1557 Noe St., San Francisco

April 28-30, 1999

This journal is almost over, I started it on April 30, 1989 and I think ten years is a nice neat time period for it to cover. What comes next I have no idea. The decade of my 20's behind me, starting my 30's, still not wanting to live much longer than that, if that at all.

Behind me are Oberlin, Amina, Josephine, Shiho, Japan, law school, international travel, hatred of parents, and first stage spiritual growth. My whole past life is behind me. It feels like the things that were fleeting and impermanent have come and gone, and now whatever comes has to have some meaning, some tangibility and permanence. Do my 30's need to be more concrete? It feels that way, but really it never works out that way, but if things are exactly like they were in my 20's, what’s the point?

I had some closure with Amina. Oberlin has an “on-line community” for alumni now and once you register, you can look people up and find out their latest information, and I found out that she’s living in Chicago now and is still married to Waldo. Just seeing that concrete information settled some of whatever dust is still lingering. And there isn’t much, it’s just that the memory of her and loving her so dearly has become so much a part of me. As I’ve noted before, it has nothing to do with who she is or where she is now.

I remember tender moments of our friendship. At the end of the semester that we met, we were walking back to my apartment from Third World House where we had said goodbye to Jenny for the Summer. It was a warm May night and Amina slipped her arm in mine. At the airport the next day I hugged her at the gate and felt that I couldn’t let go of her, and I never did. That entire semester getting to know her was golden. The first time I saw her I remember thinking that she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Love at first sight in the lobby of Third World House, fluorescent lighting, Amina in profile as she walked by.

At the beginning of our acquaintance, in fact just a few days after I had engineered meeting her at Third World House dining hall, I remember her calling from behind as I was walking to Third World House after a class for lunch. I was so happy to see her, so happy that she had called out, so happy that she remembered me, so happy that she was taking the same class I was coming from, and so happy that we were going to lunch together.

I remember at the end of that semester we were studying for the final for that class in her dorm room. It was getting later and later and our concentration on the subject matter was waning. When she was falling asleep I said that I should probably get going, she said, “no.” It was so sweet, and we fell asleep where we were and when I woke up she had already left for class.

She went back to Pakistan that Summer and she did her Fall semester in Dublin. I borrowed Nobuko’s car to pick her up from the Amtrak station in Elyria when she returned for Winter Term in January, I remember how cold it was and the anticipation of seeing Amina again. I remember my heart skipping beats when she got off the train.

We had harder times that Spring semester because of tensions between us. I moved to an off-campus apartment at the end of Winter Term, I remember Amina coming over to help me clean it, it was her that made it feel like home. I remember her room in Old Barrows that she shared with Sunita and someone else. I remember that she had a place in Mudd Library, second floor I think, where she always went to study, where I would always look to find her, where she would be if she wanted me to find her.

The only extant photograph I have of Amina is from Mayfair, when the Can Consortium played in front of Finney Chapel. She and a bunch of friends came out to see the gig. I remember that day through that photograph.

After I graduated I was going to Japan and I stopped to see her in Chicago on my way there. What I remember is mostly from photographs that I remember. I don’t have them anymore, but I remember the images. And through them I remember some of the moments. The flour fight, irreverently lying on a kitchen counter, the red car with a phone that belonged to the family she was staying with – the woman of the house being Amina’s mother’s schoolmate way back when.

After I returned to the US, I drove out to Oberlin to visit her and then we went to Chicago together to visit Pasha. I remember a night that we were sleeping on Pasha’s floor, our heads were close, our hands touched. I remember back at Oberlin, we were staying at Madoka’s and Vikki’s house until the dorms opened, that’s when and where it happened. What I remember is waking up kissing her, and it crossed my mind that it was impossible and at any moment she was going to wake up and that would be the end of that. But she was awake and she was kissing me back.

Those weeks of Winter Term were the height of our romance and it was all downhill from there. Looking back it ended just as soon as it began. It was a long distance relationship through the semester and I was struggling with my home relationship and figuring out what I was supposed to do next. We spent the summer together and we had a rough time. It was enough for me to be with the woman I loved, but it wasn’t enough for her. After the summer I drove out to California alone, and we tried to revive our long distance relationship, but by year’s end it was over.

