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Old Boy

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(no subject) [Aug. 22nd, 2015|07:28 pm]
Old Boy
That moment when you realize you're a first generation college student and both your parents had PTSD.

And you had to take care of your disabled grandmother while working two part time jobs.
Sitting in on classes for an entire quarter before getting kicked out because nobody dropped.
Losing my best friend midway through university.

And I still fucking made it.

I thank my retard strength.

And lets see how far I get.
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(no subject) [Aug. 20th, 2015|02:38 pm]
Old Boy
'Now that I've made you privy to every single unyieldingly frivolous detail of my life...'
-Edward

Is such a statement, I had to preserve it here.
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(no subject) [Aug. 20th, 2015|03:02 am]
Old Boy
Yes. Sometimes I forget half of my family is teetering on the edge of annihilation.
I must hurry.
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(no subject) [Aug. 19th, 2015|02:45 am]
Old Boy
Where am I destined to go?

I really expected to be dead by now. The cigarettes, the beer, the intermittent severe head trauma.
But here I am.

Alive.

And now I dread death. How I loath to leave this life of promise. Such a fragile promise of something golden.
Of love, and growth and happy days.

Should not these days be happy? To reconnect with friends? To progress? Oh how they should be.
But why does my soul writhe, in tumult? Like soft cloth in a tempest. Like the corpse under a pillow.
Or like a beast tearing at his chains.

But who are the captors? In whom should I bury these bloody fangs?
Perhaps I will plunge them into my own bosom, and tear out this rebel heart.

But then what would drive me? Piston me into frantic action? For that would truly be hell,
to once more languish under non-feeling. Numbness. It makes me queasy to think of.

Never. Never. Never.

I will go on, and this writhing energy will be my savior, savoir. Or my destruction.
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(no subject) [Aug. 5th, 2015|05:15 pm]
Old Boy
As I wake from the long slumber of depressed thoughts, those thoughts trapped beneath mounds of soft, suffocating cotton. I begin to check myself, my thoughts and my actions of the past. Like he who examines his wounds after a particularly nasty fall, gingerly touching this scrape or that.

And. As I trace the path of my actions, I marvel at their simplicity, their foolishness or their bravery.
And. As I live, I begin to realize that my faults, passions and splendid idiocy is not singular to me.
But is in fact shared by the best of men. and the worst.

All I can do now is hope, and love.
link

moments [Jul. 5th, 2015|09:22 pm]
Old Boy
Smells. Of herbs. Of spices. Indian smells that remind me of lives long past. A simple herb growing in the front of our house, it smells like a distant memory.

I planted a row of grapes alongside the house. I built a part of an arbor, taking care in the little details, as one does when something matters to him. It provided much joy for our family.

As I read climbing books. Touching the void. I feel a reflection of my fear and striving.
As I read a book by Obama, dreams of my father, I am inspired. I always thought successful people never had doubts or conflicts, that they knew themselves and their purpose since birth. Reading on how the most powerful single person in the world is so conflicted, that he failed and struggled like I, that he has to worry about race, it is inspiring.
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Thanks Obama [Jun. 26th, 2015|10:14 am]
Old Boy
Thank you for the Medi-Cal, that helped me save my vision.
Thank you for championing Gay rights.
Thank you for acknowledging climate change.
Thank you for killing Bin Laden.
Thank you for investing in Green Energy.
Thank you for acknowledging racial issues in America.

This guy is probably one of the greatest presidents we've ever had. One of the greatest men of our time.

Of course his part is one of many. Countless activists and dedicated individuals came together to make all this change happen. But he did it too, despite all the pressure directed at him to do otherwise.

Hope. That's what he gives me. And I suppose that's what a Champion does.
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Future Plans [May. 26th, 2015|10:16 pm]
Old Boy
I'm going to be a lawyer. Of course I have doubts, fears. The future is uncertain. But I'm slowly learning to cope with my fears, and thus my doubts.

