Crossed Wires

I read a children's book on a girl coming to America from China and her troubles learning English(which even one an award, back in the eighties). While the book itself felt greatly patronizing, it did get me thinking about what it's like to leave your old life behind to live in a new country, which I wrote of before, if I remember correctly(I'll post it up as soon as I can find it in my physical archives), but never from the view from someone who's living with the fact in the country. Those thoughts inspired this poem, which I eventually hope to turn into either a children's book or a comic of some sort. At any rate, give it a read and let me know what you think.


On the first day of 1st grade,
My teacher called on me
I could answer her perfectly
'Cause answers were all I knew

When that metal hawk left Japan
A carryon carried my life
But one thing just wouldn't fit
That one thing was Chie



She spoke in ways I understood,
sharing her tales and cookies
She spurred me on and made me strong,
Like no one else ever could


In fact no one else ever did
Try and put things in my reach
Even other kids with their colorful words
the kind schools never dare teach


In this school I was the zebra
Among a pack of giraffes
It was as if I had no mouth
Until Ms. Duvall gave me one


She tutored me when school was done
And showed me utmost care
With her, my English became my pallate
To paint energy in motion


She had me saying hi, hey and hello
To all I met in Torrance
She helped me grow more and more
My joy with her grew more and more


In time I only had one thing left
And that was try to make friends
But practicing English with my peers
Unlocked the shackles restraining my fears


"You sound like a FOB!
Your mom taking our jobs?
Me love you long time
Just go with your own kind"


Shattered-my desire for friends
Silenced-my passion for English
Scrapped-my love of school time
Sullied-my faith in others


The stir of words went up in smoke
Adrift above the recess ground
I watched from atop the Jungle Gym
A world now oceans apart


And so, for, the hands of time
Lead me to who I once was
But as I walked, I found a note,
It's tongue of the home I left behind


"I know you're angry, I know you're hurt
But silence isn't the answer
How can they know what's in your heart
If you won't let anyone hear it?"


At first, it left me quite perplexed
Who could know the tongue of my home?
But then it hit me who studied it
And that was Ms. Duvall


The day after I read that note
It stayed within my jean's pocket
It's message lit something deep inside
Which I felt as I sat down for lunch


Beside me was a girl in plaid
Who stirred her chocolate pudding
I lifted my eyes and flashed a smile
Extending to her, my hand


Since then, we've grown to be BFFs
Sharing life's many grand spendors
Should Ms. Duvall Ever come across this
Thanks for everything, Linda

A Letter to the Boy I Was in 10th Grade

A while ago I picked up the book What I Know Now: Letter to My Younger Self, and was intrigued by the concept of writing a letter to the person you were before you gained all you have about this world and what it contains. It fermented for many moons until, after looking forward at the path I will travel to becoming more of a man, something within me said the time was right to start crafting it. I know my path is not like those who've come before me or those who will come after, but it is my ambition to see my thoughts reach those who may need to hear it, even if I never realize it has reach them. This in mind, here is a relay to the ignorant, irritating little wuss I was back in the 10th grade, when my view of Japan was through the lens of Japanese animation and I had little grasp on just who I was and who I wanted to become.

The Theory Behind Cultural Identity

This is the introductory speech I gave with my group concerning Cultural Identity, so the listener would have a good idea of what it is and how much is encompassed in it. I would hope I didn't choke too hard when I presented it to the class-on an unrelated note, I learned how to use PowerPoint by the seat of my pants as we scrambled to get everything polished up for the persentation. This is something that, as a student of both the Japanese and English language, I would want to pass on to my students. Anyways, here it is, in all it's glory, and if you have anything you wanna say, comment away.

Want It All Back

There comes a time in everyone's life where it feels like all the forces in this world are working against you and you alone, and mine came on the day my bike was stolen. On that day, someone targeted my precious vehicle to be taken, leaving the other, unlocked bike untouched as the family slept and forcing me to use the 4 wheeled scooter I left behind in my youth. Pushing myself on the rocky terrains as the gales buffeted my every move caused all the frustrations I've held for all this time to unite as one white hot flash of rage. After a toss of my scooter and copious cursing, this is what I shouted to the heavens(more or less): Take my bike, take my computer, take my hands, I refuse to relent! In that moment I realized what it means to sacrifice and struggle to bring a dream into reality.