But if I were able to re-live one part or aspect of any relationship, it wouldn’t be any part of the relationship with Amina. It would be during the semester that Amina was away in Dublin when I went out briefly with Hiromi. I was forcing myself to accept that Amina had a boyfriend and we would only remain friends. So I certainly wasn’t disappointed when I learned that Hiromi was moving into Third World House. I remember having seen Hiromi on campus the semester before and being smitten by her.

I used Japanese lessons as a subtext to meet and get to know her better. I remember early attempts at lessons in my room. We just started hanging out together more and more, I think. I remember meeting her and hanging out with her in the language lab in King where she worked. I remember her coming to my room for coffee. Often. I remember an incredible sweetness and tenderness between us. I don’t remember when we first started going out, I do remember that she slept over but we never had sex. I remember her stopping by in my room late one night after I had gotten back from a Can gig that was down near Columbus. I had laundry to do and she ate an avocado or something. I remember she stopped by my room often when she was leaving or returning to the dorm because I kept my door open almost all the time that semester.

I remember the signs of the demise of our relationship. I remember the lack of communication, empathy, or connection. I remember one time we were making out in my room and my black Guild 12-string got knocked over and broke at the headstock. I adored her, but we just weren’t right for each other. We distanced from each other and we didn’t communicate what was happening, so we didn’t work it out.

Shiho was another girlfriend whose memories have left their mark. It’s been almost three years since our last contact. She’s probably married now and may have kids. But the memories I have are not from the past decade, but from our high school years together. She should have been my high school sweetheart, I was just too stupid to realize what a great person and woman she was.

All through high school I denied that she had feelings for me. Everyone else saw it, some tried to tell me. But there were things that bugged me about her and so I made sure we just stayed friends. I was carrying a torch for someone else. That’s right. I didn’t love Shiho in high school. It’s not that I was missing something amazing that was right before my eyes. What was right before my eyes I didn’t love and I had specific reasons for not wanting to go out with her.

But it’s not that I didn’t love her. Why did we start going out two weeks before she left for Japan? I don’t remember what my feelings were, what we were doing. I don’t remember our first kiss, but I think it came as a big, uncomfortable surprise to me, quickly followed by the grief and sadness realizing she was about to leave. Did we make the most of those last two weeks? I don’t remember. It was the beginning of a very dark period in my life. I still have the cassette recorded letters that she sent me after she returned to Japan. I like to think that she still has the ones I sent her.

When I saw her next after I graduated from Oberlin, that’s when the seeds for falling in love with her were planted. After going through so many changes, seeing her in the flesh, as a relic from before those changes, being amazed that she was sitting before me and we had these old, real memories, made her real to me; made me realize that she was a special person to me. But Amina prevented anything from being maintained.

Only the next time I saw her, after Amina was out of the picture, during law school, that my love for completely blew wide open. And it didn’t last long. I felt betrayed. I felt that she betrayed me. I shouldn’t wonder – maybe Shiho is the story of my life.

<fin>

1557 Noe St., San Francisco

I think of my life as being almost over. Is it almost over? Where is my life going and what do I want to do with it? I don’t want to live life just to live it, but what would make life worth living? I can run with something happening with music for several years, but the only thing that’s really worth pursuing in life is what life really is and why anything and everything. What’s behind the veil? What’s beyond the veil?

Can I be healthy and still cut? Almost all cutters are dealing with issues, something is causing them to cut, and once they heal they stop cutting. I still do it without any direct reason, the reasons I do it are indirect and there are other ways of maintaining a connection to one’s past aside from continuing actual manifestations of the past, especially when they are so extreme.

My cuts range from superficial scratches to wounds that could use stitches but don’t require them. And all this time I’m aging, my body is changing, I already feel the changes on the inside, my metabolism is slowing down, I’m less resilient. And as I physically age, what will become of these scars, the tissue that had to form to connect two edges of skin that were once adjacent. I don’t intend to find out. Or when I find out, it certainly won’t matter anymore.

1557 Noe St., San Francisco

I’m getting OK. I think I’m coming to a point of clarity, although I don’t discount that it may be weather-related; two days of 80 degree weather has me blissed out.

I had some break-throughs today. A band confrontation with Josh highlighted that I am different from other people and that I’m comfortable with my approach to life and conflicts. Some things have been reaffirmed such as my comfort and security in my sense of self and not having those things dependent or overly-influenced by what others think.

