Roots
When the town of Daisy was built up in the late 19th century, with its frontier style storefronts, its unpaved roads and, most notoriously, its saloon, the people were surprised to see a rather large tree growing at the north end. From their observations, this town was in the middle of nowhere, smack dab in the middle of the Mojave Desert, exceptionally dry and miserable, something to be expected from a desert town. The patience that was required to get through the day was saint-like, and any real pleasure came from a shot of a whiskey down at Al's Saloon. The tree was tall, thick, with green and hazel leaves hanging from its branches. It provided a nice shade, and the smell of its leaves in the summer was especially refreshing. The tree sprouted a delicious fruit every spring, something the town would take advantage of every season. The harvest would be plentiful, and it provided the people of Daisy a nice respite. This tree made life tolerable. Men toiling in the mines would return from a long day and lounge along the trunks, knocking back drinks from Al's. Women would pick and store the fruits to make all kinds of things – candies, juices, cocktails. Along with the nice “beverages” from next door, the tree was one of the few things that made life semi-tolerable for the town of Daisy.
Railroads and industrialization cut through the land, deeply scarring the vast expanses of the desert, bringing about unprecedented prosperity for all who embraced its mechanized ideals. Before long, most stores in Daisy were absorbed into a conglomerate, no longer built in the typical frontier-style, radically changed. Roads were paved, rotting buildings demolished without a second thought, and man even saw fit to attempt to drain the desert of every last drop of valuable blood it had left. Whatever ore, gold, or useful substance was excavated and used to fuel the trains, the automobiles, to fund business ventures and trips. The mining towns that typified America were a thing of the past, and the power of the Industrial Revolution was too great to stop. Holding back the tide was futile.
And in this climate of radical change, one thing remained constant. The tree still stood in its isolated corner, the leaves still crisp, its colorful combination of green and hazel. Fruit still hung precariously from the branches. Even as Al's underwent renovation, the tree seemed untouched, unchanging. Before long, as time continued it unending march, as the roads became connected, as the storefronts destroyed in favor of suburban housing, a city built surrounding the town, the tree began to wither. Kids would ride their bikes down to the newly-dug ditch, laughing at the strange shape that the “Witch Tree” was twisted into. Teenagers would sneak into its now hollowed-out base and do all sorts of unspeakable acts within it for the excitement of public consummation. And one day, it was bulldozed, along with other dead vegetation. They didn't know what it was. What it stood for. Why it was there. The town of Daisy, the people who now lived there, didn't understand its significance. It faithfully and unwaveringly stood for Daisy until the end of its days. And yet, it was now gone. Roots upended, time had continued its march.
Trying flash fiction again, let's see how it goes.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
The Path
From what I understand, I'm good at things. I'm a good writer, argue passionately and cogently, and criticize like a pro. I'm interested in a lot of things: Literature that has a philosophical base, movies with compelling stories and interesting camera techniques, and trying my hand at writing original stories some times, to varying success, obviously. I also like biology, understanding the history of lifeforms on earth, how the human body works, the natural order (Mother Nature fucking us up with hurricanes and the like). I think it's all fascinating stuff. The sciences in general are always interesting. I also think I'd make a great lawyer, combining the passionate arguments with logical facts and procedures and the like. That kind of thing.
And while I think I would be a good lawyer, and I would get filthy stinking rich arguing in court and drafting up contracts, it's something I really wouldn't care for, honestly. What you're good at and what you want to do don't necessarily overlap. I don't want to be one of those people who sit around their thousand acre mansions pondering what to do with their money while their trophy wives go off and have sex with the poolboy and their kids do heroin. Wealth doesn't guarantee happiness, but it does give you certainty. You'll be certain you'll never have to experience poverty. And how comforting is that to know, in the back of your mind?
