my reemergence felt like an explosion. suddenly, i could hear again, and breathe again. light burst into my salted, stinging eyes. i struggled to reorient myself as quickly as i could. i planted a palm into the soupy white sand. i gasped for air, suddenly aware that i had been deprived of it while i was under. my eyes searched wildly for my family. surely they had seen what had happened. surely they would come and help him. i almost caught a glimpse of them, sitting on their faraway hill, when the froth beneath me began to draw me backwards again. i looked towards the sea instead, and saw it gathering itself again into a high black wall.
when it collapsed upon me, more violent this time, i felt myself spun about so much that i couldn't tell up from down. my mouth open, i swallowed the sea, and felt my nostrils burning as they too helplessly imbibed water. my eyes too were open, squinting through the salt and the churn.
there was a moment when the tossed up sand and frothing water seemed to dissipate and clear away. in that brief moment, i glimpsed it: the city under the waves. i saw the sandy floor of the ocean drop precipitously, and beyond, in the distance, beneath a shifting ceiling, i saw a series of glittering spires. despite my situation, i reached out a hand to it. it was so perfect and shimmering, that it seemed but a toy. but the city was indeed well beyond my reach.
it was at that point that i heard the voice. it was sibilant, like the whisperings of a snake, but it had enough form and shape for me to discern the words in them. "sink," it murmured. "sink, and then you will float."
i couldn't tell if the words were a command, or advice, or a warning. i couldn't see who spoke them. they seemed to come from all around me, as though the entire ocean vibrated their message to me.
it was just then that i felt an insistent tugging. it was coming from my right wrist. something pulled me, hard, practically yanked. i felt each joint, like a link in a chain, dragging each successive part of my body. suddenly, my head emerged from the water, and again, the world seemed an explosion of light and sound.
"get up, runt!"
it was my brother's voice.
Monday, June 29, 2020
poem: 6/28/2020
i remember my grandma driving me around waipahu
on her errands.
long afternoons in the leeward sun
sometimes staring at the patterns
in my green hand me down pants
and sometimes looking out
at the drifting landscape outside.
everything seemed washed out and blue,
like a photograph left too long in the sun.
or like a picture book from the 50's.
the people were like gilligan's island,
all white and smiling.
a church accepting donations,
with an open green field,
and glass louvers before an empty
tiled room of worship.
looking at the broken and forgotten toys
no one wanted.
in the car, to keep herself from
falling asleep at the wheel
grandma would reach for the
white tofu container
sometimes for ice, half melted,
and sometimes for sugared lemon drops.
she would glance at me
this small and quiet thing
in the rear view mirror
her eyes would smile,
and she would sing that one and
only song:
"baa-baa black sheep
have you any wool?
yes sir, yes sir,
three bags full."
we were running the errands,
making deliveries.
but her glittering eyes told me,
she never forgot
the little boy who lived down the lane.
on her errands.
long afternoons in the leeward sun
sometimes staring at the patterns
in my green hand me down pants
and sometimes looking out
at the drifting landscape outside.
everything seemed washed out and blue,
like a photograph left too long in the sun.
or like a picture book from the 50's.
the people were like gilligan's island,
all white and smiling.
a church accepting donations,
with an open green field,
and glass louvers before an empty
tiled room of worship.
looking at the broken and forgotten toys
no one wanted.
in the car, to keep herself from
falling asleep at the wheel
grandma would reach for the
white tofu container
sometimes for ice, half melted,
and sometimes for sugared lemon drops.
she would glance at me
this small and quiet thing
in the rear view mirror
her eyes would smile,
and she would sing that one and
only song:
"baa-baa black sheep
have you any wool?
yes sir, yes sir,
three bags full."
we were running the errands,
making deliveries.
but her glittering eyes told me,
she never forgot
the little boy who lived down the lane.
