1557 Noe St., San Francisco

In the end, when the 'rents are shoving cash into my face, it's hard to resist and refuse. But at least I made my principled stance that I don't need their money. The interesting thing is that Tom gave me money, too, and I consider that a gift. That's because Tom totally doesn't have to in order to maintain our relationship. He's showing love by giving me money because that's what he has learned, but giving me money or not has no bearing on our relationship. Nothing happens as a result of him giving me or not giving me money. I accept that expression of love from him.

But if the 'rents don't give me money, I don't visit them. I would put down my own money to visit Tom, but not the 'rents. The 'rents made it hard because they used, abused, manipulated, and controlled with money, and tried to call it love. I still don't accept their money as love, except on paper. The reality is that they've always wanted something back for all the money they've invested in me. Not entirely unreasonable if you think about it, but I'm not a business. I'm not an asset.

Englewood Cliffs, N.J.

We visited Bob in Philadelphia this evening. Waste of time. I had a bit of a breakthrough, though. I'm not accepting money from the 'rents anymore. They were getting on my nerves about what I should have done when I hurt my back. I just wanted them to shut up and made the point that they don't have to pay for it. They're not the ones paying for it, so shut up. The bitch responded, "No, we're not going to pay for it".

They give money as an expression of love, they admit it, they've said as much. So an issue about money is an issue about love. It's all or nothing, and if they're going to make an issue about it, fuck it, I don't want their love/money. I never wanted or needed their love in the true sense of the word, but if they decide to withhold what is their expression of it, fuck it. If they ran out of money, that means they run out of love. Conversely, if I don’t need their money, I don’t need their love.

I made the evening tense after that. Driving home they tried to make amends, inquiring about the price of my plane ticket. When they told me they would pay for the ticket, I told them no, don't bother, I could afford it. Right at that point, police lights start flashing behind us. They got a ticket for making an illegal left turn. Years ago I would have snidely told them that they need the money more than I do. And they do need the money more than I do. They make ten times more than I do and they need the money more than I do.

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.

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 seventeen

“Hello?”
“. . . Hello, Koji?”
“Yes”
“It’s me”
“I know . . .”
“Um, if you don’t want to hear from me, I guess you should tell me now.”
“No . . . no, it’s good to hear your voice.”

I got a lead on something to do. Wendell's sister, Karen, is quitting her job at Ohana Cultural Center and they need volunteers to pick up her projects until they decide whether they can afford to hire someone else and continue those programs. I met with Karen today and she briefed me on the projects I would be taking over. I was there to decide whether I wanted to do it, but as far as Karen was concerned, I already had. She's right, I had. It's just something in me. My fear of committing to anything.

I wasn't even committed to college. I went to college riding a flow, and it turned out to be a five year current I floated on. It never entered my mind to push my potential and apply my talents and positive attributes to some productive end. It was the same attitude with which I entered law school: this won't last, I'll just do it to see what I find. I didn't find anything and it was only at the end that I realized what a wealth of opportunity I had squandered.

I'm out of school with no responsibilities and no structure to my days. I don't have to be anywhere at any time and no one depends on me for anything. I like it like that. I look for volunteer opportunities and nothing jobs, but my mind freezes every time I think about making the call and giving the impression that I want to do something. I can't seem to get it through to myself that it will be necessary to commit if I want to do something. It will be necessary for me to stop living my life my own way and as I please.

Day three

I put on that sob-story drama for Dean Hughes, making it sound like my life was completely falling apart, and then what do I go do? I go out and see John Woo's "Hard-Boiled" with Kevin and Ed. It feels good to have time, and that's precisely what I bought for myself. Time to get on my bike after dark and ride down to the BART station and to move with the night crowds. To wander city streets under arc lamp and avoid the seedy people and criticize the yuppies and pseudo-bohos.

There was a party tonight at Amita's place in the Mission District, not far from Nobuko. The Mission doesn't have a reputation of being the safest neighborhood, yet there I was, finding myself there at night doing things I wouldn't be doing if I was still in school. Ooh, exciting. Time that I've bought.

There is an electricity to the city at night, compared to suburban New Jersey or Ohio. Even Oakland. The San Francisco air feeling like there's something happening, unlike New York which was either hostile or too big (and boring) in its own self-importance. Although there was that one evening in high school with Olga, which became the topic of my college essay. Reminiscence. All very reminiscent of walking around Osaka for hours at two in the morning with Madoka and Sakura.

More than half the people at Amita's were Obies. Less than half were not. It's been so long since I've met people. I don't know if I can or want to start again now. I'm a loner. I like to do things alone. Going out and doing things and meeting people is so very incongruous to how I live my life; to how I want to live my life. Contrary to contrary opinion.

