In the Club

He walks into the club. Loud music banging, people a plenty, drinks going around to those with bracelets. As he gets his hands marked with X's, he thinks about how it's just 3 months away until he gets one of those bracelets too. What will he do when he gets that bracelet?

He shrugs it off, and walks into the swimming pool of people getting down to the beat. As he gives out his high fives and his "how you doin'?" greets, he catchs up with his posse. They're all there; but he doesn't really "see" anyone but one person: her. She's visiting, seeing the show, catching up with the people, breaking it down like nothing else. He thinks to himself, "wow, she looks amazing tonight." He talks a deep breath, reassured that he did swallow that little brown pill of pride before coming to the club.

It's a good thing there is no side effect with alcohol, because he definitely brushed his teeth with his bottle of Jack before reaching the club. He walks into the ring of friends, and starts dancing, trying not to think about her. It's not possible. Every so often, he'll sneak a glance, sometimes more than just a peek. The realization then dawned on him; it's not her, it's all him, in his mind.

He's driving down the road of recovery, but hit a large pothole along the way. He is now stuck on the side of the road between acceptance and coping, with no spare, and little to no battery left on his smartphone.

Back to reality. He notices a fella, glowing pretty in the dark hall, staggers over behind her, and starts dancing with her. She gives the friends a weird look, clearly put off by this strange, sketchy guy who's behind her. After that song dies, the strange fella takes off, after getting a name. He takes a big gulp of air, tries to ignore it, but it's too much. After maybe 2 hours of various guys coming and going, he's seen enough.

He isn't sure if he regrets coming to the club. He put a lot of effort into putting a good show, and felt like he should reward himself with just a night out to have fun with friends. Maybe it was too soon, a tough, bitter aftertaste that essentially dictated his mind, and thus, the evening.

Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe not. He doesn't know anymore. As he slumps back into his cold single dormitory room, he stares at the huge pile of work he has in the "To Do" pile, and the empty tray labelled "Done." With a heavy sigh, he picks up his pencil, and grabs the first sheet from the top of the "To Do" pile.

The Puppeteer

Sometimes I feel more alive when I'm breathing life into this inanimate beast. A cape of invincibility, I'm now immune to all of life's troubles and expectations. Becoming one with the majestic creature, my legs become its legs, my arms becomes its breathing, my rhythm and step become its strut.

As my partner and I count out silent cues, the beast shows off its impressive strength and agility through rolls, leaps and posts. The resounding sound of the drum beats in time with my own internal one, the cymbals crashing, marking my steps. No longer resisting the urge, the shiny red and black cat shakes his mane, gets low to the beat, tail wagging behind him. I've become the lion.

The crowd cheers as he carefully performs the stunts, laughs as he interacts with others, and applauds as he walks up to the edge of the stage, balanced on his hind legs; my partner and my faces are finally revealed. My role of puppeteer ends as the lights fade out and we walk out.

The lion has welcomed yet another new year; he happily returns to his much needed slumber. He will come back alive the same time next year, but the next puppeteers down in line will bring their own take; the lion changes his personality accordingly, adapting to the new year.

That is the will of Lion Dance.

Memoir of an Insomniac.

I toss and turn, shut my eyes tighter than ever, as if I were trying to shut out all the bright lights of the sky, full of stars. Please let me go to sleep now, Mr. Sandman, I have class soon.

No go.

I sit up, still covered by the comforter, propped up by my pillows. As I sigh, I think to myself, "it's another one of those nights..." I lean against the wall next to my mattress, propped high like a castle. I feel slightly nauseous, but nothing too serious as to warrant a trip to the bathroom. I breathe deeply, and try to calm myself down.

Wait, I am calm. What's wrong with me then? It's not like I've had significant amounts of stress; school has just begun, and I'm still on top of my game. It's not like I've eaten poorly; I've probably eaten a more balanced, more nutritious diet, which happens to be more food than I've ever eaten before in the same time frame. And yet, despite being mentally free and physically fit, I find myself unable to enjoy the sweet, refreshing benefits of a good night's slumber, almost destined to walk the lonely, quiet path of the darkest night.

I conjure up an image...no, multiple images. I start scrolling through them. I stop at each one, examining them, carefully switching to the next one, absorbing all that is offered between the pixels. Pictures are worth 1,000 words, or so they say, after all.

I love it when you're happy, enjoying yourself, finding all aspects of success. That smile of yours shines ever more radiant, living so carefree, and yet, it pierces me straight to the core. I hurt more so than you or I could ever understand. I find myself quivering, even when I'm still wrapped in my comforter and additional blankets.

