At times it's easier to love Joy. I went over to her place last night and stayed until she went to work this morning. It was a time easier to love Joy. No focusing on negative things. Just love the one I was with. I have no standards for the people who get close to me anymore. That's good. No standards, no expectations, no disappointment. It's hard for me to say that cynically. There's too much truth in it.
I think I'm starting to forgive Amina. It's just a matter-of-fact realization. The only thing I have to forgive her for is the betrayal of our friendship. Nothing else we went through means anything anymore. The romance and the passion is nothing. What she turned out to be and what she did to end our relationship mean nothing. But she was such a dear friend and I loved her so deeply. I was fiercely loyal to her and would have done anything for her.
There is no sense of loyalty in my life anymore. All my loyalties have disappeared. I'm not particularly loyal to Joy in the long-term, multi-level sense. I'm loyal to her because she's my current partner. With all the other people in my life, past and present, the loyalty is dubious if it exists at all.
To none of my friends in the Bay Area do I feel any strong sense of loyalty; a sense of being a part of a group, a sense of being understood and getting more than baseline acceptance.
Come to think of it, I'm not sure how I feel about the Bay Area anymore. Not that I can think of anywhere else I'd rather live. It's December, and at times I get a whiff of Autumn. At times I feel a forecast of Spring. But it never gets to extremes or the anticipation of extremes.
The whiff of Autumn is not the anticipation of true Winter, the snow, the bitter cold, the bundling, the warmth inside, the gloom and darkness, the dead season in the cycle of life. The forecast of Spring doesn't have the hope, the sense of rebirth and rejuvenation, the very texture of life itself. It doesn't anticipate the heat, the sultry humidity of Summer that I find so passionate. The heat that gives way to the glorious Summer nights that make me feel so vast that I could explode into the sky above and be a part of the cosmos.
I need to be where seasons change and where there is a true Winter and a true Summer and where Autumn and Spring are there to represent what I need them to. Where I can go, I don't know. Back to Japan? Where else?
Friday, December 02, 1994
Wednesday, November 30, 1994
247 19th Ave, #2, San Francisco
Today was the last day of classes for this Fall 1994 semester. How am I doing? Angry and frustrated as ever. More angry. A low-key, subtle, seething anger. That's what I felt as I walked away from school to catch the first 1AX bus of the commute hours.
I called to check in for a catering job I have on Saturday, I paid my rent, finished off one bottle of whisky and bought another, received a utility bill twice what I usually pay because I've been using the heater a lot. I bought a plane ticket to go to New Jersey at the end of December.
For the first time in a while I felt genuinely close to Joy. Like there was something connecting, something worth placing worth in. Not that it's a worthless relationship, per se, it's just that it's a very low-key relationship with not a lot of risk, not a lot of challenge, not a lot of change.
It wasn't overwhelming. She told me of a problem she's having, how she's not satisfied with her life, that it's out of control in a downward spiral. I don't know why, but it was a relief to hear that she was in that position. To hear that she isn't so impenetrable and sequestered in her superiority. To hear her vulnerable and that she isn't complacent about her life. She is striving for something and so maybe her happiness in our relationship isn't some complacent abandon and satisfaction in what I consider the severely mediocre.
On the other hand, she went through the peak of the crisis yesterday. She didn't mention it at all when we spoke yesterday. She said that she wasn't ready to deal with it then, she was still in shock of it and couldn't talk about it then. OK. She brought it up today and told me about it, but only after she talked to her parents about it.
There is a lack of passion in this relationship. It's very cold and calculated. It is complacent. It doesn't bother me. I'm kind of numb to it. It probably doesn't bother her that she couldn't come to me about the problem. That says a lot about the relationship.
I realize I can’t get sucked into her problems because my position in my life is still so fragile. I don’t know if I could have effectively dealt with her problems even if she had brought them to me. So it’s best that I keep a distance. If that’s a problem for her, then it’s her problem, not mine. Eventually this relationship won’t be able to go on if this philosophy is maintained. She will need more from someone than I can give, and she will realize how unsatisfying it is being with someone so different and who makes such completely different assumptions about life and living. So will I.
I called to check in for a catering job I have on Saturday, I paid my rent, finished off one bottle of whisky and bought another, received a utility bill twice what I usually pay because I've been using the heater a lot. I bought a plane ticket to go to New Jersey at the end of December.
For the first time in a while I felt genuinely close to Joy. Like there was something connecting, something worth placing worth in. Not that it's a worthless relationship, per se, it's just that it's a very low-key relationship with not a lot of risk, not a lot of challenge, not a lot of change.
It wasn't overwhelming. She told me of a problem she's having, how she's not satisfied with her life, that it's out of control in a downward spiral. I don't know why, but it was a relief to hear that she was in that position. To hear that she isn't so impenetrable and sequestered in her superiority. To hear her vulnerable and that she isn't complacent about her life. She is striving for something and so maybe her happiness in our relationship isn't some complacent abandon and satisfaction in what I consider the severely mediocre.
On the other hand, she went through the peak of the crisis yesterday. She didn't mention it at all when we spoke yesterday. She said that she wasn't ready to deal with it then, she was still in shock of it and couldn't talk about it then. OK. She brought it up today and told me about it, but only after she talked to her parents about it.
There is a lack of passion in this relationship. It's very cold and calculated. It is complacent. It doesn't bother me. I'm kind of numb to it. It probably doesn't bother her that she couldn't come to me about the problem. That says a lot about the relationship.
I realize I can’t get sucked into her problems because my position in my life is still so fragile. I don’t know if I could have effectively dealt with her problems even if she had brought them to me. So it’s best that I keep a distance. If that’s a problem for her, then it’s her problem, not mine. Eventually this relationship won’t be able to go on if this philosophy is maintained. She will need more from someone than I can give, and she will realize how unsatisfying it is being with someone so different and who makes such completely different assumptions about life and living. So will I.
Monday, November 07, 1994
247 19th Ave, #2, San Francisco
Perhaps what is most upsetting is that I'm not sure how I got here and from where. I know I've matured to a point where I can be less selfish in relationships and not just concentrate on my own needs based on my own pain. I can deal with other people. I can compromise without giving up too much of myself. My fear now is that I'll slip into my old patterns and miss seeing a bigger picture. Why did I get involved with Joy in the first place? Sometimes it's really hard to see it.
Several months ago it was clear that I wanted to win her love and I compromised and bent to win it. Compromised and bent? Isn't that a way of saying I lied to her? That I didn't let her see a genuine article? I knew it was happening then. Now I ask myself how could I have done such an awful, insincere thing (but isn't that what "dating" is about?). Either I'm a jerk or I'd better keep it in perspective and deal with it maturely. It's rectifiable.
Things have changed. It's easy not to see the things I saw several months ago. We've moved to a different level. I see an ordinary Joy, comfortable at home, not the Joy that had to be self-conscious in front of me. Our relationship has moved from the special to the ordinary, the daily, the taken for granted. A relationship has to survive this transition.
She's not musical at all. She has no religious or metaphysical bent. She has an understanding of the spiritual, but not a deep connection with it. What do we have in common? We don't enjoy the same things, we have very little to share. We will break up within a year, and it will be mutual. We will both realize that we aren't able to give to each other what we need.
It will fade. The love isn't so intense or passionate that it will cascade around us and feed itself ad infinitum. The love grew steadily to a certain level and stayed there and held there, and when it is time to end, it will fade and descend. We'll hug or something and go our separate ways. She's not the type to hold on to other people. I won't.
That's the future, though, and there is the present to contend with. Presently, we go our day by day. There must be a reason I'm going out with her, there must be something to discover, there always is. Unfortunately, it's something for me to discover by myself, Joy has nothing to do with it, not actively at least. She's not part of the discovery or aiding me in it, she's just a vehicle for me to find it. She doesn't see where my eyes look. She has no idea about the way I see the world, what colors I see, what details I notice. I can't lose sight of my path.
So really, what good do I have to say about Joy? What good is she in my life? I don't know. It doesn't seem like there's much, but I'm not adverse to this relationship. I do love her, I'm not unhappy, but...there's always a "but". There is a door that needs to be opened, and if it is not, this relationship will end.
This thing can't last too long. We could never live together; our lives and lifestyles are just way too different. I couldn't live with someone who was completely unmusical. Good god, what am I doing with someone who doesn't have music in her life?! How can that be? She has no idea who or what I am if music doesn't touch her. Ouch!
Then there are my hours and my drinking. It's been hard not cutting. I avoided showering with her for two weeks because of cuts on my foot. I had a band-aid on them for a few days, but if she saw the marks now, she'd know and she'd know that I lied when I told her I dropped something on it. We could never live together, so the way we are is pretty much the way it would have to remain. Stagnation.
I wonder about who I love. I miss many. I miss Luyen. I miss Hiromi. I miss what Amina used to be. I miss Diem and Madoka. Not that any of them are now what I miss of them. I don't know if I love any of them. I do still love Shiho, but that's a given in its limited way.
I'm 25 years old. I wish I had died at least three years ago. What am I doing still alive? How many more years do I have to go and struggle being myself? Am I prepared to die at any time now? I don't know. I hope so. If I came across an opportunity to die, I hope I would take it. But it wouldn't be automatic, it wouldn't be impulse. I would think about it for a second. And maybe that is what would stop me. That consideration in the moment of the true nature of this and now. It's a long moment, long enough to be cursed by the impulse of self-preservation. To choose safety. That is probably what I would do. Nothing in my life suggests that I would do otherwise.
Several months ago it was clear that I wanted to win her love and I compromised and bent to win it. Compromised and bent? Isn't that a way of saying I lied to her? That I didn't let her see a genuine article? I knew it was happening then. Now I ask myself how could I have done such an awful, insincere thing (but isn't that what "dating" is about?). Either I'm a jerk or I'd better keep it in perspective and deal with it maturely. It's rectifiable.
Things have changed. It's easy not to see the things I saw several months ago. We've moved to a different level. I see an ordinary Joy, comfortable at home, not the Joy that had to be self-conscious in front of me. Our relationship has moved from the special to the ordinary, the daily, the taken for granted. A relationship has to survive this transition.
She's not musical at all. She has no religious or metaphysical bent. She has an understanding of the spiritual, but not a deep connection with it. What do we have in common? We don't enjoy the same things, we have very little to share. We will break up within a year, and it will be mutual. We will both realize that we aren't able to give to each other what we need.
It will fade. The love isn't so intense or passionate that it will cascade around us and feed itself ad infinitum. The love grew steadily to a certain level and stayed there and held there, and when it is time to end, it will fade and descend. We'll hug or something and go our separate ways. She's not the type to hold on to other people. I won't.
That's the future, though, and there is the present to contend with. Presently, we go our day by day. There must be a reason I'm going out with her, there must be something to discover, there always is. Unfortunately, it's something for me to discover by myself, Joy has nothing to do with it, not actively at least. She's not part of the discovery or aiding me in it, she's just a vehicle for me to find it. She doesn't see where my eyes look. She has no idea about the way I see the world, what colors I see, what details I notice. I can't lose sight of my path.
So really, what good do I have to say about Joy? What good is she in my life? I don't know. It doesn't seem like there's much, but I'm not adverse to this relationship. I do love her, I'm not unhappy, but...there's always a "but". There is a door that needs to be opened, and if it is not, this relationship will end.
This thing can't last too long. We could never live together; our lives and lifestyles are just way too different. I couldn't live with someone who was completely unmusical. Good god, what am I doing with someone who doesn't have music in her life?! How can that be? She has no idea who or what I am if music doesn't touch her. Ouch!
Then there are my hours and my drinking. It's been hard not cutting. I avoided showering with her for two weeks because of cuts on my foot. I had a band-aid on them for a few days, but if she saw the marks now, she'd know and she'd know that I lied when I told her I dropped something on it. We could never live together, so the way we are is pretty much the way it would have to remain. Stagnation.
I wonder about who I love. I miss many. I miss Luyen. I miss Hiromi. I miss what Amina used to be. I miss Diem and Madoka. Not that any of them are now what I miss of them. I don't know if I love any of them. I do still love Shiho, but that's a given in its limited way.
I'm 25 years old. I wish I had died at least three years ago. What am I doing still alive? How many more years do I have to go and struggle being myself? Am I prepared to die at any time now? I don't know. I hope so. If I came across an opportunity to die, I hope I would take it. But it wouldn't be automatic, it wouldn't be impulse. I would think about it for a second. And maybe that is what would stop me. That consideration in the moment of the true nature of this and now. It's a long moment, long enough to be cursed by the impulse of self-preservation. To choose safety. That is probably what I would do. Nothing in my life suggests that I would do otherwise.
Thursday, November 03, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
October flew by. Joy helped the time by. How different it all is from last year. How muddy last year was; through fish-eyed lens, under bell jar, in a fish bowl. I left Japan two years ago in October. Recollections are still so vivid, and whenever a specific memory comes to my mind, it comes back to haunt. The trains, the river, the people, the air, the land. I want to be there, I belong there, I just feel it in my bones.
Joy has been so much, more than a comfort, more than a friend. Slowly, very slowly, she's making her way into my life. But nothing endearing, nothing that has truly pierced my heart. Everything is so cerebral, the passionate is completely outweighed, almost absent. I love her and wouldn't leave her, but if we did separate, it would be mutual, a decision. She wouldn't even get the benefit of the passion of a pain. No yelling, no drama, no scene, no wrestling over emotions and feelings. We would have thought it through. She wouldn't have felt it through. We wouldn't be friends afterwards either.
The benefit of the passion of a pain. The benefit of the passion of a pain, I say, as I hunger for revenge against or restitution from Amina. For once, I've gotten the "benefit" of the "passion" of the pain.
I love Joy in my life at this point. My life is so much better than it was a year ago. I'm clearer now, I can handle my work, I can deal with myself. Why am I not happy? Why can't I get on the topic of Joy and stay on it? Why am I not at least somewhat satisfied? Where has the passion in my life gone? I've lost something and Joy isn't making up for it. She's not offering anything new.
Was I more passionate with and about my friends at Oberlin? Or am I doing my usual psychological step of making the past look so much better just because it's safe in the past? Did I really love Diem and Luyen and Madoka so much? And love Amina so much that I can hate her so much now? I'm probably comparing Joy unfairly to something against which she can't possibly compete; memories and a denial.
Things weren't so hot with Hiromi. If they were, we would have stayed together and Luyen wouldn't have tugged at me. Things weren't so hot with Luyen. If they were . . . they weren't. And if we were together now . . . they definitely wouldn't be. Things weren't so hot with Diem. If they were, why didn't we get any closer? Things weren't so hot with Amina. But I loved her anyway. Why can't I get on the topic of Joy and stay on it?
Are things so hot with Joy?
My only problems are the problems I have with myself, my inability to deal with being inside my skin, of still having the 'rents pulling my strings, of still not being able to find a musical community. My issues are about me, not her, they only affect my relationship with her. I have to learn to be happy with what I've got. And I still can't get on the topic of Joy and stay on it.
Joy and I got together downtown for a short bit last night. She was going to a comedy show and meeting up with someone, so I held off coming home so I could meet up with her. It was wonderful seeing her face and seeing her for the first time noticeably healthier than she had been in the past four weeks. Both of us have been pretty sick. She gave me her flu at my insistence. I can't say I minded how I got it.
Joy has been so much, more than a comfort, more than a friend. Slowly, very slowly, she's making her way into my life. But nothing endearing, nothing that has truly pierced my heart. Everything is so cerebral, the passionate is completely outweighed, almost absent. I love her and wouldn't leave her, but if we did separate, it would be mutual, a decision. She wouldn't even get the benefit of the passion of a pain. No yelling, no drama, no scene, no wrestling over emotions and feelings. We would have thought it through. She wouldn't have felt it through. We wouldn't be friends afterwards either.
The benefit of the passion of a pain. The benefit of the passion of a pain, I say, as I hunger for revenge against or restitution from Amina. For once, I've gotten the "benefit" of the "passion" of the pain.
I love Joy in my life at this point. My life is so much better than it was a year ago. I'm clearer now, I can handle my work, I can deal with myself. Why am I not happy? Why can't I get on the topic of Joy and stay on it? Why am I not at least somewhat satisfied? Where has the passion in my life gone? I've lost something and Joy isn't making up for it. She's not offering anything new.
Was I more passionate with and about my friends at Oberlin? Or am I doing my usual psychological step of making the past look so much better just because it's safe in the past? Did I really love Diem and Luyen and Madoka so much? And love Amina so much that I can hate her so much now? I'm probably comparing Joy unfairly to something against which she can't possibly compete; memories and a denial.
