II in writing.

Sketch #329

2012-02-13T16:58:00.000-08:00

"I've got this black suit on
Roaming around like I'm ready for a funeral
One more miles until the road runs out
I'm about to drive to the ocean
I'ma try to swim from something bigger than me
Kick off my shoes
Swim good, swim good
Take off this suit."

- Frank Ocean

As soon as she showed her round stomach, walking through the street vendors and passing the peddlers on the cyclos to buy some groceries, the people gathered there threw tomatoes, fresh beans, and handfuls of rice grains at her. Some called her a whore, some said she was not fit to be a woman, others asked her to leave town.

She had run away from home when her father dared to strike her until she was dead upon finding out about her womb with a child of one of the neighborhood boys. Her pregnancy without marriage was ultimate dishonor. All of the respect he had as a scholar that everyone had trusted would be threatened if he didn't take necessary action to reprimand his daughter appropriately. He would be the laughing stock of the whole village! Surely the neighboring villages would get word of this incident and not send their children to attend his school. His reputation would be tarnished forever.

When he saw his daughter standing in the kitchen, stirring the congee (porridge) through the front window, he stomped and pounded on the the door, threatening to kick down the house and beat her to death if she didn't open up. She opened the latch and backed away from the door, trying to find seclusion in the corner of the kitchen.

"You filthy whore," he yelled. He went over to the boiling clay pot and kicked it off the stove. "I cannot let your sin-stained hands cook my food or touch anything else in this house! Get out or else!" He shook his cane at her violently. Terrified, speechless, and confused, she maneuvered around him and got out of the house. She ran to the boy's house, but his mother forbid her to talk to her son and called her a snake.

She ran to several houses and begged people to pity her and let her stay as it began to rain, but her pleas were fruitless. She finally found refuge in the storage hut for all of the fruits and vegetables to dry for pickling.

Such was the cruel life of the daughter of the village teacher.

What imperfection holds.

2012-02-06T00:07:00.000-08:00

She's totally flawed
Completely immature
Clumsy, ungraceful, with ravenous, unkempt hair.
24'' inch waist with no curves.
Short, with veiny grandma hands.
And probably not worthy, absolutely undeserving of his attention.

It's by some miracle that he hasn't thought so
She's damn lucky
Pretty blessed that a guy like him would take the time to care
He's the better person.
He'll always be stronger, less emotional, and less picky
Way too good for her.
In the back of her mind, she knows she could lose him
Every time she messes up is another mile in between them.
So be careful, little girl
Each word counts and anything could tip the scale.

He's smart, kind, and patient.
He could have anyone he wants
He's funny, laid-back, and amazing.
He's perfect
Has the power to save the world when he wants to
What could he possibly get from small, insignificant, stupid her?

He could kick her ass at poker.
Even in chess.
Video games, bowling, and thumb-war.
She could never be a good match.
Can't stay in the game, there was just no room for losers.
There's no love for pathetic her.

He comes and goes so easily in her mind
Every minute of every single day
He's taken over her conscience
But she's so blind
He can leave at any time
He doesn't have to stay another day
He's a great find, but...
Can't say the same about herself.

She means to let him in, to tell him
But what ugliness could he see?
What if he finds her empty inside?
Nothing of substance.

He lies down, his back facing her
That's when she knows
He's so much taller than her
And if she tried climbing over
He could die before she got there
Her useless weight on his life

It's unfair of her to be bothering
He doesn't need waste
She's not quality.
Just there.

She hopes he feels
That he acknowledges whats he wants to say
Without her saying
But she doesn't really want him to know
What she wants him to
Because he doesn't need to know that she could be crazy
That she grows more insane next to him
That thoughts of him make her antsy
Jittery
Quivering with fear
Shaking in nervousness
That he might already know
She's uncool.

A Glimpse of Her

2012-01-30T16:52:00.000-08:00

Femme Fatale - Aloe Blacc

You wanted simplicity.

She used to be a flower, swaying in the field. The lone blossom you saw poking out of the grass. That one you wanted to pick for all to see. You thought to wait until the next day, when you gathered enough courage to make her yours to keep.

Well, the rain came too soon and washed her away, gradually plucking her paper-thin petals with the wind. Many seasons pass, and all that is left of her is a dried out root, no longer standing, but instead, splayed out on the barren dirt.

A year passes and industrial constructs begin to cover the field. You believe she is nowhere to be found, that you had lost your chance.

Another few years pass, and the field is now a metropolis of businesses. It's a concrete jungle, a labyrinth of sorts. You look out the window of the taxicab, and suddenly, there she is.

Joan Ang

A black silhouette, walking along skyrise buildings in the background. The stars are the sequins on her dress, the clouds--her wavy, flowing, voluptuous hair. She's as beautiful as you remembered, but there's a sad presence in the depths of her eyes, like something is missing.

Is it really she? That lily in the field that you swore you saw before? Now turned into a dark angel? Can that be?

You tell the driver to stop, and out of the cab, you leap towards her, not realizing that you just crossed in the middle of a busy street, cheating death only by a mere second. You're desperate to catch up to her, not wanting to lose her again. So close, yet so far. She walks to a courtyard and disappears into a maze of columns. Where could she be? How hard is it to find her again?

Legion of Honor, SF

You begin to fall faint, dizzy from the symmetrical designs of architecture multiplying in your head as you scramble to find her, looking around, scanning the premises. Your vision is blurry, your conscience clouded, and it doesn't help that your emotions are surging up to when you lost her the first time, so long ago.

The lights dance in and out of your peripherals, and now things seem to be moving away from you as you walk near, speeding up your need to run and rush.

The LACMA

You stop to lean on a lamppost to catch your breath and wait for your eyes to return to normal. There is she again, standing before you. She touches your face and tells you that you should have picked her when you saw her long ago. She had waited too long, she said.

It starts to rain, and you blink to shield your eyes. You open them after a moment, and this time, there's no trace of her.

She leaves so simply, once again, out of your life. You start to believe that there's no simple explanation to all of that running, searching, waiting.

And life's not simple, even if you already know what you want.

Dusk lingering to Dawn

2012-01-24T00:32:00.000-08:00

It was a lecherousness night of drinking and dancing with strangers. Her girlfriends had a bet going on, of who could get the most numbers and get hit on the most. Of course, her heightened sense of audacity and guts transpired from having one too many shots of 1800.

She must have won the crown as super-slut of the night, waking up at her place besides what looked like a complete stranger. He was on his stomach, breathing heavily, and under her blankets. She didn't even remember stepping into the apartment with anyone. All she remembered was the dj asking for the last call and passing out on the floor, before someone caught her.

Nothing must have happened, because she was still fully dressed. She was still in the get up that she wore to go clubbing the previous night.

She got up from her bed to look in the mirror, finding that her glitter eye-shadow had migrated down to her cheekbones, mascara smudged at the corners of her eyes, she quickly ran to the bathroom to splash some water on her face and wipe her face clean.

She heard the guy stir in her bed and panicked. Should she go back to her bedroom when she can't even remember meeting the dude? How can she ask him to leave without sounding rude? She decided to just act like nothing was weird at all.