But you always end up wondering what could have been. What would my life be like if I took that job as writer on SNL? How would I be doing if I never stole those Yu-Gi-Oh cards? What if that stupid Jew didn't shoot me down like a plane over the Midway? And what if I pursued my passions instead of working 9-5 at a job I'm good at, but hate? What if, after getting a degree in English, I moved to Los Angeles and took up a job as a waiter in a restaurant in Rodeo Drive, trying to slip execs a script? What if, instead of transferring to Boalt Law, I went to UCLA, changed my mind and went to their renowned film school to learn about screenwriting? And what if it just so happens that I landed my foot in the door and got approved for a budget to make a film? It would be my dream.
My secret ambition has always been to become a director, a writer, a producer of films. It simply combines my love for writing and movies into a nice little package, but I always knew it was next to impossible. Martin Scorcese and Quentin Tarantino started out pretty cheaply, the latter getting his foot in the door just by talking to the right people while he was working in a video rental shop at age 22. Lightning doesn't strike twice, or seven times, as The Curious Case of Benjamin Button would have you believe. But I feel if I don't pursue my interest, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what if.
Of course, it could be the case that I become a lawyer, get sucked into the world of torts and nonverbal contracts and only wanting to re-emerge after several years with a lot of money to burn. I could fund myself? Perhaps I should put my dreams on hold, focus on a more realistic and plausible path in life. The question can still be answered in two years, after I finish my English major. Who knows where the wind will take me? The only thing I want is to not live a life of regret.
And while I think I would be a good lawyer, and I would get filthy stinking rich arguing in court and drafting up contracts, it's something I really wouldn't care for, honestly. What you're good at and what you want to do don't necessarily overlap. I don't want to be one of those people who sit around their thousand acre mansions pondering what to do with their money while their trophy wives go off and have sex with the poolboy and their kids do heroin. Wealth doesn't guarantee happiness, but it does give you certainty. You'll be certain you'll never have to experience poverty. And how comforting is that to know, in the back of your mind?
But you always end up wondering what could have been. What would my life be like if I took that job as writer on SNL? How would I be doing if I never stole those Yu-Gi-Oh cards? What if that stupid Jew didn't shoot me down like a plane over the Midway? And what if I pursued my passions instead of working 9-5 at a job I'm good at, but hate? What if, after getting a degree in English, I moved to Los Angeles and took up a job as a waiter in a restaurant in Rodeo Drive, trying to slip execs a script? What if, instead of transferring to Boalt Law, I went to UCLA, changed my mind and went to their renowned film school to learn about screenwriting? And what if it just so happens that I landed my foot in the door and got approved for a budget to make a film? It would be my dream.
My secret ambition has always been to become a director, a writer, a producer of films. It simply combines my love for writing and movies into a nice little package, but I always knew it was next to impossible. Martin Scorcese and Quentin Tarantino started out pretty cheaply, the latter getting his foot in the door just by talking to the right people while he was working in a video rental shop at age 22. Lightning doesn't strike twice, or seven times, as The Curious Case of Benjamin Button would have you believe. But I feel if I don't pursue my interest, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what if.
Of course, it could be the case that I become a lawyer, get sucked into the world of torts and nonverbal contracts and only wanting to re-emerge after several years with a lot of money to burn. I could fund myself? Perhaps I should put my dreams on hold, focus on a more realistic and plausible path in life. The question can still be answered in two years, after I finish my English major. Who knows where the wind will take me? The only thing I want is to not live a life of regret.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Waxing yourself
After finishing an extremely mediocre novel, A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby, an annoyingly unfocused novel about the interesting topic of suicide, I was compelled to write an entry on the nuances and effects of suicide. Just to be clear, the novel could have been quite good if it had a focus instead of drifting all over the place like a meandering vagabond and even better if most of the cast wasn't entirely dislikable. It takes a leaf out of The Breakfast Club, only it's a lot less cogent. Book critic, I am not, so...
