Too Fast, Too Late

Finally, it is getting hot. The sun is shining. The skies are blue. Once again. The wind blowing through what is left of my hair, I keep on rolling the the lever for the windows to sink so everyone else with their windows down can hear the music too. The speakers are bumping bass-intensive trance music to pass this drive by faster. Faster. Faster so I can pass everyone by. This repetition of melodies cycling round and round this never ending road leading me down and down that I am actually going up waiting for the climax waiting for a brick on the road anything anything

I push the gas pedal, the engine roars like a mechanical lion. This jungle, I call 87 N, has a lot of traffic during this time. I smell the gasoline burning, intensifying the heat of this hot day. These exhausted pipes fuel this air. I can see this air getting more rigid like waves of a toxic ocean, like the transparent outlinings of ghosts. So empty, yet dense. I can taste the bitterness of this so-called necessity to go faster, to maintain this speed.

I am trying to get home 75 miles per hour. The fast lane, though it's just me.. It's 3:27. 3 minutes until the middle of the hour. I can't stand being in the middle. I wish I could have those 30 minutes back because time is so precious. That's what I've been taught.

PAUSE.

Where am I? Where am I going really? How am I really doing? Output more Q's so more A's can come out at such an alarming rate. product product. BEEP BEEP. It's TIME to WAKE up, but I'm too tired to get up again and again and again. To get back on this road. Back and forth. Back and forth. I am beat down by time though so many people want to beat time. Sometimes, I just want to take it slow so I can see myself move without the blindfolds.

I'll be sure to give you time.

Down Varsity Lane

I drove down varsity lane at Willow Glen today with Phi and Michelle. It was more like driving down memory lane. I spent 7 years of my life at Willow Glen from middle school to high school. It's hard to believe so much has happened, how much things have changed at Willow Glen. New buildings, new signs, different colors. At least as I was driving, the bumps on the road felt the same. The bumps of my past.

I saw the basketball courts where I spent most of my time in 6th and 7th grade. I developed a move called "monkey style" that was a lay-up with a pass behind my back before shooting it into the basketball. A few friends of my friends who played with me should remember this. Good times.

I saw the spit pit near the basketball courts on the middle school side. The "spit pit" that was a stairway leading down to a room in the gym. No one should ever walk down there or else you'll get spat on.

I saw the shared running track. Dusty like how I remembered it. That was where I knew I had to change my weight and my look. I sprinted well, but my endurance was lacking. I was a pretty chubby kid. That summer before my Freshman year, I jogged literally everyday to improve myself. I lost 30 pounds. During my first year, I finished the mile under 10 min. PE was huge for me back then because throughout middle school I felt so insufficient. I had 15 min mile times. I wanted to change it all: my look, my athleticism, myself. And, I did.

I saw the field of tanbark which was the "new quad area" during the time. That table under the tree right dab in the center of the quad. I could still visualize my friends playing 13 on the tables. Along their side, I would watch, my hands in my uniformed khaki pant pockets, black sleeves of the same pull-over hoodie I would wear everyday. I could taste the chimichangas, the pink lemonade, the hot cheetos, the dominos pizza and breadsticks. Our little niche.

I wonder what I would do without all these spaces I had and experienced. What if I was not here, but there? What if I was born a few days earlier, I would be up a grade. What if I had stayed in East Side San Jose, and not moved to the outskirts of Willow Glen? Sometimes I see my life in a linear fashion. Upon analzying it, I see how each of the things that happen in my life fall into place almost so perfectly to form the person I am today. However, I know I don't have to look it that way all the time because I always have these questions of "what if"? What if I did not exist here, but I existed there?

The more I accept my home, the more my home will accept me. No more questions about where I belong when I know I belong here already. I am ready to enter through this door to stay here for awhile longer. That's only if it'll take me. It's all up to me whether or not I want to. And, I do.

(Em)Braces

My mouth filled with metal to gain a medal.
I ask please, please treat me right.
Straight teeth seem to be right.
Straighten me out.
Straighten me out.
No one wants to be crooked, a thief, a crook.

Mirror looking at me, I don't want to look.

...

Because image is everything? 

I'm disappointed I'm not in Berkeley right now for Shadow Nite. I had to come back to San Jose on Friday for an Orthodontist appointment today, Saturday, to tighten my braces. I am in pain right now. Ow!

Driving down Tully Road to get to "other side" of town, though it's such a short distance (approximately 4 miles), it takes a quite awhile.  There's always traffic on Tully, especially at the overpass to get on/off the freeway before the first and largest Chuck-E-Cheese in the US (yes, that is one of the things San Jose is known for).  When I first learned how to drive, I believed the stereotype: Asians could not drive, especially those darn Vietnamese people, except me of course. My explanation for why that area specifically was so trafficky, which increase the chances of accidents (yeah, there are a lot of accidents there), was that Vietnamese are bad drivers.  

Now, I understand that yeah some Vietnamese people might be bad drivers (applicable for everyone, not just limited to race and ethnicity), but you must take in consideration that that area has a dense population--it's overcrowded (you can look at the public policy aspect).  Plus, that area is considered the "heart of the Vietnamese community" (Lion Plaza) in San Jose.  No wonder it's so crowded all the time.  Many Vietnamese rely on the services and businesses there. My orthodontis is there, right across from Eastridge.  For many Vietnamese people, "everything to them" is there: the market, restaurants, coffee shops, doctor's, dentists', orthodontis'.. the list continues...

While driving down Tully, I could not help but to observe the elderly Vietnamese ladies, who remind me much of my own grandmothers, with their conical hats waiting at the bus stop, walking along street, crossing the street.  I would glance at their teeth, crooked, sometimes not all there, but still smiling.  Still smiling.  

I could've sworn I left my smile somewhere.  When back then it felt so right.