She entered the room and saw him sitting up on the bed. "Hey. Good morning."
"Morning," random guy said.
Shrugging, she continued, "I'm sorry, but I have kind of a hangover and I can't remember what your name was."
"You don't know who I am?" He straightened up to be directly facing her.
"No, I'm afraid not. I apologize if I'm supposed to, like if you're famous or something."
"Well, no, um...I'm the bartender at the club you go to every Friday night with your girls. I'm Antonio."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Uh, it's always dark in there, I can't see anyone's face that well," she quickly retorted.
"I get a lot of people coming through, but I certainly remember your face...and your usual drink."
"Oh," she forced herself to smile, and then grinned sheepishly at him.
"I couldn't forget you if I wanted to. You're the only one out of your group that gives me tips and last night, you invited me to drink with your party."
"I really can't remember anything that clearly from last night. Did we..?" She looked around the room, trying to avoid his gaze at her awkward question.
"Oh, no no. We didn't hook up. I didn't touch you...as much I wanted to, I didn't," He put his hand on her arm and tried to smile to reassure her.
"So what happened?"
"You asked me to come in after I took you home, and I think in your drunkenness, you broke down. I carried you to your room for you to sleep it off, but you asked me to hold you and tell you about myself, which I did. We talked for hours and I fell asleep here. I'm surprised you don't remember any of it."
"Okay, now I feel really embarrassed."
"Please don't. I shouldn't have stayed to talk to you. I should have left and gone home, but you seem cool and I like you."
"Um...ugh."
"Do you want me to leave? I understand if this is making you uncomfortable," he said as he rose from the bed.
"No, it's just...I don't know what to do right now. I just woke up to someone I don't even remember, who I kind of know, but don't."
"So, how about this: I'll go make us some breakfast, you do whatever it is you usually do in the morning and we'll talk over eating. Sound good?"
"Okay," she mindlessly nodded.

As she showered, she wondered why she hadn't noticed Antonio before at the club. He was toned and pretty good-looking. Maybe it's because no one really looks at the bartender at the club. People trying to meet people at the club are always scouting the floor. She felt kind of sad at that realization that Antonio was invisible to her, yet he seemed to know more about her than she did of him. He also was a gentleman, not taking advantage of her for being inebriated. Of course, if she was going to tell this to her girlfriends about last night, they'd laugh or think she was lying.

Walking out to the kitchen, she smelled heaven. The aroma was so nice. It turned out to be omlettes with tomatoes and caramelized onions and french toast. A bartender that cooks, too? That's just too good to be true, she thought.

He was pouring a glass of crisp sparkling French vodka with orange juice in it.
"Wow, I'm impressed. This looks like a breakfast for champions."
"Thank you, I only know a few things."
"No, thank you. Thanks for you know, not doing anything to me last night."
"Hah, I should have left though. I'm sorry about that."
"It's okay. This awesome breakfast makes up for it."
"Well, then I'm glad. Hey look, it's about 10:30. I should go, I don't want to keep you from doing other things. I'm working this Thursday and Friday night. You should come by. Drinks will be on the house."
"Haha. Too good of a deal to pass up. I'll see you then."
"Great. It's a date."

She led him to the door and just as she was about to close it, Antonio turned back and said, "I really hope to see you again soon. I enjoyed listening to you last night and I'd really like to talk to you, not just when you've had some drinks."

Closing the door, she found herself excited to go out and to see him this time.

Here's What I Want

2012-01-18T23:47:00.000-08:00

[with LD]

Don't tease me

I'm here

I'm ready

And bare

Please don't make me beg

Just give me what I want

Send a shiver down my leg

Not only touch me to taunt

I know you like my body

I'll do what you wish and flaunt

As long as you get close to me

And give me all I want

Make me holler

Make me scream

Move me like my conscience is what you own

Take all you can redeem

Go all the way, get downstream

Til I can't muffle out my moans

Make this night a dream

Show me all your schemes

Go...

Up, down

Inside

All around

Side to side

Sideways

Back and forth

In a maze

Point it north

Humbling experiences

2012-01-16T20:15:00.000-08:00

For a long time, I didn't quite understand the need to "appreciate" what you have and count your blessings until my wife and I took a vacation back to the land my parents were born.

From my father's stories, I knew that he had made the treacherous journey to America alone, and that he left just after 1975, but there was still so many unanswered questions, stories he left out until "I was older." Now my dad's been blind for almost a decade, my mom is with dementia and too weak to make the journey with us.

Before we packed up to go, my mother and I discussed what places I should go see and she gave me the addresses to the remaining family we had over there, including an old address of a village, where I have an older step-sister I never met.

By the morning, we set off on our 14-hour flight to what seemed like traveling back into our family history and much of a world unknown.

....................//....................

We got to Mui Ne (southeast) and sipped on some fresh coconut juice near the beach there, right before a monsoon came down on us. That forced us to stay at a loft for the next couple of days. That night, my wife, Thuy suggested that we try the bistro right outside the resort.

As we walked to the restaurant, we saw a little girl standing in front, under the eaves, trying to escape the rain. She was very thin, tanned, and wearing a worn-out long shirt with sandals. She held a tin can, begging patrons for change as they left. My eyes winced at that sight. She couldn't have been older than 12. My wife nudged me in the stomach, and just when I was going to put a wad of 20,000 Dong (almost $1), Thuy invited the little girl to eat with us.

There were no menus, whatever was caught that day was what everyone ate. They served cua rang mui (crab fried with salt) over rice and fresh fish. For dessert, it was dragonfruit and bananas. While we were eating, the little girl scarfed down her bowl of rice as if she was afraid the food would be gone before she had her fill. She drank all of the soup and savored every grain of rice. I watched her lick her fingers clean of the crab salt and realized just how I never notice the simple things I have (or am able to do) that I think nothing of, which make other people satisfied (full).

The little girl thanked us several times for the food and asked if she could bring the leftover bananas (which Thuy and I didn't touch because we were full) home. So she stuffed her pockets with the bananas and said goodbye. When we, ourselves left the restaurant to go back to our room, we turned the corner to see that same little girl handing out the bananas to her younger siblings to eat.

....................//....................

As soon as the monsoon passed, Thuy and I took the next train to Hue (the central region) to visit my family. I had a step-sister (dad's daughter with his first wife), an aunt (dad's cousin) and a great-uncle there. We had to take a small boat across the lake and walked over a creek on a monkey bridge to get to the village in the rural side of town. There, I asked a boy riding on a water buffalo if he knew where Ong Ngo Viet Liem (my great-uncle, Ong = mister) lived. He took me through a string of bamboo on a small dirt path to a straw house at a clearing. An elderly man (who I assumed was my great-uncle) sat out front, weaving a broom.

The boy told him that he had guests from America and went on his way back. The man stood up as we got closer and said that he had been expecting us since my mother wrote him a letter. I didn't even know she had sent a letter.

Although we all couldn't catch everything we said to one another, Thuy said it was clear that I was related to this man because we had the same nose and that the way our eyes looked confused was similar. My great-uncle invited us in and told my aunt to come out to see us. She smiled wide when she saw us. She grabbed my wife's hand and my hand in hers, squeezing them as though we were so far away for so long, this was her way of making us real, and not just a picture in a letter. Not letting go, my aunt, Co Linh (Co = aunt) pulled us into their tiny kitchen and insisted we stay for dinner as well as for the rest of our trip.

I waited until we were all settled in and for Co Linh to rest first to ask her about my sister, Yen. Co Linh looked at me with pity and told me that she had been gone for a long time, that she died a few years after my dad fled the country. Thuy asked her for more details about my sister, and other questions popped into my head. Did my dad try to reach her? Ong Liem said that Yen was mad at my father for leaving her and refused to write him back.

The next day, Co Linh led us to my sister's tombstone just on the hill overlooking the village. She told us her story.

Ngo Hong Yen died at 19 of sunstroke from working the fields. She worked on the farm, plowing the rice paddies and carried clay vases of fish sauce to town to sell. My father was a pilot for the southern government, so right before the southern capital surrendered, he and his comrades had to board the US naval ships before literally getting their heads skinned by the communists.

My father's first wife had died after she gave birth to Yen, so when my dad left, Yen was all alone. After the fall of the capital, the Viet Cong forced people to move to the "new economic zone." Along the way, Yen found a group of children abandoned by their parents during the war. Yen took these kids in to take care of as her own, so she was forced to return to Hue in isolation to keep neighbors from gossiping.

Co Linh mourned the fact that Yen was unmarried, never had a boyfriend, or even met someone romantically because she spent her time raising and taking care of those orphaned kids. We were shown a picture of Yen when she was 17. Even though she seemed frail, she was beautiful. Thuy commented that a lot of young boys probably would have noticed her and asked to marry her at once if she went outside often. Co Linh laughed and said that it was such a waste of a pretty face to not get married, she almost wished Yen didn't find those kids, but she said it was probably God's blessing for her to have raised them.