Suicide is a way out. The easy way out. The path of least resistance. When you're dead, you don't have to deal with the crap that life spits on you day after day. You kill yourself for different reasons - maybe the mailman who never missed a day of work for 30 years hung himself because he knew his life was unfufilling. Perhaps the depressed divorcee who never gets to see his kids ingests car fumes because he has nothing to live for. Whatever the case, it is entirely logical to want to kill yourself. Generally, you have a good reason to do it. In the case of the characters of the book, one of them is hated by everyone he meets, one of them has a catatonic son who is a drain, and the other two aren't interesting enough to even warrant a mention. Point is, unless you're a teenager looking for attention, people who contemplate suicide often have a good reason to do so.
Let's not lie - we've all had suicidal thoughts, even if jokingly and fleetingly. We all have days where's it's so damn bad that you just want out, never want to take another glance at that large pile of work, never want to talk to that asshole boss of yours ever again. I'm not going to deny it, I've had days so bad that I just want to throw myself off a roof. But we never go through with it. And the reason is because we have something to live for. It could be anything. Family. Friends. Wanting to see Christopher Nolan's sequel to The Dark Knight. Things like that, you know?
When I went to RYLA, a cabin mate of mine wanted to kill himself (nobody ever reads this blog, so it doesn't matter). What I remember of that day, and some talks in the cabin before that was that suicide was a very selfish thing to do. You leave behind all your friends, family, and people who care about you, without any concern for what pain they'll feel for you when you're gone. I don't think that's entirely true. Selfishness is a virtue, and assuming someone killing themselves is a bad thing, you don't know the whole story. They may have been crapped on all their lives, and whatever the problem is, it's unfixable. Obviously, if you can fix or at least try to improve whatever problem that person has, you should do all you can. But forcing someone to live a life they no longer want any part of is akin to not letting a terminally ill patient die. Death may be ugly, but that's entirely in your control. If you control your life, you should also have control over when you leave this world to go to the Great Gig in the Sky.
It's my opinion that life is worth too much to throw away. Many will disagree with that, but that's what I think. I wouldn't dare think of killing myself even if I were evicted from my apartment, had my funds seized, and my children died in front of me. I would be devastated, broken, dead to the world, but perhaps the human spirit can rise from the ashes like some sort of disfigured phoenix. Life is beautiful, but if you don't want to live it - if you've been trampled on your whole life, you can't get anywhere despite the best help in the world, you've lost the will to live, you're pretty much dead, that's fine. Let them do it. No matter what you do, nothing can improve their lives. Existentialism dictates that we make our own happiness. When we can't do that, life is no longer worth living.
What am I saying? Live life. Live every week like it's Shark Week. Live every day like you're going to be murdered the next. If you can't, do what you have to do. You'll hurt some people. You'll anger some people. But you don't have to deal with that any more. But please, let it be a last resort. I'm not advocating suicide, I'm only relating it to the worst case scenario, which I hope never befalls anyone.
Suicide is a way out. The easy way out. The path of least resistance. When you're dead, you don't have to deal with the crap that life spits on you day after day. You kill yourself for different reasons - maybe the mailman who never missed a day of work for 30 years hung himself because he knew his life was unfufilling. Perhaps the depressed divorcee who never gets to see his kids ingests car fumes because he has nothing to live for. Whatever the case, it is entirely logical to want to kill yourself. Generally, you have a good reason to do it. In the case of the characters of the book, one of them is hated by everyone he meets, one of them has a catatonic son who is a drain, and the other two aren't interesting enough to even warrant a mention. Point is, unless you're a teenager looking for attention, people who contemplate suicide often have a good reason to do so.
Let's not lie - we've all had suicidal thoughts, even if jokingly and fleetingly. We all have days where's it's so damn bad that you just want out, never want to take another glance at that large pile of work, never want to talk to that asshole boss of yours ever again. I'm not going to deny it, I've had days so bad that I just want to throw myself off a roof. But we never go through with it. And the reason is because we have something to live for. It could be anything. Family. Friends. Wanting to see Christopher Nolan's sequel to The Dark Knight. Things like that, you know?
