I am in need of distinct good versus evil today.

I am in need of distinct good versus evil today.

Let me explain. I grew up on stories, reading books, and movies. I grew up on imagination. I grew up consuming make believe and tales of good and evil. It’s a particularly comforting thought for me, to know that at the end of the day good triumphs over evil. I spent the most impressionable years of my life consuming these stories, stories which have left a long lasting impression on me. When I first started writing all those years ago, the first book I wrote was about a boy who set off from his village all alone and got wrapped up in a whirlwind adventure with more experienced heroes to face off against an ancient evil and a world ending threat. I know that story even now, almost 20 years later, like the back of my hand. Now did it go anywhere? Ultimately no. While I didn’t do anything with that story, other than spend close to 5 years fleshing it out, it did further cement the basis of the stories that stick with me today. Good versus evil. The stories I spent countless hours submerged in led me to basing the heroes and villains that I incorporate into my own stories. After all, each and every artist is a kleptomaniac of good ideas.* I grew up with children fighting against oppressive regimes and dystopian governments. I grew up with intellectuals exploring and discovering. I grew up with the underdog. I grew up with found family. I grew up with silent protagonists against insurmountable odds. I grew up with the punching of Nazis. I also grew up with villains that wanted to take away all that was good. With villains that sought to take and take and take. With villains that hoarded wealth. With villains that claimed that they themselves were the heroes instead. With villains that wanted to break apart family. As I grew up I had to learn the hard way that stories are not real life. And as I came to terms with it I also fell in love with new stories, more complicated stories, where good and evil aren’t as clear cut as I would wish. I also became a Christian, and was subsequently influenced with this theology. And I was fine with it because the good and evil that I recognized as a kid fit into the neat little boxes of good and evil that Christianity presented me. And I continued to grow up Right now, in the present day, it’s Martin Luther King Jr. Day as I write this. I don’t know when I’ll post. I can be hot headed and I can be stubborn and while these traits about me exist I also want to speak clearly and concisely and consciously. All that I see out there when I look into the world is, well, a lot of evil. For a lack of better words. I’m seeing a slide to fascism. I’m seeing the billionaire oligarchs control our means of communication. I’m seeing a lot of people whom I once looked up to and admired gladly cheer and celebrate darkness because it protects them from fear. Fear of the scarcity, of the other, of the unknown. Fear manufactured by the very darkness that they celebrate It never sat right to me that in Star Wars Episode 7 that the First Order was a thing. And then you find out as the audience that the First Order were really remnants of the Empire that changed its name and became something new. The latest Indiana Jones movie had a villain who was a former Nazi that became a NASA scientist who wanted to “fix” history. Tears of the Kingdom has Ganondorf come back from being a zombie after literally forever being dormant. It feels like it’s the end of Two Towers, where the armies of Isengard break like waves upon Helm’s Deep and Theodan says “So much death. What can men do against such reckless hate?” It feels like Pippin’s realization when Merry says “The fires of Isengard will spread, and the forests of Tuckborough and Buckland will burn. And all that was once great and good in this world will be gone. There won't *be* a Shire, Pippin.” It feels like Frodo sinking to the ground when he says “I can’t do this, Sam.” I’m in the moment with the death of the Forest Spirit in Mononoke. I’m in the moment where Cluny the Scourge has taken over Redwall Abbey. It’s the resignation felt, that this is it, and there is nothing else BUT this. As a plot device, we know that it is darkest before the dawn. We know that in these stories that right as the darkest dark falls upon the land that the heroes stand back up to fight, and somehow they win in the end. This is where we find out that the First Order can be defeated through community.** This is where we find out that the villain's plans fail and that you can’t go back to fix the past. This is where we seek out allies that will fight with us against the darkness. This is where Gandalf crests with the dawn with a host of Rohirrim. This is where Pippin stands up to the challenge and convinces Treebeard to fight. This is where Sam says “That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for.”*** This is where Ashitaka and San end the Nightwalker’s wrath. This is when Matthias, the very reincarnation of Martin the Warrior, leads a coalition of outsiders to retake the Abbey. In stories, this is when the villains fall. In real life? It’s hard for me to see the right leaning government that the United States has right now as anything but villains. If they aren’t villains, why are they villain shaped? Why do they rail against the oppressed and the weak and the vulnerable and the marginalized? As an adult, reading adult books, I recognize that it isn’t as easy as dividing the world into good and evil, into right and wrong.***** Life is complicated at best. It’s easy to say one thing is correct and one thing is incorrect and be done with it. Then you look at all the things that make up that one thing and you realize that it’s far more complicated than you could ever understand. Some of that still stands, some of that is bullshit. There’s something about bombing kids that puts a bad taste in my mouth. There’s something about devaluing others that makes me clench my fists. There’s something about goddamn Nazis in the Whitehouse that makes my blood boil. My radicalization came because I fell in love with stories that showed me what good and evil was. And how do I decide what is good and evil? I can’t look towards the church, since Christian Nationalism is a cancer.****** So what can I look towards? Secular communication? But who has control of the media? Who is preventing others from reading or saying things? Who is afraid of criticizing who? The simple fact is that one side wants to ban people from reading. They are actively banning books. Actively banning stories. Banning the very thing that made me who I am as a person today. I stated this before in another post, but as a kid I would have killed to have read stories that were age appropriate for me that also had protagonists that looked like me. And as a child growing up that was few and far in between. And seeing those stories which childhood me needed being banned? Them’s fighting words.******* I am in need of distinct good versus evil today. Because everything I see right now is in that calm before the storm except instead of calm it’s the storm and instead of just a storm its three world ending events in a trench-coat and they just let it walk right into the movie theater. And right now it’s the turn for the heroes to show up and stand up against the insurmountable evil and instead of the legendary Samwise Gamgee it’s lil ol’ me. And that’s fucking terrifying. So I’m in need of distinct good versus evil today because this is more than just me, it’s about my found family who needs help. And being immersed in this black and white is a little like drinking the chicken broth at the end of chicken noodle soup when it’s cold as hell out and you are sick: it’s the feeling of home and warmth and comfort and that everything is going to be all right.

