1557 Noe Street, San Francisco

The strangest thing. I had a vivid dream of Amina. I’ve had other dreams of her that were vivid, but there was something different about the way I remember this one. There was something complete and rich about it, like a complete conversation as opposed to cryptic phrases. I don’t remember anything about it. Except that I still, still, still love her. That and that she was pregnant. I don’t think this was the first pregnant Amina dream, though. In this one she wasn’t very pregnant. She let me touch her stomach and it wasn’t obvious. The feelings were good between us, I would venture to say that they were joyous.

I keep wracking my brain about my life. I consider how other people might see me, and I wonder what the hell am I doing with my life? I ponder what various people would think if I killed myself. No one knows that is in my mental health history. No one knows that I never stopped being suicidal. But I have no immediate plans short of February 17, 2003. Maybe a few reminders here and there to keep me in the mood, but nothing serious.

1557 Noe St., San Francisco

I had another dream with Josephine, and this time it was clearly my idealized Josephine. The dream was a re-enactment of one of our typical mornings when I used to be up before her and then wake her up later. Those were always endearing times as they happened, but my feeling now about our entire relationship is that there was always tension and I was always self-conscious of my actions and trying not to set her off, basically walking on eggshells all the time. In the dream, there was none of that, it was just that pure feeling of endearment.

God, how I loved that woman. Why do I not think of her as one of the loves of my life? No, I don't, because she wasn't. The love of my life was Amina. Shiho also may have been a love of my life. But not Josephine. I'm not sure why, I'm sure it has nothing to do with anything that any of them were or are. Amina was a total creation, when I really dig down and look at the facts, Amina was nothing special. I have no idea why she holds such a special place in my heart. My only conclusion is that it has nothing to do with the person Amina, but my conception of her. Same with Shiho. But putting it that way, why not Josephine? I have retained more delightful, endearing memories of Josephine than Shiho and Amina combined.

1557 Noe St., San Francisco

I had a dream several weeks ago that I was in love with someone. Really, truly, deep down in love with someone. It didn't make enough of an impression back then to reflect on it, but when I think about it, the significance is pretty big. I remember what it is like to really be in love with someone and fall into that sea of love that has no shores and the rest of the world falls away. For someone else to have such an impact and evoke such wonderment in how I can feel about another human being.

I don't remember a lot about the dream. I remember being inside a nice, elegant building, kind of country club-ish (as if I knew what country clubs are like), with a dark wood interior. It could have been a house, but it felt public so it could have been an old house converted into something else, could have been a nice hotel lobby. There were probably chandeliers. It was daytime and lit by natural light. I remember there being a small crowd of people, like a tour group, and the person I loved being there and she was my only focus. I wanted to be alone with her, she wanted to be alone with me, we wanted to get out of there. But we couldn't for some reason. Maybe it was a family thing.

The woman was Josephine-esque, but I don't think it was Josephine. There was a lot of Josephine in her though. I think the woman was the person I wanted Josephine to be.

It brought me a lot of closure with Josephine. I loved her dearly and her impact and her memories are deep, but in no way would I ever want to be with her again, and in no way can I idealize our relationship and look at it fondly. All I loved about her was her, not us.

There was always tension in the relationship, and there always was a distance. I know she never trusted me and that prevented us from ever really getting close and emotionally intimate. I was always trying to prove something to her, I was never just me.

I totally missed her birthday earlier this month. A week later, I realized I missed it and it took me a few minutes to remember exactly what date it was. That's extremely telling. Who else's birthday do I not remember? Shiho, November 7, 1968; Amina, April 17, 1972; Luyen, June 14, 1973; Hiromi, January 30 (I think), 1969; Joy, sometime in March, I think; Josephine, after some thought, June 8, 1970.

I need to get out of the Bay Area. It's passionless, that's part of why I don't remember Josephine's birthday. No relationship I've had that was based in the Bay Area had any deep impact. I hate the weather here, I can't stand the weather. The weather in the Bay Area simply sucks.

1557 Noe St., San Francisco

I had a dream with Josephine in it this morning. I thought I was over her, but issues still linger. It doesn’t help that it touched on abandonment issues that I still have. It happened at a time that I normally would have been in a deeper sleep and wouldn’t have remembered it, but there was noise that brought me into a shallower sleep.

The dream was that I was in bed, on my loft, and I looked across the room at a calendar on the wall, where there isn’t one in reality, and noticed a post-it on a certain date, a post-it that I didn’t put up. Intuiting that it had something to do with Josephine, who was still in the country and staying in the house that I was in until she left, which changed from this apartment to a house, possibly my parent’s house, I jumped out of the loft taking blankets down with me and read the note. The note was from Josephine, it was a tender note saying that she was leaving on that date, the position of the post-it was probably August 31. The tenderness was in a quote from a musical that only existed in the dream and referred to an inside joke between us that also existed only in the dream, something about being a star. At that point I panicked and ran around the house looking for her, going to the rooms where I expected her to be sleeping. One was a couch and the sheet on the couch was undisturbed and neatly tucked in. I was trying to scream, “No!”, but my throat was thick and I could only manage a scratchy tone. The feeling of a loved one being gone was too much to bear.

All day today I was thinking of the tender moments between Josephine and me, the fun times, the way she laughed and was so full of life, and it hurt to try to reconcile that with the selfishness I sense from her now.