Sunday, June 28, 2020
6/28/2020
a few days pass...
let's see, what have i been up to?
well, yesterday, i went with my wife over to waiahole, to get food from this one hawaiian place. the food was great. i got a laulau plate, which comes with laulau (of course), lomi salmon, haupia pudding, and poi. we also got a "sweet lady of waiahole" (i think named after a song), which consisted of haupia ice cream over warm kulolo. it was awesome. my wife had the "three ladies," which was the same haupia ice cream, but over some sort of banana bread pudding thing. her thing tasted a bit tarter. i actually liked the milder flavors of the kulolo.
anyway, the drive over was kind of nostalgic for me. over the course of my time working as an active acupuncturist, i used to go all over the island to work on patients at their homes. i recall working on one woman and another man who both lived out that way. i recall the woman living in a section that seemed on the edge of a development, wild in its own way, with stray cats roaming all over the place. the man, meanwhile, lived with his wife in a brand newish looking house close to, but not adjacent to, the shoreline...
that side of the island always seems so much more relaxed. i actually like going on that side, because it gives me a sort of perspective. as i may have mentioned before, i think i get caught up in the rat race of city life (even in my own home!) and forget that there is all this natural space waiting for me just beyond the mountains...
*****
i have been thinking about my writing... it is always such a struggle to write for a purpose. i've been thinking a lot about neil gaiman's admonitions to "finish things." it is exceedingly difficult for me to "finish things," and i find that when i try to exclusively focus on one thing, then it is not only painful, but it rarely produces anything of any worth (i tend to "drown in myself.").
in any case, i was thinking of handwriting my drafts, and then posting them on a blank wall, so that they become somewhat more tangible for me... i also, after listening to david sedaris, considered reading them before audiences, to get some feedback through their reactions (though i honestly think that no one would ever laugh at any of my pieces... i'm not intending to write humor, after all). i was thinking of paying people a nominal sum in order to listen to and provide me with honest feedback... that was all an idea, anyway. for now, i have yet to settle on a satisfactory process, one that i'm relatively happy with.
i may have mentioned this before, but lately, my writing process has become a small part of a larger cycle of routines. i usually listen to a masterclass session (that's why a lot of the commentary from the masterclasses is relatively fresh in my head), and then i write some blog post (essentially a diary entry), and then i write 4 pages of whatever gobbledy-gook happens to be in my head (very stream of conscious stuff, a lot of it pretty lewd and sexual, unfortunately, but occasionally allowing me to "see" or reexperience lost memories), and then i have (recently) tried to write 1 poem, and 1 part of a story. for the story, i set a timer for 30 minutes, and tell myself that i will either write 2 pages, or write until the timer goes off, whatever comes first. of course, i only end up writing a bit before the timer goes off... and my writing is never tied to one story (simply because the drudgery of continuing an ongoing piece is still so... ugh). and that's it...
i don't know... my feeling is... it's all about feeling. there's a way to approach things matter-of-factly, like getting down to business, but not in an avoiding manner... not in a hesitant manner... just sort of sitting and appraising things, and just writing what comes up. i notice that when i draw, i can sort of get into this mindset. i mean, there are things that i draw that seem impossible, or that seem very time-consuming... but i just take a breath and work at what i can in this one part (like, say, an eye, or the shadow on the philtrum, etc.) and each part leads to the next and to the next, and eventually, i am completing things... i wish writing could be like that. i guess the only big difference is that there is clarity in seeing a face when i'm drawing... but in writing, oftentimes, it's all up to me. it's all unfolding in me... and oftentimes, there's a disagreement, or mismatch, or discordance... because a part of me is just "making shit up", and the other part of me is already retching from what's coming out...
what i'd like to do, or what i'd like to feel, is a kind of simple clarity. things don't have to be perfect, but i'd just like the capability to "speak" without internally doubting what i'm saying. i just want to be able to say it sufficiently in this moment. later, yes, i can come back and reedit it, improve it... but before that can happen, i just want to be able to write without a "bad taste" in my mouth.