* That is, let it be transformative. There is no original story anymore. But, it’s the writer’s own twist on that story that makes the story unforgettably fresh and new for the reader. That said, fuck AI Art, fuck Generative AI, fuck using AI to write. You can’t be an AI Artist or an AI writer. If you can’t be creative on your own, and use your own skills to create something as beautiful and as flawed as the rest of us, then you are simply masquerading as an Artist or a Writer.

** Love or Hate the sequel trilogy, this is what happens. Personally, I’d rather the original trilogy or the prequels. Cause as pretty as the sequel trilogy is o god it’s awful.

*** Look I know that Sam says a whole big speech first and that Pippin doesn’t convince Treebeard in the books. I’m trying to save some space, and I’m basing this off the movies, which again, NEED to rewatch rn in particular.****

**** extended editions obviously, I’m not a monster.

***** Adult books and ADULT books if you get my drift wink wonk.

****** The way I explain it right now is that I would be considered a very bad Christian if you use a Christian Nationalist viewpoint. And I would answer that I fall short when it comes to a Jesus Christ viewpoint. Those are VERY different things.

******* Once again, fuck you Nyx you inconsiderate piece of shit

Definition of a Fighter

Fighter noun

fight·ter

1: one that fights: such as

  (1) : Warrior, Soldier

    (2) : a pugnacious or game individual

(3) : Boxer

I pulled that definition from Merriam Webster. There’s another definition about airplanes but let’s focus on the first version of the definition. Further delving reveals the following.

Soldier noun

sol·dier

1 a : one engaged in military service and especially in the army

   b : an enlisted man or woman

   c : a skilled warrior

2 : a militant leader, follower, or worker

Warrior noun

war·rior

: a person engaged or experienced in warfare

broadly : a person engaged in some struggle or conflict

Pugnacious adjective

pug·na·cious

: having a quarrelsome or combative nature: Truculent

Boxer noun

box·er

1 : a person who engages in the sport of boxing

I’ve left out the unnecessary definitions of Soldier and Boxer. Ants and dog breeds and packing boxes are unneeded.

Those are, more or less, the official definitions of what a fighter is. But that’s not what a fighter means. With the risk of sounding a little soap-boxy, it is rather clear that words have a power unto themselves with their own connotations and connections. These spider-webbing bridges, both logical and emotional, do merit validity as the colloquial everyday use of the words grows and evolves past what the traditional, official, definitions foundationed.

Words evolve and grow, and the personal relationship between myself and words also evolves and grows. It’s via our understanding and usage that we can move from something that is simply an unused, special word to something that is common and mundane. And to understand what a Fighter means to me in the present, we are going to have to delve into my past and what a Fighter meant to me as a child.

And, if you know who I am as a person, a Fighter was something, well, wrong. As a little little child, I remember hearing that word and the subsequent definition and having it relate to my childish bickerings with my brother or with friends. It was something that was frowned upon. And yet it was also glorified. In every tabletop game I had played, in every story in whichever media I had consumed, a Fighter was someone who was hailed as a hero and as a villain. He was the person who fought the bad guys and saved the day. He was someone who was the peak of masculinity, with rolling muscles and sweat and swords seven feet long or guns the size of pickup trucks. It became an idolized version of what a man should be. And I, of course, in my infinite childhood reasonings and logic, played make-believe outside with sticks and rocks and ran around with whatever toy I could fashion as my weapon. I was a Fighter. I was a hero. I could save the day. I was the MAN.

And when childhood fantasies faded away, so did my understanding of what it meant to be a Fighter. Reality set in. The real world isn’t like the fantasy stories I loved to read the movies I watched or the games I played. The real world was grounded in laws and customs and, well, science. You may be able to pick up the seven-foot sword, but the reality is that you can’t realistically swing it to any effect you so desire. You may wish to be the hulking muscleman you see on screen, but the reality is that those actors are literally starving themselves just to look like some Adonis. Written and drawn portrayals can be as unrealistic as possible, and any physical creation of those things is hard to replicate. Armor? Expensive. Guns? Terrifying. Martial Weapons? Good luck walking down Main Street with that.

The crux of the matter is that unless I was willing to become a literal soldier, or get into acting and playing pretend (but for adults and thus make adult money), or get into the ring I wouldn’t be a Fighter. And I learned to let that go. Let go of those childhood fantasies and those things in which you can only achieve as a child. Be an adult. Be satisfied with what the world has given you, and to be complacent.

Let’s be completely honest. I am a very stubborn individual. That’s been true for as long as I can remember. And it works both ways, both good and bad. I’m stubborn and will see what I’ve said I will do till the end. I’ve also kept my word in detriment to my own health and goodwill. I would like to think that I’m a good person to have on the team because of how stubborn I am towards achieving whichever goal we set out for. I could also just be tooting my own horn on that one, but I’m learning that having a little self-confidence and a little pride isn’t a bad thing.

Stubborn and pugnacious almost go hand in hand, like peanut butter and chocolate. Not that I would personally know that combo but I do know once it’s time to go I’ll stick it out to the bitter end. And, this is where my relationship with the word Fighter changed as an adult.

I’m removed from my heritage. Not by choice, it’s how the cards were laid out to me. And whether or not I like it, America sees me as Asian. And so I’ve embraced it because otherwise I would drown under it. And that’s been a struggle I’ve had for many years now. And I know I have it good in comparison to my fellow Asian brothers and sisters and everyone in between. I’m half and half, my last name is Dutch, and I’ve been far removed from the rest of the Asian American experience. And I’ve been fighting to be a part of that every day. And I wish that was an exaggeration, but it really isn’t.

And Covid was a thing. And that changed how I few things. The Asian American news sources I followed showed me how much hate and fear was out there, festering like some untreatable disease just under the surface. And the small sparking interest I had in who I am and what I am became a flame that I could either die to or tame. You can’t possibly hope to win a fight like that without first understanding. “If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.” (Sun Tzu) I could only fight the lack of knowledge I had about who I am by first understanding how I got there and why the world is the way it is. 

And I’m still trying to tame that flame. It’s not the easiest thing. And I’m separated by so so much. But I’m pugnacious. And so I fight on.

As a child, I was more or less blind and deaf to the world’s problems. The stories in history textbooks were of a time gone by. There was nothing happening in the here and now. A cynical man would say that’s how the world wants you to believe, for it’s far easier to control a population that thinks that the world is all hunky-dory. I may be a realist borderline pessimist, but I hope I’m not that cynical. I am grateful for the time I had as a child to be a child, even when that time had been cut short by necessity. And I am also grateful for the onslaught of social media. As horrible as it is for everyone’s mental health, it keeps me informed of what’s actually happening out in the world. It’s given everyone a soap box, for better or for worse.