Things weren't so hot with Hiromi. If they were, we would have stayed together and Luyen wouldn't have tugged at me. Things weren't so hot with Luyen. If they were . . . they weren't. And if we were together now . . . they definitely wouldn't be. Things weren't so hot with Diem. If they were, why didn't we get any closer? Things weren't so hot with Amina. But I loved her anyway. Why can't I get on the topic of Joy and stay on it?
Are things so hot with Joy?
My only problems are the problems I have with myself, my inability to deal with being inside my skin, of still having the 'rents pulling my strings, of still not being able to find a musical community. My issues are about me, not her, they only affect my relationship with her. I have to learn to be happy with what I've got. And I still can't get on the topic of Joy and stay on it.
Joy and I got together downtown for a short bit last night. She was going to a comedy show and meeting up with someone, so I held off coming home so I could meet up with her. It was wonderful seeing her face and seeing her for the first time noticeably healthier than she had been in the past four weeks. Both of us have been pretty sick. She gave me her flu at my insistence. I can't say I minded how I got it.
Monday, September 26, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
Joy snapped at me. It didn't shatter my trust, but it sure kicked up dust. Poof! It was unexpected. It was enough to cut off communication for the evening; to distance, something I hadn't imagined doing from her until now. So it is possible. So we are ordinary.
It won't change anything. But if it did, I'm not sure I'd care. I can do without Joy and if we ended up not calling each other for several days, it wouldn't be difficult. Beyond the several days, I don't know. I don't know how long it would take until I realized I do care.
My defenses are full up and always have been. I haven't really been exposing myself to Joy. I haven't made myself vulnerable. She has information, but not me, not my heart. But, then...wouldn't losing her hurt like hell? I hate being in this position. I can't go through with this again. I can't go through with this again.
It won't change anything. But if it did, I'm not sure I'd care. I can do without Joy and if we ended up not calling each other for several days, it wouldn't be difficult. Beyond the several days, I don't know. I don't know how long it would take until I realized I do care.
My defenses are full up and always have been. I haven't really been exposing myself to Joy. I haven't made myself vulnerable. She has information, but not me, not my heart. But, then...wouldn't losing her hurt like hell? I hate being in this position. I can't go through with this again. I can't go through with this again.
Sunday, September 25, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
I've been thinking about how I've painted Vikki. I remembered what I thought of her in my last year at Oberlin - how she created her own hell to live in and made sure that she was victimized. If there was a pessimistic way of looking at a situation, if there was a reason to be filled with self-doubt over an issue, Vikki would find it. If she could posit herself as the victim, that is the perspective she would take. If there is a positive or optimistic take on any given situation, Vikki would overlook it. Vikki makes life miserable for herself and perpetuates her misery. She doesn't look for a way out or a solution because there simply is none. That's the starting and end point.
I told Joy that I would never be happy and that I would never want to be happy and how I would have no idea what I would do with myself if I ever attained "happiness". But then I recanted by saying that under certain different standards and perspectives, I already am happy. So maybe Vikki is happy the way she is, making herself miserable.
I once wrote to Luyen about her self-victimization. Was it a coincidence that in the same period in my life I claimed that both Luyen and Vikki were victims of what they had created themselves? It made me think about my hell and whether it is something I, too, have created. Probably.
Diem has gotten back in touch with me. She called Lisa in Boston and got Lisa's Oakland number. She called Lisa and found that I was still here and got my number. Hearing her voice brought a flood of memories, memories pouring over memories. I had held those memories behind a wall in denial.
It was wonderful but disturbing to hear from her. Amina is attached to memories of Diem. She represents a part of my life I had confidently put behind me. Talking with her made me feel exposed, discovered, violated. I also felt grateful. Relieved. Touched.
What I adamantly insist upon, though, is that whatever Diem and I build from here forward is built from what we are now and forward. None of it can rest or depend on what we were in the past. Of course, we are neither intimate nor proximate, and without the safety net of the common ground of our past, we might not have anything to build.
I told Joy that I would never be happy and that I would never want to be happy and how I would have no idea what I would do with myself if I ever attained "happiness". But then I recanted by saying that under certain different standards and perspectives, I already am happy. So maybe Vikki is happy the way she is, making herself miserable.
I once wrote to Luyen about her self-victimization. Was it a coincidence that in the same period in my life I claimed that both Luyen and Vikki were victims of what they had created themselves? It made me think about my hell and whether it is something I, too, have created. Probably.
Diem has gotten back in touch with me. She called Lisa in Boston and got Lisa's Oakland number. She called Lisa and found that I was still here and got my number. Hearing her voice brought a flood of memories, memories pouring over memories. I had held those memories behind a wall in denial.
It was wonderful but disturbing to hear from her. Amina is attached to memories of Diem. She represents a part of my life I had confidently put behind me. Talking with her made me feel exposed, discovered, violated. I also felt grateful. Relieved. Touched.
What I adamantly insist upon, though, is that whatever Diem and I build from here forward is built from what we are now and forward. None of it can rest or depend on what we were in the past. Of course, we are neither intimate nor proximate, and without the safety net of the common ground of our past, we might not have anything to build.
Thursday, September 08, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
School started for Joy yesterday. We got together on Tuesday at Yerba Buena Gardens, just as we did on the Tuesday before I started classes several weeks ago.
It feels like I've known her for longer. Everything before her isn't important, drained of significance, drained of reality or relevance. Joy is real. This sounds uncomfortably familiar.
And still.
I haven't seen her for two days. I found that I don't particularly like talking to her on the phone. Calling her requires a prior check on how I feel. There's still this issue of trust which I don't think is getting resolved. I've told her so much about myself, but I don't know if it has been trust or if I've just been testing her to see how much she can take. Something is missing between us.
She still blisses me out, but I have my doubts. I love her fully, but only as long as she loves me back, not one day longer.
I'm not through dealing with my problems. They just won't go away. I would rather die than be in a relationship. I can see how that could be a problem.
Joy deserves much more than this. It's not that I don't want to give her my all, it's just that I don't have that much.
I'll try. I want to. It's a confidence and self-esteem issue which makes me feel like I won't succeed or can't, but I'll try.
It feels like I've known her for longer. Everything before her isn't important, drained of significance, drained of reality or relevance. Joy is real. This sounds uncomfortably familiar.
And still.
I haven't seen her for two days. I found that I don't particularly like talking to her on the phone. Calling her requires a prior check on how I feel. There's still this issue of trust which I don't think is getting resolved. I've told her so much about myself, but I don't know if it has been trust or if I've just been testing her to see how much she can take. Something is missing between us.
She still blisses me out, but I have my doubts. I love her fully, but only as long as she loves me back, not one day longer.
I'm not through dealing with my problems. They just won't go away. I would rather die than be in a relationship. I can see how that could be a problem.
Joy deserves much more than this. It's not that I don't want to give her my all, it's just that I don't have that much.
I'll try. I want to. It's a confidence and self-esteem issue which makes me feel like I won't succeed or can't, but I'll try.
Monday, September 05, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
I've been with Joy since Saturday. I came back for several hours on Saturday to do some drum parts and to listen to a drum part I did when I was back here for a few hours on Friday. I've finished all the drum parts for this collection of songs. I just have two more bass parts, several solos, and all the lyrics. Yikes! All the lyrics. There's a reason why I don't have any lyrics yet. I'm having trouble expressing myself that way.
Joy and I had a difficult night on Saturday. My brain was in overdrive and I couldn't express myself to her. It was an old familiar feeling of frustration and neglect, a breakdown of communication. I couldn't reach out and she wasn't reaching in. My mind raced from thought to thought to thought.
I still struggle with Amina. Whenever Joy talks about trust and betrayal, it's Amina on my mind, and it's holding back tears, and it's distance from myself and the world around me. If forgiveness were forthcoming, it would be coming with great difficulty. And it's not coming at all. I had so much invested in her. Images linger. The pain of losing with no feelings for what was lost.
I remember things about Amina that makes me wonder what I've forgotten. I remember how Amina defined and colored my reality. How everything in my life was tainted and affected by Amina, how she enhanced everything and became a part of everything I saw, felt, and experienced. That's why it's so hard to shake her out.
But that was Amina, not anyone else, not Joy. Perhaps I'm avoiding anything Amina was. Can I trust anyone like I trusted Amina ever again? I put the two images I have of Amina together, side by side, and I think, 'no, never again; no one'. I've been numbed cold about it.
Joy and I had a difficult night on Saturday. My brain was in overdrive and I couldn't express myself to her. It was an old familiar feeling of frustration and neglect, a breakdown of communication. I couldn't reach out and she wasn't reaching in. My mind raced from thought to thought to thought.
I still struggle with Amina. Whenever Joy talks about trust and betrayal, it's Amina on my mind, and it's holding back tears, and it's distance from myself and the world around me. If forgiveness were forthcoming, it would be coming with great difficulty. And it's not coming at all. I had so much invested in her. Images linger. The pain of losing with no feelings for what was lost.
I remember things about Amina that makes me wonder what I've forgotten. I remember how Amina defined and colored my reality. How everything in my life was tainted and affected by Amina, how she enhanced everything and became a part of everything I saw, felt, and experienced. That's why it's so hard to shake her out.
But that was Amina, not anyone else, not Joy. Perhaps I'm avoiding anything Amina was. Can I trust anyone like I trusted Amina ever again? I put the two images I have of Amina together, side by side, and I think, 'no, never again; no one'. I've been numbed cold about it.
Saturday, September 03, 1994
2211 Carleton St., #28, Berkeley
I get frightened. I recognize walls of inhibitions starting to crystallize. It doesn't seem serious, but it may lead to problems. If there is a loss of openness between us, there goes the basis of why this relationship is special, why it is working.
I can't be afraid to be myself. That, I think, has been a recurring struggle for me in trying to make a relationship work. I lose sight of myself. Being with another person takes on a characteristic of its own, I stop being me.
So many things eat at me from the inside. I appreciate how Joy makes me feel not alone. But if we focus on such seriousness too much, that will just wear us down. It's hard to balance between serious and heavy, and playful and goofy. We try to, and I think it's possible. She's flexible and she's empathic. She doesn't just get stuck on one thing.
She sits at the table. I observe her. She's unaware. She shows what's in her mind on her face. I can tell when she's thinking, when she notices something. If she finds something funny or ironic, she'll smile. Her thoughtfulness and consideration, it's obvious she's paying attention, it's obvious she's doing something, involved in something, engrossed in something; she's here and alive and living.
She flips through a pile of papers, looking for something, grimaces not quite able to find it. She spots something important. She writes it down. She sighs in frustration. She shakes her head. So thoughtful, so focused, so comfortable, so intent. There is a reason why she loves me. She wouldn't otherwise.
(excerpt from Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, Jeanette Winterson, pp. 170-171)
". . . But where was God now, with heaven full of astronoughts, and the Lord overthrown? I miss God. I miss the company of someone utterly loyal. I still don't think of God as my betrayer. The servants of God, yes, but servants by their very nature betray. I miss God who was my friend. I don't even know if God exists, but I do know that if God is your emotional role model, very few human relationships will match up to it. I have an idea that one day it might be possible, I thought once it had become possible, and that glimpse has set me wandering, trying to find the balance between earth and sky. If the servants hadn't rushed in and parted us, I might have been disappointed, might have snatched off the white samite to find a bowl of soup. As it is, I can't settle, I want someone who is fierce and will love me until death and know that love is as strong as death, and be on my side for ever and ever. I want someone who will destroy and be destroyed by me. There are many forms of love and affection, some people can spend their whole lives together without knowing each other's names. Naming is a difficult and time-consuming process; it concerns essences, and it means power. But on the wild nights who can call you home? Only the one who knows your name. Romantic love has been diluted into paperback form and has sold thousands and millions of copies. Somewhere it is still in the original, written on tablets of stone. I would cross seas and suffer sunstroke and give away all I have, but not for a man, because they want to be the destroyer and never the destroyed. That is why they are unfit for romantic love. There are exceptions and I hope they are happy.
The unknownness of my needs frightens me. I do not know how huge they are, or how high they are, I only know that they are not being met. If you want to find out the circumference of an oil drop, you can use lycopodium powder. That's what I'll find. A tub of lycopodium powder, and I will sprinkle it on to my needs and find out how large they are. Then when I meet someone I can write up the experiment and show them what they have to take on. Except they might have a growth rate I can't measure, or they might mutate, or even disappear. One thing I am certain of; I do not want to be betrayed, but that's quite hard to say, casually, at the beginning of a relationship. It's not a word people use very often, which confuses me, because there are different kinds of infidelity, but betrayal is betrayal wherever you find it. By betrayal, I mean promising to be on your side, then being on somebody else's."
I can't be afraid to be myself. That, I think, has been a recurring struggle for me in trying to make a relationship work. I lose sight of myself. Being with another person takes on a characteristic of its own, I stop being me.
So many things eat at me from the inside. I appreciate how Joy makes me feel not alone. But if we focus on such seriousness too much, that will just wear us down. It's hard to balance between serious and heavy, and playful and goofy. We try to, and I think it's possible. She's flexible and she's empathic. She doesn't just get stuck on one thing.
She sits at the table. I observe her. She's unaware. She shows what's in her mind on her face. I can tell when she's thinking, when she notices something. If she finds something funny or ironic, she'll smile. Her thoughtfulness and consideration, it's obvious she's paying attention, it's obvious she's doing something, involved in something, engrossed in something; she's here and alive and living.
She flips through a pile of papers, looking for something, grimaces not quite able to find it. She spots something important. She writes it down. She sighs in frustration. She shakes her head. So thoughtful, so focused, so comfortable, so intent. There is a reason why she loves me. She wouldn't otherwise.
(excerpt from Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, Jeanette Winterson, pp. 170-171)
". . . But where was God now, with heaven full of astronoughts, and the Lord overthrown? I miss God. I miss the company of someone utterly loyal. I still don't think of God as my betrayer. The servants of God, yes, but servants by their very nature betray. I miss God who was my friend. I don't even know if God exists, but I do know that if God is your emotional role model, very few human relationships will match up to it. I have an idea that one day it might be possible, I thought once it had become possible, and that glimpse has set me wandering, trying to find the balance between earth and sky. If the servants hadn't rushed in and parted us, I might have been disappointed, might have snatched off the white samite to find a bowl of soup. As it is, I can't settle, I want someone who is fierce and will love me until death and know that love is as strong as death, and be on my side for ever and ever. I want someone who will destroy and be destroyed by me. There are many forms of love and affection, some people can spend their whole lives together without knowing each other's names. Naming is a difficult and time-consuming process; it concerns essences, and it means power. But on the wild nights who can call you home? Only the one who knows your name. Romantic love has been diluted into paperback form and has sold thousands and millions of copies. Somewhere it is still in the original, written on tablets of stone. I would cross seas and suffer sunstroke and give away all I have, but not for a man, because they want to be the destroyer and never the destroyed. That is why they are unfit for romantic love. There are exceptions and I hope they are happy.
The unknownness of my needs frightens me. I do not know how huge they are, or how high they are, I only know that they are not being met. If you want to find out the circumference of an oil drop, you can use lycopodium powder. That's what I'll find. A tub of lycopodium powder, and I will sprinkle it on to my needs and find out how large they are. Then when I meet someone I can write up the experiment and show them what they have to take on. Except they might have a growth rate I can't measure, or they might mutate, or even disappear. One thing I am certain of; I do not want to be betrayed, but that's quite hard to say, casually, at the beginning of a relationship. It's not a word people use very often, which confuses me, because there are different kinds of infidelity, but betrayal is betrayal wherever you find it. By betrayal, I mean promising to be on your side, then being on somebody else's."
Thursday, September 01, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
The word is "blissed out". How much more can I love Joy? How much more happy can I be with Joy in my life? I am in amazement in how much I already love her and how much she already makes me happy.
She doesn't start working until next week, when the school year begins, so we've been able to see each other as often as we’ve wanted. Most of my life aside from law school has been set aside to be with her.
I've been BARTing to Berkeley after classes on Monday and Wednesdays and have been studying there and staying over. Haven't been seeing too much of my apartment.
There still is nothing I dislike about Joy, not an inkling of doubt. Trust, comfort, and love are all present. She creates the atmosphere for all of those.
The problem is when I get back home. Then doubts formed by my lack of self-esteem and confidence start to show. I prepare myself for the day when she'll want to move on without me. How will she do it? At least I know there will be a warning. At least I know she will explain in detail. At least I'll have the opportunity to make it easier for both of us by picking up a signal and leaving first.
I practiced it at her apartment - looking around and pretending it was the last time looking at it before leaving. I would just leave. I wouldn't try to hold on to the relationship. If she wanted it to end, I would walk. Then I'd return to the cutting. I haven't decided to stop drinking yet.