My recent thoughts on having abandonment issues, along with this dream, reminded me that the earliest dream I can remember was an abandonment dream. I’m not exactly sure when I had the dream, it was probably in the old house in Englewood Cliffs, and I’m not sure how old I was, but my arbitrary guess would be between seven and nine years old.

I mostly just remember the feeling of being abandoned. There are two actual images I remember. One is a God’s Eye view of a boat like a yacht sailing on the Hudson River on a sunny day and the feeling that I wasn’t on it and was supposed to be. The other image is me on the banks of the Hudson River, one foot upon a rock looking out over the water. The view is from the ground up at me, the George Washington Bridge may have been in the image. The feeling was that I was alone and that I had been left behind.

And this all led me to a real memory that may have contributed to these abandonment issues. I think my age was in the same range as the dream. Parents were visiting someone on Virginia Ct. in Englewood Cliffs, a few doors down from a classmate of mine. I was playing in the backyard, probably with Tom and Bob, and they all got in the car and started to leave without me. I think I remember running after the car for I don’t know how far until they noticed I wasn’t in the car. It may not have been too far, several houses. I was crying but they were all laughing about it. I don’t know if the memory is real, though.

198 Shakespeare St., San Francisco

Aquarius: Fight against the urge to stir things up. Sometimes it’s better to give up than to drown in futility. Spend your resources on battles that you know you can win, and don’t buy more trouble than you can afford. Guard against feelings of pride and arrogance. They could become your tragic flaws if you let them have free reign. Even a well-intentioned prank can turn into something uglier. Channel your efforts to where they will do the most good. This is not a good time to exhibit your weaknesses. Predators have no sympathy.

A pretty good day. I got almost eight hours of sleep last night and I think that has a lot to do with it. I’m getting old, I have to face it, and need more sleep. Just this year I extended my sleeping needs to seven hours, but lately I haven’t even been able to do that.

I had a dream, but I don’t remember it all. What I do remember is that an acquaintance from law school was in love with me and always has been. There was a gentleness and tenderness about the dream, which took place at night in a city. A quaint city that conjured perhaps a residential area of Bangkok, or New Orleans. I remember the distinct youthful feeling of being loved and being in love, so different from what I have with Josephine.

We were just about to reconcile when she told me that she burned the bracelet that I gave her over the summer when she stopped over in Bangkok on her way to India. That bracelet symbolized our second chance, and she burned it.

Last Summer, when we went to Ayuthaya, we bought bracelets to symbolize our togetherness. But in the tumult of our relationship that followed, we both got rid of them. Then I went to Bangkok this Summer and when she came to Bangkok, I presented her with two bracelets, one that I was going to put on her, and the other she put on me. I said, “let’s give this another try”.

It was the symbol of our second chance and she burned it. Symbols are important. And her burning the bracelet told me more about her than all our struggling to reconcile over the phone tonight, more than all our unwillingness to verbally put the final nail in the coffin of our relationship. That act told me that the relationship, for our own good, is over. Irregardless of how many times we get back together.

Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey

I dreamed I was in a room with Josephine. Something about the room, the light, made it perfect for taking pictures of her nude. I don't specifically recall asking her if I could shoot her, but I felt an implicit assent. Someone else walked in and said they needed the room. I told him that I just needed five minutes and he finally assented. I closed the door and locked it.

Josephine started undressing and I opened the shades to see how the background was. I noted that there were only about eight frames left on the roll. I was limited in frames and in time, and it took about three minutes for Josephine to undress. I shot two or three frames, and in the dream I was able to see the final product - she was clothed and very small in the frame. I felt that I had just wasted those frames.

I shot the rest of the roll in the remaining time and Josephine shrunk in size until she gradually disappeared. There seemed to be nothing unusual about that. After the roll was finished, I called to her to appear again, to grow in size. She didn't appear and I continued to look for her close to the ground where I had last seen her. She never appeared again and I felt that I had lost her for good.

198 Shakespeare St., San Francisco

Second day in a row I dreamed of Amina. I can’t describe the dream at all. The moods and scenery were too elusive and abstract. Amina was on a stage and she was being made an example of a woman who had transgressed something cultural. She hadn’t really, she was just playing the part. The punishment entailed having all of her hair shaved off. All of it. However, when her head was done, she looked like she did when she got her hair cut short in the Summer of 1993. When she was getting another part of her body shaved, I could see that she was pregnant. Very pregnant.

I’m going to drop my “Jurisprudence” class. I thought it would be about the philosophy of law as traced through the historical development of the U.S. legal system. I thought we’d be studying patterns and developments in the law as reflected through actual decisions and what they meant and what historical events affected them.

Instead we’re reading esoteric, pseudo-academic, ivory tower essays which have no discernable relation to reality or practical law. Useless. Instead of studying and learning the philosophy behind our legal system, I sit in class thinking, “who cares?!”.

I’m not going to put up with this anymore. My masochistic days are over. I’m not going to suffer through this class just to prove I’m not a quitter. Dropping the class won’t mean that I’m a quitter, it means I’m smart and know what’s good for me, and I’m much more reasonable about what I’m willing to put with.