I was raised to be a good little boy, that fighting is bad, that listening to your elders is good, and that it is best to be kind and loving to everyone. And I still believe that, mostly. Sometimes fighting is necessary. Sometimes your elders are wrong. And it is best to be kind and loving to everyone, which includes giving the people who deserve a right kick in the ass a right kick in the ass. There’s a connection from Fighter to Warrior to a person who is engaged in struggle or conflict. There’s a connection between the conflict of self and the conflict of society. There’s a connection between being separated within identities, and how that separation of identity is an evolving personal relationship. And there’s a connection between being complacent and doing the right thing.

And somewhere in all of that is my current definition of Fighter. It’s not too glamorous, and it’s not going to be a fantastical story of swords and magic and manliness outfitted to the nth degree. But it’s mine, and it’s close to home, and that’s enough.

Top 5 Thingies I read in 2021

 I read a lot in 2021. My initial goal was to read at least 1 book a week. I blew that number out of the water. Did I reread some books? Hell yea I did. Did I read new books? Double hell yea. So seeing as I read these things and I’m totally a legitimate book expert and not some drug-addled fool desperate for his next hit, here are my top 5 series/books/whatever the heck it's called that I read last year in alphabetical order. Uh, as spoiler-free as possible but you’ve been warned

Note: I don’t do drugs, I’m just into reading books. And let's be clear books are far more expensive than drugs. I mean, I’m looking into buying new shelves for the books I’ve bought and my wallet just goes hnnngggggh and cries.

I’m going to start with probably my favorite author: Jim Butcher. Now, he would easily top the list if this list had a numerical value, but it's hard to simply choose one book/series over another since all of them are so good. So lucky for me I’m going alphabetical so I get to start with Butcher regardless of this list’s order of favorability. I’ve been a fan of Butcher since before I graduated high school, so at least over ten years now. I’m pretty sure I wrote a report about him back when I was a senior. As a reader and wannabe author, he ticks off all the boxes I could want.

Magic? Check.

Expansive lore? Check.

Mystery? Check.

Strong, well-written characters of all genders and backgrounds? Check.

Wiseassery? Check. 

Butcher has 3 series that he has written and is writing, so there’s bound to be one for you. He’s got a wizard private investigator in Chicago going off against every supernatural power imaginable. He’s got Romans with avatar powers (let’s be clear, Avatar the Last Airbender style of powers, not the blue aliens) in political and military strife. He’s got a steampunk ship captain kicking ass and taking names both in flying cities and in naval battles.

Each one of his stories feels fresh and unique. Each character had its own distinct voice. Nothing feels rehashed or reused or cliche. This is both what I aspire to write and to read. And because his series takes place over numerous books, we get to grow with the characters and evolve with them. A side character from book 2 might grow to become someone very important in book 10. That’s because the worlds Butcher writes about are living and breathing and as magical as they are grounded. Because though the setting may be fantastical, the people within are real and act just like you or I would.

I literally can’t recommend Butcher and his stories enough and I hope my clumsy attempts at communicating how awesome his stories are don’t dissuade you of the worlds he has created.

Next down the list is poet Rudy Francisco and his books I’ll Fly Away and Helium. Francisco has become probably my favorite poet. I bought a lot of Button Poetry poetry books a few years back and I finally had a chance to read a chunk of them last year. I think I read like a solid dozen different poetry books, from poets whom I’ve watched speak on Youtube or Instagram, but never really had a chance to fully explore their poems.

So, going into it I knew I’d like Francisco’s work, but I didn’t know just how much id like it.

My copies of his two books are liberally inked as I took notes and scribbled thoughts and underlined and all sorts of markings as I read through his collections. It’s because his words are beautiful and poignant and delivers what it means to be vulnerable and human.

Like, gah it’s so freaking good.

The major thing which I loved when reading his collections are these series of poems where Francisco creates new words to describe what we cannot name and then delivers the words to us in poems which makes that definition that much more impactful.

It’s like a spelling bee, only, I want to be there and hear every word, every note, as it comes off the page.

Next on this list is The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune. this is a new author for me and I didn’t know what to expect. I legit picked it up and bought it because booktok/gram/tube said so. And boy am I glad I did. It’s absolutely beautiful and wonderful I wanted to live in the world for much longer than what the pages gave me.

It’s as one person put it: "like being wrapped up in a big gay blanket."

That’s 100% true, for both meanings of the word.

The characters are vibrant and complex. Our main character Linus Baker is frustrating and lovable and there were times I was shouting (mentally mind you cause it was late at night while I read this) for him to stop hesitating and to just do it.

This story very much feels like coming home to family and being loved by that family and learning to love yourself. Because if your found family loves you for you then you can love you for you too.

I highly recommend this book if you want to feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside and see the boundless extents of human love.

The next is the memoir Life of Miracles along the Yangtze and Mississippi by Wang Ping. It's a wonderfully complex memoir that braids together Ping's life and how it's all connected by rivers.

There’s a lot to unpack that Ping puts into her memoir, which makes reading it a slow and deliberate process. This sucks because I was also entranced while reading her story, so while I wanted to read on and learn more I had to pause and sit with the story that I had just read.

It’s beautiful and uncomfortable and it resonated with me in ways I never thought it would. Maybe that's because I am Asian American, and I am missing that part of my heritage that I want to grow closer to. Maybe it's because Ping weaves in stories from her childhood in China, to her adulthood in the states, her travels abroad, and her subsequent return to china all without missing a beat or making any single individual story feel useless or uninteresting.

It feels rich, yet scarily familiar, like a new place you’ve never been to before but feels unerringly like home.

It’s a question of culture and tradition and how a person is more than just one or the other.

It’s how a river system can be so complex and beautiful and wonderful just like each individual, and how both are equally important to the Eco-Cultural systems they rest in. And how, even when you think you know everything there is to know about it, the river (or person) can surprise you in ways unimaginable.

Rick Riordan is the best at writing stories for youth and weaving mythology into them.

That's a fact. 