This isn't a coldness that affects the physical; but rather, the emotional. Pictures; it drives me crazy, being unable to appear in that photo beside you, unable to elicit that kind of smile, that kind of joy in you, unable to do what I've wanted to do, and always wanted to do for so long. It bothers me that no matter what I do now is completely useless in distracting me away from thinking. You'll always come up, in some way, shape or form. The one thing that would be able, truly, to comfort me, cure me of this silly insomnia, is that very thing that you're unwilling to give...any more, at least. That smile...it drives me crazy.

I've probably been more than guilty of becoming complacent, taking one for granted, and yet, in all honesty, I couldn't imagine life without you. All the mistakes that I've made in the past, I can't change the past, but now it's even too late to atone for them. Backing myself into an inescapable plunge into the realm of failure and remorse, I guess I deserve all the credit...or is it blame? I have a terrible habit in setting myself up for failure, time and time again.

Someone once told me, on difficult situations, "when there is a will, there is a way." My will tells me to keep fighting, to continue struggling, to simply survive, but where is the way? I am lost, without a flashlight, in pitch darkness, with nothing but memories and a cold heartbeat that drums out the rhythm by which I must continue. I've heard that there is a "medicine" that supposedly heals everything; a panacea I simply don't have enough, and can't get enough. That elusive "cure"...is time.

But I bring into question: What do you do when time doesn't make you feel better, and happens to only makes your symptoms worse? What then?

My English Teacher Told Me Transitions Were Important

It was dark, 3:30 in the morning, I had somewhere to be; a class at 10am, with reading left unfinished. It was so foggy, I wouldn't be able to recognize a close friend even if they were 15 feet away. There I stood, staring at the sky.

Staring at the sky, not that I was trying to see the stars, playfully hiding behind the mysterious veil of clouds and mist, nor was I intentionally trying to put off work by going outside. I haven't felt this way.

I haven't felt this way ever, really. A certain cause of hopelessness. The carpet is forcibly removed from underneath me, my goals and aspirations are moot. Somewhat like that disappointing winded feeling you get when someone twice your size punches you in the gut. I want to just stare at the skies, to ask what I've done to deserve this; an outcry for fairness. Life isn't fair.

That phrase. Life isn't fair. It's been repeated to me so many times, and yet I still come to expectations that I should have some entitlement to fairness like, as a 3rd grader would put it, "my name's on it." Maybe it's come down to what I deserve, what I need, and what I can't have. Sad how that is how the association works. Truly, I am tired.

I am tired, but more awake than caffeine-induced highs. I am tired mentally, beaten down physically, scarred emotionally. All I need now, is someone to insult me spiritually, but I'm not quite looking for the whole nine yards. I'm appreciative for how my close friends are willing to stay up with me through the wee hours, talking, equally frustrated that they can't do anything for me. They can't help me, no one can help me. I must walk this path alone, but I still can't help but think about my dear friends.

My dear friends, Some of you may have been in the loop, some of you have followed me along the way, charting my progress, cheering me up and on to keep going, keep living, keep trying. I can guarantee you this: what you've said, what you've done, I'm so thankful, no words can describe it. However, there's no use to keep going down this road; it will only set me up for failure. I could keep trying, but like I've said before, it's become such a moot point, that it's even a waste of breath to say "Wow, that was a waste of breath." If you all were wondering, I will, without a doubt in fact, keep living.

I will keep living. Living that unfair, unjust life that everyone else has constantly reminded us of, living that lie, where someone will come up, hug you, and tell you how everything is going to be A-OK, that things aren't as bad as they seem, how there's always another shot at someone else. Sorry, you don't quite know what you're talking about; that's not how it works.

That's not how it works. Love games, they're complicated. I put in all this effort, invested my heart like my life savings; I took a gamble, since there's no good payout without high risk involved. Unfortunately, I lost. The loss has consequences, and I must face it.

I must face it. I have no choice in the matter. The only thing that could make me feel better, is sold out, unavailable, used up down to the last drop, with no chance of ever coming on the market again. At least it's fitting that it is I that must carry this burden. I've been travelling on this road for so long.

I've been travelling on this road for so long. Just trying to find my way back home. But the old me is dead and gone.

The old me is dead and gone.

Little Brown Pill

The alarm sounds. 8AM. I open my eyes, slap the alarm silly, and open the blinds. The Sun greets me with a half-hearted smile; I groan and mumble to myself, "Cloudy with a chance of Sun, figures." I roll out of bed, turn on the laptop, and walk around to my room door like a zombie extra out of Michael Jackson's Thriller.