I prefer being withdrawn. That's what's real. Meeting people isn't bad, and going out and doing things isn't bad, but it's bad to think that there's more meaning to those encounters beyond superficial contact. It's distracting to my concentration. People aren't real. Going out and doing things and meeting people are only shadows, exercises in movement, facades.

My entire life has been withdrawn. It's all been about withdrawal. Otherwise, leave of absence. Going out and doing things has only reinforced my sensibilities about how superficial life is. I'm finding through experience now what I had known cognitively for years. Books aren't enough.

Day two

As I hung up the phone, I thought I felt an angel blow across my temple and remove the weight and intensity of what had just happened. Everything would be alright. Something will guide me to my truth, as long as I remain sensitive to the guidance and not let myself be clouded by emotions and impulse. In the sea of love, there are no shores, all there is to do is drown.

The decision to withdraw from law school was probably one of the most difficult decisions I've ever had to make about my life. I was making it final, setting it in stone. I was leaving law school, going completely against the 'rents, saying goodbye to my safety net, climbing out of a deeply cut family groove. As much as I hate the 'rents, I found the ties that bind to be chains.

I walked into Dean Hughes's office after waiting in the lobby for half an hour contemplating my resolve. She wasn't the hard-nosed bitch that l perceived her to be previously. She was down-right professional.

"How may I help you?" she asked as she closed the door.

"I would like to withdraw," I answered without sitting down. I could tell she was taken off-guard, leaning over to push the door shut. She regained her posture and hesitated to fully take in the meaning of what I said.

"You're a . . . first year student?" she asked, having an idea but not the fact.

"That's right," I replied. I had already broken from my script in which I was supposed to inform her of my name and year immediately. At least I made an impression walking into her office announcing that I wanted to withdraw.

"Well," she began as she moved behind her desk, "is there a reason, or is it something you want to discuss, or . . . have you made your final decision?".

My brain almost froze. I struggled to rise to the occasion. I run important encounters through my mind a zillion times beforehand because I'm never good at them when they happen. It never helps.

"Well, I...", I diverted my eyes to the right and recovered, "I'm going through some serious family problems," I said quietly, "and I'm also having a lot of trouble in a relationship. I just know that if I have to deal with those problems and to have school work on top of that, it would just be too distracting for me to do as well as I would...require of myself." Standards? Why did I bring standards into this? Idiot. "I just know that the stress of juggling and balancing everything would be too much to handle. I don't want to leave school, but..."

"Would you consider taking a leave of absence?" she asked. Bingo!

"Is that an option? Yea, I would definitely do that if possible." She reached over into a drawer and pulled out a form. From that point, I didn't care what she said. She was going to give me a leave of absence and she was going to process it herself on the spot. I figure in retrospect that if I went in asking for a leave of absence, she would have asked more questions and required more proof to justify it. But announcing that I wanted to withdraw, I guess, was all the justification she needed. Students are money, and if not this semester, there's always next.

I don't know what she may have thought about my reasons. What are the worst possible scenarios that she could have imagined to fit the descriptions of "family problems" and "troubled relationship"? I didn't lie, I feel the crises justified leaving school, but if she knew the actual details of what was going on, I doubt that she would have authorized a leave of absence. Who doesn't go through these problems? But if they were serious enough for me to want to withdraw, they were enough for her to give me a leave of absence.

She left the office several times while I filled out forms for a leave of absence and to drop all my classes. She signed all the forms to make them official and to have my tuition refunded, and she told me what I had to do to get back in next Fall.

"I hope you are able to work out all the problems and I hope to hear from you later," she said sincerely.

"Thank you so much, I really appreciate it. I know the problems are resolvable, they just need time," I replied.

"I understand."

I left the building floating and in disbelief. I had a safety net under me. If nothing worked out, I could always return to law school in the Fall. Amina criticized me for always having a safety net, and said it was about time for me to not have it. Sometimes it's better not to have one. She may be right, but what the hell does she know about my life?

1844 7th Ave., Oakland

Amina is coming tomorrow! I’m so excited, things have been so discouraging these past two weeks, and Amina will make things all better. At least for a little while.

In my life, shades of things being good overlap with shades of things being awful and they somehow exist together. I view my surroundings through a filter of things being good or things being awful. Neither is dominant, but one is dominant at any one point.

I haven’t made any friends or acquaintances at school. It’s no wonder. I’m intrigued by the material, but that’s all. I’m fascinated by it and I’m curious about it, but unlike everyone else, I don’t view it as a tool or a skill that I’m developing to use in a career. I don’t worry about it, but I do feel the constant pressure of being there.

