Appreciating The Multiplicity Of Ourselves

I’ve noticed an interesting trend in my life where I tend to sacrifice everything at once, only to want it back a year later. This can mean anything from loading several black trash bags’ worth of clothes — thousands of dollars — to removing important books, artwork, even devices and other artifacts of my “old self.” Sometimes I think my old self is fat and ugly, or she’s boring, or not extraverted enough; in extreme cases, she’s who I am when I’m on the depressive-suicidal threshold. She’s the one who holes herself up, refusing to…

My Grandma, Seeking Forgiveness

The place was just so goddamned stuffy. It was the carpet. The purple carpet, the nap, slightly psychedelic, the carpet and matching 80’s style office furniture. It was my grandma’s massage clinic and her living space on the 8th floor — 8C — a lucky combination. I think we only paid cash.

The view was divine and of course, she bragged about it. Nai Nai, dressed to the nines in a velvet suit and coiffed curls even though it’d be 90 degrees, seated like the matriarch she was. Right above her — a printed Microsoft Word…

Does your childhood memory of a loved one live on, even when they’re alive — but changed?

“You were best friends,” says my aunt whenever she thinks of this time. I remember 50-piece house building blocks we pushed in the basement, a transparent marble rail, then marble games on the PC. I remember drawing, writing, folding, and pass out “dummy cards,” our ironic 1st grader spin on Hallmark, flying paper airplanes at my brother and running away, sticking “Kick Me” post-its on my mom. I remember days and days on the massive multiplayer online game Maplestory, comparing strategies of upping…

A short poem.

Tree, tree

Grow oh tree

Tree of wisdom

Tree of oak

Grow oh tree

Tree that would be dryads

Trusted tree in earth

Tree with beautiful leaves

Roots deep in the dirt

Tree, tree, this fast growing tree

Will see wind but not sway,

For the wind that blows is just air

But the tree trunk stays steady.

Tree, tree, braided tree

Continue growing towards the sun

The wind will blow, hard and strong

Grow and grow and grow.

Tree, tree, and is no match

For how can the dust match what is real?

What is rooted, now, and real

From now and until eternity.

A short poem.

To be naked

Is to be free

Free from clothing

Free from expectations.

To be naked

Is to feel

Air against skin

Skin contract against air.

To be naked

Is to revel



Being naked

Is something we should all do

Even when we don’t need to.

Imagining My Ribcage Sensitivity As Psychosomatic Pain

If jars could feel discomfort by you tightening the cap, that’s exactly how my ribs feel.

The thing is, I’ve been feeling it for so long I pretty much forget I feel it altogether.

It’d an odd feeling, that my ribs are too narrow. Bird ribcages are so delicate. Cage, as in a cage to protect the heart, yet a frontal attack easily pierces through. The easiest-to-escape cage ever.

Caged, I am caged, my chest is caged and it’s harder and harder for me to speak, to speak from the heart. …

I am boring.

I am boring. I was born a boring person. Every comment here that seems witty, I make as a boring person in threat of her life at the dinner table if she wasn’t overflowing with sparkling conversation.

Like many gifted children, I saw the child my dad wanted me to be and wore her like armor over the real me. My dad would be enraged if his children didn’t shower him with attention 24/7. And so I learned to pamper his delicate ego by constantly providing amusement and verbal repartee at the dinner table.

But I was…

My secret jealousy of lolis.

I’ve always been beautiful.

No, I want to be honest here. I’ve always needed to be beautiful.

I had a model, dancer, actress aesthetic.

Never pretty or cute — “sexy” is more like it.

I’ve been complimented on my high cheekbones, well defined features, and yes, my tits and legs.

I was the curvaceous sex goddess (maybe), while my friends were the young pure innocent nymphs.

That’s not to say, of course, that every man found me attractive. Some found me downright repulsive. However, enough did for me to assert this.

But as I grew…

A short story.

“HEAVEN IS GIVEN TO THOSE THAT BARE THEIR SOULS,” I said, and asked my friend, “Do you have any idea what this means?”

“It means honesty’s a virtue, so I guess you’re out of luck, Johnny, haha.”

My friend moved onto the next work. It was the optical illusion with a cube that never ends. He tried to kick it but pulled his foot back at the last second when a security guard glared at him.

“Well,” I said, following him, “I’d say what happened between Catherine and me was going to happen anyway.”

He shrugged and…

The dopest of shit.

Me: I need a job that will actually make me happy.

Mom: I know what will make you happy! Hedge fund manager.

Mom: You should talk to our neighbor’s son. He talks about politics all the time, wants to be a diplomat. He’s a political JERK! Wait…junk? Junkie?

(Talking about racism)

Mom: When you take out the skin medically we’re all the same.

Me: Mom, that was scary.

Mom: Aiyo hao hao shui jiao le. Jiu xiang yi ge energy ball qi lai!

Mom: Remember that nap we took on Sunday? So good. Everyone was sleeping…


I am a bowl of caesar salad.

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