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..

Guess the SONG

我不在乎別人怎麼想我
你活在過去，這是新世紀

..connie..

sowing the seed

I had the most beautiful dream last night, but I somehow can't understand it.

Mr. K was undoubtedly my most important teacher. I was lucky to have met him in a difficult time in my life; he taught me to breathe and keep myself hydrated, and he taught me to look myself in the mirror every morning and understand that nobody could ever be the same as me. He taught me about love, and he taught me about trust. In this dream he was my teacher again, but he seemed to be either a professor or a master in some institute. I never saw him in the dream. I just knew that he was there, and that he was once again a part of my life.

Professor K had a very unique morning ritual, in which his students sowed seeds in a dry, yellow field of grass. Three students every morning, and each time it was a different group of 3. It began with a salutation to the earth; the student assigned this task bowed before the field, and I can't remember if the air was stale or balmy. He/she seemed to have a spiritual connection to the earth, and seemed to be asking for its blessing? But blessing to do what? The second student ran around the field, seemingly infinitely because he/she was more of an aura than a being. I didn't see the end of the field; I believe the second student just existed across the field, and he/she was most likely spreading seeds all around. I know this because the third student was the one to water the field. The second student was running, but it wasn't clear for what. The third student stood at the edge of the field (it had a beginning but no end), and expelled water (not sure if it was from the hands or from the chest or whatever), feeding the seeds. That's all I remember, but I was aware that this process happened every morning. And although the scene seems lifeless, it was actually very beautiful to experience. It felt like life was being created, and that something was being learned.

The song I immediately had in mind to go along with this visual was Ryuichi Sakamoto's "Sowing the Seed," from Nagisa Oshima's Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence. A close second was Joe Hisaishi's "Path of the Wind," from Studio Ghibli's My Neighbor Totoro. Both remind me of nature, growth, and cycles. They sound like they may never end, and they sound like this limitless quality has a purpose. I think of God, and of fate.

..connie..

cheesy line from a cheesy taiwanese rom-com

一個女生對你好是因為她關心你，絕對不是因為她認為你有什麼資格可以去愛她。不要讓她失望，好不好？

..connie..

Conversation with my 16 year old self

"Does it? Well, being in love today is probably completely different from being in love 40 years ago, you know, with technology and everything. Doesn't spending time face to face with another person seem so much more valuable nowadays?"

He thought for a moment. Or at least pretended to. I could tell already that he disagreed with me, from the way his eyebrows rose ever so slightly, smoothing out the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"Not really," he said at last. "Love isn't quantified by how much two people see of each other. If anything, it's defined by how long they can survive without seeing each other and still have the same feelings."

..connie..

flame.

Because this apparently wasn't even that bad

I am the most necessary form of destruction,
Given to man to overpower the gods yet
I can not deny my ability to decimate them all.
Layer by layer I peel back the onion that is this Earth,
Or is it an enduring gobstopper?
My role rotates between playing the hero to assuming the villain part,
And in this game I never settle.

I dance in the trees, rubber, plastic, oil, glass,
But never alone.
I dance in Michael Jackson’s hair but I can’t stand by myself.
Prometheus said I would be a hero,
But I am a reliant yet untamed lion --
No roar except when provoked, and in that situation I become
A monster. 

 

..connie..

An Unimaginable Other Plane of Existence

Call it overanalyzing The Flash, paying too much attention to my ACT practice tests, or the beginning of the next, most post-modern and abstract sci-fi-superhero comic series, anything you want... I know I rarely ever talk nonsense (Nonsense! Actually I always talk nonsense... Well, never something as nonsensical as this), but you've got to hear me out on this one:

Imagine a world we cannot see. Imagine a world we cannot hear, taste, touch, or smell, simply because it belongs on the fifth plane of existence (okay -- I know the fifth plane exists but I'm not smart enough to understand physics but as I've said this is nonsense). We know the three dimensions that make up what we see on a day-to-day basis, and then there's the concept of time, which is always running and running and running and running (out). That makes four dimensions "tangible" to us humans. But just think: What if the reason we are unable to find life on another planet is because we are not, and never will be able to imagine it? What I mean is, there must be another plane of existence apart from the one we know.