Besides, I’ve just gotten to the point where I’m thinking I don’t want to kill myself. Or rather I’m realizing that I simply won’t, no matter how I feel about it. I don’t need this class to push me towards it again and tempt me to want to do it. I still hope I will do it, but I want to make sure I’m doing it for the right reasons.

I wonder if this is really being healthy or if all this is a continuing manifestation of my suicidal psychosis. I wonder if I’m ill and this is all just a delusional part of the illness. I can’t go second guessing myself, though. I’m hurting and I’m aware of my past, but I’ve always been certain of my rationality and I recognize that what I call rational is different from everyone else’s. That doesn’t make me ill. Different doesn’t mean ill in this day and age.

198 Shakespeare St., San Francisco

I was in a room with large windows and it looked like I was on a college campus. The room was cluttered and lit by fluorescent light. It was a cloudy evening and there were a lot of people outside walking to wherever they needed to be. I was practicing lead guitar, playing my red Peavey along with a Roger Waters CD - the one with Eric Clapton. The dream switched and I was “upstairs” in a kitchen that resembled the kitchen at 22 Cambridge Place in Englewood Cliffs. The windows were the same. I continued to practice, ignoring the person behind me, Amina, who was doing something like washing dishes. Generally, what happened next was that she finished what she was doing and came over. Waleed was there somewhere. I think we exchanged words, we were very close and finally it was too much and we unwillingly kissed, I don’t remember if she was crying. We kept kissing, trying to resist and I woke up. I gasped her name.

I’ve selectively forgotten all the reasons why I should hate Amina; the things she did. I know now I still love her and that we never closed and I will continue loving her until we do. I doubt we ever will. That dream. It was more my fantasy than an expression of reality.

I can’t imagine crying for or about Amina. I really don’t feel much of anything anymore. I don’t know if that’s because of Amina. I don’t get attracted to people anymore. I do still find people attractive, but I have no desire to get to know people better or let them know me. I don’t get attracted to anyone to the extent that I would put effort into spending time or getting to know them better. There is nothing in people for me to be attracted to.

198 Shakespeare St., San Francisco

None of the actual scenery in the dream was from conscious memory. It was a sunny Winter day after a heavy snowfall in New Jersey or New York. I was driving with Liz in her car. I don’t remember any of the dialogue. We drove up a road that went up a hill with frozen lakes on either side. A skyline, which may have been New York, was behind us. At the top, we turned right and then right again into an area that was like a parking lot or a rest area. Lots of cars were there and people were milling about.

The dream shifted and there were metal stairs leading down from the parking area and it felt like New York City, still Winter. The next part I don’t remember so well. I lagged behind going down the stairs, I think I was doing something with my camera, so Liz had gone off. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a man about whom I don’t remember anything except that he was old and we struck up a conversation. In retrospect, he reminds me of Tony. Eventually he let me take pictures of him which I did. That’s all I remember along with having to change film, XP2, and taking pictures without a lens, just the body of the camera.

I went to New Jersey in August. Things have changed. I actually felt comfortable there. I walked around a lot. I went down Palisades Avenue to Dwight Englewood and then to Englewood. I went through Flat Rock Brook where I always used to go for solace and to get away. Everything seemed a lot smaller than I remember, starting with the sidewalks. Compared with hikes in California, Flat Rock Brook was puny. I went down to the Hudson River Boat Basin and walked along one of my old running paths on top of the Palisades. Not much of a run.

Everything was suddenly so detached. That is why it was so comfortable being there. It meant nothing that I grew up there and the familiarity of the landscape didn’t unnerve me or haunt me as it did in other times that I had returned. It felt like it was all behind me. Finally.

It was the same thing with being at the parents’ house. And strange about the parents, they really didn’t affect me much at all. Part of me just didn’t care anymore; most important, I felt that they couldn’t touch me anymore. They were no longer a threat. They didn’t have any control over my life anymore. Even their insidious suggestions, hints, and moralizing about my future had no affect over me. It was liberating.

Whereas before, I felt threatened by how they intended to control my life, now I could ignore it, laugh at it if I wanted to. The result was that I could tolerate them, even be civil and patient with them. As far as I’m concerned, I’m untouchable. They cannot touch my life anymore. They can do or say whatever they want, it’s my choice to ignore or walk away from them. I even allowed them to do nice things for me and I let myself appreciate it.

Even in phone calls since then, I don’t get irritated. If they talk about things I don’t care to listen to, I hold the phone away. In the same way as I often do, but without the annoyance, without the seething. I even contribute to the topic and try to explain when they don’t understand. Unlike before when I knew they wouldn’t understand what I would say and I would steamroll it by them anyway and let them ignore the fact that they had no idea what I had just said.

Apparently it’s making them happy. Good for them. Too bad they have no idea why it’s happening. It’s not because we’re getting along, it’s because they really, really do not matter to me anymore. Then they call and tell me if I want a new camera, I should just buy one and they would pay for it. Nice try, that’s them trying to gain control without even knowing it. That is how they used to assert their control. It doesn’t work anymore. Besides, I don’t have a job yet, they’d be paying for it anyway!