Source. Me

I finished the Trials of Apollo series this past year and I was once again surprised and satisfied with how a man could be like 15 books into this world and his system and have it still feel great to read. And yes, I say system. Riordan’s novels are geared for youth, after all, and each story feels similar. It rises and falls and surprises you on recognizable beats. Which isn’t a bad thing, it means that Riordan has a way of crafting stories and he sticks with it and it works really well

Now, I was hesitant about this series because this is the 3rd series with a primarily Greek/Roman pantheon. That and, mild spoiler, Apollo is kind of a dick as the main character. However, I’m glad I grew to like Apollo as the series continued; and that's not because I became comfortable or lax about Apollo's dicky-ness.

We get to see new cast members interacting with older ones and how the old cast members evolved over the series length. It’s this character growth and the well-thought-out mythological stories included and woven into the story makes me coming back to Riordan’s books again and again.

That and Riordan has made these books geared for kids and being as inclusive as possible. Characters struggle with mental illnesses and disabilities and parent problems and gender and relationship problems and everything under the sun, by including such a wide cast of characters of all sorts of backgrounds and strengths and weaknesses, Riordan has made it possible for any kid to pick up one of his books and find themselves in there.

This is quite frankly the most powerful thing an author can do: write stories that resonate with the reader.

That’s my top 5 for 2021. Read these books.  It’ll make you a better person.

Or don’t read these books. I can’t tell you what to do.

Please be here and be present, not just a surprise disagreement

 Controversial Opinion:

If you want me to care about what you say to me, then try to make an effort to be a part of my life and not just come out of the woodwork the moment I say something you disagree with.

That's a harsh thing to say, but it's true. Why should I care about what people say, when they have had every opportunity to get in touch with me and they haven’t until the moment I say something they view as wrong? I’m not blaming them; we are all busy people with busy lives. But when this is the first thing you say to me all year? For the first time in years?

It's really telling of character.

Because, I have to ask, where were you when I brought up other difficult topics and stances?  Where were you when I spilled my guts and told the world my emotions? Where are the happy birthdays, the congratulations, the well wishes, the texts saying that you are praying for me, the how are yous, the let's get coffees, etc?

My phone number hasn’t changed. My email hasn’t changed. My address hasn’t changed. My DMs are open on both FB and Insta. Hell, if there was a way for me to get telegrams or smoke signals I’d accept those too.

My point is there are a plethora of ways to contact me, and there has been a distinct lack of communication.

Now you could also ask, "Hey Zack, where's my texts and calls and emails and etc etc etc ... A relationship is a two-way street."

And you’re right. I don’t text or call or email or etc etc etc. Part of that is because I only keep in contact with people that are in my immediate circle.  At least in the real world. (Keeping in touch with my internet friends is a hella lot easier, but the very concepts of real-world friends and internet friends is a whole separate conversation for another time.)

Now, I have tried to keep in contact with people beyond my immediate circle. But when I am the only one initiating conversations it makes me think that the other person or persons don’t want to get in touch with me and don’t care.  Which is only partly true at best; once again we are all busy with busy lives and answering texts, (or calls, emails, letters, etc etc etc) from people can be draining. But when it’s time and time again that I am ignored or forgotten it’s telling. So I stopped. Why put effort into getting in touch with people when they won't do the same in return?

Hence why I don’t talk to people outside my circle, because I’ve been burned too many times.

Now that doesn’t mean that I’m not open to people wanting to be a part of my life or spending time with me. I do in fact look for friendships and relationships with people. It’s that I found that I can’t be the one to start that conversation.  See paragraphs above.

And I’m not expecting to hang out all the time or to have constant communication every day. Once again, we are all busy people. But it does mean trying to make an effort to get together, even if shooting texts back and forth to schedule a date we can catch up irl (which never happens cause schedules are a right pain in the neck at the best of times. but it does show that you are at least trying to be a part of my life, which is a lot more than most people are).

It shows me that you care about me and want to be a part of my life. Which means a hella lot more to me than ignoring my posts and stories and poems (and just generally my life and my existence when you get down to it) and then coming out from nowhere to act all sad that I am not the person you thought I was.

It makes me feel like you are treating me like a problem and not a person, and that's a shitty feeling.

Rant over.

Best books that I’ve read in 2021 soon I promise, not that anyone cares but me I guess. On a retreat for the next few days to get some writing done so I’m staying off of social media while I’m away.

2021 Look Back

Hi,

So, uh, I ain’t dead. Haven’t been real active, well, anywhere in the past forever. It’s, uh, a bit of a long story. Well, not really that long, but it feels long in the moment. I’m sure you understand. Or maybe, you don’t. I dunno. I’m not in your mind or anything like that.

So I got this whiteboard hanging on the door, saying when I last wrote on what story. Since I have a bajillion ideas it helps me to see what I had recently worked on, if anything at all. Because according to it, I haven’t posted anything “writerly” or anything like that since April of 2021 at the latest. Uh, last post on Instagram was in April 2021, last thing I put on Facebook was in March of 2021. The last time I posted on here was in early 2020.

Of course, that’s only talking about when the last time I posted something was. I have been writing. Though, the last time I did anything was last year (aye-yo last year joke). So where have I been? As I’ve said it’s a long story.

Uh, my penultimate post (before this one) on here was back in July of 19. Let’s break down where I was as a person: horribly depressed and getting worse. Jobless. My church situation was, well, frustrating at the best of times. I was taking Online classes in the fall of 19 Semester, but it would quickly be shown that I was far too deep in my depresso to actually get any classwork done.

I dropped out in November of 19. And I dropped out of my church responsibilities the same month. I started seeing a therapist. Things were slowly looking up.

Then the world started to burn even more than I had thought possible. Not just my world, not just my little portion of reality, but the world at large. I think you know what kinda shit show I’m referring to. On the off chance someone in the future is reading this and doesn’t know their history and is dreadfully confused, I’m talking about Covid.

Now, I’m part of the “at-risk” population. I’m overweight, I have asthma, there is a history of diabetes in my family. So when the world shut down, I kinda shut down with it. ‘Cause I’m not taking any chances with my health. It’s a shit show out there, even now in 2022, and I don’t think anyone had a good idea of what would happen back when the US shut down.