I exercise the thought of dropping out at the end of the semester, either before or after exams. I wouldn’t tell the ‘rents and I’d chill for the next half year just doing music and living off their precious money. I’d save the tuition money and send it back after I get a job. I’d wait to get a job until after Amina’s graduation so that I can go to it.

I don’t care about wasting the ‘rents’ money, it’s not a consideration anymore. I’ll drop out whenever the time is right and the thought of wasting money shouldn’t even cross my mind. But as long as I’m foreseeing dropping out after Amina graduates, I’d might as well pocket the $7000 tuition that would be going to waste.

For now, I wait for Amina. I can’t wait until she’s here again. The past two months since I saw her last have been grueling and unbearably slow. She stopped writing, and although it doesn’t play on my insecurities as it might have months ago, I wish she could find time to write.

Things will be just fine between us. I’ve finally reached a point of maturation that I think I can make this work. It was in my last year at Oberlin that I grew the most and the seeds of maturation were formed. I was immature then and I still was through this past Summer. The problems between Amina and me were what made the seeds open, and whatever I learned from senior year can start helping me work through problems with Amina now.

My memories still go back to that year. It’s still so vivid in my mind. It was the most meaningful year of my life in retrospect. It is significant that Amina wasn’t there for half of it. It was good that she wasn’t there. The memories of my room in Third World House, and Hiromi and coffee, and Luyen, cold, love, struggle, Tetris, Southern Comfort, the soles of my feet, Diem, skeletons, the language lab, communication. Oh God, the language lab.

I remember reading the Platform Sutra to Hiromi when she was sick. Sleeping in her bed when she went to Japan for break. Wearing her purple jacket. I remember how my desk was set up, how my room was set up, the broken window. And all that coffee. Hiromi sunk into me much more than I ever admitted or realized. Our times were so tender, but she just wasn’t there for me, she wasn’t what I needed. I never felt that she cared.

If I could go back and watch any point of my life, I think I’d go there, that semester. I was so wrong. I was so wrong about Hiromi and Luyen, that’s why it is so significant that Amina wasn’t there. She wasn’t part of the mess. She wasn’t a witness to my impropriety. But she was the one I loved first and most through it all. It was a tragic learning experience, and Amina had to be kept out of it.

But how could things have been different. Would I have broken up with Hiromi if it weren’t for Luyen? How far would it have gone with Hiromi? I can imagine staying with Hiromi. Eventually marrying her? Beautiful name, Hiromi.

It’s all gone now. I’m in California, where Amina and I had joked about going to when we first met. And Amina and I are now together and we are faced with realities. We are forced to face what we will do for the rest of our lives. If Amina and I can’t make it work, there’s always the monastery. Always the monastery. Another seed that was planted senior year.

Shiho and I officially broke up. Finally. During our last conversation before she went back to Japan from Chicago, she mentioned that her longtime friend and photo club chum was interested in her. I did what I hope I would have done if confronted with the same situation and Amina wasn’t in the picture. I hope I would have done the right thing. Let her go and give her the chance to pursue a relationship that is simply more feasible, acceptable, and realistic.

But if Amina wasn’t in the picture, maybe I could have paid more and enough attention to Shiho to prevent her from being swayed by anyone else. I really haven’t shown much interest in Shiho. And truth to tell, I think she has been going out with this guy for a while, possibly as long as I’ve been going out with Amina.

It all appears to have worked out too perfectly. How else would we have broken up? By letter? No. Phone from Japan is too expensive, and it wouldn’t have happened in an international phone call. It just so happened that Shiho’s grandmother wanted to visit her daughter in Chicago, Shiho’s aunt. Shiho’s mom made her go because she didn’t want the grandmother going alone, thus bringing Shiho to the States.

Furthermore, the aunt used to live in San Mateo, across the Bay. That wouldn’t have been good. I don’t know if we could have done it in person. But a phone call from somewhere in the States was the perfect set up. It allowed for time to let it happen, it allowed for direct communication, and it gave us the necessary distance. Window opened, window closed.

1844 7th Ave., Oakland

I can’t believe I survived until September! What? Two weeks? Law school sucks, it’s hard as hell and requires a mindset that I’d rather not develop. I’m utterly and completely unmotivated and depressed. It’s antithetical to the person I want to be.

I have some good days, some bad. Some days are hard, other days harder. I’m mostly lonely and I feel displaced. My class schedule is hardest on Mondays and Wednesdays. By the end of the day, I walk out of classes in a daze and I have to decompress and recover. It makes me really hate the ‘rents. How much more can I possibly hate them?

I have some days that are really bad but I don’t realize how bad they are until halfway through and look back at it. Today was one of those days. It’s hard not to have bad days when all days depress me to some extent. What topped it off today was hitting an old lady’s car with my Rodeo. My car was undamaged, but I broke one of her rear lights.