Curious, I asked whatever happened to those kids she took care of. Co Linh told us that they went off to school just like Yen wished for them, and that they have their own families now, all over the globe: one living in France, another in Australia, and another in Boston. Co Linh showed us the pictures they sent her through mail. They had been privileged just like me and doing well for themselves.

Before we left for Ho Chi Minh City Int'l Airport, Thuy and I thanked Co Linh and Ong Liem for having us and I got the addresses of those kids, just in case I had more questions about my step-sister. As we rode the ferry back to town, Thuy and I looked at each other, feeling like we finally understood what all the sights and things we had witnessed on our trip, but knowing that there was so much more our stay couldn't convey to us. I vowed to her that one day, we would return.

....................//....................

We came back to the states feeling that nothing was the same.
I told my parents how our relatives were doing, and told them the story of the little girl. It was then that I bombarded my parents with questions of their past and especially with my dad, I asked him about my step-sister and his life before living here in the states.

It has been several years since that trip and I still think of that little girl and her brothers and sisters huddled under a tree, the story of my own sister and how she sacrificed her life for those children, and I think...how lucky are we?

More Than

2012-01-15T14:52:00.000-08:00

F***ing Boyfriend - The Bird and the Bee

That evening, he came home and found her sitting in the darkness of the living room, eyes closed and damp from sobbing. He carried her to bed, woke her up, and apologized for being late. It was not the first time. And that was not the reason she was upset.

As she let his words fill the air, his hands trying to say what his words did not, she fought with him, even though she knew she would lose every time.

She remembered a different time, when she'd surprise him waiting at home. He found her wearing nothing but her heels, engaging him to do as he pleased after a long day of being told what to do at work. She had the knack to turn him on, making his pants fit him a little tighter with her movements. All she had to do was blink, ride her tongue along her lips, and bend her back, asking him to touch her without words. And with just a kiss placed coyly on the sensitive spot on his neck made the evening fade into the morning with murmurs and waves of motion subsiding into the night.

He used to be able to land on her mind when his body arrived in hers, but tonight, her mind is blank.

She held tightly onto his body, viciously clasping her legs around his torso. She clamored at his back, her moans drowned out in his greedy mouth, as he made her take all of him in. He groaned as well, when he pulled her in closer one last time. He finally collapsed on top of her and she fell asleep under his warmth.

She woke up and felt him softly snoring against her face. Freeing herself his limbs stretched across her bare body, she quietly slipped out of bed. Though it was 5am, it was still dark outside. The darkness was too hard to overlook and not take advantage of. She packed up her things, the few that there were, and made her escape.

She looked back at him. She had thought she meant everything to him, but something else always won. Something else was always a priority before her.

Not wanting to only be an option anymore, she left.

Crushing.

2012-01-13T21:13:00.000-08:00

The situation is unorthodox.
He's left with suspense and a crippling frustration
We all want someone who we can identify with, express our feelings, to be our inspiration muse.
Not knowing how to cope, he could not produce.
He sees no direction, no answers to his questions
Interactions with her are coming to dead ends.
His creativity with her ceases.
And she confuses things he does not do anymore, and complicates.

For humans, you can love someone that doesn't love you.
But without restriction, it becomes messy.
One keeps trying for affirmation in the other person and if they deny it, you seek the reason in which you are not desired.
The flaw you don't want to hear about.

Missing someone when they're not there ends up being grounds for having a crush, instead of wanting someone you have constant interactions with.

Tony Yang

When you're interested in someone, you forget that you have already submitted.
Infatuated with the little bits, but imagining a whole world.

Then when he finally decided to fess up, he realized the reality isn't like what he had conjured up in his mind, it comes out angry. Angry that his plans and foreshadowing and the actual outcome did not match. He tried to protect and hold his social appearance, desperately seeking to appear more dignified, more correct, and mightier in his judgement. Not knowing that all the while, he was the fool. The fool all along.

Vanity

2012-01-13T20:02:00.000-08:00

While she waited for her assistant to bring her the prosciutto sandwich for lunch, Beta called one of her best friends in California.

"You arrogant bastard."
"Hey hey hey...what happened to 'Hello and how are you?"
"You need not to show off the fact that some poor blonde girl with low self-esteem practically threw herself at you and you merely showed her lukewarm interest."
"I'm the victim here. It's not my fault she violated me by pressing her body parts on me!"
"Whatever. I called to ask you if you ever caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and thought, "damn I'm so hot."
"Err...no, I don't normally look at myself in the mirror."
"Well, it just happened to me."
"That's odd. 'Happened' implies that something acted upon you, and you may be an unwilling participant in the incident. I think you meant, 'I just did it."
"I think LMFAO's 'I'm Sexy and I Know It' is about me."
"Wow. Look who's talking."

These Chains Keep Me

2012-01-13T00:04:00.000-08:00

I didn't know what he wanted from me. It had been so long. There was only a couple days left in the year and I wanted to start it with a blank canvas. I wanted a new beginning, a fresh start.

He said he wanted to make me happy, but he didn't know how or if he is the one to. How am I supposed to interpret that?

I believe I can be happy without him, but I think I would be happier with him. Our "relationship" tests my patience. I ask him a question, but I don't expect an answer, even though I want one. I wish I was strong enough to leave and let it go, but every time I try to, something keeps pulling me to stay. Every time I feel like our exchanges are getting less and less personal, he sends me a message and I somehow think we're close again. He opens up on his own accord or only when I ask the right questions, never moving beyond safe.

It feels like I have to give up so much of myself for so very little in return. It feels so very one-sided, like I have to be the one to risk my heart first, give up my dignity, break my own rules just to move back a step. I give into my feelings and sacrifice my demands and expectations of him, forfeiting my mental well-being, to only be able to gain his trust and nothing more. What about his vulnerability? I have to help him protect it by not delving into the deep end. Not fair. So be it. Answering with questions and giving indirect answers to my questions, even though he has nothing to hide. Or he shouldn't, if he's being honest. I put so much of myself on the line, but he doesn't take any chances, himself. He says he's not scared, that he's a risk taker. But what has he done to show that? Why hasn't he asked me to be his? Why hasn't he given his heart?

I feel like I am all alone in this. This thing I sometimes think I imagined.

At times, it seems like I can't tell anymore. I can't gauge his temperature on the situation just from what he says, and I'm uncertain of when he'll talk to me next.

I wish he could read my mind.

Every time I have to wait or him to decide to answer me, I become more resistant, stealthier, colder, and unrelenting.

I don't get why it is.
I say what I want. I say how I want it. I say how I feel about his lack of response to what I want. Why is it so hard to get that?

I compromise my time and a lot of myself to be with him. I wonder from time to time, if he even still likes me all that much. Maybe every time I complain, he becomes distant. Maybe the fact that I am the bad cop, always bringing stuff up pushes him away or makes him like me a little less each time.

And for all the times I try to distance myself from him to see if he would bother me about what's wrong or even cared that I'm not there, I get all weak and I end up apologizing first.

He must know how to pick when he responds, because at the point of feeling unwanted, he finally speaks up.

I fail, whenever I try to get close.

Impossible Pursuit: Part VI

2012-01-12T16:32:00.000-08:00

Lunch was pleasant and before she returned to her desk, Mr. Morgan reached for what she thought was a handshake, but really was a hug. She nervously patted him on the back in return, not knowing what else to do, but she had to admit, it was nice and he felt really warm.

After coming home from work, she reviewed her conversations with Mr. Morgan to Lani, she got dressed as her friend did her hair and makeup. Ever since lunch ended, she had been counting down the hours and minutes to dinner. She spent all day thinking of what to talk about and wear. After much deliberation, She had remembered to keep it casual and not dress up too much. Picking a simple skirt and top, she chose matching earrings and heels. More colorful than her work clothes, but not gaudy. And for the finishing touch, a spray of Dolce & Gabbana's Light Blue on her wrist and a dab on her neck. A beautifully fresh scent that lasted for hours.

