなた の ため, さけんだ してよう.

For all of the things that I cannot see or help and for all of the times it hurts and you wonder why, imagine that the birds take you away; that the clouds hold you high above the ground, and that you can take refuge in all of the hearts that care for you so dearly.

... well, the last one, you don't have to imagine.

I'm 15 for a moment...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Caught in between 10 and 20
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are

I'm 22 for a moment
She feels better than ever
And we're on fire
Making our way back from Mars

15… there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose
15…there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live…

I'm 33 for a moment
Still the man but you see I'm a they
A kid on the way
A family on my mind

I'm 45 for a moment
The sea is high
And I'm heading into a crisis
Chasing the years of my life

15… there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose yourself
Within a morning star

15… I'm all right with you
15… there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live…

Half time goes by
Suddenly you’re wise
Another blink of an eye
67 is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on...

I'm 99 for a moment
Dying for just another moment
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are

15… there's still time for you
22… I feel her too
33… you’re on your way
Every Day's a new Day

15… there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to choose
Hey 15… there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

I just...ran. I could hear my footsteps reverberating off the walls of the buildings. I didn't know where I was going...yet at some point I found myself halfway to your house. I sang songs to myself...I sang about letting go, and love. Because they were the things I needed to believe in. When your father answered the door, he asked if I was okay. I couldn't think of anything else to say...I just kept asking for you. I fell onto your shoulder and let my tears go. And I remember you whispering in my ear...telling me that you were there. You told me I was cold, but I couln't feel anything. It was twenty degree weather...yet my anger and frustration kept me warm as I ran through the cold night. Your mother...in a way, in the short time that she held me and stroked my hair while I tried closing my eyes to shut out all the feelings pouring out, she replaced that hole my own mother had ripped out of me. You held my hand and let me cry on your shoulder.

And the next day...you thanked me for it.

When you held me in your arms...I felt that you did not want to let me go.

And I thanked you for that.