It all came rushing at me: I hate living in this world. I hate material life. There are too many people, too many bad people. Too much liability, too many people at too many other peoples’ throats. Life and society is too complicated.

This isn’t the result of hitting that old lady’s car, don’t get me wrong. She came out of her car yelling up a storm, but she was immediately placated when I apologized and told her I would be more than happy to pay for the damage. She became very civil at that point and there was no conflict to resolve. But it’s sad that her first reaction was to be antagonistic and belligerent.

But my problem is that it could have been worse. I’ve never had to deal with responsibility and real life and living. I’ve never lived in the “real” world, I’ve always had things done for me. I could afford to be stuck in a mental hospital when other people have such worse problems than I do.

Until recently I’ve never had to deal with taxes, voting, insurance, credit, bank accounts, jobs. But this accident stirred things up - damages caused to other people, responsibility and liability, having to watch your every move so that you don’t accidentally step on someone’s toes and get sued for battery. Is that what real life is about? Is that how people want to live their lives?

I didn’t have to hit that old lady. I didn’t have to be there to hit that old lady. I didn’t have to have been in my car today. I could have stopped at some other supermarket, I didn’t have to try to get around her because she was driving like . . . an old lady. It was so arbitrary.

Englewood Cliffs, NJ

Well, I’ve got my car. $20,000 for an Isuzu Rodeo and I’ll be putting a CD changer in soonly. With these great expenses, I’ve been mellowing out and I’ve even started feeling guilty. I looked into the future and imagined the feelings of betrayal after spending so much money. Not only stabbed in the back, but having the back-stabbing planned from the start. They asked for it. It’s their fault for not having the foresight or the awareness of what they were putting me through. What goes around comes around.

I’m going to help Bob move from Providence to New Haven this weekend. We discussed the move and we planned it so that I would arrive in Providence between ten and eleven tomorrow. That means I would have to leave between seven and eight. A short while after getting off the phone, one of the fuckheads told me to go to sleep early tonight. How the fuck did he know what time I was planning to leave? I am so fucking out of here. What goes around comes around.

I hope they were listening in to the conversation. Then they caught the part where I was talking about having to buy stereo equipment for their stupid karaoke parties. I don’t give a fuck anymore if they were listening in, I’ve got my drums, I got my car, I’m getting the CD changer, I’m going to San Francisco for law school, and I’m spending the Summer in Oberlin with Amina. What are they going to do if they overhear my honest opinion of them? Fuck ‘em.

Englewood Cliffs, NJ

The fuckheads have grudgingly accepted that if they want me in law school, they’d better accept my choice of which school. I’m still pressing them for the car. In fact, I mentioned the car right in the midst of them attempting to make me feel guilty about giving up an $18,000 scholarship. I smugly made clear that it wasn’t my money.

They’ve clearly betrayed their “money is love” mantra. That’s too bad after all the time and effort I spent shooting holes in the idea. It’s much simpler than I’ve made it all out to be. “Money as love” was just a means to disguise their self-interest. Who would expect me to accept money as a surrogate for emotions and interactions parents are supposed to have with their off-spring? Although it’s true that there are plenty of families which have neither.

But since this isn’t another family, I’m on the warpath to spend their money, and spend their money I will. Tomorrow I go look for a car. I’m looking at Nissan Pathfinders, the most expensive of its type. I need something that can haul music equipment around. I think I need a CD changer, too.

Englewood Cliffs, NJ

Almost every time I’ve really needed Amina, I wasn’t able to get in touch with her. Coincidence?

Maybe it has always been for the better, I don’t think I want to expose Amina to this side of me, especially this time. Things went a little far this time and I cut up my legs pretty bad and slugged down a whole glass of vodka. Putting gashes in my legs stopped working when it got to the point that it wasn’t doing anything except making me more angry. It wasn’t relieving anything. One cut probably could use stitches, but doesn’t need it. I don’t mind it scarring in a nasty way. I want to remember this weekend far into the future.

I wasn’t home when the mail came. When I got home, I saw the large envelope from DePaul University and I could see that the envelope had been opened and an attempt had been made to make it look like it hadn’t been opened. One of the fuckheads was in the house. At first I thought it was the fuckhead who opened it, but decided to withhold judgment until I got more facts. I didn’t care what DePaul had to say since I had already gotten into Golden Gate University and intended to go there. I peeked in the envelope, saw that I was accepted and left it.

Later in the day, the fuckhead told me to go pick up the other fuckhead from the office. When I picked him up, he mentioned something about a scholarship. I didn’t know anything about it. Apparently DePaul offered a scholarship for $18,000. That confirmed without a shadow of doubt that the bitch had opened my mail and gone through the contents.