When she finally opened the door at his knock, she saw his eyes flicker, and trail down her body. He looked dapper as well, in an argyle cardigan and dress shirt under. He wore gray slacks and soft black matte shoes. He was always suited up at work, so this was some deviation from usual. He looked so relaxed, she felt kind of foolish for spending so much time on her there's-not-much-to-be-done-here look.

He picked The Spotted Pig, and their dinner was so delicious, she had to make a mental note not to have too many "seconds" and look like the restaurant mascot in front of Mr. Morgan. For what seemed like only a moment, conversation lasted for 3 hours. He spoke much of personal things about himself, but never forgot to ask her to participate, listening intently. His eyes never left hers, and the laughter they shared was too much to control. He drove them around town and she was thrilled. It was a nice change to be out and about with someone not so familiar. He laughed at her jokes and the way she got startled, so that she couldn't help, but smile.

They talked for hours and at around midnight, he took her home and told her, "I really enjoyed having your company tonight. I hope you had fun."
"Yes, I did. Thanks for taking me out. I guess I'll see you on Monday, then. Goodnight Mr. Morgan."
"Please, call me Max."

He laughed and asked if he could see her again.
"Of course. Come by my office next week. See you, Max," she smiled.
"Wait, since we won't be seeing each other until next week, can I get a hug or something?"

She was facing her apartment door and turned around to give him a hug, when he leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek. She grinned again and as she began to turn back to her door, he took her hand, bowed, and kissed it before he left.

She walked in her apartment, still in a high from the date. Lying on her bed, she looked back on the evening from the dinner all the way down to the sweet gestures at the door. She smiled at the thought and was just about to fall asleep when Max called her.

He called about seeing her again before Monday and she asked him when and where did he have in mind. He told her he could come get her in a bit. He took them to this dark lounge that looked like a club from the outside, but had billiards tables and card games situated around a bar. He led them upstairs past a dance floor with jazz and swing music playing to a private room for board games and drinks. She tried to suppress her approval when he choose to play Scrabble with her. They played a really long game and she was impressed by his choice of vocabulary. He laughed when he scored double by adding just a few letters to the words she had already spelled out.

And when he took her home for the second time of the night, it was her that leaned in and kissed him.

Impossible Pursuit: Part V

2012-01-09T21:03:00.000-08:00

She didn't know how to respond, so she grinned sheepishly. She couldn't tell if it was a compliment or a complaint, but he had to have picked that up from paying attention to her.

"Hey it's already 6, you want to join me for dinner? My treat."

This is your chance, say yes, she thought to herself. "Oh, thanks, but I got some things I need to finish on my end."

"Okay, then let's reconvene tomorrow. I'll send you my momentum test runs by tonight. Have a good evening."

Why did I chicken out?
Mr. Morgan left the meeting room shortly after, and she sat still, pondering his last words to her. Did he mean that she was hiding something? What exactly did he think of her? Why did he seem so interested in why she chose to do what she does for a living? Whatever the reason, she was glad that he was noticing things or paying attention to the personal things she says.

She decided that she'd have to find out why and bring it up sometime. Maybe tomorrow. Time to talk to Lani. Maybe she knows what to do.

After entering the door of her apartment, she kicked off her heels and took off her coat and headed towards her bedroom. She thrust herself on her bed and buried her face into her pillow. Her crush was getting to be too much. Propping herself up on her arms, she reached for her phone and called Lani.

"Oh girl. You should have went with him! That was an opportunity!"
"I know, I know. I panicked at the last minute."
"Okay time for strategizing. You're good at that. That's your forte," Lani smirked.
"Yeah, but not in this department."
"Yeah. You amateur."

So for the next few hours, she and Lani thought of how to casually ask Mr. Morgan on a hangout, without making it sound desperate or too much like a date, although if he showed enough enthusiasm, she may frame her invitation accordingly. Both ladies decided that it would probably be best to just play by ear, because being too rehearsed would make for some awkward silences or slip-ups not easy to recover from.

The next morning, while working on their respective parts of the project, she straightened up and went over to his corner of the meeting room.

"I hope this isn't too forward, but...thank you for helping me with this project. I really enjoyed working together this last month, sharing ideas, and collaborating to come up with our patch-up solution."
"Oh, it was my pleasure. Thanks for letting me in on your expertise. You definitely made my first experience at this firm very engaging and I feel that I've learned much from you. I see why you are Miss Financier."
"Hah. You are too kind. I hope I didn't offend you by not accompanying you for dinner last night, and to make up for that and show much I appreciated it, I want to treat you to lunch. What think you?"
"I'd be glad to. How can I say no to a smart and attractive woman such as yourself?"
"Great. Come by my office at noon?"
"Sure thing, but on one condition. Can I take you out for dinner?"
"Um...yes!" She quickly closed her mouth, realizing how loud she answered, and continued, "I would like to. Should we meet up somewhere?"
"No, I can drive us, if that's okay with you."
"Oh okay. I'll give you my address then."
"Awesome. Thanks. See you in a few."
"Later."

Impossible Pursuit: Part IV

2012-01-05T23:11:00.000-08:00

[excuse the scatter-brained kind of plot, and/or lack of development]

When Thursday finally rolled around, she had cleared her schedule to allot two hours of each morning for the following month devoted to the patch up project. Just when she remembered to email Mr. Morgan about his availability during the week, he knocked on the door.

"Can I come in?"
"Yes. I was just about to email you."
"Oh good. We need to start talking strategy, pronto."
"Indeed. Have you looked at the formulae from last term?"
"Yes, I did. I do have a couple questions for you about that."
"Shoot."

He asked her about the kurtosis data on recent S&P 500 values and for the next couple weeks, they researched, briefed to each other about their findings, and discussed outcomes over food. She was impressed with his depth of knowledge, extraction of data, and how he went about to procure equations just from looking at one piece of the picture. His intellectually nerdy, secret expertise mirrored her own.

In those couple of weeks, he was so nice and courteous, it was then that she caved into her expanding crush and felt comfortable enough to ask him more personal things outside of work. Things like where he came from, where he went to school, and how he got into the industry. Then he asked her a question she wasn't expecting.

"How did a beautiful woman like you, a pearl of the ocean, get thrown in the shark tank?"

She knew men found her to be attractive, but she had always been around men whom never dared tell her that. She pondered how to best respond: negate the statement because she wasn't used to the compliment or completely ignore that bit and focus on the last part of his question, or jab him in the gut like she would if a stranger on the train said that.

She knew she was quickly running out of seconds before it became awkward, so she said simply, "I wanted to swim to the bottom and see if I could come up again."

He nodded as if he understood and stayed silent, which made her nervously analyze her own answer, scrambling to add something. After about a minute, he started to speak again, much to her surprise, "Remarkable. You're clearly the doctor, ventriloquist, painter, and sea captain of this firm, but I suspect there's a greater reason why you're in the game than just to prove you can do it. I bet finding what that is tougher than finding a window for arbitrage."

Impossible Pursuit: Part III

2012-01-01T16:52:00.000-08:00

For the first time in what seemed forever, she was doing something spontaneous enough to get her out of her element. Everything about her was usually calculated, methodically executed.

She hadn't spoken to a guy that was not her friend or colleague or business partner in a long time. What kinds of things are appropriate to talk about with a stranger? What could she offer? Here she was, an accomplished overachiever with nothing to say about herself, nor a selling point.

With the first round of dates, she stuttered a little, but quickly gained confidence when she figured out after the second and third guy she chatted with, why they had trouble finding dates. They were non-observant creatures and as soon as she realized they had spent the whole 4 minutes talking about themselves, she knew it wouldn't work out.

Of course, by the end of the night, although she gave her number away to a couple guys and received a few in the form of a pretentious handout of business cards, the idea quickly became old and un-comforting in her mind. Going out and purposely making connections with random strangers, lame. What was she expecting? Happily ever after hardly ever comes packaged like that, and if she had to tell someone a story of how they met; meeting up for drinks after speed dating someone for 4 minutes hardly seems like the romance she would be proud of.