*****
oh well, not much else left to say.
let's see, what have i been up to?
well, yesterday, i went with my wife over to waiahole, to get food from this one hawaiian place. the food was great. i got a laulau plate, which comes with laulau (of course), lomi salmon, haupia pudding, and poi. we also got a "sweet lady of waiahole" (i think named after a song), which consisted of haupia ice cream over warm kulolo. it was awesome. my wife had the "three ladies," which was the same haupia ice cream, but over some sort of banana bread pudding thing. her thing tasted a bit tarter. i actually liked the milder flavors of the kulolo.
anyway, the drive over was kind of nostalgic for me. over the course of my time working as an active acupuncturist, i used to go all over the island to work on patients at their homes. i recall working on one woman and another man who both lived out that way. i recall the woman living in a section that seemed on the edge of a development, wild in its own way, with stray cats roaming all over the place. the man, meanwhile, lived with his wife in a brand newish looking house close to, but not adjacent to, the shoreline...
that side of the island always seems so much more relaxed. i actually like going on that side, because it gives me a sort of perspective. as i may have mentioned before, i think i get caught up in the rat race of city life (even in my own home!) and forget that there is all this natural space waiting for me just beyond the mountains...
*****
i have been thinking about my writing... it is always such a struggle to write for a purpose. i've been thinking a lot about neil gaiman's admonitions to "finish things." it is exceedingly difficult for me to "finish things," and i find that when i try to exclusively focus on one thing, then it is not only painful, but it rarely produces anything of any worth (i tend to "drown in myself.").
in any case, i was thinking of handwriting my drafts, and then posting them on a blank wall, so that they become somewhat more tangible for me... i also, after listening to david sedaris, considered reading them before audiences, to get some feedback through their reactions (though i honestly think that no one would ever laugh at any of my pieces... i'm not intending to write humor, after all). i was thinking of paying people a nominal sum in order to listen to and provide me with honest feedback... that was all an idea, anyway. for now, i have yet to settle on a satisfactory process, one that i'm relatively happy with.
i may have mentioned this before, but lately, my writing process has become a small part of a larger cycle of routines. i usually listen to a masterclass session (that's why a lot of the commentary from the masterclasses is relatively fresh in my head), and then i write some blog post (essentially a diary entry), and then i write 4 pages of whatever gobbledy-gook happens to be in my head (very stream of conscious stuff, a lot of it pretty lewd and sexual, unfortunately, but occasionally allowing me to "see" or reexperience lost memories), and then i have (recently) tried to write 1 poem, and 1 part of a story. for the story, i set a timer for 30 minutes, and tell myself that i will either write 2 pages, or write until the timer goes off, whatever comes first. of course, i only end up writing a bit before the timer goes off... and my writing is never tied to one story (simply because the drudgery of continuing an ongoing piece is still so... ugh). and that's it...
i don't know... my feeling is... it's all about feeling. there's a way to approach things matter-of-factly, like getting down to business, but not in an avoiding manner... not in a hesitant manner... just sort of sitting and appraising things, and just writing what comes up. i notice that when i draw, i can sort of get into this mindset. i mean, there are things that i draw that seem impossible, or that seem very time-consuming... but i just take a breath and work at what i can in this one part (like, say, an eye, or the shadow on the philtrum, etc.) and each part leads to the next and to the next, and eventually, i am completing things... i wish writing could be like that. i guess the only big difference is that there is clarity in seeing a face when i'm drawing... but in writing, oftentimes, it's all up to me. it's all unfolding in me... and oftentimes, there's a disagreement, or mismatch, or discordance... because a part of me is just "making shit up", and the other part of me is already retching from what's coming out...
what i'd like to do, or what i'd like to feel, is a kind of simple clarity. things don't have to be perfect, but i'd just like the capability to "speak" without internally doubting what i'm saying. i just want to be able to say it sufficiently in this moment. later, yes, i can come back and reedit it, improve it... but before that can happen, i just want to be able to write without a "bad taste" in my mouth.
