on world politics

your inability to understand frustrates me so. you know, i'm just trying to keep my sanity. but you say, school is a luxury. this is a luxury. i write. i write and i write for free because its what i do, and i love it. but it's hard. and you say, you don't understand. you ask, what about that other thing you get paid for. you don't understand these things that i've made matter.

but what can i really say. should i say you're right on all counts. should i let it go. afterall, you lived through a war. you survived a war. what do i know about that. what do i know about those days. you survived. education is a luxury. writing is a luxury. dreams are a luxury. and you survived, you're the embodiment of this dream, this american dream. but you don't understand. your mother died of an illness, she was cremated, after the war, your father, he took his own life, and your sister would do the same years later. and he left. and you survived.

so what can i really say.

"We only get what we give."

Even on a rebellious day

I still have to write these things.

In those days it was about surviving the war, leaving behind mother, father, sisters, 7 gold bars buys you another life.

How could you ever understand.

Happy Chinese New Year



It's not like it was when I was younger, it never is as it was.  These days it's this inability to understand, and this need to hold on to things as they were.  When you're younger you never consider these things, as if culture would matter, and then it does.

An experiment on modern dating––from sexting to real-life courtship.

Photo by woolloomooloo, courtesy of Creative Commons.

I should blog for school, but honestly, I got nothin'.

This snowstorm has totally killed my 'lead a healthier lifestyle' kick. The only time I move is to go down to my kitchen, and that's only to get food.

(December snowstorm +) 2 feet + another impending 10-20 inches. I've never seen this much snow in my life.


There's not much in this life that we have total control over, or sometimes, any control for that matter. Can't control death or illness or whether some guy takes an interest in you or whether someone will take to the shit you write. So then you turn to the things you can control.


Sometimes you do things just because you can.


I wonder if that's a good enough reason.

Will we ever make up and be friends? I was always a sucker for your lines, the charm of your diction, makes anyone forget the war.

Dreamers, the lot of us