When I went to RYLA, a cabin mate of mine wanted to kill himself (nobody ever reads this blog, so it doesn't matter). What I remember of that day, and some talks in the cabin before that was that suicide was a very selfish thing to do. You leave behind all your friends, family, and people who care about you, without any concern for what pain they'll feel for you when you're gone. I don't think that's entirely true. Selfishness is a virtue, and assuming someone killing themselves is a bad thing, you don't know the whole story. They may have been crapped on all their lives, and whatever the problem is, it's unfixable. Obviously, if you can fix or at least try to improve whatever problem that person has, you should do all you can. But forcing someone to live a life they no longer want any part of is akin to not letting a terminally ill patient die. Death may be ugly, but that's entirely in your control. If you control your life, you should also have control over when you leave this world to go to the Great Gig in the Sky.
It's my opinion that life is worth too much to throw away. Many will disagree with that, but that's what I think. I wouldn't dare think of killing myself even if I were evicted from my apartment, had my funds seized, and my children died in front of me. I would be devastated, broken, dead to the world, but perhaps the human spirit can rise from the ashes like some sort of disfigured phoenix. Life is beautiful, but if you don't want to live it - if you've been trampled on your whole life, you can't get anywhere despite the best help in the world, you've lost the will to live, you're pretty much dead, that's fine. Let them do it. No matter what you do, nothing can improve their lives. Existentialism dictates that we make our own happiness. When we can't do that, life is no longer worth living.
What am I saying? Live life. Live every week like it's Shark Week. Live every day like you're going to be murdered the next. If you can't, do what you have to do. You'll hurt some people. You'll anger some people. But you don't have to deal with that any more. But please, let it be a last resort. I'm not advocating suicide, I'm only relating it to the worst case scenario, which I hope never befalls anyone.
Friday, January 2, 2009
The first entry of 2009
The New Year is upon us, and so are new opportunities to break whatever resolutions that we promised ourselves just 24 hours ago. 2009 is yet another year to turn over a new leaf, begin anew, reconstruct the broken pieces of our banal lives and build something colossally cogent. A new dawn is arising, or whatever that line was from that trailer.
But in all seriousness, recent events and revelations have caused a maelstrom and whirlwind (maelwind? whirlstrom?) of emotions and pledges. And it's not just the New Year or the chemicals talking. I look back on 2008 very fondly, I did a lot of things I'm very much proud of, and right there is the foundation I can build on. The precedent has been set: I wrote a play, my cynicism tempered over the summer, I fell head-over-heels for a woman, I made a lot of new friends, I forgave and forgot, I made a point of educating myself through literature, movies, and writing, I became pseudo-independent, and I severed some cancerous growths from my life that don't benefit me at all. I had the motivation, obviously, to do these things when I didn't even put it on my list of things to do when 2007 ended. That's some inspiration, right there.
Furthermore, recent events have transpired that made me really reexamine my life and character. I haven't changed a lot (God, what would you people do without me, right?), I still accept the absurdity of life and the rules of the universe as the absolute highest power that can be granted, but life is short. Life is also beautiful, and when you go through it miserable, angry, disappointed, what enjoyment do you get out of it? The way I viewed the world, past tense, was that it was an ugly dog-eat-dog place where you can't rely on anyone, and everyone is your opponent. Hate everyone because they're out to get you. But that really isn't the case. Life is rife with opportunity, it just so happens everyone is too cowardly, for one reason or another to seize it. I sadly fall under this demographic, but that's what the New Year is for. 2009 will be a year to kick ass, take names, and make life worth living, instead of only partially worth living to see repeated screenings of The Dark Knight.
Also, recent events have also inspired an insatiable lust for jazz music, the ultimate form of self-expression, of beautiful improvisation. This is music that really comes from the soul, the essence of the musician that controls the instrument. A friend of mine who should be reading this entry right fucking now wants to go to a jazz club, and frankly, that would be the greatest thing ever. I have such respect for the art form that I actually want to learn how to play the sax. I believe Miles Davis played it, so if I learn, I'll be as cool as the guy who made Bitches Brew. Nina, I believe your uncle is a jazz musician, hook a brother up.