So I stopped seeing the therapist. I had literally just gotten a job and was in training when the shutdown happened, so I “lost” that too. (uh, very complicated, but long story short I was in training and we went remote. I wanted to work but no one got back to me. So yaaaaayyy.)  So then there is this awkward period where I want to work but I can’t, that I want to do stuff but the things I want to do are very limited. I want to find a new place to worship but because I am “at-risk” I wasn’t going to risk it. Because no matter how much I thought that I would be safe if I got it I wouldn’t play with those chances.

It was a long 2020. Then it became 2021. And it was another long year.

And I still didn’t write much, still didn’t post. Even with all that free time. I know some people look at that and I have a very good idea of what they would say. I don’t really care though. I wasn’t really alive during those months. I just wanted to survive, so everything else took a backseat. As it rightfully should.

So when I look back on 2021 there is a deep sense of shame. There are a lot of stories that I want to put out there and to write and explore and develop. And I didn’t do that. I just kinda, well, coasted. Part of that shame comes from the busy culture that America has, where if you aren’t doing anything you are a failure. Part of that shame is because I know, deep down, that I could have done more.

And as much as I am ashamed, I do have to remind myself that I can be proud.

One of the things I am teaching myself is that it’s okay to fail. That it is okay to mess up. I am also learning that there are victories in that failure, that it isn’t as black and white as I make it out to be.

What else happened in 2021 that I could celebrate those victories?

The vaccine came out. I got it. (Pfizer gang) At that same time, I started looking for a new job, since I was then vaxxed. I got a new job and started working in May. Well, since I had a new job, I didn’t have an excuse not to start seeing a therapist since I had the money then. I’ve been seeing a therapist for over half a year now and it’s honestly probably one of the best decisions I’ve made for myself. And since I was now working, I didn’t have an excuse to go back to college.

See, I wasn’t going to pay through the nose to attend college virtually. Cause quite frankly young people are fucking stupid and they think they are invincible and thus immune to Covid. I wasn’t going to put myself in that kinda dangerous situation.

And since I would be working full time, the only way for me to realistically finish my degree would be to take Online classes. I either excel or I flounder in Online classes. And since I was taking Summer classes (cause why wouldn’t I want to hurt myself even more than I already do,) it would be even harder.

I excelled in those Online classes, and I got my Bachelors. Only took like 10 fucking years but I made it. Depression might have made me drop out, but it certainly didn’t make me give up.

I started working out this year too. Little things though, nothing real difficult. There’s a park nearby where I live, so I would walk a circuit around there. And that was fine and dandy for a while. But this past month I finally bit the bullet and got a gym membership so I can use their bikes so that I could work out that way. Why? 'Cause it’s fucking cold out during winter and if I am to have any momentum in keeping myself somewhat healthy I need to keep at it.

I did return to writing, as hard as it was. But I didn’t post. It finally stuck in my head that at some point I really needed to start treating this seriously, more seriously than I have been. Which meant that I probably should spend more time looking at what I was writing and not blindly putting it up on the Internet for anyone to see. So yea, I have been writing and honing my craft. I’ve been putting serious thought into what I want to put out there on a professional level.

I also returned to reading. I, uh, love reading. But at the same time, I hadn’t read for my own pleasure in years. Depresso wins again I guess. So at the beginning of 2021, I said that I would read at least a book a week. It wasn’t until I started working that I really picked up reading again. Part of that was because I can read on my breaks and on my lunch. Part of it was because I have a bookshelf bursting at the seams of books I have bought but I haven’t read.

I read 80 books in 2021. Some of them good, some of them god awful. Uh, top 5 books/series coming soon(tm).

The problem is with reading is that I wanna read all the books. So, I may have bought more books. My  “to read” shelf is still chock full of books. As is the bag I bring to work each day. And those don’t count the books I have on kindle.

Oop.

I learned a lot about myself this past year. Particularly about my heritage. If you’ve been living in the state of Denial and haven’t acknowledged that there has been a drastic increase in hate crimes against AAPI this past year, then wtf. I mean seriously. What the fuck. You might not care. I do. I followed those numbers and the crimes. Call a spade a spade. Call a racist a racist. Don’t forget to punch a Nazi.

I’m gonna get some flack but I don’t give a fuck. Raised as a Christian, I was essentially taught to forgive others and give people the benefit of the doubt. But when will you stop giving people chances when they clearly don’t change? These past few years definitely taught me to put a line in the sand, a definitive line that isn’t hazy or wavy.

It’s part of the reason that I haven’t joined a new church. I can’t in good conscience join an organization where we disagree on fundamental basic rights. (but let’s be real Covid can suck a bag of dicks I ain’t joining anywhere until things FINALLY calm down.)

I’ve had an awakening of sorts when it came to this “new” side of me. I’m taking more pride in myself and who I am, especially in a country that seems hellbent on deciding that I don’t belong here.

Shang-Chi came out this past year, and I think I saw it three times in theaters. It was so good to finally see someone on the screen that looks like me kicking ass and taking names, and just, well, existing. Growing up I didn’t have any Asian American role models to look up to. I had Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan. It’s hard to find yourself in them as a child when they didn’t exactly speak like you, or do the things that you liked to do. Or, I could look at the very harmful stereotypical and or racist portrayals of Asians in media. Like those were positive role models for me as a child.

I tried to explain this to someone in one of the discord servers I’m in. He had the audacity to say I didn’t try hard enough. First off, fuck that guy in particular. Secondly, who the hell are you to say that I “didn’t try hard enough” as a child? You can’t have a decent conversation with someone who goes off and tries to invalidate everything I’ve been through.

I remember devouring books as a child where the main character looked like me. I remember distinctly two books, one was historical fiction of a young Chinese boy who travels to California during the gold rush. The other was a fiction book of a teenage girl who got magic martial art powers.

Yea, nothing really that resonated with me as a kid.

I remember being pissed that when in 6th grade we were learning about ancient civilizations, and that there were movies that came with each one. But when we talked about China, there was no movie.

…

I have a lot of emotions about this, clearly.

But the fact remains that I am still proud of my heritage and I want to reconnect on a deeper basis.  That’s pretty hard for me for how removed I am from it all, but it’s still something I want to pursue.

So what do I want to do in 2022?

Be better as a person. Learn more about myself. Continue to work hard at keeping myself healthy.

Do I want to continue my education? I kinda wanna get my Masters but is it even worth?