The reason this is so hard to describe is because this world I'm trying to imagine is so completely different from ours. No, you don't understand, it's different on a whole other level. I'm not just talking about your typical alien story, where they speak different languages and don't wear clothes and send out different waves we cannot receive. I mean to say that the way they do things are things we will never, ever even think of doing. I can't give an example because mankind will never achieve it, no matter how much we know.

Okay, how about this (how bout dat): Maybe you can't touch them. Maybe they perceive each other in a different way. Humans see each other with eyes, but perhaps those who live on the Second Existence (I'll just call it that for now) don't need to see to perceive one another. They don't need to touch, to smell, to hear, to taste. They sense one another in an unimaginable way, a way that I have no word for because it will forever be unknown. 

You know how we need oxygen to survive? Maybe they have no concept of air. Maybe they have no concept of the four planes I've mentioned before. Maybe there's no concept of space or time to them, and they will never be able to imagine them just as we cannot imagine their concepts. I'm not sure if I'm getting my point across, or if some scientists have a better way of explaining this concept/it's already common sense to them. But I just find it so intriguing -- something so inexplicable! This Second Existence... My mom told me to write a novel about it but it's nearly impossible unless I start making up words like gulyak and enris (hey, I used to be pretty good at making up words for my fantasy stories) without being able to explain what they are. Nobody would ever get it, and I guess that's okay. Even if there's a whole other universe of opportunities, I think the world is already big enough. 

Okay. I'm pretty sure you didn't read/comprehend all of that, but if you did, sorry for wasting your time xD I probably sound like an idiot now.

BYE

..connie..

靜心湖

It is past noon. A cool breeze sends shivers down the green water’s surface, different ripples criss-crossing in infinite directions. On one side of the lake the sun reflects itself, dancing like a fire at night. The birds sing, hidden away in the trees that have yet to shrivel and shy away from winter’s touch. Only a single one of these winged creatures makes its way across the sky, flying alongside the wind on this cloudless day. I’ve come to realize that this this lake is completely man-made: we’d dug the lake, filled it with water, and planted trees around them, thus attracting the wildlife that makes the music here. The only exception is the wind -- the trees still sing with each gust, and the water still rocks itself in unrest. The wind is the spirit of this lake, the one that brings here action. When the leaves scratch one another and the water splashes against itself, propelling the mallards to the vastness of this place… I see that the wind brings new oxygen to the lake and keeps the cycle of life here fresh and eternal. In a nearly controlled environment, wind is capriciousness, the reason for the differences we see each and every day. Without it, stillness will show its man’s vulnerability without nature: the same, the same, the same.

..connie..

Mightier

The words of a wise diplomat echo in my head that the pen is mightier than the sword, and the way I see it is that your mind shouldn’t be going to war with itself. Yes, some of today’s pens have adapted to have flashlight functions -- to emit their own light -- yet swords can only capture the rays from the Sun and reflect them outwards -- taking unoriginal ideals and being forced to stand for them. The moment I first held a pen I felt frustration. You couldn’t erase the marks… What would others say of my mistakes? For the longest time I resorted to the magic that was white-out, but realized how ugly it made my work: ripped, bumpy, and deliberate. But over time, I got over the fear of judgement and discovered its possibilities: the freedom of expression and peace of mind it induced, despite a period of unremitting doubt -- an internal battle in the process.

Of all the stories, a family favorite is one of me writing about a particular Chinese idiom: two characters on the beach fight over a toy, only to have it taken by a third. Before my perception of the world became as tainted as it is today, I penned freely, and one peculiarity was that the story mentioned above, as well as those about an enchanted forest, running away, and digging holes, were all children of my own mind -- and not reinventions of them after being girded by a bracelet of glass that shattered my impression of creativity and wonder. Never thinking the time would actually come, I sank to an especially low point when I was made to believe the only purpose of the pen was to please and satisfy others.