*****
oh well, not much else left to say.
Friday, June 26, 2020
story: 6/26/2020
there is a city under the waves.
i first glimpsed it when i was about three years old.
i had been walking too close to the shorebreak on a windswept beach. i'm not sure why i was walking there alone, but i was. i turned my head to look over my shoulder, squinting as the sand stung my bare skin, i could just barely see them, my father, my mother, and my older brother, sitting on a goza mat at the crest of the sloping beach. they didn't seem to see me. they were chatting happily amongst themselves. as always, they seemed to be in a bubble all their own, a family unit that had been complete before i came along.
the roar of the wind in my ears almost concealed the periodic thundering of the waves, crashing to my left. i was far enough from the break that the white frothy water slithering across the sand failed to touch my feet. i suppose i imagined myself safe enough, and kept walking, my soles slapping upon the sand made solid by the seawater.
the wave caught me by surprise. i had just been about to spin around to check whether my family was still ignoring me. it was in the midst of that act that a curtain of heavy darkness closed over me and enveloped me. for long, confusing moments, i was tossed in the argument of dark currents. my body tried to take on the shape of those conflicts, my joints flopping in odd angles, like a marionette loosed of its cords.
my reemergence felt like an explosion. suddenly, i could hear again, and breathe again. light burst into my salted, stinging eyes. i struggled to reorient myself as quickly as i could. i planted a palm into the soupy white sand. i gasped
i first glimpsed it when i was about three years old.
i had been walking too close to the shorebreak on a windswept beach. i'm not sure why i was walking there alone, but i was. i turned my head to look over my shoulder, squinting as the sand stung my bare skin, i could just barely see them, my father, my mother, and my older brother, sitting on a goza mat at the crest of the sloping beach. they didn't seem to see me. they were chatting happily amongst themselves. as always, they seemed to be in a bubble all their own, a family unit that had been complete before i came along.
the roar of the wind in my ears almost concealed the periodic thundering of the waves, crashing to my left. i was far enough from the break that the white frothy water slithering across the sand failed to touch my feet. i suppose i imagined myself safe enough, and kept walking, my soles slapping upon the sand made solid by the seawater.
the wave caught me by surprise. i had just been about to spin around to check whether my family was still ignoring me. it was in the midst of that act that a curtain of heavy darkness closed over me and enveloped me. for long, confusing moments, i was tossed in the argument of dark currents. my body tried to take on the shape of those conflicts, my joints flopping in odd angles, like a marionette loosed of its cords.
my reemergence felt like an explosion. suddenly, i could hear again, and breathe again. light burst into my salted, stinging eyes. i struggled to reorient myself as quickly as i could. i planted a palm into the soupy white sand. i gasped
poem: 6/26
i found a bead
while digging a hole in the garden
(planting marigolds).
it was plastic and purple
and still retained a shean.
i wondered where it came from.
likely, it was one of twenty odd others
that strung up a friendship bracelet
about 4 inches round.
the bracelet itself is long gone,
and its owner's wrist has long since outgrown
the bounds of its circle.
i held the bead in my dirty fingers.
once, on its curved face
my young daughter was reflected
probably as i dug other flowers
for her wondrous eyes.
now, she hardly has the time.
she walks past this planter box
and hardly notices
whether i've weeded it
or planted something new.
there was a moment
when i held her eyes
and held her hand,
now long ago.
the bead gives me pause.
but, like her, i move on.
i carefully deposit it
beneath the ball of roots
of this new marigold,
a secret happiness that
it, too, will not absorb
and will simply grow around
as it reaches flowers to the sun.