She hasn't solved anything about the cutting. I've stopped for her. I know it's only temporary. I told her that I wouldn't stop cutting for someone else; that if I stopped it had to be my decision and for myself only. So I haven't stopped the cutting, I haven't decided to stop. I'm refraining.
It's necessary. I can't be cutting while I'm in a relationship. That would exact too much of a toll. How would it make her feel? It's a no-brainer.
She doesn't start working until next week, when the school year begins, so we've been able to see each other as often as we’ve wanted. Most of my life aside from law school has been set aside to be with her.
I've been BARTing to Berkeley after classes on Monday and Wednesdays and have been studying there and staying over. Haven't been seeing too much of my apartment.
There still is nothing I dislike about Joy, not an inkling of doubt. Trust, comfort, and love are all present. She creates the atmosphere for all of those.
The problem is when I get back home. Then doubts formed by my lack of self-esteem and confidence start to show. I prepare myself for the day when she'll want to move on without me. How will she do it? At least I know there will be a warning. At least I know she will explain in detail. At least I'll have the opportunity to make it easier for both of us by picking up a signal and leaving first.
I practiced it at her apartment - looking around and pretending it was the last time looking at it before leaving. I would just leave. I wouldn't try to hold on to the relationship. If she wanted it to end, I would walk. Then I'd return to the cutting. I haven't decided to stop drinking yet.
She hasn't solved anything about the cutting. I've stopped for her. I know it's only temporary. I told her that I wouldn't stop cutting for someone else; that if I stopped it had to be my decision and for myself only. So I haven't stopped the cutting, I haven't decided to stop. I'm refraining.
It's necessary. I can't be cutting while I'm in a relationship. That would exact too much of a toll. How would it make her feel? It's a no-brainer.
Monday, August 22, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
We didn't get out of bed until after noon on Saturday. I had to get back to San Francisco to get my drums for the R&B band's gig that night. I was pretty zonked.
We had only gotten to sleep after 4:30 because we ended up talking about "us". She wasn't sure how far into a relationship I wanted to go because of things I'd said and she wanted to respect that. I stupidly embarked on a discourse of my love for her. To make a long story short, I spent a long time basically telling her that I did want to be in a relationship with her, regardless of what I had said before. Most definitely.
She came to the performance that night. It was so-so. It would have been decent if certain song format mistakes weren't made. I could deal with performance mistakes or even poor energy, but when someone doesn't come in when they are supposed to and stands there looking stupid, or when someone isn't doing something when they're suppose to and also looks stupid while making other people look stupid, then it's not a performance I want to keep for the record or remember.
I should have known. From now on, that's the lowest standard of proficiency in musicians I work with. They must be able to remember song maps and know what goes where. They don't have to be great, they don't have to be amazing, but they have to know what to do when.
We had only gotten to sleep after 4:30 because we ended up talking about "us". She wasn't sure how far into a relationship I wanted to go because of things I'd said and she wanted to respect that. I stupidly embarked on a discourse of my love for her. To make a long story short, I spent a long time basically telling her that I did want to be in a relationship with her, regardless of what I had said before. Most definitely.
She came to the performance that night. It was so-so. It would have been decent if certain song format mistakes weren't made. I could deal with performance mistakes or even poor energy, but when someone doesn't come in when they are supposed to and stands there looking stupid, or when someone isn't doing something when they're suppose to and also looks stupid while making other people look stupid, then it's not a performance I want to keep for the record or remember.
I should have known. From now on, that's the lowest standard of proficiency in musicians I work with. They must be able to remember song maps and know what goes where. They don't have to be great, they don't have to be amazing, but they have to know what to do when.
Saturday, August 20, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
Intimate space. We met at my school yesterday and headed up to Golden Gate Park where we wandered and explored around the botanical gardens there. Then we headed to my place and cooked and watched "Fires in the Mirror" by Anne Deveare Smith. Then we headed to the East Bay and walked around Lake Merritt before returning to her place to munch and enjoy each other's company.
We settled on her couch with peaches and apples and a lit candle. I got tired even though it wasn't very late. I had only gotten four hours of sleep trying to cram for Evidence. She asked if I would be alright driving home. Of course, I would. Once I got in my car I'd be fine, I always am. As long as you aren't relying on faith to stay awake. No problem. Was she leaving room for me to decide to stay over?
I had to go, but I stayed. And stayed. Then asked to stay. There was no question that we were in love. Our feelings have been clear for a week since Angel Island, but there was still a touch of ambiguity on the exact nature of our relationship. Then it was gone when we kissed. It was intimacy blooming into a kiss. From lying together, to our faces being close, to our cheeks touching, to our noses brushing tantalizingly close to each others lips, to our lips brushing lightly and delicately against each others and then reaching.
We settled on her couch with peaches and apples and a lit candle. I got tired even though it wasn't very late. I had only gotten four hours of sleep trying to cram for Evidence. She asked if I would be alright driving home. Of course, I would. Once I got in my car I'd be fine, I always am. As long as you aren't relying on faith to stay awake. No problem. Was she leaving room for me to decide to stay over?
I had to go, but I stayed. And stayed. Then asked to stay. There was no question that we were in love. Our feelings have been clear for a week since Angel Island, but there was still a touch of ambiguity on the exact nature of our relationship. Then it was gone when we kissed. It was intimacy blooming into a kiss. From lying together, to our faces being close, to our cheeks touching, to our noses brushing tantalizingly close to each others lips, to our lips brushing lightly and delicately against each others and then reaching.
Tuesday, August 16, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
My last day of freedom before falling into the turmoil and surreality of law school; the constant grind of constant pressure and the annoying people. Evidence, Criminal Procedure, and Contracts.
Joy and I met in front of my school and we walked over to Yerba Buena Gardens to laze away the afternoon on a spot of grass. The breeze was warm and the grass was soft and thick. Other people were lying about, but we had a reasonable amount of privacy. It was really Joy, I amazed myself and impressed upon myself the short time in which we've known each other. And here she was, amazing me.
I am happy. I told Joy that I didn't think I could ever be fully and truly happy. So much of my life has been based on and motivated by struggle and anger that I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I were ever happy. Happiness is simply not something I desire out of life, it is not necessary, it is not something to actively pursue as a goal.
I am happy. What does it mean to be happy? What gauge am I using to make so bold a statement. It's hardly worth mentioning superficial, material things just to cynically illustrate what should not be major contributing factors to my happiness.
I'm content with who I am. I'm happy with the dynamics in my life and there's more than meets the senses about my drinking, my cutting, my low-points, my discomfort with myself, and my occasional difficulty dealing with myself and reality.
On some scale of happiness, I'm there. I'm somewhere some people will never know exists. I have a well-being and self-realization, I feel, that is beyond my immediate, surrounding situations. There are some seriously unhappy people out there who don't even know it.
I straightened things out with Joy at Yerba Buena. I tackled the cutting some more and I'm comfortable with what I told her. I don't know if she understands or can accept it, but at least she feels comfortable with and appreciates my struggle to explain it to the fullest extent.
Some things still scare me about getting close to Joy. I still have self-esteem/confidence issues. I don't see what Joy sees in me, and I still think that things could get complacent and boring for her.
There are still hurdles in my trust that I can't seem to get over. There is still residue from Amina. Trust is a lot more complicated than love. There was to some degree an automatic trust in getting to know Joy and falling in love with her. It grew to a degree that I thought impossible after Amina. Amina is now a symbol of betrayal.
I trust Joy despite Amina, but I certainly don't trust her as completely as I can. I can only work on it and try to move closer to Joy; intimate space mixing and the love being gradually exposed.
Joy and I met in front of my school and we walked over to Yerba Buena Gardens to laze away the afternoon on a spot of grass. The breeze was warm and the grass was soft and thick. Other people were lying about, but we had a reasonable amount of privacy. It was really Joy, I amazed myself and impressed upon myself the short time in which we've known each other. And here she was, amazing me.
I am happy. I told Joy that I didn't think I could ever be fully and truly happy. So much of my life has been based on and motivated by struggle and anger that I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I were ever happy. Happiness is simply not something I desire out of life, it is not necessary, it is not something to actively pursue as a goal.
I am happy. What does it mean to be happy? What gauge am I using to make so bold a statement. It's hardly worth mentioning superficial, material things just to cynically illustrate what should not be major contributing factors to my happiness.
I'm content with who I am. I'm happy with the dynamics in my life and there's more than meets the senses about my drinking, my cutting, my low-points, my discomfort with myself, and my occasional difficulty dealing with myself and reality.
On some scale of happiness, I'm there. I'm somewhere some people will never know exists. I have a well-being and self-realization, I feel, that is beyond my immediate, surrounding situations. There are some seriously unhappy people out there who don't even know it.
I straightened things out with Joy at Yerba Buena. I tackled the cutting some more and I'm comfortable with what I told her. I don't know if she understands or can accept it, but at least she feels comfortable with and appreciates my struggle to explain it to the fullest extent.
Some things still scare me about getting close to Joy. I still have self-esteem/confidence issues. I don't see what Joy sees in me, and I still think that things could get complacent and boring for her.
There are still hurdles in my trust that I can't seem to get over. There is still residue from Amina. Trust is a lot more complicated than love. There was to some degree an automatic trust in getting to know Joy and falling in love with her. It grew to a degree that I thought impossible after Amina. Amina is now a symbol of betrayal.
I trust Joy despite Amina, but I certainly don't trust her as completely as I can. I can only work on it and try to move closer to Joy; intimate space mixing and the love being gradually exposed.
Monday, August 15, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
Why did I tell Joy about cutting? What purpose did that serve? The drinking was different. If Joy wanted me to stop drinking, I could stop. At least I have a defensible explanation about drinking, I have my argument. No one could take away my feelings and understanding about it, even if they disagreed or didn't see it. But cutting? I can't explain it, I just do it. I don't know why I do it or why I don't feel pain. I can take a knife right now and . . . I don't know why I simply don't do it. Why did I introduce this part of me to Joy when I can't explain it to myself?
She came to San Francisco. We met at school because I had to register for classes, and then we came to my place for lunch. The long intimate hug was an extension from last night. We were still close, caressing, half holding, looking, loving, and then she asked about the scar on my arm. I knew the topic would come up, how could it not? Even though most people have an easy time ignoring or avoiding it.
It wasn't until we were on the sand at Ocean Beach, after having walked along the entire Sea Cliff trail, that I started talking about it. From that point on, I was winging it. It was difficult for me, often I felt my heart hurt, I realized the degree to which parts of me have been numbed insensitive. I hated having to tell Joy, but I couldn't imagine not telling her, either. I trust her and she means enough to me that I refuse to not disclose anything important about me.
I had told Amina. She seemed uncomfortable and she detached herself pretty quickly. Then it never came up again. Why even bother? She may have noticed scars on my chest at some point and run her fingers over them, I forget, but she never asked to understand. Much less that she was the inspiration for several due to the unfortunate period of my life in which she decided to get involved with me.
It hurt to tell Joy; to look at her face, her eyes, knowing that here was someone I was beginning to care for. Why did I tell her? I'm angry at myself for having told her. I had no business exposing this side of me to her so blatantly. I'm getting together with her again tomorrow, the last time on a regular basis. I won't panic, it won't be any different than if I hadn't told her anything. We have plenty of other things to discuss and share.
She came to San Francisco. We met at school because I had to register for classes, and then we came to my place for lunch. The long intimate hug was an extension from last night. We were still close, caressing, half holding, looking, loving, and then she asked about the scar on my arm. I knew the topic would come up, how could it not? Even though most people have an easy time ignoring or avoiding it.
It wasn't until we were on the sand at Ocean Beach, after having walked along the entire Sea Cliff trail, that I started talking about it. From that point on, I was winging it. It was difficult for me, often I felt my heart hurt, I realized the degree to which parts of me have been numbed insensitive. I hated having to tell Joy, but I couldn't imagine not telling her, either. I trust her and she means enough to me that I refuse to not disclose anything important about me.
I had told Amina. She seemed uncomfortable and she detached herself pretty quickly. Then it never came up again. Why even bother? She may have noticed scars on my chest at some point and run her fingers over them, I forget, but she never asked to understand. Much less that she was the inspiration for several due to the unfortunate period of my life in which she decided to get involved with me.
It hurt to tell Joy; to look at her face, her eyes, knowing that here was someone I was beginning to care for. Why did I tell her? I'm angry at myself for having told her. I had no business exposing this side of me to her so blatantly. I'm getting together with her again tomorrow, the last time on a regular basis. I won't panic, it won't be any different than if I hadn't told her anything. We have plenty of other things to discuss and share.
Sunday, August 14, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
I think Joy and I are a couple. We've been doing so much and we've gotten so close so fast. I met her on July 4, then I received a letter from her on the 121h, I called her the next Friday on the 15th, and we got together for the second time on the next day, the 16th.
So much happened in the next two weeks before I went to New Jersey. Walks and talks in parks and cemeteries, oblivious of the time. Movies and meals, her eyes and the comfort with which she accepted me into her home. So many times across her dinner table, so many times over dinner. How quickly she has become familiar, a part of my life. Part of my life? Why does that just not feel right?
I got back home from New Jersey on Friday night and Joy was leaving for LA on Saturday morning. I called her from the airport as soon as I got in and we arranged to meet the next morning. We just hung out for a couple hours at her place before I took her to the airport.
I picked her up from the airport when she got back on Thursday and we went to see the movie 'Eat Drink Man Woman' after spending some time at her place. We blew bubbles outside of her building.
Today we went to Angel Island with the J-town Youth Leadership Seminar group. It wasn't uncomfortable with Tria, and Tria seems to have taken to Joy. We drove Tria home to San Rafael and ended up going to Tria's favorite hill and hung out there for a while.
On the way back to Berkeley, Joy and I got into a discussion about alcohol. When we got to her place we decided that as long as we started the topic, we should try to exhaust it to some degree. I think she appreciated that I was willing and able to tackle the issue without getting defensive and running away from it. I hope it told her something about my character.
It was a heavy discussion. I don't think I fully convinced her, but I think she trusted my perception and treatment of the issue. I don't like being any less than sober when I'm around her, and I think if we get into a long term relationship, I would have to stop drinking. If we did, I wouldn't tell her right away that I've stopped drinking. But I have no intention of stopping any time soon.
The discussion of alcohol continued and after dinner, we moved from the dinner table over to the couch and we got comfortable. We lay in opposite directions on the couch and after a while I put my hand on one of her . . . feet. And she one on mine.
Hours. It got late and it was briefly considered that I stay the night, but I felt I had to come home since I have to register for law school tomorrow. We hugged for a long time and she felt so comfortable. And that, I suppose, is when we could say it started.
So much happened in the next two weeks before I went to New Jersey. Walks and talks in parks and cemeteries, oblivious of the time. Movies and meals, her eyes and the comfort with which she accepted me into her home. So many times across her dinner table, so many times over dinner. How quickly she has become familiar, a part of my life. Part of my life? Why does that just not feel right?
I got back home from New Jersey on Friday night and Joy was leaving for LA on Saturday morning. I called her from the airport as soon as I got in and we arranged to meet the next morning. We just hung out for a couple hours at her place before I took her to the airport.
I picked her up from the airport when she got back on Thursday and we went to see the movie 'Eat Drink Man Woman' after spending some time at her place. We blew bubbles outside of her building.
Today we went to Angel Island with the J-town Youth Leadership Seminar group. It wasn't uncomfortable with Tria, and Tria seems to have taken to Joy. We drove Tria home to San Rafael and ended up going to Tria's favorite hill and hung out there for a while.
On the way back to Berkeley, Joy and I got into a discussion about alcohol. When we got to her place we decided that as long as we started the topic, we should try to exhaust it to some degree. I think she appreciated that I was willing and able to tackle the issue without getting defensive and running away from it. I hope it told her something about my character.
It was a heavy discussion. I don't think I fully convinced her, but I think she trusted my perception and treatment of the issue. I don't like being any less than sober when I'm around her, and I think if we get into a long term relationship, I would have to stop drinking. If we did, I wouldn't tell her right away that I've stopped drinking. But I have no intention of stopping any time soon.
The discussion of alcohol continued and after dinner, we moved from the dinner table over to the couch and we got comfortable. We lay in opposite directions on the couch and after a while I put my hand on one of her . . . feet. And she one on mine.
Hours. It got late and it was briefly considered that I stay the night, but I felt I had to come home since I have to register for law school tomorrow. We hugged for a long time and she felt so comfortable. And that, I suppose, is when we could say it started.
Friday, August 12, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
Falling in love with Joy? I have apprehensions. I don't know for sure whether she shares the feeling. It's possible that she only feels a strong, kindred friendship. It's possible that I'm misinterpreting the whole thing.