The violation was staggering. I silently fumed. The irony is that the reason I wasn’t at the house to intercept the mail was that I was out gleefully spending their money on the electronic drumset that was my right after I told them I got into Golden Gate. Was it worth it? No fucking way.

It gets worse. A little later, the bitch comes traipsing to my room feigning exuberance that she “just heard” that I got a scholarship. Maybe she thought I had read the acceptance letter and had told the other fuckhead when I was driving him home and then he told her. I was in no mood for her bullshit and called her on it, asking what she was talking about, she already had opened it and read the letter.

Her years of practiced lying obviously paid off, she didn’t miss a beat. She instantly processed that she had just been nailed and continued to spin it, saying that she looked at it but didn’t read the details. Funny, I didn’t see anything about a scholarship, that information must have come from somewhere. Her English must be much better than I thought to be able to just look at a letter and get such detail out of it. Fuckhead.

To make matters even worse, they then try to pressure me to go to DePaul. FUCK YOU!! What the hell. It was no problem for me to hold my line, I didn’t care about anything they said, I was going to San Francisco to get the fuck far away from them as possible.

They left for some party and I just lost it. I wanted to burn. I tried to call Amina, but fortunately to no avail. So I hacked away. This law school bullshit is getting out of hand. It has only gotten this far because I’m financially dependent and don’t have the means or ability to just leave and make it on my own. I have no idea how to look for a job, I have no resume, I have no experience. Every time I told them I wanted to get a job, they forked over more money and told me to study more. Which I never did anyway. I wouldn’t put it past them that they planned it this way so that they could have more control over the options and opportunities I have.

The fuckheads. They were ecstatic that I had gotten into Golden Gate, they had considered their mission as parents accomplished. They didn’t care where I went, they didn’t care how bad of a school I went to. Suddenly put $18,000 into the picture and it’s a whole new front, another battle. They’re so full of shit. They didn’t push law school for my benefit and future, they manipulated it because it gains them satisfaction and status; so that they can tell their friends that they have two doctors and a lawyer. It’s a game of cards to them. They’re not pushing for me to go to Chicago because of the money, they don’t need it, they said that the $18,000 they’re saving would go into my bank account. They want Chicago because they want me closer within their sphere of influence. No fucking way.

A car, the drumset, spending the Summer in Oberlin, none of the money is worth it. The money doesn’t have the value that the fuckheads think they do. I don’t need any of the stuff, and in a different situation I certainly wouldn’t even ask for any of it.

Not that if the fuckheads put more emphasis and effort into family and less in money, everything would be coming up roses. Problems and conflicts are a way that families learn and grow and build a relationship. But there has to be learning and growing by both parties. There has to be an emotional investment. The fuckheads learn nothing and are complacent as they are and invest only money. I am not interested.

Even with problems and conflicts, a family that invests emotionally is functional and there is always hope for reconciliation. There is no hope in this family because there is no groundwork, there is no foundation on which to build anything. There is only resentment, hatred, and distrust. There is nothing to reconcile, it has all been about business and economics. Money.

If things were different, I would be a vastly different person. I am a direct product of their upbringing, not a passive victim of their negligence. I won’t say everything is perfect as they are since I don’t very much care for who I am and would prefer not to exist as I am, but as long as I’m here, I can accept that whatever happens to me in the future is pretty much a direct result of the upbringing they had to offer. Anything I do is explainable as a result of what they’ve sown. My future is a natural progression from the kind of upbringing they’ve given.

So I gain materially through all this. I’m making out like a bandit and making sure they come through with everything they now owe me. It makes no difference that they are unsatisfied after they intercepted the DePaul letter. That’s their own fault. The agreement was that I go to law school, not where I go. If they feel they’re losing out because they’re not getting exactly what they want, that’s their own fault for not getting this in writing.

Englewood Cliffs, NJ

Every once in a while, I have pangs of conscience asking whether or not I am fully justified through all this. Isn’t there some moral yardstick that would mark my actions as bad? It’s a moot point in any case, just an exercise, and if an answer had to be given, I think I am justified. The issue hit me hard involving, ironically, money. It was a fully emotional response out of my control. It is when they shell out the money that I get vulnerable. Then I must remember that they wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t going through this law school garbage.

If they are shelling out all this money, don’t I have a responsibility? No, money doesn’t buy responsibility, it buys a contractual obligation at best. My responsibility is myself and my well-being, not something they think can be taken care of by throwing money at me. And money is control. They are still trying to pull strings with money. They try to use money both as their twisted notion of love and as a control mechanism. My defenses need to be full up against any feelings of guilt.