4th grade began, and every afternoon for three months was spent wracking my brain for ideas: what I’d do with a million dollars, a person who changed my life, why I thought Barack Obama would be re-elected… These “daily essays” were meant to foster innovation and critical thinking, but for me they turned into dread lingering in the back of my mind. It became a chore, these classes, and I quickly lost interest in the one thing that brought me solace in times of metaphorical recession and drought. Slowly, I began to accept this notion on writing: that it was a learned skill with a specific formula. Drained from the inhibiting and forced imagination, I searched for a way out, trashing pens regardless of their value, and resorting to violent quakes inside my brain that I refused to let escape.

I found years later that running away and giving in to the controlling sword was a solution for the cowardly, and the accumulated feelings from hiding were the most hindering of them all. Like a dammed river, my natural beauty was stripped away, but the moment I opened my eyes and saw the man-made construct that held my inborn faculties back, I knew my freedom had to be retrieved. I took up the pen once again after giving up on myself for so long, and it didn't matter to me anymore who was reading and what their opinions were. 

A realization and sudden impetus made the world stop shaking; a pencil case full of new colors and possibilities made me turn around and press on. Because I'd chosen to come through rocks lodged in Mount Everest, the permanence of pen marks no longer bothered me. They depict my journey from naive to expressive creativity, from a child who spilled her jumbled mind on paper to the girl who now realizes its importance at the time. They were the embodiment of my ambition, my potential, and now finally my perseverance. I can now say I am persistent in reaching my goals, and in changing myself because I have the power to. The sloping letters I make with what can't be dissolved are the heights I can reach and all the things I hope to do; they are a fortune of gold, and worth more than external forces ever will be. The pen is mightier than the sword: it's a rather satisfying sensation to not have to fight yourself for what you believe. I realized my writing, my pen, was mine, and at last I let the swords dull and the voices fade away.

..connie..

I've been on the brink so

My mom is the pencil because she always write.

My dad is the textbook because she he is smart

My sister is the sharpener because she always bite me

My grandma is the money because she is brave

My grandpa is the water bottle because he like to drink water

My Aunt is the bonus sticker because she always like to laugh

I am the eraser because I am small

///////

my mom is nothing

my dad is nothing

my sister is nothing

my grandma is dead to me

my grandpa is nothing

my aunt is nothing

i

am

EVERYTHING 1!!

..connie..

some shit i'm going to do!!1!!1!11!!!

Well I had a long and deep post I was too lazy to finish yesterday so until I do that, here are some "goals" for next year's English class (hope you find them useful... LOL).

In English class last year, I felt that my analytical reading and essays were the most lacking in skills. Based on these areas of needed improvement, I’ve created three specific goals for English 10 Honors.

1. I want to be able to understand difficult works faster. I am a very slow reader, even if the text is easy sometimes -- much slower than my peers. 
2. I want to be more organized in writing my analytical essays. Often, my ideas are scattered in my brain and it takes a while to organize my thoughts.
3. I want to be more engaged in class. A lot of times, I don’t raise my hand because I really don’t know what to say, but I do want to learn, and I can’t do that without being active in class and thinking at all times.

To achieve my goals, I feel that I need to start by reading more. My ultimate goal is to be able to form complex thoughts faster, and I need to read for that. I want to set aside a time for reading: other books of literary merit, books that the regular classes read, and even books that I simply find interesting. This not only broadens the areas I can analyze, but also expands my vocabulary. I will ask the teacher for recommendations as well. Next, I will practice brainstorming and outlining for various topics. Essays, whether take-home or on demand, require you to come up with ideas quickly (some times more quickly than others), and after an SAT class that asked us to write one SAT essay each week, I’ve discovered that practicing brainstorming is the key to thinking faster. One last thing I could do is learn the many “forms” of essays. I know that there’s no real format for essays, but that the most “basic” they teach you since elementary school is the 5-paragraph essay. I want to learn different ways of organizing information, so when I come across a certain topic I will have many ways to present an analysis of it. Right now, I really only have one way, and sometimes it doesn’t always work, so it’s always great to have options.