I am quite fortunate to have many dilligent, hard working people in my inner circle, and they remind me of the advantages I have that I'm not using to their utmost, such as being able to bypass many trials and tribulations simply by being born a citizen. Perhaps it was this relative ease that's made it hard to look past all I don't have or can't do and recognize the things within my reach, however minimal they may be, in my view. Whenever the situation shifted, I always sought out ways to adapt to it and rarely how to change it, mainly because I didn't even think I had the means to change it in a meaningful manner, even when I did. It's often the case that we don't feel an urge to change the way things are until a certain catalyst enters our lives, and I'm no different. When I discovered creative writing for the first time, I knew then and there I want it to be a part of my life; when my beloved perished doing the mountain road drifting she so loved, it inspired me to take chances in living the kind of life I desire, even if that means taking the ultimate chance; all through the day I lost my bike, I became familiar with this idiom: the more willing you are to let go of things you see as key to you now, the more you free yourself to change your world and make a better atmopshere for the things and people you cherish.

I learned this well the first time I was unable to use my PC, incidentally putting many of those I saw as close friends beyond my reach. Losing that revealed what losing my bike brought to light: I relied on both to ease my burden and make me comfortably umb to circumstances, with the loss of both triggering a drastic change in outlook. In yelling those words into the cutting night air, it dawned on me that regardless of reactions to events, time nor life cease their progree, and if you choose to do nothing, they'll leave you behind just the same. If there's anything this time has done for me, it's thrown a a barrel of fuel on the fire of my desire to take hold of the life I seek I know this may mean giving up a few of the things I love, but if it means crafting a better place for them to live and thrive, so be it.

Blind Date

This is a short I wrote way back when, around the time I entered a dark place in my love, in terms of romantic involvement. Since I felt the message I wanted to send in those days got lost due to my own emotional quagmire and distinctly stilted views on women seeking men in those days, I took the editing knife to it to let the emotional impact better shine forth. This actually came to be one of those emotionally charged editing sessions where I had to face some of the darkness I thought I left behind for good, and in the end, I was better for facing up to it. I would hope this reflects in the final product, and is something you can appreciate. Without further delay, here is a moment in time from the life of people seeking love and somebody real

One Last Push

There are few feelings more infurating than giving it all you have and still falling short of your goals, a feeling I've stared square in the face more tha once.  It never gets any easier to deal with the inferiority and dejection failure brings, no matter hard much you learn or how much you grow. You're left with no other choice, but to stand before all the things that've dragged you to this point and either let them pass or let them ruin you. Each encounter has taken me to the razor edge of my limits, and each time I've taken a vital piece of wisdom with me into my daily life. That wisdom gave me the strength to keep moving and push myself past my own threshold.

Have you ever heard someone say "You're pretty good, but you still need a little somethin', somethin'"? That little somethin' somethin' has been an ideal sought after for millenia, and to achieve this, each of the multitude who've pursued this have had to face aspects of themselves they've suppressed all their lives. For me this meant owning up to my habits and the fact that they aren't the kind that'll make my dreams reality. My lackadasical methodology has shown me many of life's wonders over the years, but the time when even my most hardcore preparations left me missing the mark by miles are forever seared onto my consciousness, reminders of my failure and my fuel to take me higher. It is the joy of victory and agony of defeat that paints our mental images, and these emotions are what spur me to examine and re-examine myself so I can discover where I need to make one last push towards my goals.

When we reach the peak of one mountain, a higher one always awaits in the distance, daring us to scale it, and it's in this endless cycle that personal growth is enabled from womb to tomb. In some cases the process goes on long after that, when things they create get invovled, such as skateboarding and the guitar. It can grow tiring after a while, but no other way of life can hold a candle to what I chose. I love who I am and what I've become, and know much more is waiting for me for see and uncover. Whatever it may end up being, there's no doubt the journey to it will give me the tools I need to forge my own truth and craft something that serves others long after my time comes.

Loss and Appreciation

One of life’s greatest ironies is that we can never completely realize the value something or someone has until it’s taken from us, only to be observed from a distance. This is something never lost on me, having lost everything from treasured media to loved ones over the course of my life, as well as witnessing others lose those precious things. Through my losses I’ve come to see it’s not the things themselves that build the value we link to it, but the experiences we build with them, the experiences that stay with us in times of prosperity and poverty. These are the things which guide us in our decisions and help us realize what truly has meaning in a world throwing everything at us at once, the same things I’ve come to appreciate the more I grow into my skin. With these experiences, our daily interactions become that much richer and rewarding, letting us see just how much more is there for us, if we build upon our past and let it lay a path to our future.