I don’t think I’ll read as much this year. But who knows. There’s a lot of great books out there I haven’t even read yet.

Of course, work on my own mental health to combat the depression and anxiety.

And to bring it all full circle, the whole writing thing that I equally love and hate. I have to note that I am not as busy as I had been in 2021, so I can start to look at writing more and creating more. Which means writing stupid shit and posting it Online for, uh, tens of you to see. That is if I’m lucky. That also means taking a further look at what I want to do more professionally and take further steps in that direction.

Then again, no one might even read this or even care. At the end of the day, though, I’m doing this for myself.

Something About Dragons Excerpt

Donna trudged up the steps one by one.  For an August evening, it wasn’t too hot; however, that did nothing for the deep ache in her bones.  Another twelve-hour day in the office.  Another long therapy session acting as counselor for her very unlucky, inebriated coworker.  She needed a long vacation.

She got to the top of the stairs and turned onto the open-aired hallway.  The breeze hit her skin and a chill ran up her spine as it hit her sweat-soaked shirt.  Then her strands of muddy rose hair drifted out and came back to stick to her skin.  She ran a hand up and about, pushing the hair back.

She needed to put up her feet.  She needed to take the contacts out.  She needed to shower and change into clean clothes.  She needed to eat something that weren’t bar nuts or instant noodles.  She needed to take care of herself for the first time in what felt like a bajillion years.

Her other hand readjusted the bags of groceries in her hand.  Junk food wasn’t much healthier, but at least it was different.  And if she had her way she was going to gorge herself and relax.  She stepped forward, hurrying her pace to get to her apartment.  When she had bought the place all those months ago, she should have gotten an apartment closer to the stairs.  Instead, she had the studio at the far end.

Donna stumbled slightly, her legs giving a little to the exhaustion they felt.  She darted out her hand to the railing and stopped herself.  She reached her other hand to her head, bringing the bags of snacks up to her face.  She rested her hand on her forehead a moment.  It didn’t feel like she had a fever.

A door opened nearby.  Then a “Donna?”

She simultaneously groaned and blushed.  She knew that voice very well.  It haunted her dreams and caused her to have one too many cold showers in the past few months.  She looked up and found herself face to face with her very handsome, very single neighbor.

“Sup Paul.”  She tried to laugh it off.  “What’re you doing leaving so late?”

“'Bout to go for a quickie,” he jerked a thumb off in the general direction of the nearby park.  “You trying to hide from me?”

“No, no, no.”  She stammered quickly, bringing her hand down from her forehead.  “I thought I was coming down with something, so I was just checking real quick.”

Paul glanced up and down at her.  She blushed harder despite every cell in her screaming at her to play it cool.  She had to look like a mess like she had run a marathon then decided to drown out the sweat with cheap liqueur.  Which, in actuality, wasn’t too far from the truth.  It was scorching earlier and the a/c in the office didn’t quite reach her desk; and it was Cheryl who had drowned her sorrows away that evening, not her.

He brought a hand to her head.  “Can’t have you being sick.  Let me check for ya.”  There was a pause.  He brought his other hand to his own forehead.  He frowned.

“You do feel a little hot.  Are you sure you’re okay?”

Donna stepped back quickly.  “I’m fine.  I’m sure I’m just hungry.”

“I can see.”  He chuckled, gesturing to the bags in her hand.  “All that for tonight?”

She pouted, “I’m not that much like a pig.”

Paul held his hands up in defense.  “I never said anything of the sort.”

She stepped around him.  “I’ll see you later.  I really should be going.”

“Want me to check up on you tomorrow morning before I leave for work?”

“No, no, no, no, that’s not necessary.  I’m in to work early anyway, you don’t have to go out of your way for me.”

“Please, Donna, it’s nothing.”

“It’s fine, really.”  She hurried to her door and grabbed the key that was around her neck.  “You have a great run now, good night!”

Donna hurried inside into the blessed air conditioning and shut the door behind her.   There was a long pause before she sunk down to the ground.  Her heart was beating so quickly it felt like it would run off and join Paul on his run.  She breathed in deep to try and steady her nerves.  It didn’t work so well.

“God why did I say that,” she grumbled and stamped her foot.  “I look like an idiot.”

She wearily reached down and began to untie her laces.  “Like, if I was smart I would've have played it cool, right?  ‘Want me to check up on you tomorrow morning before I leave for work?’ Hell yeah!  Please do!  And make me breakfast in bed and then we can do…” her voice trailed off as the images came to mind.

“Nope!  Nope!  Not going to happen!”  She scrambled to her feet.  “That is definitely not going to happen.”

She entered her small kitchenette and dropped the bags of snacks on the counter.  There were five bags, all of them pretty chock full of chips, pretzels, chocolates, and soda.

“I really shouldn’t have this all now, not after saying that to him.”  She sighed.  “Fiiine, I’ll eat some actual food before I have snacks.”  She grumbled, depositing her keys and phone and her fanny pack onto the counter as well.  “I don’t wanna be an adult.  Why can’t I just have some nice man come and make me a nice dinner?  Though, at this rate, I’ll take just about anyone.  Woman, servant, live-in chef, kid, monkey…” the list went on under her breath as she went to the bathroom.

She started up the shower, took out her contacts, (swearing from hell to high water as she did,) and stripped herself from her sweat-stained clothes.  She dropped them off in the hamper before entering in her shower.  The hot water hit hard against her skin, and she purred in delight.  She lathered up and washed away the day’s sweat.  When she was sufficiently cleaned she switched the faucet and settled down into the tub.  As the warm water slowly filled the tub, she reached over and grabbed one of her bath bombs that she had saved for special occasions such as this.

“Alexa, play Comfort Mood Playlist on Spotify.”

The machine repeated her command and started playing lo-fi music.  Donna sighed in relaxation and submerged all but her head in the water.  Now, this was what she needed.  Of course, she had used the last of her bath bombs, so she’d have to splurge on more soon.  But that was a later problem.  Now all she needed was someone to massage out all those kinks in her back.

Paul came to her mind again and she sat upright in anger.  “What the hell, Donna!?  He’s off-limits, and you know it.”  She sunk back down into the bubbles.  “Why’d he have to be gay?”  She absently twirled the water in front of her in slow spirals.  “I’m happy he gets to live his life but damn, that man is a catch.  At least I get to be his friend.”