I need to hold onto myself. I'm not going to deviate from being myself. I will make time for her and to be with her, but my focus has to still be music. When school starts, I'm going to lose a large portion of my time. I'm not going to make sacrifices of my time or myself for Joy. None of what has gone before is going to happen again.
I need to hold onto myself. I'm not going to deviate from being myself. I will make time for her and to be with her, but my focus has to still be music. When school starts, I'm going to lose a large portion of my time. I'm not going to make sacrifices of my time or myself for Joy. None of what has gone before is going to happen again.
Thursday, August 04, 1994
Englewood Cliffs, N.J.
It was a perfect week with Joy. I've never been good at expressing positive feelings or when I'm happy, so I won't try to describe how Joy makes me feel. Always the comfortable air. I have such clear images of her already. Her warmth, her smile, the empathy, and the communication.
We spent most of the past two weeks together. I'm glad for this New Jersey break to breathe and put it all into perspective. It was good to force a pause. I was concerned that it would get old for her, that she might get bored with over-exposure or would have to return to her responsibilities and priorities.
Not only to force a pause, but come to the East Coast. The sky and the air is so different here, not to mention the deeply embedded memories. It forced a reality check. There is my life there, but it is my past here. Being here where everything is so naturally and intensely familiar, while realizing that my reality, what Joy is a part of, is something completely different. The California sky and the California air. Not so intense, not so natural or familiar, but definitely real. It's mine, too. The 'rents have no idea about it. It's much more real than here.
Late afternoon, a sunny, hazy day, the sun still high in the western sky; the Berkeley marina, the calm waters of the Bay; the Bay Bridge stretching towards the San Francisco skyline. Rows of cars parked and people enjoying the marina. Joy and me. Sitting together on a rock, not saying much, not having to say much, sitting as close to her as I dare. I couldn't ask for anything more.
I visited Vikki in Boston and things were great. We have been developing our friendship into new grounds. More caring, more vulnerability. It's a little weird, but I like it this way a lot. It's hard to shake the form of friendship we've already carved with our teasing and tormenting, the joking which always ends up at her expense. She hitched a ride with me back down to New York since she got a call from her parents the day I was leaving, and she needed to come to New York.
Things have been satisfactory with the 'rents. I've barely spent any time with them. I haven't had to endure going out to dinner with them as I expected I'd have to. The one time we had set a time to go out, I couldn't get home in time from New York because of a fire in the 181st St. subway station. By the time I got to their house, they were all ready to scamper out to go dancing.
They pursue the usual questions and issues that bore me. My responses are always the same, but they still ask. To show they care? Whatever. Do I plan to move back East after school? I don't know (no fucking way). All you have to do is graduate and get certification. Yea, I know (right, fat chance).
I'll be glad to be going home tomorrow. It hasn't been so bad here. A little refreshing. A little disturbing at how familiar it all is; at how easy it was to adjust to being back here. It has been a nice little fantasy trip down memory lane. I can't wait to see Joy again. We're going to get together on Saturday morning for a couple of hours before I take her to the airport. She's going down to L.A. to visit her parents.
We spent most of the past two weeks together. I'm glad for this New Jersey break to breathe and put it all into perspective. It was good to force a pause. I was concerned that it would get old for her, that she might get bored with over-exposure or would have to return to her responsibilities and priorities.
Not only to force a pause, but come to the East Coast. The sky and the air is so different here, not to mention the deeply embedded memories. It forced a reality check. There is my life there, but it is my past here. Being here where everything is so naturally and intensely familiar, while realizing that my reality, what Joy is a part of, is something completely different. The California sky and the California air. Not so intense, not so natural or familiar, but definitely real. It's mine, too. The 'rents have no idea about it. It's much more real than here.
Late afternoon, a sunny, hazy day, the sun still high in the western sky; the Berkeley marina, the calm waters of the Bay; the Bay Bridge stretching towards the San Francisco skyline. Rows of cars parked and people enjoying the marina. Joy and me. Sitting together on a rock, not saying much, not having to say much, sitting as close to her as I dare. I couldn't ask for anything more.
I visited Vikki in Boston and things were great. We have been developing our friendship into new grounds. More caring, more vulnerability. It's a little weird, but I like it this way a lot. It's hard to shake the form of friendship we've already carved with our teasing and tormenting, the joking which always ends up at her expense. She hitched a ride with me back down to New York since she got a call from her parents the day I was leaving, and she needed to come to New York.
Things have been satisfactory with the 'rents. I've barely spent any time with them. I haven't had to endure going out to dinner with them as I expected I'd have to. The one time we had set a time to go out, I couldn't get home in time from New York because of a fire in the 181st St. subway station. By the time I got to their house, they were all ready to scamper out to go dancing.
They pursue the usual questions and issues that bore me. My responses are always the same, but they still ask. To show they care? Whatever. Do I plan to move back East after school? I don't know (no fucking way). All you have to do is graduate and get certification. Yea, I know (right, fat chance).
I'll be glad to be going home tomorrow. It hasn't been so bad here. A little refreshing. A little disturbing at how familiar it all is; at how easy it was to adjust to being back here. It has been a nice little fantasy trip down memory lane. I can't wait to see Joy again. We're going to get together on Saturday morning for a couple of hours before I take her to the airport. She's going down to L.A. to visit her parents.
Friday, July 29, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
Joy sat across her table from me. Cozy situation, her face already familiar and endeared to me. We asked each other vague, abstract, huge, difficult questions. Questions that begged more questions. Questions to find more about each other.
A yellow flag waved behind my eyes. Who was this person I met less than a month ago? Suddenly the realization hit me that we really didn't know each other. We were getting to know each other. I was struggling.
For a flash, the image of Amina sitting across from me flashed across my eyes. What if she were there sitting across from me? The somebody who already knows how and what I think. That comfort and familiarity that I have not yet reached with Joy. The familiarity which allows the energy from two people to comfortably fill the room and mingle with each other. When it's friends, it mingles. When it's love, it mixes. When people are getting to know each other, they are distinct and separate energies, and she had no idea what image flashed before my eyes.
A yellow flag waved behind my eyes. Who was this person I met less than a month ago? Suddenly the realization hit me that we really didn't know each other. We were getting to know each other. I was struggling.
For a flash, the image of Amina sitting across from me flashed across my eyes. What if she were there sitting across from me? The somebody who already knows how and what I think. That comfort and familiarity that I have not yet reached with Joy. The familiarity which allows the energy from two people to comfortably fill the room and mingle with each other. When it's friends, it mingles. When it's love, it mixes. When people are getting to know each other, they are distinct and separate energies, and she had no idea what image flashed before my eyes.
Tuesday, July 26, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
Telling myself that I don't want to get involved with Joy is purely a defense mechanism. I really wouldn't mind. I can't deny the effect that she's having on my life. Might I start caring?
Why did things fail with Amina? How could I have been so wrong? Why was I convinced that she was right? How do I avoid missing again? What was happening when, and whose fault was it?
I should have seen it coming. I think of the situations we were in, and how could I have not seen it coming? Things were already falling apart soon after we got together. Soon after the honeymoon part of the relationship ended. That should have meant something.
Our situations were all wrong, she was in academia and I was dealing with the 'rents. I needed more than she was able to give and she wasn't pressed to accept what I was giving. I was more stress for her than not, and likewise. But the stress she caused me was much less than the stress the 'rents were causing. So I intentionally burned my hand so that I wouldn't notice that the rest of me was on fire.
I have to look farther and deeper, though. I did go out to Oberlin several times during her Spring semester and those times were quite successful, productive, happy times. What was I ignoring that could have indicated to me not to let all my defenses down?
There were no indications when we were together, but how about when we were apart? When we were apart, our communications were woefully inadequate. She didn't communicate often and when she did, she didn't do it very well. She was too preoccupied. We were always postponing a happy, continuous relationship for some ambiguous time in the future. It was OK if things were crap now, things would be better “in the future”.
Dependence was a huge problem. I should have been gauging my feelings at all times. I used the problem of the 'rents to ignore Amina as a problem as well. I depended on Amina to help me through my problems. That was all wrong. I did have bad feelings towards Amina, and regardless of what excuse I could come up with to explain, disregard, or justify them, I should have taken them seriously as a warning. No excuses. My fingers should have been on my pulse. But is that love?
There was no reason why I shouldn't have trusted Amina. There was no indicator or warning that I shouldn't have been trusting Amina. I can't explain why I failed myself so miserably. I was just totally deluded, forcing myself to believe that we had a relationship we didn't. Placing faith in the future when the present was crap.
I don't know how to avoid it again. It's so easy to think that I can trust Joy, Joy is completely different from Amina, it's not in her nature or character to do what Amina did. Ah yes. Amina was just like Joy, wasn't she? How to avoid the delusion?
I don't know how Amina views what she did. She may not think of it as this evil, malicious, heartless breach of trust that I remember. People have needs, people break up with their partners. I've broken up with people and have hurt them in the process. Why is it such a major production when it happens to me, just because of the way I had treated it, just because of my perceptions and assumptions?
Avoiding relationships is not the answer, that's not me to cut off and deny myself the communication I need. That's not life. There are already differences in me now from what I was around Amina. Why Amina at all? She sure didn't leave anything. What about Amina aside from her presence, which lost its grace easily enough. There is still a lot to worry about in getting involved with Joy or anyone. When it comes into a consideration of involvement, both my trust and confidence plunge. Quickly.
Why did things fail with Amina? How could I have been so wrong? Why was I convinced that she was right? How do I avoid missing again? What was happening when, and whose fault was it?
I should have seen it coming. I think of the situations we were in, and how could I have not seen it coming? Things were already falling apart soon after we got together. Soon after the honeymoon part of the relationship ended. That should have meant something.
Our situations were all wrong, she was in academia and I was dealing with the 'rents. I needed more than she was able to give and she wasn't pressed to accept what I was giving. I was more stress for her than not, and likewise. But the stress she caused me was much less than the stress the 'rents were causing. So I intentionally burned my hand so that I wouldn't notice that the rest of me was on fire.
I have to look farther and deeper, though. I did go out to Oberlin several times during her Spring semester and those times were quite successful, productive, happy times. What was I ignoring that could have indicated to me not to let all my defenses down?
There were no indications when we were together, but how about when we were apart? When we were apart, our communications were woefully inadequate. She didn't communicate often and when she did, she didn't do it very well. She was too preoccupied. We were always postponing a happy, continuous relationship for some ambiguous time in the future. It was OK if things were crap now, things would be better “in the future”.
Dependence was a huge problem. I should have been gauging my feelings at all times. I used the problem of the 'rents to ignore Amina as a problem as well. I depended on Amina to help me through my problems. That was all wrong. I did have bad feelings towards Amina, and regardless of what excuse I could come up with to explain, disregard, or justify them, I should have taken them seriously as a warning. No excuses. My fingers should have been on my pulse. But is that love?
There was no reason why I shouldn't have trusted Amina. There was no indicator or warning that I shouldn't have been trusting Amina. I can't explain why I failed myself so miserably. I was just totally deluded, forcing myself to believe that we had a relationship we didn't. Placing faith in the future when the present was crap.
I don't know how to avoid it again. It's so easy to think that I can trust Joy, Joy is completely different from Amina, it's not in her nature or character to do what Amina did. Ah yes. Amina was just like Joy, wasn't she? How to avoid the delusion?
I don't know how Amina views what she did. She may not think of it as this evil, malicious, heartless breach of trust that I remember. People have needs, people break up with their partners. I've broken up with people and have hurt them in the process. Why is it such a major production when it happens to me, just because of the way I had treated it, just because of my perceptions and assumptions?
Avoiding relationships is not the answer, that's not me to cut off and deny myself the communication I need. That's not life. There are already differences in me now from what I was around Amina. Why Amina at all? She sure didn't leave anything. What about Amina aside from her presence, which lost its grace easily enough. There is still a lot to worry about in getting involved with Joy or anyone. When it comes into a consideration of involvement, both my trust and confidence plunge. Quickly.
Monday, July 25, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
These past few days have been a struggle. Falling back down into my previous, pre-Joy state. Being alone isn't that hot after all. Being alone is only good if it's an option.
Sunday, July 24, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
I can't let this thing with Joy go any farther than it has gone. If she maintains interest and wants to pursue something further with me, I'll sustain my end, but I won't pursue her any further.
I think I trust her. More than most, but I still haven't fully recovered from Amina. I concern myself about the commitments I've made, the responsibilities I've taken. You have to take care of yourself before you think about taking care of other things. I do not take care of myself.
But wouldn't getting closer to Joy be taking care of myself, committing to something, exhibiting a willingness to share my life and myself with someone else? But then I think of the emotional toll on Joy from the baggage I'm carrying. Would it really be taking care of myself when I speculate how things might end up?
I'd rather self-destruct than put Joy through that, I'd rather be sad, I'd rather be alone. Besides, I'm still uncomfortable with myself, I still haven't committed to my own life. I don't drink because I have problems and alcohol helps me through, I drink because I'm trying to ruin my liver. I drink because I don't want to live past a certain age. Being sober wastes precious time.
Joy has dealt with many physical ailments: hypoglycemia, scoliosis, bronchitis, knee surgery, carpal tunnel, allergies, and whatever I haven't found out yet. She has to think about everything she consumes, her diet is extremely limited. It's easier for her to tell me what she can eat, rather than what she can't. Here I am having been given perfect health and I'm trying to destroy it. The wonder of it all.
Joy has already added to my life. Time to let her go. I want to be alone and enjoy the sadness that I wrap myself in before going to sleep.
I think I trust her. More than most, but I still haven't fully recovered from Amina. I concern myself about the commitments I've made, the responsibilities I've taken. You have to take care of yourself before you think about taking care of other things. I do not take care of myself.
But wouldn't getting closer to Joy be taking care of myself, committing to something, exhibiting a willingness to share my life and myself with someone else? But then I think of the emotional toll on Joy from the baggage I'm carrying. Would it really be taking care of myself when I speculate how things might end up?
I'd rather self-destruct than put Joy through that, I'd rather be sad, I'd rather be alone. Besides, I'm still uncomfortable with myself, I still haven't committed to my own life. I don't drink because I have problems and alcohol helps me through, I drink because I'm trying to ruin my liver. I drink because I don't want to live past a certain age. Being sober wastes precious time.
Joy has dealt with many physical ailments: hypoglycemia, scoliosis, bronchitis, knee surgery, carpal tunnel, allergies, and whatever I haven't found out yet. She has to think about everything she consumes, her diet is extremely limited. It's easier for her to tell me what she can eat, rather than what she can't. Here I am having been given perfect health and I'm trying to destroy it. The wonder of it all.
Joy has already added to my life. Time to let her go. I want to be alone and enjoy the sadness that I wrap myself in before going to sleep.
Thursday, July 21, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
A few months ago, Tria said she felt comfortable with me and asked if I felt comfortable with her. It would have been so easy to say, "Of course I feel comfortable with you. Very comfortable." Instead I said, "Actually, I don't even feel comfortable with myself," implying that I couldn't feel comfortable with anyone else. That was about as serious as we ever got in a conversation.
"Dear Tria,
How thoroughly I've changed in the past half year. If we had met six or seven months ago, you would have met a completely different person. I feel so different now that I might as well be in a different skin compared to back then.
I might not have noticed how I've changed if I hadn't met you. From the first time we spoke, you made me feel . . . strange. It's clearer in retrospect, but I definitely recognized a strange feeling, even if I wasn't able to pinpoint and define what it was.
Being with you was different than being with anyone else I knew. It made me wonder why and what was going on with me. It struck me that I felt very comfortable with you, which meant that I must be feeling comfortable with myself to some degree, and I had stopped entertaining the possibility of that ever happening again.
I'm not sure I can explain it. Since meeting you my life has taken on a different feel. I've been kinda happy and uncharacteristically relaxed and calm. Almost to the point of amazement. I think I'm even different from a month ago, but looking at the past half year, I can trace a transformation that is almost complete.
Things aren't perfect and rosy, I still have my hard days, but I'm looking forward and I see challenges that I hadn't realized were there before. I told you about feeling comfortable about being alone. That's a facet of being comfortable with myself. I can deal with myself and I don't need to rely on someone else to locate myself within the framework of my own life."
I suggested to Tria that I wasn't comfortable with her. The irony is that without Tria, I would have completely lost my sense of humor by now. If it weren't for Tria, I would have been consumed. Being with Tria forced me to play a certain part that I wouldn't have otherwise; carefree, goofy, not serious. She skewed the bitterness that was growing and made it light. And the further irony is that without that, I wouldn't be able to be the person I am with Joy. I can let myself be happy and smile and not brood on the past.