There are serious problems with their philosophy when I ask for money for this trip to Oberlin and they become reluctant and tell me I have to calculate everything and return anything that’s left over. Hey, it’s their money, I say, “OK”. What can I say? When they said, “stay at home, study for law school and have peace of mind”, I recall them also saying something about just asking for money if I need it, and there will be no questions asked. When they’re sending contradictory messages, I feel justified in choosing which message is valid. And the message I choose is that money is their way of exercising control. The bottom line is that the message isn’t contradictory, there is only one message.

Englewood Cliffs, NJ

I’ve been honest with the ‘rents all these years. Whenever they pissed me off, whenever I felt like giving them a piece of my mind, whenever they grated on my nerves to high hell, I let them know it. That’s honesty. It’s different this time, this time it’s business, and you never show all your cards in business. Minimum friction and let them hear what they want to hear. It makes sense to do so, they so thoroughly live in their delusions. No dose of the reality I’ve been giving them has had any effect. They absorb delusion as oceans absorb rain.

I could have laughed. I’m going to Oberlin for a couple of weeks and I may go to Chicago to visit Pasha with Amina, Diem, and Vikki. The ‘rents don’t know about the Chicago part. Anyway, the issue is which car I should take, the big Mercedes or the small Mercedes. I want the big one only because of the Chicago part, but they don’t know that, so I come up with some bogus reasons for wanting to take the big one. They silently give in.

Several hours later, they coming rushing in elated and bubbling about how I now have high tastes and therefore I now have the motivation to make money. Perplexed, I queried. Apparently my desire to take the big car indicates that I now have high tastes and prefer expensive things. !!!!!

Overwhelmed by disbelief, shocked by the inane analysis, I tried to clarify in the most sarcastic and condescending tone possible that the value or the price of the car had nothing to do with my preference for the big car. Then I made a mistake by saying something about taking the Rolls Royce if my tastes were now so high. That set her off on a speech about how all the money they make is for us, and of course if I wanted to take the Rolls Royce, I could. Yeah, right.

Her sincerity strains to please. I don’t doubt her personal belief in her concern and love for her offspring. I also believe that she is in need of serious psychiatric help. Her delusional state is nothing that a few years of psychotherapy couldn’t cure. And I’m sure some shock therapy wouldn’t hurt either.

Englewood Cliffs, NJ

It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a New Jersey winter, but not even the worst winter storm of the century could touch this cozy commode on the cliffs. We got five inches of soggy snow that got soggier today in 40 degree weather.

I don’t mind shoveling snow now. Even though it was one of the despised chores while growing up. I don’t mind doing dishes and cleaning up, either. The ‘rents are aglow about how “good” I am now. Idiots. I’m not being good, I’m working my way, paying my fare.

They were talking at me last night and I was trying hard to not pay attention, but I caught something about “pulling out old photographs” so that I can see how nice they were when I was little and what good parents they were and how they took me to all these places. How pathetic. Pulling out photographs to prove to their children that they are good parents? How pathetic.

I also feel that part of what they are paying for is my family participation. So eating meals with them is a reasonable sacrifice. I’m not saying it’s worth it in the long run. There is little job satisfaction when they think they can call me down to the kitchen at any hungry whim they have. Especially when they just ate two hours ago. I never eat three meals in a day.

I also resent them thinking they can come physically close to me. If this were a contract, I’d make sure there was a three foot radius around me that they couldn’t invade.

You’d hope that doctors enter the medical profession to help people. I’m sure many doctors do. Many enter the medical profession and don’t mind the big bucks. Then there are the ‘rents who charge Japanese patients thousands of dollars more for treatment because they know Japanese will fork over whatever you charge. That’s Japanese culture. Avoid Chinese patients because they’ll argue and try to bargain.

It does occur to me that I don’t have a flawless argument against the ‘rents. Even keeping track of my hatred doesn’t build a wall of defense justifying any and all of my future actions. But I don’t need a flawless defense, I have my feelings and I know what I’m going through. No one else does and I don’t have to justify myself to anyone. Family is an unpredictable thing. There are no rules to how emotional dynamics work within them. The objectivity of rationale does not apply in family affairs.

Englewood Cliffs, NJ

Life goes by slowly in mind-altering situations. I’m still not doing anything worthwhile, so it’s difficult attributing any worth to myself, but I know it’s only feelings and moods and the company has a lot to do with it. I know I’ll be fine once I’m around the right people.

I have to understand that having an idea about the differences between what’s real and not real doesn’t mean that existences should be ignored. It may be true that my feelings aren’t real in that they in no way reflect the permanence with which I feel them, but they are real in that they exist. I have to work through them in their own terms for what they are, which might as well be real.