She closed her eyes and leaned against the side of the tub.  If only she had thought ahead of time to turn off the lights and light a few candles.  Then it would be perfect, then she wouldn’t have to look up at the cheap fluorescent bulbs up above her.

When she started to nod off she reluctantly pulled the plug and got out.  She wrapped herself in two of the largest, fluffiest towels money could buy.  She placed her old frames on her nose, peering at herself in the foggy mirror.  Faint freckles peaked out at her around her face like tiny hide-and-go-seekers.  She pushed her glasses up and rubbed at her eyes as if they would go away if she scrubbed enough.  There were still there.  Honestly, she hated it when they came out during the summer months.  She would be fine with it if they were there all the time or not at all.  But it was the flip-floppiness of it all that irritated her to no end.

Maybe that was why her ex had left her.

Thoughts of Darren came to her mind and she grimaced at her reflection.  If that bastard could stay out of her thoughts that would be nice.  It has been over a year and he still haunted her when she least expected it.

“Nope, nope, no,” Donna stood up straight and pointed to herself in the mirror.  “I’ve been counseling Cheryl all night about this.  Move on.  Don’t dwell on the past like that.  No one likes a Donna Downer.”

She left her bathroom.  “First things first, eat something.  Put away the food.  I’ll watch something relaxing and pass out.  And I’ll be up to work on time and surprise Paul instead.”  Her mouth curled into a smile.  “Yes, I think that will go nicely.”

She pointed her finger at the bags of snacks on the counter.  “And I won’t eat all of you tonight!”  She frowned, “though that does sound like a really good idea.”

She shook her head and started rummaging through her cupboards.  “Instant noods, instant noods, cheese whiz, soup, a can of beans?  Since when did I buy that?  Instant noods, more instant noods, tomato sauce, and a bag of stale Pringles.  Why are there old Pringles in a bag?”  She shook her head at her very bare cupboards.  “I should really go shopping.  Tomorrow.  I’ll swing by the market after work.  Thank god I don’t have to do another twelve hours, that would be a nightmare.”

She grabbed the singular can of soup and turned it around to see what it was.  “Chunky Beef?”  She checked the expiration date.  “This is like two years outta date.”  She held the can in her hand.  “Eh, whatever.  Should be fine.”

Donna plopped the soup into a small pot and started up her stovetop.  As the soup heated up she got dressed, slipping into an old hoodie that she had stolen from a previous boyfriend (not Darren, fuck that guy,) and a pair of shorts that she had gotten back when she was in middle school.  That was one of the perks of having a very early growth spurt, most of the stuff she had worn as a child she could still wear.  Of course, she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing Hello Kitty shorts outside of the protective walls of her apartment.  But inside?  No one was going to see them other than her, so who cared?

She put away the snacks into the cupboards and the soda into her tiny fridge.  She sat down and relaxed into her bed.  She should have sprung for a larger place or maybe a bigger kitchen.  Not that she would cook, of course.  That was someone else’s problem.  Not that anyone would cook for her either.  Not that finding a place with a big enough kitchen had been a worry of hers when she had gotten the place over a year ago.

Pretty soon Donna sat at the edge of her bed, soup in front of her on a small collapsible table, watching as two cats playing with each other on the screen.  She was itching for a pet so bad.  She had almost bought a dog on more than one occasion and tried to smuggle in a stray cat at least twice.  Every time she had thought about getting herself a friend her landlord would bump into her and the fear of the man would make her forget any plan of having a pet of her own.  After all, he was supposedly a mob boss.  Not that there was a mob in the area, and not that she had any proof that he was a mob boss; but the thought alone was scary enough.

Thank god for nature documentaries, at least she could satisfy her craving for a pet by vicariously living through nature documentaries.  She had watched every single documentary there was on dogs and cats at least twice each and was working her way through reptiles.  Of course, some days you just needed to sit down and watch a few cats play together on the television.

Just as she was finishing her soup there was a crash.  She jumped, spoon in her mouth, her hands wildly flailing in response.  The small table went flying to hit the desk where her tv sat.  That made another crash and she scrambled to her feet.  She glanced around the room.  Donna’s eyes spotted it almost immediately.  The cupboard door was half-open, and it looked like something had fallen.  She took the spoon out of her mouth and sighed in relief.

“Holy hell I’ve been hanging out with Cheryl too much.  She’s always muttering about something or another like how someone… is… stalking-” she trailed off as she went to the fallen item.  It was a bag of chips.  She ticked things off her fingers and cocked her head as she thought.  There was no way a bag of chips could make a crash that sounded like a plate.

She bent and grabbed the bag.  As she lifted she could tell immediately that something was wrong.  “What the hell?”  She struggled to pull up the bag.  She put the spoon back in her mouth and used both hands to haul the bag up to the counter. “Why is it so heavy?”  She cocked her head again.  “No, it wasn’t at all heavy when I grabbed it at the gas station.”  She touched her head.  “Doesn’t feel like I have a fever.  Am I trippin'?”

The bag moved, the unmistakable sound of chips crumbling under something heavy came from it.  She jumped, the spoon dropped from her mouth.  She reached over and grabbed the pot holding it high over her head.  If something was going to come out of there she was going to smack it so hard it won’t know what happened to it.  Soup dripped down out of the pot and onto her arm and her floor.  It was still hot.  It didn’t hurt but it certainly was annoying.  Her heart raced.  Her breathing quickened.

The bag moved again, and before she could think too hard about it she smacked the pot as hard as she could.  The bag of chips exploded.  Soup flew across the apartment to cover her bed and television and her walls.  Soup dripped from the ceiling.  Bits and pieces of overcooked beef and barbeque chips flecked her hoodie and her legs.

Inside the bag was an egg the size of a small puppy.  It looked like it would have taken space over most of the bag itself.  Cracks sprouted out around the egg.  It shifted this way and that.  It was hatching.  Her breath quickened.  She raised her pot with her head spinning.

Donna went over in her head what exactly would come out of an egg that size.  How had the egg gotten in there?  How had it not been heavy before?  Had the bag been heavy and she was just stupid?  Was she really tripping?  Was there something in those bar nuts that shouldn’t have been there?  Had she stayed in the bath for too long and she was hallucinating?