Driving home from rehearsal last night with John. I think I am happy. I am happy. It means I can die any time. I can commit suicide and that's alright. That's it. That's all. I've told myself before that I would only commit suicide if I was happy. Despair and misery are bad states of mind in which to kill oneself. Committing suicide because you're miserable means being too attached to this world and this physical reality. Suicide while happy recognizes impermanence and that the state of being human is just a transient thing.
What if Amina and I stayed together? My life would be closed, complacent, boring. I would think I was happy just because I was with her. I wouldn't question it. I would have gone to Oberlin for her commencement. We would have had a good time, reunited, sense of togetherness and being a part of each other. We would have packed up her stuff and headed to California. We would build upon what we had built thus far, same jokes, same understanding of each other. We would stick with each other, do things together, be identified as a single unit. But Amina saw what was wrong with that picture first - I was willing to ignore it and cover it over just to be with her.
Now with Tria and Joy. Now with the way I feel about myself now. I wouldn't give any of it up to have stayed with Amina seven months ago. I didn't like who I was when I was with her. I don't like her anymore or what I remember of her. Bad taste in my mouth.
"Dear Tria,
How thoroughly I've changed in the past half year. If we had met six or seven months ago, you would have met a completely different person. I feel so different now that I might as well be in a different skin compared to back then.
I might not have noticed how I've changed if I hadn't met you. From the first time we spoke, you made me feel . . . strange. It's clearer in retrospect, but I definitely recognized a strange feeling, even if I wasn't able to pinpoint and define what it was.
Being with you was different than being with anyone else I knew. It made me wonder why and what was going on with me. It struck me that I felt very comfortable with you, which meant that I must be feeling comfortable with myself to some degree, and I had stopped entertaining the possibility of that ever happening again.
I'm not sure I can explain it. Since meeting you my life has taken on a different feel. I've been kinda happy and uncharacteristically relaxed and calm. Almost to the point of amazement. I think I'm even different from a month ago, but looking at the past half year, I can trace a transformation that is almost complete.
Things aren't perfect and rosy, I still have my hard days, but I'm looking forward and I see challenges that I hadn't realized were there before. I told you about feeling comfortable about being alone. That's a facet of being comfortable with myself. I can deal with myself and I don't need to rely on someone else to locate myself within the framework of my own life."
I suggested to Tria that I wasn't comfortable with her. The irony is that without Tria, I would have completely lost my sense of humor by now. If it weren't for Tria, I would have been consumed. Being with Tria forced me to play a certain part that I wouldn't have otherwise; carefree, goofy, not serious. She skewed the bitterness that was growing and made it light. And the further irony is that without that, I wouldn't be able to be the person I am with Joy. I can let myself be happy and smile and not brood on the past.
Driving home from rehearsal last night with John. I think I am happy. I am happy. It means I can die any time. I can commit suicide and that's alright. That's it. That's all. I've told myself before that I would only commit suicide if I was happy. Despair and misery are bad states of mind in which to kill oneself. Committing suicide because you're miserable means being too attached to this world and this physical reality. Suicide while happy recognizes impermanence and that the state of being human is just a transient thing.
What if Amina and I stayed together? My life would be closed, complacent, boring. I would think I was happy just because I was with her. I wouldn't question it. I would have gone to Oberlin for her commencement. We would have had a good time, reunited, sense of togetherness and being a part of each other. We would have packed up her stuff and headed to California. We would build upon what we had built thus far, same jokes, same understanding of each other. We would stick with each other, do things together, be identified as a single unit. But Amina saw what was wrong with that picture first - I was willing to ignore it and cover it over just to be with her.
Now with Tria and Joy. Now with the way I feel about myself now. I wouldn't give any of it up to have stayed with Amina seven months ago. I didn't like who I was when I was with her. I don't like her anymore or what I remember of her. Bad taste in my mouth.
Saturday, July 16, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
We talked for hours and hours. I've had immediate attractions to people, as well as crushes, but I don't think I've fallen in love with someone as fast as I did with Joy. Of course, it's very possible that I'm taking this all wrong. I would be fine with that. I have apprehensions about getting involved with someone at this point, wouldn't anyone be just a rebound from Amina?
I could easily say to myself that I don't want to get involved with anyone, I'm not ready for that kind of involvement. I just want to fall in love with someone.
But I wouldn't run away from her if she wanted to get involved. And I have fallen in love so fast before. Hiromi. Amina.
I waited on the corner of Fulton and Durant in Berkeley. I felt like I was waiting for someone already familiar. I felt calm. She waved from across the street when I looked up and saw her. I noticed her walk and how she sort of bobbed. She seemed confident and relaxed. She was smiling. I felt a playful push on my shoulder and walked up to her. It was a little scary how familiar she felt; shouldn't I be a little more formal; a little more social?
We started from a cafe that didn't have coffee, and subsequently moved to a spot of green on the Berkeley campus, to a spot of shade, to a spot of sun. Moment flowed into each other moment, all of it comfortable. Why I feel comfortable with her I don't know. I had told Tria that I don't feel comfortable with myself, implying that I wasn't comfortable with anyone else either. I don't know what it is.
It's been hard after Amina to have the confidence in myself to feel comfortable and to feel that someone might find me attractive. I still can't come to terms with someone caring about me. I don't care anything about Amina anymore, but her effect on me lingers on. Those two years of being friends were so stupid, so fake. We should have gone out earlier and gotten it over with. Instead we had those two years in which I irrevocably fell in love with her. There was nothing in the year that we went out that was good that lasted. I don't have any good memories of myself with her. But I also know that my memory of Amina is no longer right anymore.
I can't quite pin down my exact feelings about me and Joy. It's more than just liking her. I'm reluctant, but I'm not scared. I'm insecure but I don't care. I trust Joy, but I don't trust myself or my reality.
Looking at myself with Joy in the picture is so different from the way I've been seeing myself in the past half year. All of a sudden I want to try? All of a sudden I care? All of a sudden I'm alive? How could that be?
I've been so confused and ungrounded. I haven't been concerned about my future, all of a sudden it's important?
I could easily say to myself that I don't want to get involved with anyone, I'm not ready for that kind of involvement. I just want to fall in love with someone.
But I wouldn't run away from her if she wanted to get involved. And I have fallen in love so fast before. Hiromi. Amina.
I waited on the corner of Fulton and Durant in Berkeley. I felt like I was waiting for someone already familiar. I felt calm. She waved from across the street when I looked up and saw her. I noticed her walk and how she sort of bobbed. She seemed confident and relaxed. She was smiling. I felt a playful push on my shoulder and walked up to her. It was a little scary how familiar she felt; shouldn't I be a little more formal; a little more social?
We started from a cafe that didn't have coffee, and subsequently moved to a spot of green on the Berkeley campus, to a spot of shade, to a spot of sun. Moment flowed into each other moment, all of it comfortable. Why I feel comfortable with her I don't know. I had told Tria that I don't feel comfortable with myself, implying that I wasn't comfortable with anyone else either. I don't know what it is.
It's been hard after Amina to have the confidence in myself to feel comfortable and to feel that someone might find me attractive. I still can't come to terms with someone caring about me. I don't care anything about Amina anymore, but her effect on me lingers on. Those two years of being friends were so stupid, so fake. We should have gone out earlier and gotten it over with. Instead we had those two years in which I irrevocably fell in love with her. There was nothing in the year that we went out that was good that lasted. I don't have any good memories of myself with her. But I also know that my memory of Amina is no longer right anymore.
I can't quite pin down my exact feelings about me and Joy. It's more than just liking her. I'm reluctant, but I'm not scared. I'm insecure but I don't care. I trust Joy, but I don't trust myself or my reality.
Looking at myself with Joy in the picture is so different from the way I've been seeing myself in the past half year. All of a sudden I want to try? All of a sudden I care? All of a sudden I'm alive? How could that be?
I've been so confused and ungrounded. I haven't been concerned about my future, all of a sudden it's important?
Friday, July 15, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
It's hard to listen to my own music. I still mean almost everything I wrote in the songs from the “One After Another” collection. “Indigo and Grey” is particularly hard to listen to because of its continuing relevance, all packed into five and half minutes. I push the play button and five and a half minutes later, the song is done, the point is made; supposed to have been made.
Five and a half minutes for years of poorly developed feelings. The song is not done, it isn't justice to myself, but it was the best I could do to express myself. Why am I even trying to put feelings into songs, cramming my feelings into these little bits of time and tape? It's frustrating because I know other people can do it. Other people cram and condense feelings into three minutes and the music touches people. My music barely touches me.
indigo and grey
I read the book Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto. It made me feel comfortable about being alone. Not feeling lonely, the sentiment, but alone, the condition of being. Here I am, voyeur that I am, reading about the character in the book making observations and reflecting upon them the way I might if I were the character in the book. I live my life like someone is observing me, reading about my story. How would my daily life be described?
I finally screwed up the courage to call Joy tonight. I know so little about her. I have no idea what she thinks about me. She is the total opposite of Tria; the total opposite of what in Tria has been so important to me. I don't know why Joy attracts me. She seems serious, whereas Tria has saved my sense of humor. She's saved my life with her sense of humor, a sense of humor that feels like it would be wasted on Joy. But something about Joy touches me. Something about her can intuit and empathize with my feelings more than Tria ever could. But that's not necessarily a good thing, and not necessarily what I need in my life at this point.
I like talking to Joy and there is a lot that I want to tell her. Maybe that is what I need at this point that Tria can't offer. But telling Joy about me still feels like teaching her. I'm so buried in my self. It's so complicated. Still, something in her being, the way she exists. Something in her personality, the way she listens and hears. In her eyes and in the way she looks. Boy, I'm leaving myself wide open. We just met.
I feel tugs, and we talked for a decent amount of time tonight. She agreed easily enough to get together tomorrow. It was easy enough for her to decline if she didn't want to, but she agreed, and we'll get together tomorrow and I can see if what I saw in her was at all real. As if I have any idea what is real.
Five and a half minutes for years of poorly developed feelings. The song is not done, it isn't justice to myself, but it was the best I could do to express myself. Why am I even trying to put feelings into songs, cramming my feelings into these little bits of time and tape? It's frustrating because I know other people can do it. Other people cram and condense feelings into three minutes and the music touches people. My music barely touches me.
indigo and grey
I read the book Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto. It made me feel comfortable about being alone. Not feeling lonely, the sentiment, but alone, the condition of being. Here I am, voyeur that I am, reading about the character in the book making observations and reflecting upon them the way I might if I were the character in the book. I live my life like someone is observing me, reading about my story. How would my daily life be described?
I finally screwed up the courage to call Joy tonight. I know so little about her. I have no idea what she thinks about me. She is the total opposite of Tria; the total opposite of what in Tria has been so important to me. I don't know why Joy attracts me. She seems serious, whereas Tria has saved my sense of humor. She's saved my life with her sense of humor, a sense of humor that feels like it would be wasted on Joy. But something about Joy touches me. Something about her can intuit and empathize with my feelings more than Tria ever could. But that's not necessarily a good thing, and not necessarily what I need in my life at this point.
I like talking to Joy and there is a lot that I want to tell her. Maybe that is what I need at this point that Tria can't offer. But telling Joy about me still feels like teaching her. I'm so buried in my self. It's so complicated. Still, something in her being, the way she exists. Something in her personality, the way she listens and hears. In her eyes and in the way she looks. Boy, I'm leaving myself wide open. We just met.
I feel tugs, and we talked for a decent amount of time tonight. She agreed easily enough to get together tomorrow. It was easy enough for her to decline if she didn't want to, but she agreed, and we'll get together tomorrow and I can see if what I saw in her was at all real. As if I have any idea what is real.
Thursday, July 07, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
I can't concern myself with too many things. Nothing can be that important to me.
Amina is gone. Tria is going to start going out with someone any day now. Out of the Bay Area, Vikki and Lisa are the only people that mean anything anymore. I don't see much of anyone anymore. Joy was the first thing to tug at my heart since a long while, and I know nothing about her.
I'm recording another set of songs. I'm trying to just get 30 minutes worth of songs, and things are coming along. Nothing good, nothing that accurately conveys my feelings or meanings, but at least there is something in some musical form that I've been able to put down on tape. I have three songs recorded, awaiting lyrics; two songs complete, awaiting recording; three ideas awaiting development.
I've had it with trying to find Asian American musicians. Once I'm done with this tape, I'm just going to circulate it as widely as possible to find anyone who might want to form a band.
The R&B band is going to break up after we perform once in August. The question actually has been hiding in the wings whether we'd continue, but I think the general feeling is that we'll play once and we've basically had enough of each other.
I don't have any catering work scheduled. I'm not going to find anything else before school starts again. Tria got me involved in a Youth Leadership Seminar that is being held in Japantown. It starts this weekend. I really haven't contributed much even though I'm supposed to be participating in the planning. I feel like I'm just hanging out with Tria. I wasn't recognized as being part of the planning committee, even though I've been to all the planning meetings. Story of my life.
Nothing worth much these days. My life, my prospects, my future, my feelings.
Amina is gone. Tria is going to start going out with someone any day now. Out of the Bay Area, Vikki and Lisa are the only people that mean anything anymore. I don't see much of anyone anymore. Joy was the first thing to tug at my heart since a long while, and I know nothing about her.
I'm recording another set of songs. I'm trying to just get 30 minutes worth of songs, and things are coming along. Nothing good, nothing that accurately conveys my feelings or meanings, but at least there is something in some musical form that I've been able to put down on tape. I have three songs recorded, awaiting lyrics; two songs complete, awaiting recording; three ideas awaiting development.
I've had it with trying to find Asian American musicians. Once I'm done with this tape, I'm just going to circulate it as widely as possible to find anyone who might want to form a band.
The R&B band is going to break up after we perform once in August. The question actually has been hiding in the wings whether we'd continue, but I think the general feeling is that we'll play once and we've basically had enough of each other.
I don't have any catering work scheduled. I'm not going to find anything else before school starts again. Tria got me involved in a Youth Leadership Seminar that is being held in Japantown. It starts this weekend. I really haven't contributed much even though I'm supposed to be participating in the planning. I feel like I'm just hanging out with Tria. I wasn't recognized as being part of the planning committee, even though I've been to all the planning meetings. Story of my life.
Nothing worth much these days. My life, my prospects, my future, my feelings.
Friday, July 01, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
My past is marked by a trail of fuck ups. Fuck ups upon fuck ups upon fuck ups. Sparks of good and nice things that flash like lightning, but overall, what a mess I've made of my life; of this lifetime.
Lisa has been here for a week. She's been staying with Nobuko. She's great, I love hanging out with her. It would be cool if she moved here. If she's not around, though, she's no different than anyone else.
People are lame. I've been trying to spend as much time with her as possible and making time for her. She was complaining a few days ago how lame everyone else is. Most of the Oberlin crowd is hardly concerned that she's around, no big deal, they want to get together with her, but only when it's convenient for them.
Lisa has been here for a week. She's been staying with Nobuko. She's great, I love hanging out with her. It would be cool if she moved here. If she's not around, though, she's no different than anyone else.
People are lame. I've been trying to spend as much time with her as possible and making time for her. She was complaining a few days ago how lame everyone else is. Most of the Oberlin crowd is hardly concerned that she's around, no big deal, they want to get together with her, but only when it's convenient for them.
Wednesday, June 22, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
I had a love so solid and so definite and it dissolved into nothingness. Did the love and care even exist in the first place? Were they just appearances, a front for something I can't touch or realize. What about the illusion of Shiho that I hold so dear? Can't that love just as easily be discarded? Do I trust Shiho? Could I? How can I trust anything anymore. I don't. Not even my own existence. My existence is hardly a solid and definite thing anymore and it hardly has any significance or reliable substance.
What is so important about our existences? We float in, we float out. People go on vacations, they go home after the party, they leave the stage after the act. They move to other states, they move to other countries, they die. It all boils down to absence and the future access. But what's the big deal? People who die are like people who move away and you never hear from again. Why should my feelings toward Amina be any different if she were dead? Dead only means dead to this existence, it's only absence. People who are true friends will always find each other in different lifetimes.
If Amina and I never meet again, eventually I wouldn't be saddened by her absence. There would always be the possibility of running into her, regardless of how unlikely that is. But if she died, I would be saddened by her death, despite the realization that we probably never would have met each other anyway.
I don't trust in anything anymore because that's the way it should be. I don't feel or believe in the importance of my life because that is the way it should be. Care doesn't exist for me anymore. Care is just another word for awareness. I care about people, but I don't think my caring makes any difference at all to anybody. It's mine alone, all I can do is be aware of other people's situations and be concerned to that limited extent.