6/25/2020
wow, was it only two days ago that i last wrote? it seems longer.
yesterday, i brought my prototype barrier to school. if school starts up again in the fall, we will likely need to set up some sort of physical barriers between students to prevent the spread of "the covid." but plexiglass, the material of choice, is both expensive and in short supply (probably expensive because in short supply). and to obtain it in the quantities needed to keep children safe is impossible. so i thought i would make a barrier out of cheap, accessible materials. i got a moldy trifold board from my classroom, and some sheet protectors (or report covers?). i cut two of the sheet protectors open so that they could spread out like a folder. i made two windows in the trifold that were slightly smaller than the sheet protectors, and just taped them down. later, upon hearing some suggestions, i covered one side with clear packing tape, to make it waterproof (after all, it needs to be periodically sterilized). and voila!
my principal seemed to like it. he kept downplaying the "cheap" reason (which, honestly, was the main reason i'd made it). he felt it was ideal because it could fold up and be stored. "how would you do the same thing with plexiglass?" he thought out loud... so, i don't know what's going to happen next. you never know with my principal. there's a huge distance between the inception of an idea, and what actually happens. i think that, in the course of traveling that distance, there are a lot of gatekeepers, i.e., "people with opinions." and i know for a fact that a lot of people are going to look at my cheap prototype and think, "heck, is that it?" and sort of downplay it. so we'll see...
anyway, after showing off the prototype at my school, i returned home and felt extremely unmotivated to do much of anything. i recall just lying on the sofa and half-sleeping...
...well, as my wife was "off" (technically, she isn't working; she's volunteering over at a friend's restaurant), she wanted to go out. so in the afternoon, we finally dragged our butts out of the house. i drove over to kaka'ako, to h-mart, to this new korean grocery store that had opened up. i wasn't really paying much attention to things. i did notice the yellow korean melons, which i thought looked interesting. i also noticed some peach donuts (that is, peaches that were grown to take on a donut shape). and i did see those boba popsicles that everyone in hawaii seems to be raging for...
we went upstairs to the second floor, where there was a food court. i ordered something very conventional: kal bi. it is probably like my favorite thing in the world. it's messy to eat, and occasionally it looks awkward, because i actually like to eat ALL the meat off the bone, but i LOVE it. the vegetable side dishes are also great: kim chee cucumber, and other stuff. it's all so rich in texture and flavor. the rice that goes along with the dish serves as a kind of neutral background to all the spicy, savory flavors...
my wife had some korean fried wings. they were okay, but a lot of it was just the breading...
anyway, after that, we drove over to kahala mall... now, we have a lot of history with kahala mall. actually, that was where lynn's first godiva store was. i used to head over to kahala mall a lot, just to sort of hang out. there USED to be barnes and noble over on the top floor, and i used to go there a lot. but beyond that, i would often go to the starbucks, and just hang out there, doing stuff on my computer. kahala mall is sort of in a richie rich area of the island, so i used to imagine everyone there was like some sort of snob (not true)...
lynn wanted to see what was still around (we hadn't been to kahala in, like, forever). after she had made her rounds, we drove over to kahala beach. i had never been there before, and was at first excited to see the little bridge over the little river. but when we got to the actual beach, well, it was kind of a disappointment, on many levels. first of all, the water was pretty dirty. there was a lot of detritus and floating debris in the water. second, we discovered that there were rocks not very far from the shore. i was okay with it, but lynn kind of got freaked out. i mean, the rocks felt smooth under my feet; they weren't the sharp and unpredictable kind... but lynn kept mentioning "vana" (sea urchins) and moray eels... and i guess it kind of freaked me out too. it didn't help that she kept jumping on my back... :P anyway, we got out of the water pretty quickly, and just decided to walk along the shoreline.
kahala's interesting. there are these HUGE mansions on the beachfront. they are usually fenced off, with a lot of hedges and such, but you can still see these magnificent mansions. there are actually quite a few empty lots as well. in one of them, there was a truck parked inside, most likely illegally, and some squatters, teenaged kids, were hanging out. they were skateboarding on the cement foundations, likely remnants of the houses that once stood in the lot. for a moment, i imagined that sort of life, to while away the time skateboarding, and perhaps having sex in some secluded corner of the lot... i don't know. i couldn't be happy with that sort of life. i'd just feel as though i were wasting my time.
so anyway, we walked back. i remember at one point, lynn said something funny. we were ankle deep in the water, and the waves kept bringing all of this debris into shore: little logs and such. so lynn mentioned how she felt like she was playing "frogger." and i had to laugh at that...
we stopped by kahala mall once more to get food for the kids (they hadn't come with us to the beach- imagine that!)... and that was it for the day...