I recognize that there is a core of pain inside me that makes me somewhat unstable. That is, in fact, a part of me. I don’t have a desire to live a long life and I don’t mind dying. It’s possible that is a manifestation of unresolved issues, but that’s not absolute and I’m not convinced of that. I don’t feel any sense in being so attached to living when you understand the Buddhist principle that physical existence is fleeting and that it’s not all that there is. I appreciate and enjoy life as I’m living it, as it’s here, but the greatest bliss I’ve felt has never made me fear or wish to avoid death. The core of pain inside me is part of my appreciation of life.

I’ve figured out why I’m still a cutter. Cutting is the connection between me in the present and my own past. I don’t have any real reason or need to continue cutting, I do it just because I did it. It isn’t an indicator of lingering issues and problems, it isn’t even hurting me. But what I went through that led me to start and continue cutting is part of me and my identity. However, I’ve changed so much from who I was back then that it’s really important to me to not bury and lose that part of me. Cutting allows me to retain a present connection to my past.

It also serves as a notice to people around me that what they see is not all that there is. That’s actually an important point on why I still cut. It’s not good enough that I have the very noticeable scars on my arms and legs. Healed scars are a record of the past, but don’t say anything about the present and how the past has affected my present and how the present is a continuation of the past.

I was talking to Angie Chen, and we talked about our screwed up pasts and about being screwed up. I dived right into it like someone who knew what he was talking about. And I did know what I was talking about, but it wasn’t who I am now. In discussing those things, I was basically playing the part of what I used to be. And that was strange because that past is so much a part of who I am. There’s a big risk in losing touch with how I got to be who I am, cutting maintains the connection.

So the band is going through a crisis centering on Josh. He’s got some serious issues going on and he’s taking them out on us. He claims he’s unhappy and frustrated with the band’s direction, but all he does is criticize, and contributes nothing constructive. He’s convinced that we need to have a package to sell, but he roadblocks any plans to go into the studio soon. He says he doesn’t want to rush into something when we’re not ready. Who’s not ready? They’ve been together for two years, I’m ready to record. Readiness is not the issue. I’m predicting he’ll be out of the band by the end of May.

1557 Noe St., San Francisco

Almost halfway through April - the hardest month to get through and this year is no exception. There’s a sense of my whole world crumbling around me and nothing being real and nothing having meaning or mattering. I’m getting closer to accepting that Josephine and I are through, but I’m still a far way from coming to terms with it and closing with her. I need to do something major to reach closure, I’m thinking of something with all the photographs I have of her, compiling them into one collection. Unlike with Amina, I’m not going to throw anything away. Josephine I want to keep with concrete memories.

I don’t know what the purpose of that is, it does feel empty, and the flood of memories is overwhelming. She was so full of life and she made me feel happy, she was a little ball of fun. But we had problems that we couldn’t get over and so it ended and it’s better that way. It’s hard to look to the future and think I might want to be with someone again, I just don’t see it. I’ll get over her, I know, but I will be just as sad thinking about her even when I do.

1557 Noe St., San Francisco

I’ve been anti-social and distanced from people and friends. Even the people closest to me, my housemates I’ve been keeping at arms distance. I’ve begun sitting again which is really good if I can keep it up. It may be a whole new phase of spiritual development. By spiritual, I mean the relationship between myself and the rest of the world and how it relates to existence in general, my existence, and my role as an individual as part of an interconnected whole. The first phase was mostly the learning phase, being exposed to new concepts and formulating my own ideas. The second phase is...whatever, I have no idea; whatever comes next. Now, that is. The second phase is getting over the feeling that I have answers and re-figuring out what the questions are.

It is a phase that also comes with age. Becoming thirty and having nothing under my belt to show for my twenties. I didn’t do anything for the whole of my twenties and there’s no going back. I’m trying not to regret it, I should take it as fate. But with my twenties in the past and nothing having been done, I look at my thirties before me, and whatever I do in my thirties, it’s only ten years until I hit forty. And I do not intend to live much longer beyond that unless I enter a monastery and renounce the world.

I’m still trying to let go of Josephine. I think we’re out of touch now. There’s nothing to hold onto anymore, all the meaning has been negated and rendered moot. Nothing left to even warrant a response to a call out. I am so adverse to getting intimate to anyone now. I’ll get over it, I’m sure, but whenever I think of the possibility of getting close to someone, I just react against it.

I need to work on my inability to feel and the layers and layers of repression that have buried my feelings. I am aware that there is something in me that I’m completely out of touch with. How to get in touch with it and what to do with it after I figure it out is my task.