Facing the Inevitable

At the turn of the new millennium, people were worried that the computer systems couldn’t handle the change in years and simultaneously crash, sending the world into chaos. In 2012, it’s feared the sun will emit EMPs (Electro-Magnetic Pulses, if you need a refresher)across the globe that knock out all electricity, sending the world into chaos, along with bringing the end of civilization as we know it. At the root of all this is the fear of being plunged into a situation we have little control of, a fear of being lead to death. No matter what form it may take, something is reminding us about the impending end of our lives, forcing the core of our character to surface for all to see. While we cannot control the fact we will die, we can control how we react to it and let it dictate the path our lives take, as well as who it affects.

Fear of these sorts of things has fueled an endless amount of bad decisions in people’s lives, all in order to stave off the fear of the Grim Reaper’s cold grip, and its ability to take all we love and care for away from us. To live a full life with minimal to no regrets, this is the kind of fear we must shed, for this is the kind of fear which will eternally cripple us from reaching higher and taking the risks needed to make it reality. I’ve traveled countless miles, broken both arms and lost someone close to my heart on the path to shedding such emotions, and all of it has helped strengthen my ability to walk forward and view this world for what it is. Though I’m not where I wish to be just yet, I’m more than happy with my life, and know that all that I do will be what I leave behind for those that come after me. Every day I seek to leave behind something wonderful, giving them the courage to push ahead in the face of uncertainty and live a life they would be proud of, regardless of what may come to pass.

Conspiracy theories run the gamut of logic and moral pushing ideas threaded by circumstantial evidence, but all of them link back to the idea that we are in control of nothing in our lives and that our every move and thought is planned ahead for us. Ever since my life changed, I’ve learned to view this concept as complete and utter garbage that no one should condemn themselves to. Even if one of these turns out to be true, that doesn’t stop the individual from picking themselves up and rising against the string being pulled, using their own strength to create their own destiny. In my eyes, nothing is viler than allowing your life to be diluted by events that may or may not come to pass, the beauty and wonder that life presents to you flying by all the while. When my time comes, it’s my desire to enjoy it from my back porch, finishing off my best work yet while falling into slumber in a reclining office chair.

A Single Step

Part of being human is making mistakes, whether it’s stumbling as we learn how to walk or mixing up crucial dates and missing them altogether. That’s all a part of growing up, and anytime it happens, the stuff we’re made of is exposed for everyone to see, even that creepy guy in the corner no one talks to. After the fact, we always think about what we would’ve done differently if we had a little more sense or mentally whip ourselves for whatever it was we did. Until someone knows enough to bend the fabric of time to their will, we can’t undo the past, we can only learn from it and do what we can to make amends. Doing so involves developing the capacity to forgive, more specifically the capacity to forgive ourselves and allow ourselves to move forward.

My own life has been rife with errors in judgment, many of which I’ve found difficult to forgive myself for, like the day I allowed myself to miss a key test during my first semester at community college in order to help my mother’s friend. I know the best thing to do is seek the positive and laugh it off, but part of knows I should’ve been more firm, more aware and more certain of my aim. For countless years I placed the blame on my shoulders and did what I thought was needed to ensure it never repeated, even when it did. As much as I believe in making your own luck and taking hold of your own life, I’ve grown more cognizant of that which I cannot change, that which I must confront and demonstrate forgiveness. Naturally, something this important won’t come easy, but this act will surely shed some of the weight I bear so I can move further ahead to becoming a proper man.

As life has continued to show me, when you cannot or will not demonstrate forgiveness, it becomes a greater challenge to progress, as if you’re sticking your feet in detergent boxes and pouring more and more concrete in them as you walk. Yes, some things are hard to give that kind of leniency, more so when it removes something irreplaceable, but is carrying that kind of ire towards it worth rending ourselves unable to grow? To me, even with much of what I’ve poured my heart and soul into being ripped away, I don’t ever want the answer to be yes, nor should it be for anyone else. Harboring grudges only corrodes us from within and blinds us to the truth of a person’s being, only letting us see the person they were then, in their time of darkness. The humility and willing to understand others forgiveness demands is the rock that shatters the glass holding this image, falling away to reveal a path meant for us to walk; a path towards joy and inner peace, our joy and inner peace. 

Behind the Pen: First Crush

Part of being a writer, in my view, is being able to take your life experiences and those of the people pass theirs on to you and craft them into prose, ideally the kind you'd want to see in the magazines and headlines. To keep a personal record of some of the events that shaped my skills, I'll post any responses to questions I receive which I consider to be something people would like to see about who I am, and perhaps help others realize that, although their experiences are unique, there are others out there who've went through something similar and are willing to lend their hand to you in aid. To begin, here's my response to this question:

 Who was your first crush and what was it like?

Through the Open Window: A Manifesto for Approaching Language Study with an Open Mind

(This is a cleaned up version of a Manifesto I wrote for one of my English classes, the previous which got me a 98/100 from my very tough grading teacher, hopefully a sign of the paper's overall polish. Though it may rub you the wrong way at some points, please enjoy it and let it reveal my take on language study)

The language were raised with is shaped by grammar, colored by vocabulary & powered by culture, a word strongly tied to the stuffy and snooze-inducing aspects of our world-for example, the guy who turns his nose at those not into musicals or fine wines.

However, as culture can be manifested by a tea ceremony, so can it manifest through Causal Fridays & riding the bike trail to Border's with your friends every Saturday, all 3 a way of doing things cultivated through shared values & beliefs. When grammar, vocabulary & culture work in sync, our thoughts gain life & let us interact with the world how we want to, even if we've never seen it before.

You may be wondering how this relates to learning a language, and to that I say this: In understanding this you not only uncover the key to learning a language, but the key to learning it as your language.

Deft Honesty

As kids, we're told that honesty is the best policy and that lying does no one any good. However, because they don't want to scare us off, they often don't tell the while tale behind these maxims, in this instance, that honesty can place an enormous strain on relationships and that the blow up from being caught in a lie can lead to losing everything you've worked so hard to achieve. I know these realities well, having incorporated sincerity into my daily interactions and doing less than sincere deeds in my past. There is much for me to learn about being more deft in my honesty and how I state my intent, and I'm equally certain that my approach will create the kind of life I seek. This is doubtless because few things destabilize a relationship's foundation more than deceit masking true intent.

When people close to me became wolves in sheep's clothing, I became much more hesitant to place my faith in other; to this day I'm weary of accepting aid from other, the possibility of them using the act as a tool of manipulation never far from my thought. That kind of mistrust is all encompassing, leaking into all aspects of how we approach people for the first time, and is a feeling I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy. For this reason, I always seek to let those I see as friends in on what I intend to do, no matter how off putting it may turn out to be. My lack of wording skill has alienated me from a few friends, that I won't deny, but even with that, my choice of lifestyle has given me a life with little regret. White lies can help to create harmony and encouragement, but what use is creating that kind of environment when the truth can bring it down as easily as a house of cards?

I recognize the dangers inherent in the truth, especially those which have cost people their livelihoods, if not their lives. That said, I can't really see the value of trying to cover it up, since it only adds to the impact of the truth when it finally comes out. Exceptions to this surely exist, but to me, no matter how painful or devisive it is, those you have even a modicum of respect for deserve to know the truth about what you seek; to think it's better for them never to know is to insult and devalue them as human beings. If there's anything I'll learn more about being honest, it's that a little bit of sugar helps the medicine go down. Perhaps this is the key to reducing the possibility of involuntarily isolation

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.