***
i can't remember what i dreamed about this morning, but for some reason, i felt optimistic about things, and especially about writing... but, you know, these feelings come and go. i wish there were a way to remain inspired. but somehow, in getting to the nitty-gritty details of writing, well, the dead businessman copy editor takes over, and kills whatever little feeling comes with me to the table... and then, everything becomes forced. compulsory.
...but again, i did feel optimistic. we'll see if things pan out.
yesterday, i brought my prototype barrier to school. if school starts up again in the fall, we will likely need to set up some sort of physical barriers between students to prevent the spread of "the covid." but plexiglass, the material of choice, is both expensive and in short supply (probably expensive because in short supply). and to obtain it in the quantities needed to keep children safe is impossible. so i thought i would make a barrier out of cheap, accessible materials. i got a moldy trifold board from my classroom, and some sheet protectors (or report covers?). i cut two of the sheet protectors open so that they could spread out like a folder. i made two windows in the trifold that were slightly smaller than the sheet protectors, and just taped them down. later, upon hearing some suggestions, i covered one side with clear packing tape, to make it waterproof (after all, it needs to be periodically sterilized). and voila!
my principal seemed to like it. he kept downplaying the "cheap" reason (which, honestly, was the main reason i'd made it). he felt it was ideal because it could fold up and be stored. "how would you do the same thing with plexiglass?" he thought out loud... so, i don't know what's going to happen next. you never know with my principal. there's a huge distance between the inception of an idea, and what actually happens. i think that, in the course of traveling that distance, there are a lot of gatekeepers, i.e., "people with opinions." and i know for a fact that a lot of people are going to look at my cheap prototype and think, "heck, is that it?" and sort of downplay it. so we'll see...
anyway, after showing off the prototype at my school, i returned home and felt extremely unmotivated to do much of anything. i recall just lying on the sofa and half-sleeping...
...well, as my wife was "off" (technically, she isn't working; she's volunteering over at a friend's restaurant), she wanted to go out. so in the afternoon, we finally dragged our butts out of the house. i drove over to kaka'ako, to h-mart, to this new korean grocery store that had opened up. i wasn't really paying much attention to things. i did notice the yellow korean melons, which i thought looked interesting. i also noticed some peach donuts (that is, peaches that were grown to take on a donut shape). and i did see those boba popsicles that everyone in hawaii seems to be raging for...
we went upstairs to the second floor, where there was a food court. i ordered something very conventional: kal bi. it is probably like my favorite thing in the world. it's messy to eat, and occasionally it looks awkward, because i actually like to eat ALL the meat off the bone, but i LOVE it. the vegetable side dishes are also great: kim chee cucumber, and other stuff. it's all so rich in texture and flavor. the rice that goes along with the dish serves as a kind of neutral background to all the spicy, savory flavors...
my wife had some korean fried wings. they were okay, but a lot of it was just the breading...
anyway, after that, we drove over to kahala mall... now, we have a lot of history with kahala mall. actually, that was where lynn's first godiva store was. i used to head over to kahala mall a lot, just to sort of hang out. there USED to be barnes and noble over on the top floor, and i used to go there a lot. but beyond that, i would often go to the starbucks, and just hang out there, doing stuff on my computer. kahala mall is sort of in a richie rich area of the island, so i used to imagine everyone there was like some sort of snob (not true)...