By the next Monday, it was back to the jungle in the office. Papers and people seemed to float in and out, back and forth all around her, as she sat and calculated trades. In that flurry of thoughts and blur of action, she felt lonely. She had been for a long time, but it wasn't until after the speed dating that she realized just how scary that thought could be. Maybe meeting new people isn't such a bad idea.

Her boss knocked outside her office and she shook out of her ponder.
"Come in! Is there something you wanted?"
"Yes. This is Mr. Morgan," Man appearing to be in his early 30s stepped out from behind her boss. He had a light shadow on his face and his dark hair was well-groomed. His suit looked very nice on his tall and lean frame.
"Hello. It's a pleasure to meet the secret weapon of this firm. I've heard much about you."
Her boss continued, "He is one of the new team recruits here to take a look at the momentum spreads. I want you to show him the ropes. I want you two to get acquainted and patch up the mess from the drop in the Dow earlier this month. See how close we could get to meeting our next projection. We need to reallocate. We are far from finished."
"What about the commodities in Brazil?" she asked.
"I don't need you on that anymore. Put someone else in charge of it. I need you to focus on this right now. Okay, just a heads up. Carry on."
"I guess I will be speaking with you more, later," Mr. Morgan smiled as he followed her boss out of her office.
She nodded at him and put her head down on her desk.

Fcuk. Fcuk. Fcuk. She thought to herself. She should have been careful of what she wished for. And now she got it, but she doesn't really want it...at least not right now, not at work. She had already invested so much time in the other project and she was sure could handle this new project all by herself. Now a man has been hired to help her? And why did he have to be so good-looking? Ugh. Her boss must have wanted her to learn to be more of a team player or something.

As soon as she finished strategizing for the day, she went home and gave Lani a call.
"Ugh, Lani. You cannot believe what happened at work today."
"A trade exploded on you?"
"No. Worse. My boss hired someone to work on the new project with me."
"So what's wrong with that? Is he going to get all the credit or something? Does he know stuff?"
"No, it's not that...I just. I'm not used to working on these things with someone else and let alone someone I didn't know."
"You've been antsy about meeting people lately. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. It's jut that I've been feeling lonely and out of my comfort zone."
"So I take it that means the new guy's hot."
"Burning."
"Mmmm. So then this might be a good thing, right?"
"I don't know."
"How long is this project going to run for?"
"For as long as it takes for our numbers to start normalizing."
"Well, okay, just go with it and see. And don't be unnecessarily defensive if he tries to be nice. I know you."

Impossible Pursuit: Part II

2011-12-27T18:54:00.000-08:00

At 29, her mother worried that her daughter was living alone, away from home.

Although the reason she moved away was to provide her family with everything they never had, she didn't have everything. Having her own family was a thought that seemed far away from her mind by the way she acts, but constant reminders from her mother began to depress her.

Surely having a man in her life was excessive. She got everything she needed all on her own. What could a man provide? To warm her in the cold nights? Please. She often looked through her office window at the couples walking down in the streets below in disgust, with their pathetic display of affection.

Her mother was so insistent about her going out on a date, that she even took up kung-fu classes to be able to bring home "strong" boys for her daughter to meet. After the first few times of returning home to a setup and being coerced into her mother's matchmaking, she learned to avoid coming home.

And not seeing her family, for whom she fought her way into the concrete jungle to protect--depressed her even more. Indeed it would be nice to come home to her apartment and have it not be so empty and the walk up the stairs not seem like such a enduring task to do alone. Have a buddy to cook for, to cook with, to eat with. Someone to have inside jokes with and get her quirky humor while watching tv. Someone to grow into a better person with, because self-motivation only goes so far.

She took out her phone and started reflecting on every guy that she rejected advances from, guy friends that wanted more from her, or just any guy she knew in her life. Maybe the guy that made a snide remark about her looks on the train this morning wasn't half-bad looking. "Wait...what the hell are you thinking? Snap out of it!" she told herself. Now she's being pathetic. No need to have boys when you've got plenty of friends. Time to call up some girlfriends.

"Hey Lani. I was thinking we need a catch-up date and I want a drink with someone interesting. When are you free?"
"I'm guessing you mean me. How about tomorrow night?"
"Yeah, that works for me. Where do you want to go?"
"How about Club V for drinks?"
"No, we go there too much."
"Leo's Bar and Grill?"
"Nah. I just went there last week and the service is eh there."
"Um...okay. uh...."
"Let's go somewhere new, somewhere we haven't been."
"Oh, ooh...I know. That new speed dating joint downtown."
"Hmmm. Speed dating? I don't know if I really want to..."
"C'mon, it will be fun. You and I could have aliases and make up a fake bio, but we're already awesome. Plus, you owe me for lunch."
"Fine. Pick you up at 6?"
"Okay. See you soon."

Did her friend sense that she was feeling like a loner? Did she sound desperate for a night out?

When she finally got to Lani's place, Lani gave her a disapproving look.
"What?"
"You're going to wear that to go speed dating?"
"Yeah. It's tasteful and elegant."
"No, honey. If you want to score some numbers, you gotta put on something hot. Here, I have something you could borrow."

She put the dress on and was surprised at how much skin it showed. Suddenly, she had goosebumps, and it wasn't even chilly out.

"Okay stop trying to pull the dress down. You're going to stretch out my dress. And stop folding your arms, hiding yourself. You look fabulous, now let's go."

Impossible Pursuit: Part I

2011-12-27T15:49:00.000-08:00

Can female financiers fall in love? Is it possible to cultivate a viable, working relationship when you're one of those 1%-ers?

This is the high stakes. It means shooting for the impossible.

She makes a 6-digit income from nothing. She makes the impossible happen everyday out on the trading floor. Armed with her switch blade of a calculator, she's the hedge fund's top alpha rates trader. She can out do any mathematician in mental math. Multiply 3 digit numbers in seconds, yup. She schemes her plays by visualizing derivatives in the air. Who does that? Surely, this is the reason why most men are intimidated by her and so, her outstanding list of accomplishments become repulsive when they exceed a man's. Or is it because she hangs with the boys and can do just about everything a man could do, except for urinate in a projectile motion? Or maybe it's how she looks so cool, poised, polished, and straight-laced in her high heels, thus making her poker face seem like too much of a challenge to take on. A beautiful woman that difficult to woo must have something terribly wrong with her. Maybe she's exactly like the ice woman she seems to be.

Her all-male colleagues often compare her to fictional on-screen personalities such as Malory Archer, Margaret Tate, Miranda Priestly, and Wilhelmina Slater. Only her small, select group of friends know better than her bourgeoisie order. She surrounds herself with the likes of film producers, supermodels, magazine editors, fashion designers, and other 1%-ers less notoriously associated as such.

But let's back up and explain why she came to be in the glittering financial industry in the first place. It's no Pretty Woman story, nor is it your typical rags to riches. You see, her family came over from Viet Nam to the states on April 29, 1975, right before the fall of the southern capital, Sai Gon. She wasn't born until 1982, but she grew up struggling to understand her parents' stories, finding their truths hidden behind a facade of pain, collected in the lines etched on their face. Growing up with what most Americans would consider a deprived childhood, with meager resources available for sustenance, she vowed that she would somehow get her family a better life. One where they could not be denied access, nor promises of a greater outcome and instead working their bones into the ground. Her family deserved better and one day, she just had it with the suffering and set out to fulfill her dream.

Adorned with a physics and business economics double major degree graduated with summa cum laude honors, an MBA with a thesis on behavioral finance, and a CFP, she was ready to live the American Dream. After over 150 job applications and 47 interviews, she landed a job as an investment analyst for Credit Suisse. Since then, she moved to become a senior trader at PwC (Price waterhouse Coopers) and now works for an exclusive hedge fund, only available to investors with an average annual income of $400,000. In a span of 2 years, she collected a 90k salary, a typically undeserved bonus for the industry, and bought her parents a nice little home in the hills.