If I’m nice to them over the phone, I get rewarded. I jump through the hoops, I get a snack-treat, go buy yerself a camera. Nice try. I actually felt comfortable with it, too. I didn’t get off the phone with the usual antagonism. If they feel happy, that’s great. Truth in their reality is no longer my concern. When they try to lasso me with money or a new camera, it simply misses. Or rather, the lasso doesn’t exist anymore, it’s no longer part of my reality. They throw the lasso and I’m already in a different dimension. Maybe I always have been and I’m just starting to realize it.

I feel at peace about killing myself. I feel like I’ve released a load of bitterness and resentment. I feel now that I won’t kill myself filled with bitterness and hate. I can feel it as an attempt to accomplish something useful. I don’t feel that I need to because my life is unbearable. Now I can not want to, but still do it because it’s important.

My past is still here. My past is still a road that has led me to where I am now, the person I am now, and the damage is still here. It still needs to be healed. Becoming a ghost and addressing the source of my torment in that form is one way to do it. There may be a way to go about it while staying alive, but I’m not sure about it.

There is something very selfish about staying alive which would make me feel unsatisfied with my life. And I might have the chance to heal my soul, but it would leave the parents in their unenlightened, material delusion. It would be no benefit to them either. It would only reinforce their misconceptions and fool them into thinking that their lives were successful.

They are wrong. Their values and priorities are all wrong and it would be a disservice to them to give them the benefit of doubt to let them emphasize money and material gain. It would be wrong to passively allow them to be complacent with their position in society.

1347 La Loma, Berkeley

December 1995

Ana Claire and I have been fucking. We're not in a relationship, we don't want to be. We just fuck. That's all it is - fucking. It's something I've never done before, I've never just fucked someone, so I'm savoring the word, its vulgarity and its brutal honesty. It's not completely cold, we're not completely unknown to each other so it's not purely carnal. She's a friend and we talk a lot, we just happen to fuck after we talk.

In some ways, it's a very twisted situation, but it's also perfect and probably what I need. When we first did it, I felt a wave of intimacy that just didn't feel right in the situation. It didn't last long; neither of us wanted this to become a relationship. It felt much more comfortable knowing that it was just fucking. We would get together, we would do something, then I would fuck her, she would fuck me. Amina, Shiho, I fuck Ana Claire, Ana Claire fucks me.

I wonder if I'm being naive through this. If anything, this is a rebound. I think she's on a rebound, too. From the start, all she wanted to do was fuck me to see what it was like to fuck me. That's totally fine with me. I’m in no position to make any emotional investment or outlay. This situation can't get messy. If things start going awry, it's thanks for the fuck, good-night. Wham-bam, thank you, ma'am. All the emotions in this are simply ambiguous.

Ana Claire has taken my relationships to another level. Her intelligence and raw ability are not to be questioned. There is an air of snobbishness to her. She doesn't give much credit to men as a gender and she makes no exception of me, so she makes plenty of assumptions about me which I wouldn't otherwise tolerate in a relationship. She looks down on me and doesn't know me at all. But she thinks she does. She'll never be able to appreciate me.

She balances her strength and her vulnerability pretty well. She's got problems and issues, but she's not neurotic or fucked up like so many other people I know. She's not scared or paranoid about anything I can see. She faces up to life and is therefore a breath of fresh air to me.

"Where did you get your name 'Ana Claire'?"
"From my grandmothers."
"They were both named 'Ana Claire'?"
"No, you fucking idiot," she laughed.

Ana Claire is a hormonal nightmare. She's very sexual and she knows what she likes. I find that intimidating, but I'm going along with it for whatever I can get. I don't know if I 'satisfy' her; I just do what I can and if she wants more, she can fuck around with other people to her heart's content.

It's funny that my motivation for getting to know Ana Claire is that she has a bass and has been interested in learning how to play it. I was interested in her learning how to play it so that I would know another Asian American person who plays an instrument.

But when I tried to teach her a part and get her to play it, it was like pulling teeth. I couldn't get her to pluck a note in my presence. She sent me out to get ice cream so she could work on the part alone. It's very telling. In our relationship and fucking thus far, she has been clearly dominant. She likes being dominant, or she wants to maintain dominance over any man. So then here I bring music, and music requires a degree of mutuality, and she can't do it.

Not even mutual, she's not dominant anymore, I'm the teacher, she's the learner. When she picks up a bass, she's not dominant anymore. She can't even pluck a string in my presence because doing so would be an admission that she's not dominant. So she sends me away to stake her territory to make it clear that she wants to feel like she's doing it herself without anyone else's help. It could just be me. Maybe she could take lessons from a man she's not fucking or from a woman. But the dynamic between us is that she's the dominant one, I'm the fuck-toy; I'm never in the dominant position and never can be.

Ana Claire is a perfectionist. She has very high standards for herself. She also has the ability to meet those standards. Which makes me feel odd since my standards are quite low. Not that I care, I kinda find it amusing; like what is this woman doing with me?

I have no idea where or how far this friendship is going to go. She does make me feel uncomfortable most of the time. I don't trust her. I have trouble talking to her and our conversations don't feel quite natural. But with the dynamics we've set ourselves into, I think eventually we're going to have to get closer, as friends, or we're going to drift apart. Either way.

It doesn't help that I'm going through a pretty difficult period in my life. I don't feel very social these days, I don't feel like reaching out at all to anyone, and no one is reaching in. I keep to myself. That doesn't help conversations.

