Four Corners of My Lime Green Wall

It's great to wake up to a fruity color like lime green. The color of the walls I wake up to remind me I am in my room in San Jose. Where I can sleep as long as I want. Where during a break like Spring Break I do not have to worry as much about reading, writing papers, or exams. Where my stomach does not feel as empty. Where my mother comes in the middle of the night yelling at how skinny and green I am and forces a glass of milk down my throat. It's quite dark. Let me open the blinds. Ah, sonshine. Good morning.

Spring Break has been a trip though I haven't been around much besides around San Jose. I've been here since Saturday. I hitched a ride with Thinh, Nam's friend, along with Phi, Helen, and myself. When I got home, I noticed the smell of my house more. It's like as if my nose had become unfamiliar to the scent of my home. My nose had to get used to it again. I could smell the distinctiveness of my house. I realized how powerful the kitchen is in our home dictating and controling the scents around the house. My mother's cooking, I could taste home upon sniffing it.

The red carpets of my house was something I had to get used to again. Being at Juan's place for almost month, I've gotten used to gray carpet. In my room, I notice the pee stains left by my chihuahua dog, Lucky. Whose dog isn't named Lucky if you are in a Vietnames familly? I call my dog Bang Lai, a name I thought of when seeing her run around and bowing for food--the rhythm of her movement. Don't ask me why else I named her that. It was the first sound or combination of words I heard in my head.

I've been going through my family pictures lately. My baby pictures included. I laugh at the naked pictures of me. I laugh at the little scribbles I angrily made as a kid in the photo albums. "Stupit family." "Retarted Guy." "Girls are Retarted." That's what I had written when I was a boy whose feelings were hurt. I wonder if I will laugh at a lot of things I had gone through not so long ago just like how I am laughing at the marks made by my adolescent self. Of course i will. Perhaps I should think more that way. I laugh at the stories I wrote when I was in elementary school. For instance, the mini-book I wrote about my macarena-singing stuffed gorilla who I had named "Banana", which I still have sitting somewhere downstairs. I should bring it back upstairs to my room.

Hearing my voice of me then is hilarious. This laughter is something different. Not the laughter you laugh at/with a comedian like Dave Chapelle. Or when you are embarrassed or nervous. Or when you see or hear someone else laugh. Or when you see or hear something silly or awkward. Or when you see or hear something that is ironic, satirical, absurd. Or when something is cute. No, it's incredibly different. I am guessing it is the laughter when a memory gets open up and you start to remember or at least try to remember how you were, what you were thinking of during that period that picture was taken. It's funny because yeah perhaps you look silly or cute, but that was you, and in many ways, that is you. Funny, how that is. I am still laughing about writing about why I am laughing. That's funny too.

The four corners of my lime green walls are dark now that the lights are off. I know it will be bright again. Until then, I have to keep my blinds closed until morning. I know these walls will shine again once I wake up after hearing the owl near my house hoot and open those blinds. Ah, good morning sonshine. It's 1 pm and it's time to live again.

Far Away San Jose

I've been living in San Jose my whole life. My family lived in East Side San Jose on Winslow near Grand Century before I was born. I was only able the breathe ESSJ air for only a few months after I was born. My parents decided they did not want to raise their children in an environment filled with gang activity, drug dealing, things that would impede their children's development. Prior to living there, they had lived in East Palo Alto infested with crack addiction and dealing. Now what once was our neighborhood is now Ikea and a huge shopping plaza.

Basically, during that time in '88, many impoverish areas in San Jose were populated by Vietnamese; many of those areas were still developing while refugees were resettling in neighborhood that already had existing problems. My parents, while they were split between community vs. affluence, chose to move out into a more "safer" community called Willow Glen. There were little to none Vietnamese resettling there.

San Jose. A city so big, I have yet to explore most of it. The more I drive around San Jose in my car pumping gas the more I want to walk with my feet around Berkeley. For once, I feel like I belong in a community that is somewhat knit-tight unlike where I've been living for most of my life which is incredibly spread out.

I miss my friends from Berkeley. I miss my friends from San Jose although I've been home. A lot of people are changing, I'm changing. There has to be change for there to be a tomorrow as corny as that sounds. I'm pretty sure many people experience this. When they come home from college after a few months, they notice a lot of changes that took place: home, family, friends (especially). I see my friends who've attended their first year college far away come back with newly-formed perspectives and outlooks whereas a lot of my community college friends stayed pretty much the same. I'm one of those 1st year far away college people.

There is so much to learn, yet such a big space to cover. I feel like a shadow within a shadow of something much bigger. I'm on my way in reclaiming my shadow.