Now what? She has made enough money to pay her own retirement in Fiji, for all of her parents' expenses until their death, buy a condo, whole floor apartment, 3 new cars, consistently donate to her favorite charities, and still have a lot of money left over.

Sketch #306

2011-12-13T23:49:00.000-08:00

"When I see you walking with her, I have to cover my eyes
Every time you leave with her, something inside of me dies." - La Roux

[I really want to continue this story, but I can't think of how]

It was time to come out from my cave. I hibernated from family and friends for weeks. That's what happens when you're like me and put too much trust into someone that doesn't return your favors. I'm a giver, so I naturally gave in and got up from my bed (that I swore I would die in) when my friends left me 56 messages on the answering machine, saying that I'm supposed to get out and let people celebrate the god-forsaken day that is the anniversary of my birth. What was that for again? So that I could grow a heart in my mother's womb, only to come out of it barely alive, give my heart away, and get it broken. Right.

It was also when my friend Lily passed her bar exam, so she came over to tell me that first and get ready together. She gave me a pep talk about how I'm Miss Financier and she's Miss Esquire, so we're a force to be reckoned with. I swore to her that I would hold my head high, smile lots, and show him up if he decided to show his face. Plus, she promised to introduce me to one of her hot law school colleagues that's going.

And sure enough, Lily swept my hair up so it was visible that my back was bare and my front dipped low. What are friends for, right? Slut-ing you up for the perfect revenge against your ex. "Because the best revenge of all is happiness. Nothing drives people crazier than seeing someone else have a good life." And in that final glance in front of the mirror, I felt empowered and ready to kill 'em.

We entered the restaurant and I saw him sitting at the edge of the long table chatting, and I was about to show him what he was missing when he left me, but I wasn't prepared for what I saw next. He locked eyes with the girl from across the room in the other direction. She walked over to kiss him and then sat down next to him.

I sat down and forced a smile to my other friends present, but I felt my heart sink. I should have been happy, but I was upset. He was laughing. How could he do that? That bastard. As soon as the waiter came to take our orders, I ordered the bottle of merlot a little too loudly. He looked me dead in the face, then down my dress, and I think he opened his mouth to say something, but it could have been my imagination.

When the drinks finally came to the table, I downed my first glass and started pouring another, when Lily's hand on my arm stopped me. She gave me the pull-it-together look. It's hard to act like you didn't have a history with someone you've felt like you've known your whole life. I tried to look at him differently. Actually, I tried averting my eyes the whole dinner, but my gaze naturally rested to where he was and I could feel my blood pump harder when he touched her or smiled at her. I bit my lip, I grit my teeth to stop them from chattering, I tried stiffening in my chair. I couldn't control my bodily reactions, so I got up and ran out the door to burst. Letting out the yell I had pent up in my lungs, I felt relief and as I saw my breath in the cold air. Coming to my senses, I started to psyche myself into going back in and finishing my meal like a mature adult. It was my birthday, anyway. I looked fabulous. I should be, too.

Somehow, it was too big of a task to ask myself to commit to, because when Lily went outside to ask me what was wrong, I just lost it and I could hear "It's my party, I can cry if I want to" at the back of my head.

Late.

2011-12-12T19:23:00.000-08:00

Gentle Rain - Cafe Del Mar

He made a vow to return to her one day. He hoped it wasn't too late and that he hadn't made her wait too long.

There in the courtyard, she was sitting in her white ao dai on a bench, waiting for him. She looked up, turning to him, and he waved at her.

Her ao dai was thin, almost sheer, and fell lovely on her slender body, conforming, without even any effort. The wind made the ends of the dress fly up, her hair wipsy in the air, and this evening, it looked like a shade of brown under the sunlight.

Hoai Nam

The slight breeze had been evident through the silk fabric, as he noticed her chest contract faster as she came closer to him. He suffered just watching her walk towards him. After three long years of not talking, she still made his heart skip a beat or two.

When she finally stopped at the spot he stood, she smiled timidly and greeted him, her voice as gentle as he remembered. He half made an attempt to embrace her, but her face was staring at the ground, and looking elsewhere, avoiding his gaze.

"So how have you been? It seems like forever since I made the promise to come back and I've been waiting for this day every second." he said.
She started to sob and when she reached to wipe at her eyes, something sparkly caught his eye. On her hand was a gold ring and that's when he understood. He was too late.

What running can't hide.

2011-12-07T00:09:00.000-08:00

Sincerely, Jane - Janelle Monae

She had always impressed others with the impermeability of the fort she built around herself. It was why she took to being in the financial arena. One of her outstanding talents is her willingness to be alone and misunderstood. In her life, she played a city girl who ran with the stiletto-trekking and inaccessible high society girls in Gotham City. She mastered self-control and an image of life's promises, fulfilled by a glittering lifestyle. She was armed wearing a poker face, hardened surface, and cool expression.

However, these were merely a facade, fractional pieces that concealed a truth, as all affectations hid something. But in this part of intimacy, it didn't matter how cosmopolitan and sophisticated she tried to appear, or how high she built her walls, or how many miles she has placed between her past and present.

Three Seasons / Ba Mua film poster

Though she had traveled far and long from home, he could still make her cry.

In the Middle of You

2011-12-04T22:52:00.001-08:00

I'm Into Something Good - The Bird and the Bee

He longed for himself to be situated in the center of her existence.

Clothed in a thinly woven dress, she was already breathtaking, but the sight of her bare body was beautiful. All skin and her. It was in this manner that he felt alive in her presence. In her true essence and form before him, even if only in that instance, her realness made he, himself to be real.

They haven't touched yet and his pulse started to race. He anticipated how she would feel on top of his own nakedness. And as the moon rose and the night grew darker and darker, the only sounds that passed through the room were moans and breaths.

When he felt her chest contract against his own, right under the sheets, he wondered how dreams took him where they would never be when they were awake. He basked in her warmth and dug his nose into her hair, as if to make a memory of her permanent in his mind. And the taste of her lips and her skin on his tongue...he couldn't seem to stop. Somehow, she gave him that energy.

Her lips move and there are no words, but they invite his penetration, which seem to punctuate his life sentence of unanswered loneliness. He wanted to take her through and through, but not without demonstrating gratitude. He gave to her in triumph: a seed, a token of his own appreciation, in an embodiment of another life.

He sang a song in her ear as their bodies moved together in their own rhythm. And she murmured quiet waves of emotion back to him. Back and forth, their inhale and exhale, rapid shifting of weight, and increased heart rates translated their unspoken promises of the future.

Everything isn't all of it.

2011-12-04T19:32:00.000-08:00

Fire Bomb - Rihanna

She's sitting in her office on the 23rd floor of the building and looking out her floor to ceiling window.

She's made it. She's where she's wanted to be for years. She's realized her own dreams, yet she's thinking of home and what she left behind to pursue this life.

Closing her eyes, she sees his face and almost desperately, she tries to remember what his voice sounded like. That voice used to be the one she wanted to hear everyday. But even with the good times they had in the past, it just didn't stand out enough through the problems that were escalating in their relationship. They changed as individuals, wanted different things, and neither one was going to give up what they wanted for the other.

Spinning her swivel chair around to face her desk, she checked the time. It was time to close for the day.

Sitting in the darkness of her apartment, her mind went back to the time before she had the things she had now. Did she have more? Her mind continued to delve into the past and she found herself longing, wishing at the stars, for something she didn't know.

Sketch #302

2011-12-03T20:12:00.000-08:00

Teardrops - XX

When you're trying to be independent and prove to everyone that you don't need anyone, you're only kidding yourself.

After a long and hectic day at the office, she took to making her own dinner, cleaning around the apartment, and curling up in bed with a book to get her thoughts lost in. And on the weekends, she went out with her girlfriends, going to church, and partaking in parish activities. It was her way of not ever feeling alone.

Of course, her plan didn't work for when she caught the flu that was going around at work and so, she was forced to take two days off and spent the evenings and weekend in. This was when she moped around, starting to feel sorry for herself that no one was there to take care of her. It was silly when she thought of someone making soup for her and tucking into bed, but she couldn't shake that want off, no matter how much she tried to convince herself. She slipped into her pajamas and cried. She felt pathetic. Her longing was pathetic. She was breaking down in the darkness because she had no one to share her troubled mind.