*****************************

The betrayals. The callousness of Amina’s, the idiocy of Shiho's. Diem is also in that category of someone who has left my life with no good explanation. She doesn't write anymore and even when she wrote, she didn't communicate. She was once an intimate, now barely a pen-pal.

Truth to tell, I don't really care. The only thing that bothers me is the fact that a close friendship disappeared with no explanation; the fact that someone out there sees no value in me. Diem as a person, as someone who used to be a close friend, doesn't matter anymore. Amina, Shiho, Diem; it's all the same.

I'm not completely anti-social. I'm not particularly enthusiastic about people I've recently met, such as Ana Claire and Susan, but with people I've known for a while things are fine. Cat is just about my best friend now, I guess along with Nobuko, although it's hard to gauge a friendship when you're living with that person.

Things were great with Liz when I was back in New Jersey. I consider Liz my first real girlfriend since she was the first person I can say without a doubt that I slept with. Prior to her, I can only say it was experimentation. It was nice being with Liz. With Shiho gone, Liz is now the person I've known the longest. So different from Ana Claire. I probably could have fucked her if she wanted to.

It was so easy to let go of Amina when I was going out with Shiho. But now that they are in the same place, it is so clear that I loved Amina so much more than I ever loved Shiho. I told Amina that I would always love her first and most. It's still true.

I had a dream about Amina almost a week ago which is still affecting me. Amina and I were talking, I was asking her hard questions about what happened to us, not being warm at all. I have no idea what the questions were or what her answers were. The only thing I remember clearly is that at some point she moved behind me and put an arm over my shoulder and around my neck. I first reached up and held her arm against me, and then as I stood and turned, still holding her arm, I saw that she was crying and I started crying, too. And we both knew that we were crying for the same reason, because we once had something beautiful and we both let it go and it would never come back, and letting it go was the biggest mistake either of us could have made. I don't know if it's reality, it was the dream.

So yes, I still love Amina first and most and I probably always will. She can always have my heart and soul. I would never go out with her again, I'm not even sure I would let her back into my life as a friend, but I will always love her and she will always be all the wonderful things I saw in the three years I knew and loved her.

1347 La Loma, Berkeley

I was trying to fall asleep but my mind was too active. For a while, I freely let images flash through my mind. I've always had certain images of myself which I felt reflected how I felt about myself or my situation, such as lying in a snow-covered field, or my body being pulled out of the Hudson. I wonder if people normally have these distinct images that reflect and correlate to how they feel or feel about themselves.

In my half-sleep, the image kept repeating. It is in Shiho's apartment in Japan and the sun is shining brightly, illuminating the room through the closed drapes. I am facing the door, away from the window, either walking or just standing. Shiho comes up from behind, places one hand on my shoulder, and as I turn around, I can see what she is about to do. I don't resist or react as I see the arc of her other hand come up. It is either her hand or something in her hand that slashes at my neck, cutting my head cleanly off.

I don't know why the image is at all freaky, after all I believe that anything she does is out of love. I hope that there will never be any hate between us. In all the years we've known each other, there may have been tensions, some questions, but never animosity. There has always been some degree of love, and that seems to be what has shaped my feelings towards her now. Each time I've seen her, I've loved her even more.

In one permutation of the image, she stabs me in the back, and as I turn around, she pulls the knife out and hands it to me. I plunge it into her and grasp her to me as I feel her feeling the pain. I press my lips to hers as we fall and die together.

The image stopped repeating and continued linearly. Somehow, we both die together. We are in stillness, no light, no darkness, just nothingness. I feel my existence and I feel Shiho there. We are able to communicate, we can hear each other's thoughts. I reflect upon death, how I am now dead; my body has been left behind and is in the world that I have left. My existence continues and I find it supremely fascinating.

Shiho and I reflect upon our situation and decide that we had better go and figure out what comes next. We are very happy about the fact that we are together, that we've taken a huge step in our path, our journey, and we are traveling it together as it was meant to be. She and I were meant to be together.

As we continue in a direction with only instinct guiding us, I reflect on how surreal the situation is and randomly think, "why can't I be in Tower Records". Suddenly I find myself in Tower Records. I get really excited and tell Shiho about this and she says, "What?!" I told her what I did and told her to just imagine herself in Tower Records, and she tried it and it worked, only she couldn't see me. I could see her looking around for me and she could still hear me, but she couldn't see me.

So I said, "Go look for me in the classical section," and I found that my movement wasn't at all restricted by gravity or what used to be physical objects and boundaries, and I was able to bounce over to the classical section in a flash.

It took her just a bit longer and when she turned into the aisle of the classical section, she saw me. We ran to each other and hugged and kissed and realized that we were the only ones in the store. That's when I woke up.

Nobuko and I went shooting today. She let me use her camera and film to just take pictures, kill the roll to see what came out doing what. It was fun. Afterwards, I pulled out the camera I took from Rob's room the last time I was in New Jersey, and for the first time an SLR camera wasn't a complete mystery to me.

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."

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."

Englewood Cliffs, NJ

Today, the battle was just a simple question about whether or not I have been receiving applications for law school. Punctuated with “concern” over the issue. Or suspicion. They have all the right in the world to be concerned about their investment and to be suspicious about the performance of the other party.