I feel that I am missing something obvious that everyone else assumes and allows them to be productive participants of society and gives them their ambition and drive. Many times I feel that becoming a monk is the only path I’d find fulfilling in any way, but I haven’t come to grips with my feelings towards my loved ones. I do want to be with the people who make me feel that love. Whatever plans I have still involve the people around me and the worth they place in me.

Shiho has changed so much! I got a package from her and she has become much more expressive and successful in communicating herself and her feelings. She sent a photo essay that she has been working on for a while. It follows the path she traveled from home to her university during her college years. It gave me a concrete idea of her surroundings. Shiho in context; very much needed indeed.

I go back to our time in Japan, in Hiroshima. The memory feels funny and out of context now. She being right there, on the trolley, being a tour guide. A stranger, still so strangely close, so significant to my past, my heart, and memories.

I am going to start going through the process of applying to law school. I’m not trying to get into one. The charade will at least get me to March or April, which at least gets me to warmer months and that does make a big difference in my options. This is exploiting resources. It has nothing to do with life decisions.

It’ll be great to raise the ‘rent’s hopes and then quit. That’d be a pisser. But then getting in and going gives me unlimited financial resources for another three years, limited only by conscience. I have no intention of graduating. Only if nothing else comes up. The key is to keep an eye on the opportunities they, as a resource, have to offer, and ignore any sticky moral or emotional issues.

Even if what they have to offer can be construed as kindness, their kindness is conditional. They say that if I want a car that is not as expensive as Tom or Bob’s, they would put the difference in cost in my bank account. That, of course, is only if I go to law school. It’s not an issue here that most people would see this as a double god-send (tuition for law school and a car). I’m not complaining about any privilege attached to having a car. I can appreciate that. But in this exact situation, with the dynamics involved here, this is almost blackmail.

The same type of people who would tell me that I’m extremely lucky to be offered law school tuition and a car have to remember - they are parents. They aren’t a bank. They may think that they are providing financial stability and career opportunity, but they are morally bankrupt, emotionally absent, and negligently unsupportive in any other way but monetary. They have their own motives, and if their actions can be construed by an outsider as “kindness”, that doesn’t make their intentions kind.

The strange thing is that in my worse moments, and against my self-destructive instinct, I can still smile. I’m not sure what that means, but it makes me feel alright. My situation now is so similar to what it was when I lived here before college. Little has changed in the situation, but my attitude is markedly different. My self-destructiveness has become less of a doing and more of a being. I guess you could say it has matured. Back then, it was all about hurt and hurting. Being self-destructive was a lashing out, a defiance stating I was still in charge. Now it’s just a part of me. It’s more positive now. I’m not bent on self-destructing, but I’m more accepting of this aspect of myself. It’s less of a goal than a way of getting from one day to the next.

It seems like everyone in this family is living out their respective delusions. There is no common reality, not even with Tom and Bob, even though we grew up together. Bob is just as much a psychological victim as Tom. But I think Bob’s psychology is much more complicated. With Tom, it’s pretty apparent from the outside that something is just not right. But Bob is a lot better at hiding things and the only evidence is indirect.

It scares me to think that maybe I’m also just living out a delusion and not aware of it. The only comfort I can give myself is that I’m the only one who fought for my personal rights and freedom to choose who I want to be. I never compromised who I wanted to be or become or how to express it. And I was sent to a hospital for it. I went to the hospital, but who’s crazy?

Seeing the rest of them deluded makes me feel confident and healthy. I dealt with issues as I faced them. When I felt anger or hatred, I faced it, even if it was in the form of self-destruction. Better than repression. The psychological and spiritual havoc they wreaked through their manipulation and coercion never went unanswered.

If they’re happy in their worlds, fine; leave them in their mire of self-delusion. I’m free of their world and of conscience. I imagine that at the point of disclosure, nothing gets disclosed. All I do is simply move. Even though right now they continue to have their effect. It’s not power, they’re too pathetic to have any power over me, but they do have their effect. It’s a subtle difference.

I do feel justified in my attitudes and actions. This is business, and the point is to get the most with the least loss. I should consider myself lucky to be free of messy, ambiguous familial ties with mixed feelings. They have admitted in so many words that they show their love through money. All that they’ve given me I can pay back with money. If they can give love through money, anything they want in return can also be given through money. I’ll give the money back once I make it.

Englewood Cliffs, NJ

The ‘rents left for Taiwan on Thursday and they won’t be back until a day or two before I leave for Chicago, en route to Japan. Fitting. I’m glad they went, it gives me time to clear my head about leaving and their role in my leaving. Their possible role in manipulating me back to this country, back on the track they want me on, regardless of the futility.