The common room's lights slowly flicker on; the room is silent. "Looks like it's gonna be just me off to class at this hour" I say to myself, and proceed across the meandering hallway to the bathroom. Use the toilet, pop in the contacts, brush the teeth and wash my face; simple as A-B-C.

On the side next to the sink, I see a small, brown pill with a large letter P on it. I think to myself, "Do I really need to swallow that today?" As I have done for the past 20 years, I've put it off, got dressed, checked the news online and got on with my day. Every time I wake up, every time before I go to bed, I think about that little brown pill.

I've heard many stories of that pill:

"Taking it makes your life so much better."

"It takes worse than Chinese medicine mixed in with cheap beer."

"You don't have to swallow it, do you?"

To be frank, I wasn't so sure either. it's hard to preach something that you don't necessarily practice yourself, but one day, I tried it. I swallowed that little brown pill, just to see how it was. They weren't lying about the taste; it certainly didn't feel too good going down, and I'm not sure if I want it to ever come up, if you get the picture. After the funky episode of initial disgust, I realized that life seemed more chill, less stressful, people seemed nicer...overall better.

From that day forward, I have taken and swallowed that pill everyday faithfully. Be it part of someone's new year's resolutions, or just a spur-of-the-moment realization and change in someone's life, or even something as simple as a curious individual trying something new.

Despite not liking it very much, people should always swallow that little brown pill...called Pride.

Is it just a dance?

The lights flicker. The audience gasping for breath, staying silent, as if it were Christmas night. The woman walks out, in her elaborate, sexy new heels, prepared just for the occasion. Her dress, shimmers as she twirls into the spotlight. Her arms, flowing with the delicateness of a gentle stream, moving with the grace of a swan, lure the man over.

The man strides over, ever the cool cat. With a deliberate gesture, tips his hat and flips it onto the woman's locks. He hands her a long stem red rose, still fresh with the misty dew. With a powerful array of footwork, he works his way behind the woman, still in her statuesque form.

Their eyes lock. Without any spoken words, the man lets the woman know exactly what he's thinking. Breath-takingly beautiful never had a better use. He twirls her, posture flawless like a top, she spins and ends in his arms, locked into the beginning of an intense milonga de amor.

What is Love.

For You.

VERSE A: (G-D-e-C, moderate)

I heard it first from the tip of your lips.

"Love is important, but it's not enough."

I didn't know there was more to a relationship

But now, ex post-facto, it's nothing but rough.

REFRAIN: (G-D-e-C, faster)

I didn't want it to end like this

Tried so hard but it's what it is;

Seems like yesterday when you told me

"We're not right for each other."

Will be tough to get over you;

Keep on doing what you always do.

Please don't hate me for what I've done

I'll still always love you.

VERSE B: (G-D-e-C, moderate)

We've had a lot of problems, big and small;

Tempers and yelling, misunderstanding.

But when it boils down, don't matter at all,

We've tried for so long, it's finally ending.

-REFRAIN- (G-D-e-C, faster)

VERSE C: (G-e-C-D, slower)

With you, it's been one hell of a ride,

Have no regrets, I couldn't have lied.

Let's both focus on what needs to be done,

I will be cheering; you're my number one.

-REFRAIN- (G-D-e-C, faster, slowly fade out)

The Old Man

I step outside.

Almost like it was anticipating my entrance, a cold breeze blows past me. Shaking it off in black coldgear, shorts and running shoes, I start my journey. Looking around, I see a familiar sight: the old porter. He looked so much more impressive and intimidating when I was a prospective freshman: everything looked more so when I was a prospective freshman. Now, I could tell he has seen better days, fulfilling his duties with a heavy sigh, standing resolute in everything that nature throws at him, simply telling the time to anyone who even gives him half a glance.

I stop to chat with the old watchman. Tying my shoes whilst making conversation, I ask him how he's been.

He tells me of everything he's noticed. People coming and going, hardly anyone bothering to say hello; he tells me about the good old days back when people were more courteous. I laugh, just like a young'un, he jeers. He says how across the river of black asphalt, there has been a war going on. Buildings being torn down, piles of rubble and debris left to be cleaned up, free territories becoming occupied with newer, even bigger fortresses, laying claim to all of its surroundings. I tell him how I've ventured into that war zone often, within just two years of becoming familiar with the place, everything's changed. Old places that I've visited, turned completely inside out, it's like I've never been there. Even the local tavern was forced to close its doors. The old porter, in his worn-down green windbreaker, shakes his head in disapproval.

