My smiling face is heading to the Land of Smiles to the relatively small town ofPhetchaburi in mid-July. I’m real excited. It’s a beautiful school, nicer than my high school was lol and what seems like an amazing and diverse staff of teachers. The towns about 40 minutes from the beach and not too far from the mountains and the jungle. I’m all smiles, at the opportunity to fish and play chess with the old folks along the river, working with high schoolers and seeing if teaching really is for me (long-term), biking and running around, hiking/backpacking, rafting down rivers, getting scuba certified, food, and a chance to really immerse myself in the culture.
My Vietnamese heritage was a big thing for them. Imagine that. They hope that this, along with my passion and warm personality will motivate the kids. And I’m going to do my best to motivate them.
*there you are Rody!
Call me jaded, dark, depressing, sensitive … whatever you want. Fuck a love song. I’m bigger on songs about heart break and lost love. I’m in love with the blues.
The whole ritual of declaring you’re in a relationship online and then declaring yourself single, once that relationship is over is some dumb shit. Why the hell did we bestow Zuckie with so much power over our private lives?
I catch a glimpse of the divine
As I peer down a dark hallway
When my eyes fixate on the varying glow
That escapes from under a closed door
Or when I stand outside on a chilly night
And look out up at the glimmering border of a window
The secrets lie locked behind four walls and a roof
And the fissures that line these openings
Hint at the magic that lay buried and hidden
Search the world far and wide
On the ride of a lifetime
Only to arrive back home
To find that the vault – an illusion
And the walls – my own
My only hope is that the treasures remain alive
Upon my return from a hero’s journey
Otherwise, the treasures’ll be lost
And in their stead
Nostalgia and an overdue awe for the departed
On June 11th 1963, Thích Quảng Đức, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk, sat down in the middle of a busy intersection in Saigon, covered himself in gasoline and He then ignited a match, and set himself on fire. Đức burned to death in a matter of minutes, and he was immortalized in a famous photograph taken by a reporter who was in Vietnam in order to photograph the war. All those who saw this spectacle were taken by the fact that Duc did not make a sound while burning to death. Đức was protesting President Ngô Đình Diệm’s administration for oppressing the Buddhist religion.
Don’t know if you’ve read this Nhi, but it’s great piece. Enjoy either way!
Playgrounds = Deathtraps
My forefathers and mothers speak to me
I hear their chimes pass with the chance midnight breeze
When conduits fall from grey skies in the Emerald of the Northwest
In an ephemeral moment when the Sun rises above Coastal Kings
Causing the clouds to retreat back towards the distant horizon
Within illuminated cloudy windows that reveal the speckled heavens
Behind the innocent and sincere smile of a child
Their warm, energizing touch mark my skin an earthly brown
They speak subtly and profoundly, in hushed voices
And when I open myself, I can hear their ancient song
I hold on to that instant
Only to have it fade from my grasp
And be digested again into the void
Not too long ago, I held San Francisco in low esteem. Memories of walking from the Upper Haight all the way to the Embarcadero end of Market with a 50 lb backpack, a farewell to college life, what seem like constantly grey days, and my bitter hatred for the SF Giants, clouded my mind. While the latter two still remain (and if anything my hate towards the Giants have increased since they’ve won the World Series), I’ve come to better appreciate the City, mostly through the friends and family that call the Bay Area home. New memories have superseded old ones.
This past weekend, I ran the San Francisco Half Marathon. 13.1 mile run that took me from the Embarcadero, past the Fisherman’s Wharf, up towards the Presidio, across the Golden Gate, and finally to the finish line in Golden Gate Park just a bit SE of the De Young Museum and the Cal Academy. Upon finishing, my sister, her girlfriend, and I stood along the steel barricade cheering and offering the occasional high five to runners as they passed. In return for our effort, we were rewarded with enthusiasm and the runners took off with a bit more energy. The amalgamation of cramped legs, tired feet, shivers, and a lack of sleep left me delirious and perhaps this enhanced and opened me up to this experience. Cheering the runners as they passed was probably the best part of the entire race for me.
My memories are mental markings of places I’ve passed through and subsequently interacted with. And now when I ride the 71, drive through the Lower Haight, glimpse the Bay Bridge, or throw a smile at a sitting homeless man, I’m reminded of lunches with a crazy CuSn, late night walks, book exchanges, short trips last September and October to stay at my buddy Drew’s, sharing street food with a study sanctuarian, ice cream with a toothless street musician, and much more. What I’m saying, I guess is I’ve got love for the Bay.
Let me spend my time with the out of luck and downtrodden,
Those who fate has ceased to bless,
Those who wish to lie and take their final rest,
For humanity can be found somewhere between me and him,
Between a steady shoulder and a sick man’s limp,
Beneath a good conversation, a stiff drink, and a hearty meal,
Only to be hidden again when life becomes all to real,
Lost amongst the distance of a 4th story balcony and a bench he’ll make his bed,
His legs numb and near dead and mine feel heavy as lead,
Mi Tio all that comes to mind is a change is gonna come
When once more we’ll take off and run …
-little-fabrizio asked: I see you've had enough of The Strokes :3
You gave me an out and I took it. I don’t understand that emoticon? Is that like balls for a mouth?