Me, I’m getting better at playing my part, but I need to be careful. If I change my behavior too drastically, from sarcastic and unapproachable to willing and enthusiastic, they’re bound to catch on to something. Although they live for what they want to see, they should not be mistaken for stupid.

The idea of law school bounces around in my head. Sometimes the idea is just so ludicrous and plain stupid that it makes me rage. Other times I consider the possibility of being able to hack it and finding some worth in it. I have run across some interesting course titles, like “Japanese Law”, and “Feminist Legal Theory”, and “human rights” in the description for “International Law”. If I do find worth in law school and an ability to survive more than one semester, my hatred towards the ‘rents could manifest itself in the same way Tom does it - spend their money. As long as they’re willing participants in the bargain, try to put ‘em in the poorhouse. There they’ll have a better chance of gaining spiritual merit.

I talked with Amina last night and she made me laugh about things concerning my life that I should be taking very seriously, things that aren’t laughing matters. Not that she meant to make them funny, I think she was just being insensitive. I don’t know why I was laughing, it didn’t make me feel good. Maybe I’m starting to get numb to it. I did feel like I was forcing laughter at my own expense. It felt like she was being excessively insensitive and I was trying to ignore it. Maybe it was good that she was making me laugh at myself and not take myself too seriously. But I don’t think that was her intent.

I have mixed feelings. On one hand I should feel hurt and recognize the widening gap between Amina and me. On the other hand I considered how awful it would be if she catered to my mindset, and everything between us was based on just reading each other’s moods and feelings. We’re separate individuals with different moods at different times. Just let each other be. I need someone like Amina, someone to force me to stop demanding my “needs”, to force me to stop adhering to my petty perspective.

She was being insensitive. And that’s alright. The love is the most important thing, and for some reason I’m just stuck on her.

I imagine a scenario. I place it out in California. Maybe I’m in law school, maybe I’ve finished, but the circumstance allows me to completely turn my back on the ‘rents and refuse to talk to them or accept any form of communication from them or about them. I move and don’t tell them where, I tell them not to send any more money, I excommunicate myself and hang up the phone.

What if they find my whereabouts and come out to California to contact me. Would I tell them I have nothing to say to them? Would I tell them there are no words to express the hatred they have cultivated? Would I even let them in the door? There is no argument to sum up my anger or feelings about what they’ve done to my life. I can’t even verbalize “what they’ve done to my life”. Or do I just slowly close and lock the door without a word? *click*.

In their desperate clinging and insistent exercise of control over my life, they have permanently lost me. They have made me suffer and now they must suffer by letting me go and leaving me alone. They had power and they abused it. It wasn’t love they were giving. It was only control. Petty, selfish control. They don’t understand love enough to give it. Money is not love, never has been, never will be.

I would still hope that they find peace of mind before they die. I would still hope that they recognize the pain they caused and accept it and are accountable for it, and come to terms with it by a true act of love: letting go. They never lost a son because they can’t lose what they never had. Finding their way to heaven by finding my way to hell.

The gall they have assuming law school is the right thing for me. The gall they have even thinking they know me. The gall they have to think that what they do is an expression of care or concern. They have no concern about what field might interest me, they wouldn’t even venture to query. They have no idea how law school works or what skills will be important. No support, no suggestions, no advice. All they keep saying is “go to law school”.

Quality doesn’t matter. They did say one other thing today. They told me to make sure I apply to safety schools and that it doesn’t matter what kind of school I get into. The only important things is that I go. They declare law school is the right future for me, but they have no concern about quality, no concern about what I get out of it. Just go and my future will magically be there for me. It can’t be concern because they don’t care, they just want to feel like they did their duty, no matter what the cost. Even if the cost is me.

Most of the schools I’m looking at are in California. No outright objection yet, aside from a precursory “California has a lot of earthquakes”. They are going to try to control where I go, too. I know it. First they just get me to agree to apply to law schools, and when I say “OK”, they say “but don’t go there, go somewhere closer”. Fuckheads. Give an inch. I swear they will pay dearly someday.

My blood boiled when they said I can’t think about only myself, that I have to think of others. What fucking others? Them? Implying that they would be adversely effected if something bad happened to me? Don’t tempt me. When they say things like that, suicide becomes a very attractive option. Just as they made it attractive so many years ago.

I have to keep track of all this so that I don’t forget my anger as I’m prone to do. I have to remind myself what’s at stake.

Osaka, Japan

I got back from Taiwan and found one letter in my mailbox from Madoka. What’s up with everyone else? I shouldn’t wonder, I know what’s up with everyone else. Coming back to Japan from Taiwan makes Japan feel like home. Japan’s landscape is so familiar compared to Taiwan. Taiwan was, at best, surreal. I floated in, floated around, and floated right back out. I had no desire to stay, no fond memories, too many ghosts.

I faltered and struggled to communicate in Japanese, since the older generation of Taiwanese speak Japanese. I spent more time with Uncle Taka than ever before. We drove all the way to Tai Zhong just to indulge in the cuisine they are famous for.

Uncle Bun’s wife is in the final stage of cancer. Audrey’s mother, a finer woman this family has not seen. I visited her in the hospital. At first, I don’t think she recognized me. She was undergoing radiation treatment and she was in such pain, all I could do was let her squeeze my hand. She told me not to tell Audrey, and I knew what she meant. She knew Audrey and I are close. “Don’t tell Audrey”. No, I won’t tell her, but I can let her know. I’ll make sure Audrey comes back at the end of the semester.