My greatest hope this year is to accomplish more than I ever have in English class. It’s always been a “boring” and “easy” class for me, but I’ve realized there’s more value in learning than I previously thought. I was always trying to show people that I was more than the Asian stereotype. Studying wasn’t the only thing I could do! But that resulted in me having too much fun and too many responsibilities outside of the classroom. I’ve realized that a balance and a bridge between the two sides of myself I want to keep must be built. Instead of rejecting my intellectual side, because it’s also a side of my personality, I need to let it grow. And I mustn’t neglect my creative side of leadership either -- instead, I should connect the two and use them together to become the best version of myself.

My greatest fear, on the other hand, is losing motivation. I’ve told myself all of the above every single year, but this year is when it’s felt the most strongly. However, I still feel that I will not be able to accomplish this: sharpening my faculties and using them to benefit everything I do, whether for myself or for others. I fear that I will stop and ask myself one day, “What’s the point of all this? I don’t have to make life this hard. I can just choose one side.” But just as the many faces of the American Dream, I know I need to find myself. This year is the first step in doing so. I fear that because of a slip in grades I will give up. I fear that a sudden interest in something I will probably soon forget will distract me from this goal I’ve been reflecting upon for the whole summer. I fear that I won’t be able to do anything I say I am going to do. But now, I just think of tomorrow. Not next month, and definitely not next year. Slowly, bathed in the support of all the people around me, I know I will begin to see changes.

(it was an assignment, by the way..... second day of school so of course i took it seriously)

..connie..

Jack-In-The-Box

I don't feel like sleeping or writing so here's something old.

When observed, it seems unreal, but when found, love is a gift -- an intangible Jack-in-the-box that never ceases to surprise. It is the most multi-faceted emotion, and when experienced with different individuals or groups can be encumbering or a joy, intense or gray. Seeming to be the driving force behind human nature, love is what propels us to dive into the ocean at midnight, or hibernate for winters with the bears. Because people care so much for an individual or group (love takes many forms, and one can love one or many), anything they do is significant and will cause a reaction from the lover. A cheater is present in a relationship, and since love is present, the one who was cheated on feels hurt and acts in retaliation. If the love is not there, there will be no response. Further, love is built by spontaneity and excitement, and is not true until it does not stop. Like a traditional Jack-in-the-box, it can be rewound and not require new batteries to keep going on. The jester popping out of the box is like the little fireworks in love -- the sparks that fly when a relationship develops significantly, such as the marriage of a couple or the protection of a mother for her child. Love is not a formula, is not constant, but continues forever if it is pure.

..connie..

I Am A Dangerous Place

Long time no update :P Enjoy~

I am a dangerous place --
Don’t come near!
A diplomat,
My children never settle.

Joy is withering
Resilience, barely there

I am a sky
Blue, forever and ever
Loud and thunderous
And masked by sweet marshmallow clouds

Fear is my alarm clock
Pretension, creeping up

But now the sunshower follows like Camille,
And I am a cactus in a swamp:
Concentrated,
In a dangerous place --
Don’t come near!

..connie..

ugly broken heart

More poetry... Wow, am I really that bored? 

Hahah seriously though... I have so much homework... And a biology test tomorrow... What am I doing?

i feel as the paper thin hospital gown you wear,

insignificant and unwanted but always there.

i feel as the one occasionally emerging from her shadow,

when in reality she lives in mine, post-recovery from an all time low.

why are you here again?

as i thought.

ailing,

over an ugly broken heart.

..connie..