No one "cares" about me. No one can have an effect on me or the way I live my life, so no one can care about me. No one can care about me in a way I can believe or accept. I must accept myself for who I am. I can't deal with my problems because I never learned to deal with problems. I never witnessed problems effectively dealt with. I grew up in a family that covered up and ignored problems and always pretended that everything was rosy.
I have huge problems looming over me, inside me, eating and rotting me away, creating pressure around every cell from every direction and there is nothing I can do about it. I can't approach the problems, I can't face them, much less do anything about them, much less tell anyone about them.
Is it low self-image? I know I have an immense self-hatred and I know that these things are a result of my upbringing and intensify now due to the loss of a support group and other external factors that have worked to counterbalance my disadvantages. I know that my feelings about my inadequacies and failures and failings are merely perceptions. I know that from another point of view, I'm doing better than fine. That is not the way I feel, and knowing it doesn't do a thing to help cope with it.
What is so important about our existences? We float in, we float out. People go on vacations, they go home after the party, they leave the stage after the act. They move to other states, they move to other countries, they die. It all boils down to absence and the future access. But what's the big deal? People who die are like people who move away and you never hear from again. Why should my feelings toward Amina be any different if she were dead? Dead only means dead to this existence, it's only absence. People who are true friends will always find each other in different lifetimes.
If Amina and I never meet again, eventually I wouldn't be saddened by her absence. There would always be the possibility of running into her, regardless of how unlikely that is. But if she died, I would be saddened by her death, despite the realization that we probably never would have met each other anyway.
I don't trust in anything anymore because that's the way it should be. I don't feel or believe in the importance of my life because that is the way it should be. Care doesn't exist for me anymore. Care is just another word for awareness. I care about people, but I don't think my caring makes any difference at all to anybody. It's mine alone, all I can do is be aware of other people's situations and be concerned to that limited extent.
No one "cares" about me. No one can have an effect on me or the way I live my life, so no one can care about me. No one can care about me in a way I can believe or accept. I must accept myself for who I am. I can't deal with my problems because I never learned to deal with problems. I never witnessed problems effectively dealt with. I grew up in a family that covered up and ignored problems and always pretended that everything was rosy.
I have huge problems looming over me, inside me, eating and rotting me away, creating pressure around every cell from every direction and there is nothing I can do about it. I can't approach the problems, I can't face them, much less do anything about them, much less tell anyone about them.
Is it low self-image? I know I have an immense self-hatred and I know that these things are a result of my upbringing and intensify now due to the loss of a support group and other external factors that have worked to counterbalance my disadvantages. I know that my feelings about my inadequacies and failures and failings are merely perceptions. I know that from another point of view, I'm doing better than fine. That is not the way I feel, and knowing it doesn't do a thing to help cope with it.
Monday, June 13, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
School starts in two months. I might as well stop looking for a job. Life frozen static. My frustration with my life and living isn't my state of mind, it isn't my whole life. It's just the getting from day to day, the breathing, the eating, the surviving.
My life as a whole is still what it always has been and I'm fine with that. I like having nothing to live for and not minding dying at any point. That's how I want to live my life, not looking for far off goals with desire as my motivation. That doesn't make much sense. If that's so, then what's the problem with getting from day to day?
Frances visited last week. We had a pretty good time. We went to St. Helena and got drunk, climbed rocks and cliffs along the coast, went up into the Marin Headlands. There was no real spark of friendship though, she felt only like a guest. Just a guest.
I've become so desensitized towards people and friends. With Frances there is still fallout from the frustration of her past two incredibly unhealthy relationships. Truth to tell, it would have made no difference if she didn't visit or hadn't gotten back in touch with me in the first place. It's good that she did and I'm glad for it, but it wouldn't have been for the worse if she hadn't.
Tria is a little different. I've been liking our friendship. I might even trust her. She's a lot of fun to be with and has kept my mind off how my life is going nowhere. I noticed while Frances was here that the only reason why I still have any sense of humor left is because of Tria.
Tria is great, but it is only a friendship. I would like to start going out with someone again. Frances and I talked about factors that would contribute to the ideal life or living. For me, finding that one special person is the most important thing. Not much else would make life worth living than finding that person that makes me feel comfortable in my skin.
I believe that Amina and I have met before in previous lifetimes. I think we go back a long way and every once in a while, in terms of lifetimes, our circumstances allow us to find each other. We have met each other in previous lifetimes in perhaps many different relationships. Maybe we've been lovers before, maybe parent-child, maybe siblings, maybe lifelong friends, maybe sworn enemies, maybe student-teacher, maybe rapist-victim, maybe Romeo and Juliet, maybe in some lifetimes we've left each other in the deepest of love, maybe in some our relationship was never resolved.
What happened to us in this lifetime may be so trivial. Our forms in Amina and Koji may seem so all-important, but we are just an episode. We knew each other for the whole of three years, how many years had passed before we met, how many more will pass now without each other. This is just one lifetime that failed. Many others we had been happy together, or happy in our separation with a love so strong. Maybe unhappy together or apart. This is just one lifetime.
It's not that important. We will live again and we will be brought together again. The child grew in the mother only to be born dead. Things look so promising only to be cut down unexpectedly. Our civilization grew only to be snuffed out by nuclear war. But other planets, other star systems, other dimensions, life and imagination goes on because that is the stuff of God.
I am here in this lifetime to learn to not be deceived or disturbed by appearances, they are only illusions. To be unaffected and unsaddened by them, they are only facts. The real life is in the learning and the growing. Amina is only an appearance of a soul that I know infinitely well. What she did is nothing. It was done by a woman I know as Amina. And that woman is just a single manifestation of a soul that is so much larger than either of us can ever imagine. I must cut through the appearance of Amina and see her true self so that I may recognize it in the future. But in the future, she will be the one who looks for me and teaches me how to forgive.
But maybe this isn't an end, just a beginning. That heart of Amina came and went and may never be a part of my life again. But maybe she opened something up for someone else to come in and teach me; someone I haven't recognized yet. Maybe Amina has absolutely nothing to do with anything.
My life as a whole is still what it always has been and I'm fine with that. I like having nothing to live for and not minding dying at any point. That's how I want to live my life, not looking for far off goals with desire as my motivation. That doesn't make much sense. If that's so, then what's the problem with getting from day to day?
Frances visited last week. We had a pretty good time. We went to St. Helena and got drunk, climbed rocks and cliffs along the coast, went up into the Marin Headlands. There was no real spark of friendship though, she felt only like a guest. Just a guest.
I've become so desensitized towards people and friends. With Frances there is still fallout from the frustration of her past two incredibly unhealthy relationships. Truth to tell, it would have made no difference if she didn't visit or hadn't gotten back in touch with me in the first place. It's good that she did and I'm glad for it, but it wouldn't have been for the worse if she hadn't.
Tria is a little different. I've been liking our friendship. I might even trust her. She's a lot of fun to be with and has kept my mind off how my life is going nowhere. I noticed while Frances was here that the only reason why I still have any sense of humor left is because of Tria.
Tria is great, but it is only a friendship. I would like to start going out with someone again. Frances and I talked about factors that would contribute to the ideal life or living. For me, finding that one special person is the most important thing. Not much else would make life worth living than finding that person that makes me feel comfortable in my skin.
I believe that Amina and I have met before in previous lifetimes. I think we go back a long way and every once in a while, in terms of lifetimes, our circumstances allow us to find each other. We have met each other in previous lifetimes in perhaps many different relationships. Maybe we've been lovers before, maybe parent-child, maybe siblings, maybe lifelong friends, maybe sworn enemies, maybe student-teacher, maybe rapist-victim, maybe Romeo and Juliet, maybe in some lifetimes we've left each other in the deepest of love, maybe in some our relationship was never resolved.
What happened to us in this lifetime may be so trivial. Our forms in Amina and Koji may seem so all-important, but we are just an episode. We knew each other for the whole of three years, how many years had passed before we met, how many more will pass now without each other. This is just one lifetime that failed. Many others we had been happy together, or happy in our separation with a love so strong. Maybe unhappy together or apart. This is just one lifetime.
It's not that important. We will live again and we will be brought together again. The child grew in the mother only to be born dead. Things look so promising only to be cut down unexpectedly. Our civilization grew only to be snuffed out by nuclear war. But other planets, other star systems, other dimensions, life and imagination goes on because that is the stuff of God.
I am here in this lifetime to learn to not be deceived or disturbed by appearances, they are only illusions. To be unaffected and unsaddened by them, they are only facts. The real life is in the learning and the growing. Amina is only an appearance of a soul that I know infinitely well. What she did is nothing. It was done by a woman I know as Amina. And that woman is just a single manifestation of a soul that is so much larger than either of us can ever imagine. I must cut through the appearance of Amina and see her true self so that I may recognize it in the future. But in the future, she will be the one who looks for me and teaches me how to forgive.
But maybe this isn't an end, just a beginning. That heart of Amina came and went and may never be a part of my life again. But maybe she opened something up for someone else to come in and teach me; someone I haven't recognized yet. Maybe Amina has absolutely nothing to do with anything.
Sunday, June 12, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
I did my second function with the catering company and it was actually enjoyable, even without Tria there on the job. It's about people, I guess. Even though they were all white, the rest of the crew is what made it enjoyable. They had a rapport and camaraderie that made working with them cool. I was glad to find that I could adapt to doing that sort of thing, with that sort of people, for that sort of people.
The job was up in Marin, and as long as I was up there, I managed to catch up with Tria and we hung out for several hours. It was pleasant being with her. She really is quite fun, and occasionally, only occasionally, we can engage in a conversation of a more serious nature.
Just before I reached her house, I hit and killed a rabbit with my car. That really shook me up and threw my reality into disarray. I had felt that I would never kill an animal with my car. I felt that was just a given, it wouldn't happen. I felt that I was special because of that. I barely even saw the rabbit. Just a flash in the corner of my eye, an unexpected movement in the headlights, I automatically swerved and I could have sworn that I didn't hit it. But then I decided to stop and go back to just to make sure, and when I saw the rabbit's body, I was shocked. I was stunned and pulled the car over immediately. I felt empty and drained in disbelief. I felt betrayed. I've always felt protected by an angel or a spirit, and part of that protection entailed my not harming innocent animals with my car. I got out to look for a stick to at least push the rabbit to the side of the road, but just then another came by and hit the rabbit again with a sickening sound.
So much for faith in certain things. Can I be so sure now that I will never attend any funeral of anyone close to me? Can I be sure that I will die before anyone I know? That is another given.
Of all animals, why did it have to be a rabbit?
The job was up in Marin, and as long as I was up there, I managed to catch up with Tria and we hung out for several hours. It was pleasant being with her. She really is quite fun, and occasionally, only occasionally, we can engage in a conversation of a more serious nature.
Just before I reached her house, I hit and killed a rabbit with my car. That really shook me up and threw my reality into disarray. I had felt that I would never kill an animal with my car. I felt that was just a given, it wouldn't happen. I felt that I was special because of that. I barely even saw the rabbit. Just a flash in the corner of my eye, an unexpected movement in the headlights, I automatically swerved and I could have sworn that I didn't hit it. But then I decided to stop and go back to just to make sure, and when I saw the rabbit's body, I was shocked. I was stunned and pulled the car over immediately. I felt empty and drained in disbelief. I felt betrayed. I've always felt protected by an angel or a spirit, and part of that protection entailed my not harming innocent animals with my car. I got out to look for a stick to at least push the rabbit to the side of the road, but just then another came by and hit the rabbit again with a sickening sound.
So much for faith in certain things. Can I be so sure now that I will never attend any funeral of anyone close to me? Can I be sure that I will die before anyone I know? That is another given.
Of all animals, why did it have to be a rabbit?
Friday, May 27, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
What am I here to know?
From my experience, seeds of learning get planted at one point, and then traveling through the timeline of life, I reach another point where an experience helps the learnings germinate and grow. Other seeds don't have a catalyzing experience and they never develop significance.
Sometimes we're lucky enough to have an opportunity to have another experience that lets us see the original seeds; the source of the learning, because usually when we have an experience we learn from, we don't remember the source of the learning, why a particular experience has significance to learn from it. A lot of the seeds may be from early childhood or previous lives. This is just from my own experience.
I learned this from the PBS "Cosmos" series by Carl Sagan. That was just the metaphor for the learning. I had watched the series a long time ago. Subsequently through the years I learned stuff. And then I watched the series again and realized that the seeds for a lot of what I learned was sourced in the ideas from Cosmos.
I think I'm here to learn to not be affected or saddened by what I know are just appearances. Amina made it really difficult, but it was all just appearances. I can forgive it, I can let it go. I can try to love her despite my instinct to hate her. I know full well that deep down I do love her. What she did was shitty, I hate what she did, but someday I may learn to not even hate that. She is not characterized by just one of her actions.
Just appearances. A woman called Amina. A person called Amina. I will never get back together with Amina, I may never let her back into my life again. It's all appearances, what matters is what is not seen. Our souls and spirits. They transcend these bodies and this lifetime. If the magnetism between us, the gravity that attracted us into each others lives is what is real, then we will meet each other again. We may not remember this, but it will happen.
Our time together in this life. It was just a scratch on the surface. We only spent a minuscule amount of time with each other in this lifetime. It has been shattered. And in that time, I loved her so deeply.
Her name is vile in my mouth now. "Amina" is just an appearance. Remove the name, remember the heart, the images, the impact. Not the actions. I learned from her and if what we touched in each other transcends lifetimes, then there will always be other lifetimes. This lifetime is insignificant, just appearances. Just one time out of countless times we have met, known, and loved each other. This lifetime is pain, what has happened in this lifetime is what was meant to happen in this lifetime.
From my experience, seeds of learning get planted at one point, and then traveling through the timeline of life, I reach another point where an experience helps the learnings germinate and grow. Other seeds don't have a catalyzing experience and they never develop significance.
Sometimes we're lucky enough to have an opportunity to have another experience that lets us see the original seeds; the source of the learning, because usually when we have an experience we learn from, we don't remember the source of the learning, why a particular experience has significance to learn from it. A lot of the seeds may be from early childhood or previous lives. This is just from my own experience.
I learned this from the PBS "Cosmos" series by Carl Sagan. That was just the metaphor for the learning. I had watched the series a long time ago. Subsequently through the years I learned stuff. And then I watched the series again and realized that the seeds for a lot of what I learned was sourced in the ideas from Cosmos.
I think I'm here to learn to not be affected or saddened by what I know are just appearances. Amina made it really difficult, but it was all just appearances. I can forgive it, I can let it go. I can try to love her despite my instinct to hate her. I know full well that deep down I do love her. What she did was shitty, I hate what she did, but someday I may learn to not even hate that. She is not characterized by just one of her actions.
Just appearances. A woman called Amina. A person called Amina. I will never get back together with Amina, I may never let her back into my life again. It's all appearances, what matters is what is not seen. Our souls and spirits. They transcend these bodies and this lifetime. If the magnetism between us, the gravity that attracted us into each others lives is what is real, then we will meet each other again. We may not remember this, but it will happen.
Our time together in this life. It was just a scratch on the surface. We only spent a minuscule amount of time with each other in this lifetime. It has been shattered. And in that time, I loved her so deeply.
Her name is vile in my mouth now. "Amina" is just an appearance. Remove the name, remember the heart, the images, the impact. Not the actions. I learned from her and if what we touched in each other transcends lifetimes, then there will always be other lifetimes. This lifetime is insignificant, just appearances. Just one time out of countless times we have met, known, and loved each other. This lifetime is pain, what has happened in this lifetime is what was meant to happen in this lifetime.
Friday, May 20, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
Life in a daze, floating through waking and sleep, frustrated by the absolutes imposed by reality. Memory as an enemy. I want to forget everything. I don't want to be a part of anything or anyone else. I want to be completely detached, to cut out, to drift off taking nothing with me and leaving nothing behind.
And as memory acts as my enemy, it builds and more and more is added to it. Each month that passes is another volume of entries into my memory, bits of information that I can reflect upon, talk about, carry like baggage for the rest of my life. It gets added up in here.
Memories assault me. New Jersey. The red house, the yellow house, the same house, the white house. I have brothers? The 'rents? The list goes on and on and I can dig out countless memories that I would rather have erased.
A memory of Shiho and me in New Jersey. High school. A warm, sunny, Spring day at the 'rent's house. We only know English and the U.S. and we're together. She sees me a certain way. I see her another way. We couldn't guess how little we would know of each other's lives ten years hence. So much that we would never discuss, so much that we would have to lie to each other about.
Memories distilled. We are different people and I still love her. If only we hadn't lost so much time. If only we could build something good out of all the bad that has happened in either my life or our lives.