All in all, 2008 was a good year for me. I wish I had been bolder. I wish I hadn't waited so long for some things. I wish some things hadn't changed. I wish some things HAD changed. And I wish some things would just go away. But I don't regret any of it. What happened, happened and that's fine with me. I may have only gotten a small bite out of that carrot, but this is the year where I eat the whole damn thing. What does 2009 bring? College, rejection, and a new frontier. And to be honest, I'm petrified, as I mentioned. But I also mentioned that I'm excited. Excited to finally be able to test my abilities. 2009 will be a year of personal success, and I'm sure whatever I do between now and December 31st, 2009, I won't regret.
Cheers. And Happy New Year.
PS. We all know the real New Years celebration is Chinese New Year. Even though I'm not Chinese. Fun fact: we Vietnamese celebrate something called Tet, although you probably associate that more with a certain offensive during a certain 20th century conflict.
But in all seriousness, recent events and revelations have caused a maelstrom and whirlwind (maelwind? whirlstrom?) of emotions and pledges. And it's not just the New Year or the chemicals talking. I look back on 2008 very fondly, I did a lot of things I'm very much proud of, and right there is the foundation I can build on. The precedent has been set: I wrote a play, my cynicism tempered over the summer, I fell head-over-heels for a woman, I made a lot of new friends, I forgave and forgot, I made a point of educating myself through literature, movies, and writing, I became pseudo-independent, and I severed some cancerous growths from my life that don't benefit me at all. I had the motivation, obviously, to do these things when I didn't even put it on my list of things to do when 2007 ended. That's some inspiration, right there.
Furthermore, recent events have transpired that made me really reexamine my life and character. I haven't changed a lot (God, what would you people do without me, right?), I still accept the absurdity of life and the rules of the universe as the absolute highest power that can be granted, but life is short. Life is also beautiful, and when you go through it miserable, angry, disappointed, what enjoyment do you get out of it? The way I viewed the world, past tense, was that it was an ugly dog-eat-dog place where you can't rely on anyone, and everyone is your opponent. Hate everyone because they're out to get you. But that really isn't the case. Life is rife with opportunity, it just so happens everyone is too cowardly, for one reason or another to seize it. I sadly fall under this demographic, but that's what the New Year is for. 2009 will be a year to kick ass, take names, and make life worth living, instead of only partially worth living to see repeated screenings of The Dark Knight.
Also, recent events have also inspired an insatiable lust for jazz music, the ultimate form of self-expression, of beautiful improvisation. This is music that really comes from the soul, the essence of the musician that controls the instrument. A friend of mine who should be reading this entry right fucking now wants to go to a jazz club, and frankly, that would be the greatest thing ever. I have such respect for the art form that I actually want to learn how to play the sax. I believe Miles Davis played it, so if I learn, I'll be as cool as the guy who made Bitches Brew. Nina, I believe your uncle is a jazz musician, hook a brother up.
All in all, 2008 was a good year for me. I wish I had been bolder. I wish I hadn't waited so long for some things. I wish some things hadn't changed. I wish some things HAD changed. And I wish some things would just go away. But I don't regret any of it. What happened, happened and that's fine with me. I may have only gotten a small bite out of that carrot, but this is the year where I eat the whole damn thing. What does 2009 bring? College, rejection, and a new frontier. And to be honest, I'm petrified, as I mentioned. But I also mentioned that I'm excited. Excited to finally be able to test my abilities. 2009 will be a year of personal success, and I'm sure whatever I do between now and December 31st, 2009, I won't regret.
Cheers. And Happy New Year.
PS. We all know the real New Years celebration is Chinese New Year. Even though I'm not Chinese. Fun fact: we Vietnamese celebrate something called Tet, although you probably associate that more with a certain offensive during a certain 20th century conflict.
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