Thoughts permeated into her mind as she tried to sleep her cough away.

She walked into the door of the apartment and was suddenly blindfolded by him. He told her he had a surprise for her that evening and took her hand to lead her around the room. She heard the water running in the bathroom and as he drew her nearer, she smelled the floral soap tickle her nose. Pulling off the blindfold from behind her, he told her to relax and then went to turn on some music for her.

From within her slumber, she could feel her skin get warmer when she dipped her body into the hot bath. It was soothing and she saw herself enjoying the music and the fragrant steam. After about an hour, she got up and toweled herself dry and brushed her teeth.

Little did she know, he was waiting for her in the bedroom. Heading towards the bedroom, she saw a bouquet of flowers laid on the bed, tea light candles lit all around, and two glasses of pink wine with strawberries in them. When she looked over at him on the bed with her questioning eyes, he said that she deserved something nice after a hard day at work.

After making a toast to her, he motioned her to sit on the bed so that he could rub her shoulders. He had wonderful hands, because the kneading on her neck and back slowly lulled her to sleep and when he released her shoulders, she whimpered for more. He laughed, which made her tug at his arm, pleading him to continue massaging. He retracted his arm and she fell back onto the bed. He caught one of her legs that had kicked up in the air, and showered kisses along her limb, moving his body up until his face was aligned with hers.

She was given a kiss so passionate and so sweet, she instantly reacted to that sensation by wrapping her legs around him. He felt so warm, being so close to her. She liked his skin touching hers and feeling the prickle of his shadowed mustache. He pulled the knot of her satin top and his hands found its way down to her shorts.

Her fever for lust got too heavy and she woke up with a jolt that started from her aching loins, up her ribcage, and to her chest. She wanted to be strong, but at the same time, she wished there was someone she could turn to.

Transient is a dream (Part III)

2011-11-28T20:24:00.000-08:00

Gypsy Woman - Little Dragon (cover of Crystal Waters)

It's easy to pretend, but it's not easy to ignore.

He knows it's bad to stay with someone that doesn't have the same wants in a relationship, but he couldn't help thinking that he could change her mind. His friends tell him to stop, but he would do exactly what they tell him not to do. And after every time of seeing her or hearing her voice, his hope is strengthened, even if synthetically.

If anything could make a man weak, it was her. She broke his resistance.

It's strange how he became so used to her and so addicted to everything about her. She was his affliction.
She liked him, too, but not in the same manner. And when she comes over to his place, he knows it's over for him.

His lust turns into a rush during their drive to the beach. Sweat beads crawl down his neck and he realizes he doesn't have enough time to plot how to make her fall in love with him. He'd have to go spontaneous and hope he catches her with the element of surprise.

After rubbing the last bit of sunblock on her shoulder, she pushed him down on the lounge chair and before he could say something, she kissed his throat. He thought for a split second that he saw something there in the sparkle of her eyes, maybe her real emotions that she tried not to show to him, but it could have very well been her eyes welling up with lust.

He loved, but also hated that they were the closest when she was drunk, or when they were fooling around.
So in hopes to send her a message physically, he tried to take it as high as they can go. Hoping to expose a part of his heart and soul, when he undressed and exposed himself.

Soon after they peaked, she got up as if she felt nothing and walking towards the water, she throws her bikini back at him, which gets caught on the straws of their tropical mixed drinks.

He blinked. There's no turning back, he knew he was a dead man.

Transient is a memory (Part II)

2011-11-26T00:16:00.000-08:00

Rain - Gaelle

For a couple weeks, he found himself calling her to come out and spend some time with him on Friday night, Saturday night, and Sunday afternoon and having to see her or hear her voice each day. He felt that something was out of place when he went a day without calling her or vice-versa.

Often, she stayed on his couch over at his place when they were out late into the night and he insisted that she shouldn't be home alone.

Bahrain by Chris, Arabia

Although she always acquiesced to his words, she didn't really suggest any of her own or made suggestions for what to do. She thanked him for every dinner he paid for and every time he'd open the door for her or take her home, and said she enjoyed doing things with him, but sentimental exchange was minimal. They didn't discuss anything outside of the activity they were doing together, whether it was eating, drinking, dancing, or shooting pool. They didn't talk about the human condition, philosophy, religion, politics, family, the future, or what they each wanted in life.

To be frank, he thought a lot about her outside of their time together, but the sex is probably the main reason why she was still seeing him.

On the third Friday after they had met, he woke up and instead of shaving in the direction of his shadow like usual to avoid ingrown hair, he thought to achieve a cleaner look by shaving against the grain. He thought he would test the water and bring up the going-steady idea if she noticed and mentioned anything about his shaving.

Their Friday night routine was to eat dinner at someplace they Yelped and hit up a pub or small craft breweries afterward. he would get his usually dark beer flight and she would choose a different wine flight every time, accompanied by cheese plates and crackers.

Dana Robinson

Bacar, Cleveland

She would drink herself into a haze, and he'd carry her home, into his bed.

While at his place, he would insist that she should get some rest when guilt plagued his mind of taking her when she wasn't sober, but his own carnal desires and his own body would betray him every time. He'd give into her intoxicated persuasion as soon as she lay her body down beside his and peeled off her clothes.

He would ravish her into the night, low moans and whispers passing their lips, she left a trail of saliva down his chest and not being able to help his reactions to her touch, he claimed her mouth and returned the gesture by taking her legs and enfolding them with his waist. What propagated his behavior was how she felt so good near him the next morning. He itched to make her stay longer whenever she left.

"Did you use a new razor today? Your face is smoother today," she asked him after she caressed his cheek from under the covers.
"Nope, I just shaved against the grain."
"Oh. It feels nice."
"Yeah, thanks for noticing. Um...look, I've been wanting to talk to you about something and I feel like I need to talk about it now."
"Ooh. Something wrong?"
"Well, not wrong. I just have been thinking about things like how I really like spending time with you these last few weeks and how I always look forward to seeing you every weekend."
"You're not going to tell me that you're falling in love with me, are you?" she laughed at her own remark.
"Not exactly, but it could be correlated. I just want to know if you want to keep seeing each other and if you see this turning into something long-term like a relationship," he said hesitantly.
"Oh...uh..." she turned her eyes to the ceiling.
"I mean no pressure. You don't have to give me an answer right now. I just wanted to tell you about some of the thoughts I've been having. I really like you and I'd really like to continue what we've been doing,"he gave a light smile.
"I don't know what to say to that, but I'll just be honest with you. Look...the thing is, I have a lot of fun with you and I want to continue doing this, but...I don't do long-term. That's just not my style. If it's okay, I just want to hang out with you and kick it and enjoy the weekends with you. I don't want anything more," she turned back to face him.
"Okay. I can respect that. It's just fine with me,"he managed to avoid his sudden disappointment and forced a grin.
Holding onto his arm, she said, "Thanks for telling me."
"No problem. I just wanted to let you know," he averted his eyes and turned to the ceiling.

Transient is a moment

2011-11-23T16:10:00.000-08:00

"You hijacked my mind, so I'm falling in circles." - Give it Back / Gaelle

It was his childhood friend's wedding, and he had planned to play a few rounds of poker before wishing the bride and groom a happy life together, and calling it a night. After the second hand, his attention suddenly diverted from the hold 'em game at the table to the sound of stiletto heels clicking on the granite floor. The sound stopped somewhere behind him as he turned his head to look towards the rest of the reception area outside.

His eyes slowly ascended up her mile-long legs, bare and tan, to her well-defined hips, and to the decolletage that was exposed above the bust-line. She must have known how attractive she was, because she wore a dress so conforming and liberal in showing her skin, he was quite sure that if her dress was cut any lover, he'd see her rosebuds. Like a sweet dream, his eyes took in her dark ravenous hair, lovely andfull of body. And they finally met her eyes, brown and warm, glistening with an air of enigmatic energy.