The eggshell fractured further before exploding out.  She winced and squinted her eyes as she prepared to attack once more.  Soup rained down on her head.  A pair of small, amber eyes shown out at her in the darkness of the egg.  The eyes moved back and forth.  Then more of the eggshell separated itself, piece by piece being pushed away.  The sides of the egg blew out backward as a pair of wings unfurled themselves from the creatures back.

She blinked.  That was… a dragon?  In her shock, she let go of the pot and it fell onto her head.  She blinked rapidly as the dragon in the middle of the barbeque chips began to multiply before her eyes.  The room began to spin.  Before she could think about grabbing onto something to catch herself she fell flat on her back.  She closed her eyes and knew no more.

Self Love

I’m trying to learn how to Self Love better.

And I’m a rather logical guy, so I looked up

the definitions of Love, to see if I can understand

Love better so I can better Love myself.

Love:

As a Noun

A strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties

An attraction based on sexual desire

An affection and tenderness felt by lovers

An affection based on admiration, benevolence, or common interests

An assurance of affection

A warm attachment, enthusiasm, or devotion

An object of attachment, devotion, or admiration

A beloved person, often used as a term of endearment

An unselfish loyal and benevolent such as:

       The fatherly concern of God for humankind

       Brotherly concern for others

       A person's adoration of God

A god (such as Cupid or Eros) or personification of love

An amorous episode, or Love Affair

The sexual embrace or Copulation

And as a Verb

To hold dear

To feel a lover's passion, devotion, or tenderness for

To fondle amorously

To copulate with

To like or desire actively or take pleasure in

To thrive in

And I have to give credit where credit is due.

Merriam Webster does a good job

encapsulating something which is impossible to say.

How can you put into words that you’d take

the time to grocery shop with them?

or that you’d stay up late watching

stars crawl across the sky?

How can you say that when they are around,

everything and anything can go to complete Shit,

but I’m still okay.

That when I push you away,

it’s because I don’t hate you,

but because your love is too

much for me right now

The English Language is so limited in

how to express ourselves.

The word “Fuck” has so many meanings.

The word “Love” has too many meanings.

But it’s still not enough.

So, I turned to other languages,

outside of my own limitations,

to see what they use for Love.*

Έρωτας (Erotas) – Romantic Love Greek

Aγάπη (Agape) – Spiritual Love Greek

Φιλία (Philia) – Non-Romantic Love between equals Greek

Στοργή (Storgé) – The Love between a Parent and Child Greek

μεράκι (Meraki) – Doing something with soul, creativity, or Love Greek

愛 (Ai) – Love in a broader sense Japanese

恋 (Koi) – Romantic Love, or Physical Love Japanese

こい の よかん (Koi No Yokan) – The sudden knowledge upon meeting someone that you are destined to fall in love Japanese

侘寂 (Wabi-Sabi) – A way of living that focuses on finding beauty within the imperfections of life and accepting peacefully the natural cycle of growth or decay Japanese

அன்பு (Anpu) – General term for Love Tamil

காதல் (Katl) – Romantic Love Tamil

ஆசை (Achai) – Love you feel when longing for someone Tamil

பாசம் (Pachm) – Deeply connected Love Tamil

கைக்கிளை (Kaikkilai) – Unreciprocated Romantic Love Tamil\

Querer – General Love Spanish

Amar – Romantic Love Spanish

Encantar – Indicating a “strong like” Spanish

حب (Habb) – General word for Love Arabic

عشق (‘Ishq) – “Honeymoon phase” of Love Arabic

شغف (Shaghaf) – Being madly in Love.  Or Lust Arabic

حنان (Hanaan) – Tenderness and Compassion Arabic

يقبرني (Ya’aburnee) – Meaning “you bury me”.  The hope is that the person you love outlives you so that you can avoid living in a world without your Love Arabic

Grá – All-purpose Love Irish

Cion – Affection Irish

Searc – Romantic or True Love Irish

Cumann – Love between friends Irish

स्नेह (Sneha) – Maternal Love Sanskrit

काम (Kama) – Erotic Love Sanskrit

अनुरक्ति (Anurakti) – Passionate Love Sanskrit

रति (Rati) – Physical Desire Sanskrit

प्रिय (Priya) – “Darling” or “Beloved” Sanskrit

Saudade – A feeling of Love for something that is gone Portuguese

Mamihlapinatapei – A wordless look between two people who want to start something, but are too scared to start it themselves Yagan

Gigil – The urge to pinch something because it’s cute Filipino

La douleur exquise – The pain of wanting someone you can’t have French

L’esprit de escalier – The inescapable feeling you get when you leave a conversation then think about all the things you should have said French

Forelsket – the overwhelming feeling when you fall in love with someone Norwegian

Onsra – Loving for the last time.  Knowing a love won’t last Boro

Loving for the last time; that bittersweet feeling you get when you know a love won’t last.

Queesting – Inviting someone to bed for pillow talk Dutch

Kilig – The rush of Love felt right after something good happens, particularly in love or dating Tagalog

Cavoli riscaldati – literally means “reheated cabbage” but it refers to the attempt of restarting a failed relationship Italian

Iktsuarpok – The anticipation when you are waiting for someone to come to your house Inuit

Kara sevde – Passionate, blinding love for another person Turkish

Ilunga – A person who is willing to forgive abuse the first time; tolerate it the second time, but never a third time Bantu

Viraag – The emotional pain of being separated from a loved one Hindi

Fensterln – When you have to climb through someone’s window in order to have sex with them without their parents knowing about it German

Fernweh – Feeling homesickness for a place you’ve never been to before German

yuan分 (Yuanfen) – A relationship by fate or destiny Chinese

Razbliuto – The sentimental feeling you get for someone you used to Love, but no longer Love Russian

It’s clear to me that English

Falls short significantly when it comes to Love.

How can I describe something which is

Impossible to translate

When all I have is “Love”?

Is that why I am so bad at Self Love?

Or is it because of some other,

deeply rooted issue?

It’s going to take more

than language and definition

classes to teach me how.

I guess the Masterclass on “Love”

Is all about the experience of Life

In relationship to living and loving

And living and loving

And living and………………..

*Disclaimer, I don't claim to be a Linguistics Master.  These are rough translations that I got from my time on the interwebs.  Please don't kill me Translation Police*