What is it about her? She names her daughter after Audrey Hepburn, and then I meet Amina, the love of my life, who rings of Audrey Hepburn. Amina is a big Audrey Hepburn fan. When me and my brothers visited Taiwan in 1980, we were total monsters, yet she not only took care of us, but she eventually named one of her sons after my American name. Why? After the show we put on in 1980, I would think she would try to disassociate from my name as much as possible. We were that bad. Bottom line, the woman is a saint. But there must be more.

I dreamed of Amina for the first time in a while in Taiwan. It was a sunny summer day and it looked like we were pool-side outside of some fancy hotel. She had joined me there at a table with one of those big umbrellas. She was silent and in thought. I guess it was just my fantasy, but she knew that I had decided to take up the issue of Shiho and me with the possibility of starting a relationship with Shiho. So Amina was there, silent, to tell me that she really did love me and it only struck her when it became very possible that she would lose me for good. Oh yea, fantasy.

In my sleep, my eyes opened a little. At two o’clock in the morning, someone had turned on the hall light so that if my eyes opened a little, they would open a lot. The dream and Amina faded away as if an angel had turned my face towards the light and pried my eyes open a crack to warn me, “no, don’t”.

I’m having major doubts about my role in the music thing here. Sakura has hooked up with those three semi-pros who are certainly older than us. I get the sense that they’re wondering what I’m even doing there. They are very professional, to them it’s a job, not an expression. They do as they’re told, their input is professional, not personal creativity. It’s kind of cold and not really my bag. They’re really good, but not the kind of good I can get into.

The pressure of living in Japan is what is changing me the most, though. I’m exercising a lot of self-control and I’m being super careful not to let my predisposed problems surface. There is no room for that old diagnosis “adjustment disorder”. What a load of crap anyway. “Adjustment disorder”? I think it was just a descriptive that psychiatrist came up with to match his observations. He sat there listening, thinking, “hmmm, sounds like he’s having trouble adjusting - I’ll call it an ‘adjustment disorder’!” Screw that.

In any case, I’m here for another three months. The plan is to enroll in the Japanese course at the YMCA tomorrow, and then I’m going up to Tokyo this weekend to visit Shiho and meet up with Mark Holdaway. It’s unbelievable that I’m going to see them both at the same time. What is up with that? It still blows my mind. I’m taking the Shinkansen up on Saturday morning, and on Sunday night I’m hopping onto an all-night bus back to Osaka and on Monday, classes start. That’s the plan.

Osaka, Japan

I’ve been in Japan for a week and a half. I’m staying in the same apartment at “Toyohara mansion” that I stayed in when I was here nine years ago, but apparently it is now being used as storage space. Kazue and Mi-chan have both since married and moved out. I had to carve out a living space amongst the boxes and TV monitors. TV monitors? They both run karaoke bars now.

Kazue picked me up at the airport and brought me back here to Juso. Mi-chan stopped by later, and of course I was greeted by auntie and uncle who still live in the apartment upstairs. It’s all familiar in a surreal way, which is nothing that I didn’t expect.

I’ve been re-familiarizing myself with the surrounding area. The day after I got here, I took a long walk. I found the Yodogawa easily enough and made my way across it to Umeda. I remember the general layout of the area well enough to find my way around. I remember the main roads, the Hankyu station, the local shopping arcade.


Yodogawa (Yodo River), looking back at Juso.

I’ve been eating with uncle and auntie which has been pretty uncomfortable since we can’t communicate very well. I’m very polite and I thank them for everything. I wish they would let me help with cleaning up, or anything so that I won’t feel like a useless freeloader.

I got in touch with Madoka and Sakuko almost immediately and that helped buffer the shock. My cousin Gary, Audrey’s brother, also coincidentally visited soon after I arrived. He only stayed a few days, but he was able to translate, so there was that window of communication while he was here to help me clear up some basics with auntie.

I’ve been dreaming of life in the States. I wake up wondering where I am and it always seems to be with disappointment and homesickness that I realize that I’m here. Most unusual considering this is where I want to be.

But I’m alone here, an exile in disguise, an observer living in mortal fear that someone will walk up to me and talk to me and find out my awful truth. I’ve been trying to learn this language for so long and I still can’t. That’s gotta be about something. And I need to stop fucking apologizing whenever I have to explain that I don’t speak the language.

My thoughts are a-buzz, a continuation of the anxiety and constant mental activity during the month prior to coming here. Only it’s immediate now, no longer distant. What am I doing here? How am I going to do it? What to do after my three month visa expires? Thoughts flash and my feelings keep changing. I don’t know what kind of life I want to lead or what kind of person I want to be HERE. Yesterday, almost as an exercise, I scared myself thinking that I don’t want to die. Allow myself to severely attach to this physical existence and not wanting to know of any other kind. If only I can stop thinking and concentrate on learning the language.

Shiho called. Her voice had a warm familiarity and I felt waves of overwhelming reminiscence. So much time has passed and the reality of our relationship was distance. Now we’re back in the same country and she feels close, her reality is almost present. Have we changed too much since high school? It’s been six years, so our separation has been longer than the time we were friends in New Jersey.