Not much matters here in this daze. The 'rents are far away and I'm untouchable. My oppression is my own. So much doesn't matter anymore. I'm losing touch with myself. My skin bothers me, itching and welting up nightly. It's never been so severe before. The hearing in my right ear is going funny. I don't think it's permanent though.
It would feel so good to shed this skin. To head up high above the earth and hover and watch and see everything happen. Just to observe from a distance. Life as a spectator sport. Life can be. Life is.
And as memory acts as my enemy, it builds and more and more is added to it. Each month that passes is another volume of entries into my memory, bits of information that I can reflect upon, talk about, carry like baggage for the rest of my life. It gets added up in here.
Memories assault me. New Jersey. The red house, the yellow house, the same house, the white house. I have brothers? The 'rents? The list goes on and on and I can dig out countless memories that I would rather have erased.
A memory of Shiho and me in New Jersey. High school. A warm, sunny, Spring day at the 'rent's house. We only know English and the U.S. and we're together. She sees me a certain way. I see her another way. We couldn't guess how little we would know of each other's lives ten years hence. So much that we would never discuss, so much that we would have to lie to each other about.
Memories distilled. We are different people and I still love her. If only we hadn't lost so much time. If only we could build something good out of all the bad that has happened in either my life or our lives.
Not much matters here in this daze. The 'rents are far away and I'm untouchable. My oppression is my own. So much doesn't matter anymore. I'm losing touch with myself. My skin bothers me, itching and welting up nightly. It's never been so severe before. The hearing in my right ear is going funny. I don't think it's permanent though.
It would feel so good to shed this skin. To head up high above the earth and hover and watch and see everything happen. Just to observe from a distance. Life as a spectator sport. Life can be. Life is.
Tuesday, May 10, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
My life couldn't be more boring. Looking for jobs is futile without any prior experience. Dead in the water. Fortunately, Tria hooked me up with the catering company she works for. At least it's something. Tria is actually the fastest developing thing in my life. I do trust my judgment in friends, but it really is hard to negotiate someone who didn't go to Oberlin. Oberlin has become a curse. It feels like something happened there that wasn't normal and now we have to try to live with it in real society. Agent Oberlin. We have to recover and recuperate from Oberlin.
I can't make assumptions with Tria the way I can with Oberlin folk, and it doesn't matter how careful I am with words. Even if I hit the exact right word to express my thought, it doesn't feel like Tria takes the step in my direction to understand the meaning of the word and why I chose that particular word. It's frustrating trying to explain myself and not being able to get through because our assumptions and backgrounds are totally different. Or that we didn't have the same college education. I can't start painting a picture and count on her to fill in blank spots. If I want to communicate an apple, I have to paint an apple.
Sometimes I don't know if she's understanding what I say the way I mean it. Sometimes I don't know if she's listening. Sometimes I don't know if she wants to hear what I'm saying at all. Oberlin was intense. We derived meaning from our experience by keeping open ears. In the real world, there's more, "I never had to think about this before and I really don't want to now. So I'm going to stop listening."
But she's been wonderful and I feel like I'm getting a lot from her. She brings things out in me which I really need. Things are tight and cozy with my Oberlin cronies. They are stimulating, but they also are not challenging in the way you get when you deal with someone who is totally different from you. With Oberlin folk, I can ask them what they studied, what they did, and where they hung out, and I'd have an idea about what they know and how to approach them. With Tria, I'm totally in the dark. I'm confounded by her use of "girls" in reference to women.
Well, whatever I feel about Tria, it's because I want to feel that way about her. She's not getting in too deep. I appreciate her and I think she's good for me, so I hope we continue being friends.
I can't make assumptions with Tria the way I can with Oberlin folk, and it doesn't matter how careful I am with words. Even if I hit the exact right word to express my thought, it doesn't feel like Tria takes the step in my direction to understand the meaning of the word and why I chose that particular word. It's frustrating trying to explain myself and not being able to get through because our assumptions and backgrounds are totally different. Or that we didn't have the same college education. I can't start painting a picture and count on her to fill in blank spots. If I want to communicate an apple, I have to paint an apple.
Sometimes I don't know if she's understanding what I say the way I mean it. Sometimes I don't know if she's listening. Sometimes I don't know if she wants to hear what I'm saying at all. Oberlin was intense. We derived meaning from our experience by keeping open ears. In the real world, there's more, "I never had to think about this before and I really don't want to now. So I'm going to stop listening."
But she's been wonderful and I feel like I'm getting a lot from her. She brings things out in me which I really need. Things are tight and cozy with my Oberlin cronies. They are stimulating, but they also are not challenging in the way you get when you deal with someone who is totally different from you. With Oberlin folk, I can ask them what they studied, what they did, and where they hung out, and I'd have an idea about what they know and how to approach them. With Tria, I'm totally in the dark. I'm confounded by her use of "girls" in reference to women.
Well, whatever I feel about Tria, it's because I want to feel that way about her. She's not getting in too deep. I appreciate her and I think she's good for me, so I hope we continue being friends.
Friday, April 29, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
When the news of Kurt Cobain's suicide first broke, the news aired a clip of a teenage girl saying that she lost all respect for him and that killing himself was a cowardly thing to do. Of course the media is going to be quick to air something like that. They need to invalidate him for the safety and security of society at large. They had to put him down and cover him up to make sure no one that his music touched would see his suicide and follow his example.
Kurt Cobain was being called the 'voice of a generation'. He captured and expressed the alienation and disillusionment of today's youth through his music. He was a great cultural icon, an anchor, a signpost to let people on the outside know what was going on in today's youth subculture.
But once he lived up to his words and killed himself, then he became dangerous. He was the real deal, not just a poser; not just a personality to exploit. A 'voice of a generation' that kills himself can be a very dangerous thing. He wasn't a character that the media could shape and toy with like Madonna, Michael Jackson, even Prince. Kurt Cobain's suicide was a dose of reality that the media couldn't control. All there is to do is to invalidate his life and death.
Kurt Cobain was only supposed to be the messenger, not the deliverer. He was supposed to keep the kids happy by expressing what they felt and let them feel a connection. He was supposed to fill the larger society in on what the kids were feeling. He wasn't supposed to demonstrate.
Our society is so cowardly when it comes to dealing with death, and the reality of death and its role in the life cycle. The move to invalidate Kurt Cobain's life by decrying his suicide, his death, is a symptom of society's inability to deal with death and to deny any negative side of reality that we face.
If society wasn't so cowardly, it would look more carefully at his death, and try harder to find out the reasons for his death and validate his life, and still be able to disseminate that suicide is not an answer to problems. It was Kurt Cobain's answer, but it's not the only answer. It was only his answer.
Kurt Cobain was being called the 'voice of a generation'. He captured and expressed the alienation and disillusionment of today's youth through his music. He was a great cultural icon, an anchor, a signpost to let people on the outside know what was going on in today's youth subculture.
But once he lived up to his words and killed himself, then he became dangerous. He was the real deal, not just a poser; not just a personality to exploit. A 'voice of a generation' that kills himself can be a very dangerous thing. He wasn't a character that the media could shape and toy with like Madonna, Michael Jackson, even Prince. Kurt Cobain's suicide was a dose of reality that the media couldn't control. All there is to do is to invalidate his life and death.
Kurt Cobain was only supposed to be the messenger, not the deliverer. He was supposed to keep the kids happy by expressing what they felt and let them feel a connection. He was supposed to fill the larger society in on what the kids were feeling. He wasn't supposed to demonstrate.
Our society is so cowardly when it comes to dealing with death, and the reality of death and its role in the life cycle. The move to invalidate Kurt Cobain's life by decrying his suicide, his death, is a symptom of society's inability to deal with death and to deny any negative side of reality that we face.
If society wasn't so cowardly, it would look more carefully at his death, and try harder to find out the reasons for his death and validate his life, and still be able to disseminate that suicide is not an answer to problems. It was Kurt Cobain's answer, but it's not the only answer. It was only his answer.
Monday, April 18, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
What if I do get a job? What if I do find a way to live? To survive, to support myself. To survive? To support myself? Will I be satisfied? Will I be fulfilled? Will that accomplish what I want out of life? I don't want to just survive. There has to be more than life than squeezing out survival day by day.
Vikki is visiting the Bay Area and things are much better between us than they were at the end of my time at Oberlin. I've matured. I can handle relationships better. And I think ManAlive has helped make me look at my behavior and interactions with loved ones more carefully. But things aren't perfect. The emotional dynamics are still there, and I still think she makes life miserable for herself.
April is half over and I haven't taken any steps to look for a job. Things are pretty miserable in my life, too. I don't really care, though.
Vikki is visiting the Bay Area and things are much better between us than they were at the end of my time at Oberlin. I've matured. I can handle relationships better. And I think ManAlive has helped make me look at my behavior and interactions with loved ones more carefully. But things aren't perfect. The emotional dynamics are still there, and I still think she makes life miserable for herself.
April is half over and I haven't taken any steps to look for a job. Things are pretty miserable in my life, too. I don't really care, though.
Tuesday, April 12, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
I want to blow my brains out.
Kurt Cobain's suicide awakened something in me that has never went away.
This isn't life, this is not all that there is, and I'm sick of it. I want to get to whatever's next, move on instead of slogging around in this illusion. None of this is real, nothing I get from my senses is real and not a single thought that goes through my mind is real. No one is real. If I kill myself and come back not having the knowledge I have now, at least I won't be tortured by this minimal knowledge.
I will know all of nothing rather than a little of an overwhelming lot, blissful in my ignorance, normal and happy to just make money and raise a family. I will suffer as a sentient, but at least I can be blissful. And if it's time for me to get to the next level, the sooner the better. Listen to myself: if I kill myself and come back. What am I talking about, there is no self to kill.
It would be so easy to die. It would be so easy to live. It would be so hard to die. It would be so hard to live.
Kurt Cobain's suicide, for some reason, is real. I don't know why. I want to scream. I want to break out of this. I want to let go. I want to remember everything. I can't go on denying things in my past. I hate my parents, I want to rip their throats out with my bare hands for all they don't know and all they don't realize.
I want to admit all the things I've done wrong and all my faults. I want to face humiliation and be embarrassed to death. I don't want to hide anymore. I want the truth to come out and to show and face the truth. I want the wall torn down and all my anomalies and contradictions exposed. And only by becoming public can I make those things not mine, not me.
Was there anything enlightened about Kurt Cobain? Anything spiritual? He had such an impact on so many people. But he also had no impact on so many people. How to look at it? He was just a pop star? He wrote brilliant songs, he was honest to himself. He was true to his nature and lived what he was and what he wrote. What he wrote was what he was.
What bullshit text states that enlightenment means you’re happy and blissful? What idiot says that being one with the universe means you smile and walk on flowers, yogi painted priest dog asshole. White people sure eat that shit up.
I hate Amina. I hate Amina with every morsel in me. I hate her as much as I hate the 'rents. I hate the thought of her and the thought of her makes me sick. I regret not having the chance to make her burn.
The funny thing is that I was never into Nirvana. Whatever I heard on the radio was really good, but their popularity was a flag to me that they were just a passing trend. My natural reaction is to stay away from trends until the hoopla dies down, and only then can I find out what substance is really there. But something about Cobain killing himself made it real, made it sincere.
Kurt Cobain's suicide awakened something in me that has never went away.
This isn't life, this is not all that there is, and I'm sick of it. I want to get to whatever's next, move on instead of slogging around in this illusion. None of this is real, nothing I get from my senses is real and not a single thought that goes through my mind is real. No one is real. If I kill myself and come back not having the knowledge I have now, at least I won't be tortured by this minimal knowledge.
I will know all of nothing rather than a little of an overwhelming lot, blissful in my ignorance, normal and happy to just make money and raise a family. I will suffer as a sentient, but at least I can be blissful. And if it's time for me to get to the next level, the sooner the better. Listen to myself: if I kill myself and come back. What am I talking about, there is no self to kill.
It would be so easy to die. It would be so easy to live. It would be so hard to die. It would be so hard to live.
Kurt Cobain's suicide, for some reason, is real. I don't know why. I want to scream. I want to break out of this. I want to let go. I want to remember everything. I can't go on denying things in my past. I hate my parents, I want to rip their throats out with my bare hands for all they don't know and all they don't realize.
I want to admit all the things I've done wrong and all my faults. I want to face humiliation and be embarrassed to death. I don't want to hide anymore. I want the truth to come out and to show and face the truth. I want the wall torn down and all my anomalies and contradictions exposed. And only by becoming public can I make those things not mine, not me.
Was there anything enlightened about Kurt Cobain? Anything spiritual? He had such an impact on so many people. But he also had no impact on so many people. How to look at it? He was just a pop star? He wrote brilliant songs, he was honest to himself. He was true to his nature and lived what he was and what he wrote. What he wrote was what he was.
What bullshit text states that enlightenment means you’re happy and blissful? What idiot says that being one with the universe means you smile and walk on flowers, yogi painted priest dog asshole. White people sure eat that shit up.
I hate Amina. I hate Amina with every morsel in me. I hate her as much as I hate the 'rents. I hate the thought of her and the thought of her makes me sick. I regret not having the chance to make her burn.
The funny thing is that I was never into Nirvana. Whatever I heard on the radio was really good, but their popularity was a flag to me that they were just a passing trend. My natural reaction is to stay away from trends until the hoopla dies down, and only then can I find out what substance is really there. But something about Cobain killing himself made it real, made it sincere.
Saturday, March 26, 1994
1844 7th Ave., Oakland
Some things are still so painful. They've invaded my dreams. I can get them out of my life, I can't get them out of my sleep. So I try to sleep less and less to avoid dreaming. Every once in a while I will sleep late to catch up.
Tuesday, March 15, 1994
Englewood Cliffs, NJ
New Jersey. The freakiest thing is how the walls of the room echo when I speak. They echo with a metallic reverberation that makes it feel inhuman and cold.
Saturday, March 12, 1994
1844 7th Ave., Oakland
Harold Yen show. Received ADA Bassline HX cabinet and it is amazing! Also traded in the Roland Juno 106 for a MIDI controller. A valiant show of a lack of sentimentality.
Friday, March 11, 1994
Thursday, March 10, 1994
1844 7th Ave., Oakland
Closing night for the NAATA film festival. Didn't see the film, but had a great time hanging out with other volunteers. Did a bit of schmoozing and networking and perhaps cultivated some personal relationships. Sherilyn drove me all the way to Oakland. She's really cute.
Wednesday, March 09, 1994
1844 7th Ave., Oakland
Struggling to get volunteers and things together for the Harold Yen show. Struggling to get things done for housing. Spent time on the phone with Nobuko and one of the singers in the R&B band. He wants the band to be less "business" oriented and to hang out more and be friends.
Tuesday, March 08, 1994
Monday, March 07, 1994
1844 7th Ave., Oakland
ManAlive. Antonio wants to move me to second stage after eight weeks instead of sixteen, and wants me to start facilitating class next week. Visited Nobuko after class. Volunteered for NAATA, saw "Bedeviled" and "No.1 Wicked Diva", dinner afterwards with Dong, Ed, Wendall, Karen, and Phil.
Sunday, March 06, 1994
1844 7th Ave., Oakland
Drove to the Richmond and looked for housing on bike. No luck. Went to the beach at sunset. Visited Kevin before going home.
Saturday, March 05, 1994
1844 7th Ave., Oakland
Filled car with gas, helped Nobuko move. Scattered morning showers. Mon. Hung out with Anh-thu and Amita. Dinner with Nobuko.
Friday, March 04, 1994
1844 7th Ave., Oakland
"Small Pleasures”, "Hair Opera", and "To Mayu" at the film festival. Still on the phone a lot. Got a piano tuner for the Harold Yen show next week. No time to look for housing. Letter from Ken, a dis.
I don't have a drinking problem. It depends on the definition of a problem. If drinking to excess is considered the problem, fine I have a problem. But I see a problem only when it becomes dysfunctional. Someone who has lost control or the ability to control. No one can even tell when I've been drinking. It doesn't affect other people. If a problem is just a statistic, then maybe I have a problem. I think a problem is defined by the effect.
I don't have a drinking problem. It depends on the definition of a problem. If drinking to excess is considered the problem, fine I have a problem. But I see a problem only when it becomes dysfunctional. Someone who has lost control or the ability to control. No one can even tell when I've been drinking. It doesn't affect other people. If a problem is just a statistic, then maybe I have a problem. I think a problem is defined by the effect.
Thursday, March 03, 1994
1844 7th Ave., Oakland
"Bhaji on the Beach" at the NAATA Asian American film festival. The director, Gurinda Chada, flinging her sari in my face. Lots of time on the phone coordinating the storytelling and Harold Yen Ohana projects. Letter from Frances.