What is this desperation inside me? Thus force that drives me to sprint for the finish line at the eleventh hour? Why did I reject the race in the first place? I suppose I had other things on my mind.

But in my travels and in my studies, I have seen what becomes of those who give up. Of those who don't try hard enough. It's not pretty.

I wonder if I'll die on Mont Blanc. I wonder if I'll die on the flight back to the States? I wonder if I'll die on the car ride to my graduation?

Why do I fear things I cannot control? I used to be so cavalier. At one point in my life I would have welcomed a glorious death, saving a kitten from a burning building or pushing a baby carriage out of the way of a moving train. Giving meaning to an otherwise meaningless life.

But now I want to live. I want to live so bad it hurts. And that gives me fear. Fear of missing out on another moment. Another smile from my lover. Another family get together where I can once more embarass myself to collective delight. Fear of hurting people I love. I care for.

Fear of seeing my family poor. My people suffer.

I want to live. But I must then deal with fear. Fear of what may be.

Perhaps hope? That I hope. I hope. I hope for pride. I hope for success. I hope for happiness.

Thus I work. I strive, through pain, through fear. Pray for me. Pray that I may conquer myself. That this burning in my stomach won't leave me. That I won't be a pile of wet ashes. A guttering flame, quenched by a merciless sea.

I refuse! Fight! FIGHT! FIGHT!
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Now, towards the end of my staggering downward spiral. [Dec. 12th, 2014|01:49 am]
Old Boy
[Tags|, , ]

After I have lost friends, family, love, hope, honor and grace.

I would say it began on the farm, two years ago. After I had participated in a grand campaigne to save a group of refugees held by the chinese government. It was a desperate situation, and though it seemed like we lost many a time, in the end, we won.

On the farm. After the crusade in Santa Monica Community College. After studying days, months, years. After having transformed myself into a machine, nary a minute to waste. Eating while walking. Exercising. Working. Taking care of my grandmother. Beginning to garden. And perhaps it started then, perhaps I had been to strict with myself, and by extension, with others.

I had been accepted into UCI. Another step. With a stop in Bordeaux.

I spent too long there. Smothered in alcohol. Cynicism. Racism. Neglecting my duties. Neglecting my studies. And learned to let go, and let the tides carry me away.

But life continued.

It thrust me into the heart of things once more. At UCI. It placed me in the pit of fools. Frat boys. Blathering idiots. Feeble allies for the storms to come.
Regardless I sallied forth, riding to my doom.

22 units a quarter. 14 plus hours of exercise a week. With work. With those idiots keeping me up at night with their drunken baying. With sickness. In rain. In wind and cold.

Then.

With the death of my oldest friend.

...
It pains me to say it.
As I have his ashes with me. Right now.
I must spread them, at the behest of his family.

...

Then Billy Sun, a cursed name, decides to rob me. And forces me to sue him. To bring him to justice. And I do. And I proved my point.

Yet it was a drain.

Then my cousin dies. And I could do nothing for his family. Who had treated me with such kindness.

Then I'm knocked down by a mediocre fighter. Because I forced myself to run a mountain before the fight. Idiocy.

Then I nearly kill myself, and my friend due to my blistering ignorance. Though I brought us both out of those mountains. At what cost.

Succumbing to doubts. to fears. to insecurities about my capacity.
Because obviously there is reason to doubt. My intelligence.

Yet.

I cannot give up. It is... not an option. Too much depends on me.
And. I can only depend on myself.

What do I want to be? Me? Since I chose life all those years ago?
Will I lay down my arms? Will I become a milk weak sop, to be fed by his parents until they die from work?

NEVER.

I will continue, despite. Wherever this life leads me. Wherever.
link

(no subject) [Jun. 27th, 2014|11:31 pm]
Old Boy
Shall i cower in the dark
meet my doom, whimpering? Dragged along by the arbiters of my fate?
Or shall I meet it wide eyed and roaring?
Calm and collected, with a witty one liner? A noble turn of phrase?

VICTORY!
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