lynn wanted to see what was still around (we hadn't been to kahala in, like, forever). after she had made her rounds, we drove over to kahala beach. i had never been there before, and was at first excited to see the little bridge over the little river. but when we got to the actual beach, well, it was kind of a disappointment, on many levels. first of all, the water was pretty dirty. there was a lot of detritus and floating debris in the water. second, we discovered that there were rocks not very far from the shore. i was okay with it, but lynn kind of got freaked out. i mean, the rocks felt smooth under my feet; they weren't the sharp and unpredictable kind... but lynn kept mentioning "vana" (sea urchins) and moray eels... and i guess it kind of freaked me out too. it didn't help that she kept jumping on my back... :P anyway, we got out of the water pretty quickly, and just decided to walk along the shoreline.
kahala's interesting. there are these HUGE mansions on the beachfront. they are usually fenced off, with a lot of hedges and such, but you can still see these magnificent mansions. there are actually quite a few empty lots as well. in one of them, there was a truck parked inside, most likely illegally, and some squatters, teenaged kids, were hanging out. they were skateboarding on the cement foundations, likely remnants of the houses that once stood in the lot. for a moment, i imagined that sort of life, to while away the time skateboarding, and perhaps having sex in some secluded corner of the lot... i don't know. i couldn't be happy with that sort of life. i'd just feel as though i were wasting my time.
so anyway, we walked back. i remember at one point, lynn said something funny. we were ankle deep in the water, and the waves kept bringing all of this debris into shore: little logs and such. so lynn mentioned how she felt like she was playing "frogger." and i had to laugh at that...
we stopped by kahala mall once more to get food for the kids (they hadn't come with us to the beach- imagine that!)... and that was it for the day...
***
i can't remember what i dreamed about this morning, but for some reason, i felt optimistic about things, and especially about writing... but, you know, these feelings come and go. i wish there were a way to remain inspired. but somehow, in getting to the nitty-gritty details of writing, well, the dead businessman copy editor takes over, and kills whatever little feeling comes with me to the table... and then, everything becomes forced. compulsory.
...but again, i did feel optimistic. we'll see if things pan out.
Tuesday, June 23, 2020
story: 6/23
nowadays, i have a hard time remembering living with my brother.
yes, we lived together for at least a few months, in the unit that my japan grandma had basically bought for him up in makiki. those months were, frankly, a blur. i had graduated from college with my bachelor's in religion, and the assurance (to my parents) that i would take the mcats, and then apply to some medical school somewhere. in the meantime, i guess i tried to keep myself busy.
i worked at a pathology lab over on south king street, and at a restaurant (furusato) in waikiki. i also got a job as a bellman/valet over at the waikiki joy hotel. i had these three jobs going on simultaneously. i think i only returned home in the evenings.
my brother was similarly busy. he was into his first year at medical school.
we kept the place pretty clean, as i remember it. he had his room, and i had mine. i recall that there was a kind of "common room" (i guess that's college talk for a living room). there was a tv there, with a box nearby it filled with my brother's porn collection. there was a kind of fold up futon sofa in front of the tv. and i believe that there was a dining table of sorts right nearby, in the same room. i have dim memories of what the kitchen looked like, but it adjoined to that dining table. there was a sliding glass door that opened to what was barely a lanai; like, maybe you could stand there, but not much else. light filtered in through some long, straight leaved foliage into the living room.
my brother made some healthy food for us. there was always some chicken or something, cut up and cooked, and conveniently placed in tupperware containers. i don't know how often i actually ate at home with my brother, but i do remember it being there- the food, i mean.
i can't remember any bathrooms, for any reason. or more precisely, i don't remember where the bathrooms were.
*****
i recall being profoundly depressed and anxious (so when wasn't i?).
i mean, i had successfully exited college, but i had no direction in my life. i was working three jobs, and i suppose that kept me busy, but i knew that i was just floating. i really wanted a relationship, to be honest; there was that loneliness within me, perhaps still in a relatively nascent form, but it was there nonetheless: this nagging hollow that resembled a hunger in the gut.
