Archive for March, 2012


I made the observation today that the best (or what I think are the best) musicals and plays have one or both of two factors:

  1. An overarching historical (past or future) precedent.
  2. An improbable situation happening to the protagonist.

Both of which I’m lacking in my writing. There is something attractive about those factors — it’s something to keep the audience engaged with, something new (or old) that they don’t know much about but are learning, whether it’s fictional or was once very real.

And I can see why audience members need that. Call me a pessimist, but I don’t think anyone goes to see a movie or theater production to be invested in the concept introspectively. A movie can criticize all of society, but the storyline that is sewn into that criticism or theme is so far flung from our own reality that we draw a big, fat line between us and what we’re being shown and told. So we put things in the past and in the extremes, to keep ourselves away from all of that.

Maybe that’s one of the places where I diverged. See, when we’re kids, we don’t draw that line between what’s on the screen and ourselves, which is why our parents show us stuff like Barney and Dora the Explorer. I mean, take a look at kids who watch Pokemon or Yu-Gi-Oh — they like to pretend that stuff is real. You don’t see (many) adults doing that. And if you do, you’re considered a nerd, otaku, fanatic, maniac, etc. Everyone else simply grows up.

Of course I drew the line between myself and cartoon and fictional worlds, and of course, I’m sad that I’ll never be able to feel the grass of the Shire between my toes. But when I was a kid, I drew a lot of concepts about reality from what I was seeing on the tube. Friendship, trust, bravery, and all that. And maybe I never stopped. Maybe I never got out of the habit of putting myself in the movie, in the show; maybe I never wanted to.

So I write often about the real an inescapable. Well, if you’ve seen anything of mine on stage, you’d think me a liar, but those are really the exceptions. Those are when I took what was real to me and confounded them into something outrageous. A lot of what I’ve written has no historical precedent. But I do tend to incorporate some form of fiction.

Maybe that means I’m starting to grow up.


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The beginning in the end.

I was going to e-mail my mom just now to confirm her flight arrival time for this evening when I realized that she was already on the plane.

Here’s to one interesting spring break.

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I don’t speak, I emote.

It’s taken me a long time to come to this conclusion, but the more I think about it, the more I realize the validity of it.

I used to not speak very much. Well, if you’ve known me for a long time, you probably think I’m lying, but the truth is that I joked a lot. Joking isn’t quite the same as speaking. Spoken words have meaning, or rather, I’d like to believe that they hope to have meaning. To personify words, that is. Joking is where words hope to be funny. And I was known for that, being funny. Or not being funny. Whatever your spin on it is.

I still joke, of course, but at some point I started speaking… a lot. And the emoting came hand-in-hand with that — apparently I was an emotional person. (Let’s be real, I still am.) I’d like to say it all began when I was in MUN. I mean, you’re debating international politics, and of course, you’re expected to be objective and all that. But I think after I started specializing in global health, there was no way to be objective. After all, people were dying, and even if what I said had no impact whatsoever, it didn’t mean I couldn’t feel something. Maybe that’s why I won so many awards.

That doesn’t mean it’s a good thing. I can turn the trivial, the menial, the simple, into the most complex situation. I sometimes think it’d be better, more effective, and heck, more likable if I were calmer (which I have become) and simpler, but… I don’t know, there’s something wonderful about feeling so much. As much pain as it entails, it gives equal parts joy and purpose back.

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The mirror at the end.

I’m trying to remember the me that once was.
The me who woke up every morning in excited anticipation.
The me who had long hair.
The me who wanted to know more about everything and everyone.
The me who didn’t mind dressing in sweats everyday.
The me who felt safe.
The me who was capable of saving money.
The me who didn’t care what other people thought.
The me who thought so often of kindness.
The me who was willing to walk miles to see someone.
The me who was an open door.
The me who was happy to share about the past and the present.
The me who went to sleep every night satisfied.
The me who is long since gone.
The me who I’m afraid is too lost to be found.
I’m trying to remember the me who I’m trying to get back.

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End of the line.

The air has changed.

The end is nigh.

Time to say goodnight, one last time.

Until then, hang on.

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This means peace.

Everyday, we find beginnings and ends. I use the word “find” because such things don’t simply happen upon us — we look for them. We’re always seeking something new, something of the likes we’ve never seen before; on the flip side, we work to leave our pasts behind and move on when something has worn its welcome.

It’s all about equivalent exchange. It is said that every end has a new beginning, and of course, every beginning has an end. We see things this way for balance, for justice, for wholeness. Without the knowledge that the bad things will end and the good things will come (eventually), we are hopeless. Humans are wont to be hopeless. Human survive not on the basis of instinct, but on hope.

So I’ve always believed in that proverbial light at the tunnel. I’ve always believed that everything could be fixed — yes, even me — if enough effort was put into it. And sure, I’ve put more effort in some places than in others, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen negative progression in the face of my persistence. It, for lack of a better word, sucks, and I’ve reached and end without light, without hope, and without future.

I’m abandoning this war. Mostly for my own sake, but also because there’s been nothing there since the beginning. It’s been hollow and rotten — it was a war because I was always fighting. Not with someone, but with their pride. I swallowed my own to make attempts at reconciliation, only to be met with false acceptance. I set aside years of bitterness only to remember it every time I had to see your face or hear your voice or even just read a message from you. It has grown, evolved into the deepest, most decayed part of my soul. And I am here to carve it out, bit by bit.

Today, I found an end with no beginning to follow.

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I’m always talking about getting my head screwed on straight because I go through weeks, mayhaps months of feeling like my life is attached to one of those horrid spinning devices you see in playgrounds.

And yes, I am aware that life has its ups and downs.

But there’s always some point when the spinning stops, and I clumsily flop off of the wheel of terror and stare up at the sky, watching the clouds turn every which way until everything finally stands still.

This is one of those times.

I feel like I’m at my best in these moments. Not that my best is going to go invent something fascinating or save the world or anything, but it’s one of the few times that I actually feel like a fully functioning human being.

I woke up this morning to the panic of being reminded that I had overslept and had a paper due in five and a half hours. My dramatic initial leap from my bed aside, once my tush hit the couch, I was calm. I knew I’d finish, and I did — early, mind you (though I did skimp on the last page because I couldn’t think of any more content) — and there was never a sense of panic or frustration. Just drive.

My mind is awake and alive and– okay, maybe it’s just the coffee, but the world doesn’t quite seem like it’s moving at a million miles a minute right now.

I think that’s something worth embracing.

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