Amina and I were riding on a bus. It was raining. The clouds started breaking and when the sun came out, I thought that there must be a rainbow. I looked out the window. We were on the right side of the bus, and she was to my right in the window seat. The sun was coming out on the left, so the rainbow had to be out the right window. When I saw it, I looked at her and looked back out the window trying to indicate that there was something there. There was a white guy in the seat behind us and I was annoyed that he was there. I didn’t want to communicate anything at all to him so I was being secretive with Amina and not saying anything out loud. Amina asked what I was looking at. I asked what she thought I saw, trying to indicate with my eyes the sun at the left and the rain. I was using my eyes and my face and our faces ended up close to each other. I was aware of wanting to respect her space so I wasn’t comfortable being so close to her, but I also didn’t want to move away from her. Then it became clear that it was no mistake that her face was so close to mine, so I moved my face towards her until our cheeks gently touched. Slowly we turned until our lips met and we kissed. I savored the warmth and her softness and I couldn’t believe I was kissing her. My mouth was tingling and my heart jumping. Never a kiss like that, never wanting to stop. Or so I dreamed.

Englewood Cliffs, NJ
I had a dream last night. It was a bright sunny day over the Hudson River on the George Washington Bridge. Season unknown, I don’t remember if there were any cars. I was walking across the Bridge from the New York side towards the New Jersey side. It was a long, long walk and the part on which I was walking wasn’t even the suspension part of the bridge.

But it wasn’t solid concrete below my feet, it was more like fragile sandstone or limestone formed into a chainlike configuration with holes where I could look all the way down to the river. Each step had to be carefully negotiated and there was no end to my anxiety about heights. Other people were also making the crossing but they played no major role in the dream.

Then my friend Dwight showed up. I don’t remember if he said anything but the feeling he exuded in his attitude was “don’t worry, everything’s cool, everything’s gonna be fine, relax”. At which point he jumped off the limestone catwalk, but his presence and its feelings remained. The dream goes on but only this part I’ve figured out.

The precarious catwalk is my outlook of my near future - the next eight months or so, not knowing what I’ll end up doing, being careful to make all the right decisions. Dwight is going to California. That’s definite, that’s why he was so secure on the catwalk, his jumping off was going to California, my option. Do I keep on my current precarious path or do I follow Dwight to California? The question has found its way to my unconsciousness. If I’m interpreting it right. I think later in the dream, I’m about to reach the other side and I totally forget what happens when I get there. I think the terminal on the other side looked like the 42nd Street Port Authority terminal.

40 Locust St., Oberlin OH

I had two horrible dreams. The first one was in the first house in which I lived in Englewood Cliffs and it took place in the master bedroom. Cindy was there as my wife and she was delirious with pneumonia. I started panicking thinking she might die and I fumbled for the phone, then I realized the first question the hospital would ask would be for her temperature and so I fumbled for a thermometer and nearly dropped it a couple of times. Then I had trouble getting it into her mouth because she kept on becoming invisible. Finally I felt for her mouth and got it in. I saw it floating there because she was invisible. I kissed her and woke up. The second dream was about Rebecca. She was back in Senior year, I was in the first year of college, a small nothing college in which I was proud to be. I don’t want to go into it.

Oberlin, OH

I’m sick. I told myself that if I couldn’t get these papers done by Friday, I would go talk with the professor and tell him that I really, really, simply just can’t do the papers. But then my efforts were scuttled by my body trying to sabotage my efforts. But I ain’t giving up yet, I’m going to put a noble effort into this. I got asthma pretty bad on Thursday and Friday, whenever I was able to get out and move about, I thought I would collapse or whatever.

I went to a Steel Drum Ensemble rehearsal because I was feeling a bit better and it really rocked. Our show is going to be on Friday at the Cat in the Cream and I feel pretty good about it. It’s been a long time since I’ve really performed in a group, and playing in a group is SO much more fun than playing alone.

The ‘rents are back from a trip to China. They called and it was barely bearable, they’re still talking out of two sides of their faces, they can’t be thinking I’m buying it. They just can’t. They sent money a few days ago, along with, for the first time, a LETTER! I couldn’t even read it, I read the first line of each paragraph to get the gist and then chucked it. It was too weird having them trying to communicate like that after all this time. If they ever wanted to communicate, they should have started a long time ago and it’s way too late now.

We’ve never talked or anything. Anything said between us has been for practical communication or small talk, never discussion for the sake of discussion and I think it’s bullshit if they think things can change just because they all of a sudden decide to. I couldn’t get used to it and since they established it, I don’t see any reason why I should let anything change. I’m used to non-communication and I like it that way.

I had a dream a couple of nights ago. A bunch of people I knew were playing team hide and seek in the cemetery. I was on the hiding team and I couldn’t be caught. I was being chased at the time I woke up, but I couldn’t be caught. The following day I dreamed a cat had gotten into my room and woke me up by sitting on my chest. I was afraid it was going to scratch me even though I love cats, and I had difficulty kicking it out since I’m allergic to cats. I got it outside of the room but it made moves to get back in and I woke up just as I was slamming the door on it. I think they’re both death dreams. There was something morbid and dark about the cat and that’s why I was uncharacteristically afraid of it. But I don’t see my death happening before two years from now, so I don’t know why I’m having dreams about it now.