I blink, and breathe a breath full of chilled air. I stretch out, half expecting the porter to continue his story. I look up; the old man returns to his somber, silent watch. As I get ready to take off, "11:30pm", he whispers. I look back, thank him, and jog into the darkness, knowing he'll be here to welcome me back for when I return.

The Game.

As I look down the road, with the proverbial spinner in hand, I think to myself: "What do I want to be?" I've already picked the longer of the two paths, which involved going to college, most likely resulting in a higher career path, higher base salary, the works.

I stare at the long, winding, colorful path in front of me, with all sorts of unknown surprises at every turn. Before I give that spinner a turn, I begin to ask questions. What color car am I going to have? When will I have a life-long companion? What kind of house will I have? Is insurance worth it? How many people will there be in that car that I'll be supposedly driving? How and when will I retire?

Taking a step back, I look up and realize what is truly important: the people I'm playing the game with. It doesn't matter what choices that they make, the different paths that everyone will inevitably will branch out on, the similarities and differences in the path that all starts with the same choice, and ends with retirement. The stuff in-between is where the fun comes in; fun comes not from lowering other people and disrespecting the choices they make, but rather, the process of everyone going through the process together, and the good/bad times that come from it. If you're not having fun while playing the game, you're probably playing the game wrong. The point is not to see who "wins," but rather how much you enjoyed the entire progression.

Looking back, I don't think anyone actually knows or can know the full extent of all the rules of the game. By definition, it's not possible for anyone to be completely sure of where they're going to end up, there are near-infinite opportunities, risks, chances lining the path. Each card that is drawn and choice that is made will affect those sitting around you, and thus affect what they do when it is their turn.

With everyone finally retired, we can look back and reflect on all the different achievements that we, as a group, accomplished, opportunities we missed, and choices we made. It's just better when everyone's played the game for the game, and not resorting to cheating and ruining the integrity of an otherwise clean game. It's been a good hour of fun.

Snapping back to reality, I realize the meaning of, "Live the cards you're dealt, and play the game [correctly]." I laugh to myself, and spin the spinner; I've come out preferring the company of those with me, who will also, in turn, spin the spinner for themselves.

Milton-Bradley sure got this one right.

A new year, perspective, life.

2010. Twenty-ten. Just the year's name is different from years past. This is the mark of something big, something different, something new.

2009 came and went, with the usual customary ups and downs, and I guess that leaves much to be missed and much to be improved on. Someone once told me, "Turn to people to who you can trust, return to what you have experienced, yearn to experience more, and learn from it all."

And so, on that note, my 2010 resolutions:

1. Turn to people who I can trust:

I've made so many friends at WashU, and they have taught me the true meaning of friendship. Let it be consoling in times of difficulty, being there to enjoy the good times with me, or even something as simple as a driving motivation to bring me back down to reality, make me realize my flaws as well as my strengths, and to constantly push me to continue on the quest for self-improvement. You guys know who you are, I'm eternally grateful for all that you guys have done. Couldn't have made it through without you guys. This year, I am hoping to build this relationships stronger still, and also, get in touch with people that I've definitely been unable to talk/see as much. Again, you guys know who you are, we'll find more time to really sit down.

2. Return to what you have experienced:

Despite what people say, 20 years is a long time, with a lot of memories and experiences that may no longer be available once out of the realm of childhood and into the brutal world of maturity. Based off different standards, people are judged and viewed as mature/immature, responsible/childish, or sensitive/insensitive. I have realized that it is simply impossible for anyone to clearly fall into one category or the other. As Aesop's fables have taught us, "it is impossible to please everyone." This year, I am going to go back to the basics, really pull from the one heck of a ride that I've had thus far.

3. Yearn to experience more:

20 years is now a little more than a fourth of what the average man will experience in his entire lifetime. That being said, I've only covered (hopefully) 25% of what will be a very interesting life. If the first 20 years have been this interesting, I can only begin to speculate what will the future have waiting for me down the road of life. This year, I want to really get out there, and see what life's got in store for me. Some of you may have heard me say before, "The only way to live in your twenties, is to live like you're going to die by 30." Well, hopefully I don't die at 30, but at least I'll have experienced as much as if I was going to.

4. Learn from it all:

The accumulation of everything else, this one will most definitely be the hardest of them all. No one likes to admit when they're wrong, but even when they admit it, it's even harder to learn the lesson associated with the mistake made. I am, just like everyone else, guilty of only being able to learn from experiences that either did not concern me, or did not involve me as much. This year, I will try to face mistakes head on, accept when I'm wrong, accept it with grace, and above all, learn from it so that I won't have to repeat it later.

If I am able to achieve these four points, I'll be on the right track toward the self-improvement process.