I sift through a flood of apprehension about this move to Japan, what do I think I’m doing? My life heading into Never-Never land. That’s not the way my life has been structured, I’m not familiar enough with heading off into Never-Never land and making it work. I’m not good at going off alone into the unknown and figuring out my way on the fly. I’m familiar with structure and shelter. I don’t know a whole lot about independence. I have to be willing to try.

Fort Lee, NJ

I’ve been stupid enough to let my defenses down. The ‘rents are very predictably taking advantage of it. I give them an inch and they blitz for every bit of ground they can get. It’s like a war. They get a foothold and secure a position, then attack again, advance and secure another position, taking advantage of any weakness shown.

The tension is all here, but I have been trying to be polite and cordial, reducing the friction. It’s only an experiment, a front and I feel the lying in my face, but it reduces negative interaction, which is good because I don’t need it. But without the coldness I usually present, they seem to feel free to push for more, gain leverage in controlling my life.

It isn’t all bad. They make me care about my “self” less. If I can care about my self less, maybe I can stop putting so much emphasis on it. The first step in really developing is to stop caring about myself and what happens to me.

For me to graduate in December, I would need to take 17 credits this Fall. I just barely got by this past semester with 14. I could do 17 credits if I could convince myself to not care about grades at all, let my GPA plunge and simply not care about it.

College is a privilege. My being there is made possible by the ‘rents and their money. It would be an abuse of privilege if I started demanding how I go about getting educated. If the ‘rents decide that grades don’t matter, then grades don’t matter. Anything about money, I can’t fight it.

Englewood Cliffs, NJ

Within twelve hours after arriving in New Jersey, I didn’t want to deal with anyone anymore. I just want to distance from everyone. What role do friends play in personal dramas? Do they really want to know what’s going on or do they have better things to do and worry about? They have their own problems and there’s nothing they can do about mine. So why would they want to hear about mine? Thus the distance, the trademark of my immaturity.

So the ‘rents told me there would be no problem in living in the apartment above their office so that commuting to NYU would be much easier. Suddenly they present me with the problems. Not problems, but rather what I have to do if I want to use the apartment. In the afternoons, patients sleep off anesthetics in that apartment, so I can’t be there in the afternoon. I wouldn’t have a bed. I’d have to put all my stuff in one room and get a lock for the door.

Or, in the alternative, I can use the basement apartment and they give me the key to it. No furniture, not much of a floor, they just put in a new floor but no carpeting, and this type of floor wasn’t made for the option of carpeting, it was made for carpeting. I forgot to check the plumbing, but from my overall sense of the apartment, high marks are not going to be scored there, either.

Well, if they see me fit for that apartment, fine, it’ll still beat living in their house. Which is probably exactly what they want. Keep their sphere of power and control tight. I’ll call their bluff and I’ll take the apartment.

84 S. Park, Oberlin

I’m still trying to get words onto the computer screen for those incompletes. I’m so worthless. I’m changing sentences because they don’t fit right on the screen. Well, maybe I’m not that bad, but I think about it.

I hate my life with all the various expectations on me and all I’m trying to do is figure out what kind of person I’m to be. The ‘rents thwart that effort time and again. They’ve never recognized themselves as the problem nor do they realize that they still are. They’ve been the cause of some difficult situations. But as messily as I handled them, I think back and realize how much worse I could have handled them.

Something has to happen. Something has to change. But how do I change if they don’t? For a while I was thinking how little right I have to complain. They aren’t hitting me or being outright, intentionally malicious. They provide and pay for me in full. But what I’m doing is just swinging to the complete other side of the argument, the side in their favor. For every argument giving them the benefit of doubt, there’s a counter-argument that invalidates or overrides it.

The ways that they abuse their wealth and privilege and aren’t even aware of it. It’s disgusting, sad. I sit and wonder whether my life would have fallen apart without all the things they literally bought. Things that make it feel as if I’ve been bought.

That’s how they see it. Money means so much to them and that is how they express their love. But money is money and love is love, and if you think one is the other, you find that the receipts just don’t add up. People see their money surrounding me and see no reason why I shouldn’t be glad for what I’ve got. As if I owe them something.

People say they’re not bad. I sit and ponder what they’ve done to my life. Some things I can readily identify, many more I’m sure I won’t discover until later. Is it a coincidence that I’ve just given up on music and that is exactly what they’ve always wanted? It’s a strong position of power parents have, and they’ve put a psychological stranglehold on all my interests until there’s only one option left.

Clever. They don’t do anything. They don’t have to do anything in a mind-play. They never say, “No, you can’t”. But they know and they wait until the only option I have left is business school or law school and thank god I don’t have the merit for those options or I’d have a bullet in my head by the time I’m twenty-six.

Money works for them, so they think it’ll work on me. They’re counting on my greed and material comfort to get what they want. Bastards. But it’s my life and unlike them I can take or leave it as I please.