Wednesday, March 02, 1994
1844 7th Ave., Oakland
Much better run. Letter to Frances. Good rehearsal at Donna’s with things coming together.
Tuesday, March 01, 1994
1844 7th Ave., Oakland
Rode back from Ohana on bike. Spent three hours with Lawrence talking bass and his new company that he wants to start. Amazing multiple scale length bass necks, using the fanned-fret system. Went on a bad run after a shot of gin. Gee, imagine that. Temps reached 70.
Monday, February 28, 1994
1844 7th Ave., Oakland
I wondered aloud to Pasha recently how peculiar my life is. Why is it exactly the way it has ended up? It's so easy for it to have been so different. Small differences could have had such huge impacts. Things that were a given but could so easily have been different.
"Tender Mercies" was on TV. I had forgotten about that movie. It had been on the film syllabus for Prof. Morris's class. What a perfect title, so fitting to catch that on TV now.
Why couldn't the 'rents have been just a little bit different? How different would I be if they had just shown just a bit of concern, had a bit of presence, tried to be parents beyond providing the basic necessities? How different would my life be now?
Instead, the relationship is so specific, and I'm caught in a trap where I hate them, but I can't break away from them. They rule my life despite my personal rebellion, but I can't make things happen in my life. How would I be if they were open-minded, aware that another reality exists, knew more about the world around them? What if they weren't so greedy and attached to the rule of money?
Why Amina? What happened with her was so specific. She was the one. She is the person I've been looking for all my life and might have looked for through other lives. I've always believed that once I was in a relationship that I really wanted to be in, when I had found the one, I would be able to stay in it no matter what obstacles we faced. All I had to do was show my love and true emotions and be honest with them and her. Communicate and commit. It didn't work. None of it worked, I couldn't do it. She broke it off and I still don't understand it.
The 'rents and Amina, the two biggest influence on my life and they together have landed me so specifically where I am now, wallowing in my own self-destruction. Nothing left inside but alcohol and liking it that way. I could be a true alcoholic and drink myself into stupors, become emotionally unstable and numb at the same time, not be able to control it, become dysfunctional so that it could be pointed at and called a problem. That could be me.
"Tender Mercies" was on TV. I had forgotten about that movie. It had been on the film syllabus for Prof. Morris's class. What a perfect title, so fitting to catch that on TV now.
Why couldn't the 'rents have been just a little bit different? How different would I be if they had just shown just a bit of concern, had a bit of presence, tried to be parents beyond providing the basic necessities? How different would my life be now?
Instead, the relationship is so specific, and I'm caught in a trap where I hate them, but I can't break away from them. They rule my life despite my personal rebellion, but I can't make things happen in my life. How would I be if they were open-minded, aware that another reality exists, knew more about the world around them? What if they weren't so greedy and attached to the rule of money?
Why Amina? What happened with her was so specific. She was the one. She is the person I've been looking for all my life and might have looked for through other lives. I've always believed that once I was in a relationship that I really wanted to be in, when I had found the one, I would be able to stay in it no matter what obstacles we faced. All I had to do was show my love and true emotions and be honest with them and her. Communicate and commit. It didn't work. None of it worked, I couldn't do it. She broke it off and I still don't understand it.
The 'rents and Amina, the two biggest influence on my life and they together have landed me so specifically where I am now, wallowing in my own self-destruction. Nothing left inside but alcohol and liking it that way. I could be a true alcoholic and drink myself into stupors, become emotionally unstable and numb at the same time, not be able to control it, become dysfunctional so that it could be pointed at and called a problem. That could be me.
Friday, February 18, 1994
1844 7th Ave., Oakland
I'm holding onto nothing. This isn't a matter of keeping faith, it's a matter of being a sucker and playing the part of a complete fool. It isn't hope, it isn't idealism or romanticism, it's STUPIDITY. I'm not going to hope anymore for Amina to come back. As far as I'm concerned, she's gone. That's how I have to live my life. Like I had the love of my life, and now she's gone. No pretending god has anything to do with it. Angels? Absolutely. This is leading to something and I need to follow them. I'm not going to write about Amina any more.
Wednesday, February 16, 1994
Day thirty-six
I thought I might be regretting taking this leave of absence, but I woke up one morning to make it to a 9:00 ManAlive class and distinctly remember not regretting being out of school.
Yesterday, for the hell of it, I went out in my car to go to a bookstore. Just to get out of the apartment. Today, I went to see the movie, "In the Name of the Father", and then saw a boring band in the evening. Pathetic.
It's cloudy and rainy and fittingly dreary. My life is run into a wall. I guess I did start this year off symbolically. I drove off and got lost in a fog, driving in a way no one else was - fast and recklessly. Here I am now in a fog, being reckless.
Tomorrow is another start of a new year and it's appropriately going to be raining. Why should I care? Why should I care if I have to cut my hair?
Yesterday, for the hell of it, I went out in my car to go to a bookstore. Just to get out of the apartment. Today, I went to see the movie, "In the Name of the Father", and then saw a boring band in the evening. Pathetic.
It's cloudy and rainy and fittingly dreary. My life is run into a wall. I guess I did start this year off symbolically. I drove off and got lost in a fog, driving in a way no one else was - fast and recklessly. Here I am now in a fog, being reckless.
Tomorrow is another start of a new year and it's appropriately going to be raining. Why should I care? Why should I care if I have to cut my hair?
Tuesday, February 15, 1994
Day thirty-five
A stretch of cloudy, rainy days have been forecast. I can't figure out what I'm doing with my life. It's hard to get motivated. It's hard to get out of bed in the morning. It's hard to deal with the white-trash fuckheads upstairs. I'm going to move, but the earliest I can do it is the end of March.
It's hard to see anything in the future. It's hard to get motivated. It's hard to want a future. I'm nothing without Amina, I hinged too much of my confidence and worth on her; a side-effect of hinging my reality on her.
I don't have goals. I always thought I did, I always thought my goals would make themselves apparent, but at this point there is nothing. Even if I got a job to support myself, so what? If I broke off from the 'rents and never had to deal with them again, so what? Would that make me happy? They are the focus of my struggles in life and I have to get rid of them, but what comes next? Always the question what next?
I have a problem with commitment. Up to now, there has always been something next, something to look forward to, an imminent change. Finding a steady job with no end or change in sight is a horrifying thought. It would mean stagnation. To be bound down and lose my freedom, just to earn money. Freedom is a privilege kindly granted to me by money.
"How do you think I've been? Nothing's changed, my life has been miserable. Forgive my rudeness, but I don't care to discuss superficial details of my life which don't mean anything to you, or me for that matter. You have no idea what my life has become, you have no idea what effect you've had on me.
"I can look back at particular instances in my life and I can claim to have been confused. Now I can honestly say that I can't remember any time where I was truly confused as I am now. I thought I was confused when I was grappling with Hiromi and Luyên. Those were difficult times, but that wasn't confusion. That was indecision and selfishness; trying to get whatever I could.
"I wasn't confused when I was going through the mental hospitals. That was a direct and obvious consequence of the mixture of the 'rents and me. What happened to me was natural in those circumstances; it was normal in that situation. It wasn't confusion.
"What happened between us, that is confusion. For every thought I have of you, I have another contradictory thought. An anti-matter thought for every matter thought I have of you. Each are established and immutable fact, each with equal validity, but they can't exist together, that is confusion.
"I think of one of those thoughts and recognize the facts. Those thoughts lead me to consider the other thoughts and I realize that those are also facts. The thoughts keep leading back and forth to each other, both refusing to exist in the same space, both contradicting one another. They form a feedback loop and there are no solutions and no answers. That's what happens in my mind every time I think of you.
"I can't stay drunk enough to stay out of that feedback-thought-loop. All the things I've said to you were real and true. You may convince yourself otherwise and conjure clever excuses to justify anything you do with a clear conscience, but then you're far removed from anything that resembles my reality. But I suppose that is your starting point in processing anything I have to say to you.
"I have nothing to say besides this and nothing I want to hear from you. I asked you not to call unless you need me. Good-bye."
It's hard to see anything in the future. It's hard to get motivated. It's hard to want a future. I'm nothing without Amina, I hinged too much of my confidence and worth on her; a side-effect of hinging my reality on her.
I don't have goals. I always thought I did, I always thought my goals would make themselves apparent, but at this point there is nothing. Even if I got a job to support myself, so what? If I broke off from the 'rents and never had to deal with them again, so what? Would that make me happy? They are the focus of my struggles in life and I have to get rid of them, but what comes next? Always the question what next?
I have a problem with commitment. Up to now, there has always been something next, something to look forward to, an imminent change. Finding a steady job with no end or change in sight is a horrifying thought. It would mean stagnation. To be bound down and lose my freedom, just to earn money. Freedom is a privilege kindly granted to me by money.
"How do you think I've been? Nothing's changed, my life has been miserable. Forgive my rudeness, but I don't care to discuss superficial details of my life which don't mean anything to you, or me for that matter. You have no idea what my life has become, you have no idea what effect you've had on me.
"I can look back at particular instances in my life and I can claim to have been confused. Now I can honestly say that I can't remember any time where I was truly confused as I am now. I thought I was confused when I was grappling with Hiromi and Luyên. Those were difficult times, but that wasn't confusion. That was indecision and selfishness; trying to get whatever I could.
"I wasn't confused when I was going through the mental hospitals. That was a direct and obvious consequence of the mixture of the 'rents and me. What happened to me was natural in those circumstances; it was normal in that situation. It wasn't confusion.
"What happened between us, that is confusion. For every thought I have of you, I have another contradictory thought. An anti-matter thought for every matter thought I have of you. Each are established and immutable fact, each with equal validity, but they can't exist together, that is confusion.
"I think of one of those thoughts and recognize the facts. Those thoughts lead me to consider the other thoughts and I realize that those are also facts. The thoughts keep leading back and forth to each other, both refusing to exist in the same space, both contradicting one another. They form a feedback loop and there are no solutions and no answers. That's what happens in my mind every time I think of you.
"I can't stay drunk enough to stay out of that feedback-thought-loop. All the things I've said to you were real and true. You may convince yourself otherwise and conjure clever excuses to justify anything you do with a clear conscience, but then you're far removed from anything that resembles my reality. But I suppose that is your starting point in processing anything I have to say to you.
"I have nothing to say besides this and nothing I want to hear from you. I asked you not to call unless you need me. Good-bye."
Monday, February 14, 1994
Day thirty-four
"Then all the years of abuse came washing over me; a revelation; an epiphany. Suddenly I was awake and saw my whole life as I should have seen it long ago, when we were dating in college. But I also knew that even if I had known, I wouldn't have done anything about it; just as I don't know if I'll do anything about it now.
"All the psychological games he played, the cuts, bruises, scars, the tests of endurance and discipline; they weren't normal. They shouldn't exist in a healthy relationship. But what good is it for me to realize it if he doesn't. There's no way for me to get away from him, it's just physically impossible.
"He turned me against my parents and there's no chance of reconciliation now. The things he's convinced me of are real now, I can't convince myself otherwise. I can't turn to any family now, there's only him. He's made me dependent upon him.
"His drinking problem isn't my fault. He keeps blaming me for it, but it has nothing to do with me. How can it be my fault when I've tried and hoped so hard to stop him without making him feel like I was pushing or imposing on him? If he had any inkling that I was in any position of power, he'd snuff it out with a heavy hand. I tried in every way possible for me. It can't be my fault. He's wrong.
"It's out of control. I can never tell if he's drunk or not. He's so controlled. Sometimes I'll see him drink and it will have no effect on his behavior. The only way I know if he's drunk or not if I see him drink. But it's hard, I know it's having an effect on our relationship. He's as sharp as a knife and he manipulates it so scars never show; not where anyone will ever see him. He's so angry and he's able to direct his anger like a laser. It has kept me where I am for years.
"He expects to control me and my life, he demands the authority to call the shots and make all the decisions. Even when I know he's wrong, I can only go along with him, he's too dominant. For all the strength I know I have, I know I couldn't go against him. He knows me too well, he knows how to make me react in any way he wants me to.
"He expects me to be there to nurture him. He expects me to be weaker and to be there for support, and when necessary, to be his whipping stone. He uses me to sharpen his knife. I'm not afraid of him, but I can't leave him, it's physically impossible. I just don't know how to stop him.
"So he cuts and cuts and confuses me with his confusion. He controls me with my inability to take control. I need him and he needs me. And he hurts me because I can't protect myself and there is no one who will protect me."
"All the psychological games he played, the cuts, bruises, scars, the tests of endurance and discipline; they weren't normal. They shouldn't exist in a healthy relationship. But what good is it for me to realize it if he doesn't. There's no way for me to get away from him, it's just physically impossible.
"He turned me against my parents and there's no chance of reconciliation now. The things he's convinced me of are real now, I can't convince myself otherwise. I can't turn to any family now, there's only him. He's made me dependent upon him.
"His drinking problem isn't my fault. He keeps blaming me for it, but it has nothing to do with me. How can it be my fault when I've tried and hoped so hard to stop him without making him feel like I was pushing or imposing on him? If he had any inkling that I was in any position of power, he'd snuff it out with a heavy hand. I tried in every way possible for me. It can't be my fault. He's wrong.
"It's out of control. I can never tell if he's drunk or not. He's so controlled. Sometimes I'll see him drink and it will have no effect on his behavior. The only way I know if he's drunk or not if I see him drink. But it's hard, I know it's having an effect on our relationship. He's as sharp as a knife and he manipulates it so scars never show; not where anyone will ever see him. He's so angry and he's able to direct his anger like a laser. It has kept me where I am for years.
"He expects to control me and my life, he demands the authority to call the shots and make all the decisions. Even when I know he's wrong, I can only go along with him, he's too dominant. For all the strength I know I have, I know I couldn't go against him. He knows me too well, he knows how to make me react in any way he wants me to.
"He expects me to be there to nurture him. He expects me to be weaker and to be there for support, and when necessary, to be his whipping stone. He uses me to sharpen his knife. I'm not afraid of him, but I can't leave him, it's physically impossible. I just don't know how to stop him.
"So he cuts and cuts and confuses me with his confusion. He controls me with my inability to take control. I need him and he needs me. And he hurts me because I can't protect myself and there is no one who will protect me."
Sunday, February 13, 1994
Day thirty-three
Hearts have been broken before. Why is she affecting me so profoundly? Why did she mean so much to me? Why did so much of my worth reside in her? What did she catalyze in my being? In the sea of love . . . it's really a bay and it still has no shores.
I'm tortured by existence. I feel like I'm dragging each day like an unwanted weight. I despair each morning that I awake. All because of her. All because of what I thought we were. All because that was wrong. Those things she said about me, where did it all come from?
I can drag each weary day to the next weary day. Live, breathe, pump blood, spend energy, replenish energy, all with no life at all. I'm supposed to be learning something about life. I'm supposed to be finding something about my nature.
My memories of Amina are filled with embarrassment and shame. I was so wrong about her. She couldn't have said all of the hurtful and malicious things if a sliver of what I thought we were was accurate.
Hearts have been broken before. Why is Amina different? What was Amina?
OK, What was Amina?
Amina tied into everything. She became a part of my world, she was a part of me and everything around me and everything I noticed, everything that caught my interest, everything I reacted to. Amina helped my senses come alive, she brought color to the world around me, substance to the reality I perceived. She was ingrained in me, she got in between my molecules, she flowed in my blood and I breathed her in and breathed her out. Now that she's gone, everything around me and everything I perceive is her residue.
And none if it was even fucking real.
I'm tortured by existence. I feel like I'm dragging each day like an unwanted weight. I despair each morning that I awake. All because of her. All because of what I thought we were. All because that was wrong. Those things she said about me, where did it all come from?
I can drag each weary day to the next weary day. Live, breathe, pump blood, spend energy, replenish energy, all with no life at all. I'm supposed to be learning something about life. I'm supposed to be finding something about my nature.
My memories of Amina are filled with embarrassment and shame. I was so wrong about her. She couldn't have said all of the hurtful and malicious things if a sliver of what I thought we were was accurate.
Hearts have been broken before. Why is Amina different? What was Amina?
OK, What was Amina?
Amina tied into everything. She became a part of my world, she was a part of me and everything around me and everything I noticed, everything that caught my interest, everything I reacted to. Amina helped my senses come alive, she brought color to the world around me, substance to the reality I perceived. She was ingrained in me, she got in between my molecules, she flowed in my blood and I breathed her in and breathed her out. Now that she's gone, everything around me and everything I perceive is her residue.
And none if it was even fucking real.
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