*****
i remember, occasionally, my brother and i working out together. at least i recall us running over to the track field at roosevelt (?). but i can't recall much beyond that.
every now and then, we would go over to tower records (it still existed back then) to rent some stuff; or we went to this japanese manga shop on young street (it's gone now). i would also occasionally go to an anime place in the mccully shopping center... but that was the essence of our "entertainment" back then: reading stupid manga and watching stupid anime.
*****
i don't really have stories of that time, only flashes, like afterimages burned into my mind... like working at waikiki joy hotel... and trying to carry a bedframe down to a unit, one floor at a time, and thinking of a particular girl... and the song, "i can't even tell," going through my head. (i guess the movie "clerks" was big at that time).
i remember riding my bike down the ala wai. the bumps in the road. sometimes walking past the prostitutes late at night... all these meaningless details. nothing ever really happened, nothing memorable anyway. it was just the texture of life at that time...
...like i was just waiting for someone to recognize me as a human being.
yes, we lived together for at least a few months, in the unit that my japan grandma had basically bought for him up in makiki. those months were, frankly, a blur. i had graduated from college with my bachelor's in religion, and the assurance (to my parents) that i would take the mcats, and then apply to some medical school somewhere. in the meantime, i guess i tried to keep myself busy.
i worked at a pathology lab over on south king street, and at a restaurant (furusato) in waikiki. i also got a job as a bellman/valet over at the waikiki joy hotel. i had these three jobs going on simultaneously. i think i only returned home in the evenings.
my brother was similarly busy. he was into his first year at medical school.
we kept the place pretty clean, as i remember it. he had his room, and i had mine. i recall that there was a kind of "common room" (i guess that's college talk for a living room). there was a tv there, with a box nearby it filled with my brother's porn collection. there was a kind of fold up futon sofa in front of the tv. and i believe that there was a dining table of sorts right nearby, in the same room. i have dim memories of what the kitchen looked like, but it adjoined to that dining table. there was a sliding glass door that opened to what was barely a lanai; like, maybe you could stand there, but not much else. light filtered in through some long, straight leaved foliage into the living room.
my brother made some healthy food for us. there was always some chicken or something, cut up and cooked, and conveniently placed in tupperware containers. i don't know how often i actually ate at home with my brother, but i do remember it being there- the food, i mean.
i can't remember any bathrooms, for any reason. or more precisely, i don't remember where the bathrooms were.
*****
i recall being profoundly depressed and anxious (so when wasn't i?).
i mean, i had successfully exited college, but i had no direction in my life. i was working three jobs, and i suppose that kept me busy, but i knew that i was just floating. i really wanted a relationship, to be honest; there was that loneliness within me, perhaps still in a relatively nascent form, but it was there nonetheless: this nagging hollow that resembled a hunger in the gut.
*****
i remember, occasionally, my brother and i working out together. at least i recall us running over to the track field at roosevelt (?). but i can't recall much beyond that.
every now and then, we would go over to tower records (it still existed back then) to rent some stuff; or we went to this japanese manga shop on young street (it's gone now). i would also occasionally go to an anime place in the mccully shopping center... but that was the essence of our "entertainment" back then: reading stupid manga and watching stupid anime.
*****
i don't really have stories of that time, only flashes, like afterimages burned into my mind... like working at waikiki joy hotel... and trying to carry a bedframe down to a unit, one floor at a time, and thinking of a particular girl... and the song, "i can't even tell," going through my head. (i guess the movie "clerks" was big at that time).
i remember riding my bike down the ala wai. the bumps in the road. sometimes walking past the prostitutes late at night... all these meaningless details. nothing ever really happened, nothing memorable anyway. it was just the texture of life at that time...
...like i was just waiting for someone to recognize me as a human being.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)