there will come a day where we are old, and people will no longer listen to what we have to say. 

so whatever we have inside of ourselves now, we should go ahead and say out loud, because this is our time. 

i don't think this is acquiescing, or "letting time control us," or something like that. i think it's just the truth--there will come a day when it's not "our time." and i believe in us getting old because i believe in the future. 

for now, we are the future. because time is not linear; we are the future to some people. and of them, the good ones have stepped back to let us come forward. so let us say everything while people are still listening, and be thankful they've given us this stage.

或許以後真的可以做老師？

突然覺得當老師好像很不錯⋯⋯稍微努力一點就可以看見很感動的畫面。學生的一舉一動，不知道為什麼，現在感覺都很可愛。小時候從來不覺得，想為什麼老是喜歡跟一些不理他的高中生天天混在一起（對，就是說自己，我要是老師可不想跟小時候的自己相處😹）。 

現在倒是有想，看著一屆一屆的高中生畢業，不會捨不得嗎？ 

一直有認知，每一屆的學生都有他的特色。that is so very precious. i think that being a teacher is one of the only ways you can be constantly surrounded by new ideas and fresh perspectives. besides maybe being an artist...

美秀集團的第一任貝斯手是佩慈，後來決定不玩樂團去當國中老師，我前幾年還想不通她為什麼要做這個決定。可是我記得當年有電視台去做了一個小小的紀錄片， 我應該有被感動到哭。本來想說怎麼會離開音樂去做這種事（因為自己本身也是玩音樂的），啊至少還有跟其他老師組團，只是為了娛樂。不過聽到她形容學生的樣子，每一個孩子的獨特，我突然感覺，也許這就是所有人一直在尋找的「愛？」 

最近看了一段廣仲的訪談，他説當兵退伍之後進入了一段創作的低潮，沒有靈感寫不出歌。 

重點是他説前幾年當校園歌手的時段，就像一場夢，而退伍之後他就醒了。他還説，那一段時間就是想了太多，做了太少。 

發現以前每年至少會更新一次的部落格，已經3年沒寫了，決定讓你復活一下。

其實廣仲這樣的形容--退伍之後當兵之前的事都像是一場夢--我覺得可以描述我們所有人，疫情前後的感受。特別是我們19/20年的高中畢業生。都已經要人生大改變了，還丟給我們意料之外的一層厚厚的疼痛。也不能回頭了，只能前進。

對我來説上大學就像服兵役（lol ok it's not actually that bad），我沒得選。而當時就是把它想成一件很痛苦的事，我無法去看開這一點。所以就沒再想，拼命的把雙主修修完，造成畢業後沒什麽行動力。現在就是開始想很多，做很少。以前高中的時候真的是很了不起，有什麽想法就可以讓他成真。行動力巨强，根本不需要想。現在有了焦慮、經濟壓力，「退伍」之後回想這些真的很象一場夢。

I guess I have no choice but to be in my What A Folk!!!!!! era. 而我不想否定我的過去，雖然我不太相信曾經有那一個我。他比現在的我還要堅强、勇敢、善良。希望那才是真正的自己，要向他尋找一下，在他身邊徘徊。

布丁

you call me "little princess" behind my back, little storm cloud.

i wish i knew the world like you do; i wish i had a car.

i wish i had to think about where to park it when i want to fly to another state, just like you've gone and done.

i wish my older cousin had lemon trees in her front yard.

who, between the two of us, is more likely to smoke cigarettes?

one familiarity after another, i'm just waiting for fremont to bring us together again.

back when i really really wanted to be white, i guess

In my mind, the grandmother sets a glass of sweet tea in front of me. The tassels on the checkered picnic blanket tickle my legs as lean forward to take a sip. I tell her I want to go out back, to the murky pond where I lost all my toys so many years ago. She tells me okay, but only after I look at her scrapbooks.

She clicks to the shelf behind me and I am delighted that she smells more like homemade strawberry jam than expensive perfume. I hear her cough as she slides a thick album out from the array of selections. She holds it to her chest and makes her way back around, plopping it on the table and opening it up like a wizard and his book of spells. My sweet tea nearly jumps out of the glass.

In my mind, the scrapbook is full of pictures of me skating on the frozen pond, swinging on the neighbors’ broken play structure, and drinking Mountain Dew on the deck--the deck that hasn’t been repainted in 7 years and 16 days.

The grandmother closes the book at last and I wheeze and sneeze again. She tells me to go on out-- and to be wary of the Asian tigers who live next door. I realize now that this isn’t in my mind. My heart is very close to my home, and the past 5 years were just in my mind. 

Afire love // I am the diplomat

“Don’t make that face,” he laughs. “It’s ugly. Come on. Let’s go get breakfast.”

It’s 4 in the afternoon, and my grandpa wants to get breakfast with me. I shake my head, impatient but never annoyed. No. Now’s not the time to get breakfast. It’s 4 o’clock in the afternoon.

“I’ll go get my tail,” he tells me as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Wait here.”

He doesn’t move from his place on the couch. All he does is bore his lifeless eyes through my body, telling me over and over that he is going to get his tail. To wait here. To wait for him while he gets his tail. His hand rests rigidly on the armrest and I reach for it. I shake my head, petrified and eyes stinging. No. You don’t have a tail. Do you mean your socks? Are you looking for your socks?

His delayed laugh sounds like that of a mule hauling lumber, coal, and hay across the countryside. He knows every inch of the way, but just isn’t able to put the pieces together. I am his granddaughter. He always gets breakfast when he sees me. His socks are white. His wife’s rabbit has a white tail.

His laughter stops and his eyes are vibrant again. My hand leaves his to wipe away an escaping tear. He is remembering...!

“Are you my daughter? Can you get my banknotes for me? I need to go to the bank.”

I give up! I let my oxygen get cut off by sobs. I should have just gotten breakfast at 4 in the afternoon. Please, Grandpa. Let’s just go get breakfast. Grandfather and the only granddaughter who has ever cared. Let’s go get breakfast. Then you can go the bank with Mommy.

Please. 

Let’s go get breakfast.

Choose Your Own Adventure

//wip// I guess like Bri I have a habit of writing about myself or the people around me, so here's sth different ooopsss I think this is about a group of 13 year old boys mourning the death of Jim Morrison the day after his death (explaining it makes it lose its charm but wtv)

It's the 4th of July, 1971

Scott from next door calls me over to his backyard

There's a couple of cherry bombs and sparklers

Still loud and psychedelic in their big matchbox

He says, "Danny, do you wanna start up a fire?"

We've always been good boys, Sugar, Sugar

But tonight, it's a dry and red evening on the boardwalk

And we get chased off for lighting up the stalls

Our final salute to the Lizard King

..connie..