Making it his own challenge, he finished his glass of champagne, nodded to his friends, and excused himself to the dance floor. He strategically came up behind her to lightly tap on her shoulder, and when she turned her head, his lips were almost touching her ears. He asked for a dance and she answered him by moving his hands down to her waist.

When she was dancing on him, he couldn't take it. The contact of his skin with hers left him sexually charged for more. He was really taken by her allure. Such sensual beauty in the arrangement of her physical parts and the coupling of her sultry voice made his heart race.

With reckless abandon, he pulled her in for a dip and asked if it was okay for him to see her again.

She said that she'd think about it for one more dance. Usher and Monica's "Slow Jam" came on the stereo, fading into "Frontin" jazz cover by Jamie Cullum, and then before they knew it, the "last" song lasted about 15 minutes, intermixed with the words of Rose Royce, Dru Hill, and Stevie Wonder crooning, "If you really love me, won't you tell me?"

And she keyed in her number on his phone, thanking him for the dance, and bidding him goodnight.

Not the same.

2011-11-21T20:38:00.001-08:00

Sweet Disposition - The Temper Trap

It started with a note.
She wrote it in cursive, in the tiniest font, and filled two pages with her thoughts. He opened the sealed envelope and caught a whiff of the vanilla perfume that permeated the cream-colored stationary. As he scanned her handwriting, he brushed his fingers across the indentation in the paper, and touched the lipstick smudge at the bottom corner of the second page, next to her signature.

Everything she did made him feel something. Most of the time, he couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was that he liked about her. It touched him that anyone would think of him so kindly and with so much affection and undying attention. In fact, it was so much, it was overwhelming and what to do with those feelings consumed his thoughts. Although he told her a few times that he was appreciative and that he would listen when she needed him, what could he possibly do to mirror her tender ways? He felt useless, that a simple guy like him probably had nothing to offer this wonderful, caring woman.

Of course, he knew--err...he thought that she'd always be there. He seldom thought of the future, or when he discussed it with her, he never mentioned her being a part of it, her potentially being there long-term. It was assumed she knew that on his end, and perhaps he thought it unnecessary to say something so inevitable.

He kept having flashbacks or this reoccurring dream that he was walking towards her. She was in the off-the-shoulder dress he loved so much, it was simplistic, but took his breath every time. He started to question whether or not it actually happened, if it was a memory, or just his imagination.

It had been three years since they met and began to get to know each other, and a month since she left. He couldn't believe it was so long ago. It had felt like only a week ago that they went on their first date into the city, and when he called her later that night, her voice so sweet on the other line.

She had just taken a shower after he dropped her off at home and he could hear her smiling from hearing his voice on the receiver. And from that realization, he knew he would fall for her instantly, and that somehow, having her around would change things for him. He just didn't realize it would mean knowing her inside and out, sharing so much of himself with her. Shifting from living on the autobahn, to having conversations with her become his daily routine, looking forward to the couple hours he could spend with her every weekend, only to never see her again after all that time.

Sex Lies

2011-11-20T22:14:00.001-08:00

How can a man like that hold me in the palm of his hand like he does? Since I was smitten, I'm hoping he says every word, and he always does. Those looks, those arms, those legs around my curves...they did just what he meant them to do. His love's going to let me down and drift on and last for so long. His promises just sell me a dream. The lover of my life, damned if I don't love him, and damned if I do. He said he got my back, but it feels just like a knife, it cuts right through. He said we needed to talk like he found someone better to do.

Entrapment.
His eyes wandered around the room and settled somewhere upon her body, and the way he approached her...he was full of himself, but she was somehow drawn to his air of potency. Like some tall bourgeoisie order, the light particles have her entranced, and full of curiosity.

The night found herself in his bed. He bit her legs and she liked his moves, and after the smokey mirrors became clear again, he was gone.

Shivvy

Divine and Incomplete

2011-11-11T22:53:00.001-08:00

I've Been Thinking - Handsome Boy Modeling School / Cat Power

It was a novel concept, the idea that the gods were more like us humans. They can only humor themselves so much with creation and destruction of life, that they eventually want to know how humans feel such things as hurt, love, happiness, sadness, fear, hopeless, triumph...

Never mind that he had the ability to have created her in anyway he chose, or to alter her being to become more perfect, or to make her fall in love with him. This god did none of that. He took it as a challenge to exist within the means given to the common people and left his powers and authority to manipulate his reality.

He saw her walking barefoot, admiring the shoreline he contorted with the raging waters.

"You have a warm smile," he told her, as he caught her lanky body in his arms from fear that the ocean current would knock her sideways without warning. She was muffling her laughing now, reveling in the sudden closeness of his body.

"What's so funny?" he asked.
"I just thought of how I have one of the most beautiful treasures from God."
"So what's that?"
"This...your face looking at mine, and me being able to enjoy that feeling and be with you right now at this awesomely pretty beach."
"No wonder you're smiling so much. So this is what a sea creature see when it's swimming around someone so lovely and beautiful. I bet many other guys besides me, would want to hold such a beautiful and wonderful girl like you in their arms."
"Yeah right," she said, as she stuck her tongue out at him.
"You know, you still look very beautiful no matter what face you make," he winked.
"Nah. You're just attracted to weird girls like me."
"More like...you're my sexy secret."
"Is that so?"

Mike Baird

She playfully splashed some water at him and hopped backwards, anticipating his chasing after her.

Of course, in his brilliant plan, he forgot the fact that he was a deity, therefore, he was immortal. He couldn't have her forever, because humans didn't live for forever. And finite was their patience, conscience, and being.

In human form, he wasn't aware that his emotions were much more difficult to suppress. The more he felt for her, the more he didn't know how to express his thoughts, and the more he wanted to tell her, the more afraid he was of losing her. So he kept his distance.

It was only their second date and he felt like he was falling for her. Thoughts of her being part of his life permanently had tapped into his mind. He hadn't noticed that they had spent nearly the whole day together at the beach until the sun began to set and the sky got darker. He had a whole day of events planned for the two of them, but he didn't mind that they were only able to do one of those things, because as soon as the sound of her laughter registered in his brain, his heart trembled.

"Hey, why don't you come join me?"
"I'll be there in just a sec."
"Come here! Look! I found a baby sand crab! Isn't it cute?"

He knew he had to make her his when he had the chance, but he had to figure a way to gauge her feelings about things. It was too soon to tell and meanwhile, the emotions within himself surged and welled up inside so quickly when she was near him, that he had to close his eyes and hold his breath to steady himself.

"Oh no, it got under the sand again. C'mon, help me catch it."

She was curiously hunched over, looking at the spot where the crab dug itself under the sand and as the waves came crashing at her feet, he thought it was a perfect opportunity to catch her off guard. As soon as she cackled at the cold, he grabbed her from behind, picked her up, and swung her around.

"Let's say you and I get some dinner and talk about our next date?"
"Since when did I agree to a third date?" she teased.
"Since you didn't say no, yet."
"But I might!"
"I'll take my chances to what you have to say after dinner."
She pulled herself up to his ear and whispered, "That might be when our next date starts."

Beautiful by you.

2011-11-08T18:57:00.001-08:00

So Nice - Bebel Gilberto

He was the man that never let her feel unwanted. And he never let her forget just how much she meant to him and how he placed her in his own existence. His constant reminders never made her doubt herself or doubt him. She was rarely self-conscious because he made her feel comfortable, absolutely sure, and not even for one second allowed her to question his heart's intentions.

In less than half a minute, he was able to convince her to halt her charade in front of the mirror, seeing things of herself that he didn't.

"I’ve been thinking of dying my hair in lighter blending colors like..."
"No."
"But it will make my boring hair look so good! My cousin did a similar thing and it was so pretty..."
"No."
"I mean it. It will look better, and I won't do too much, I'll just cut it…"
"No. You’re already pretty. You look perfect right now."
"But I just...want to…it won't be too different. I'm just going to..."
"Honey, no. You don't need to do anything."
[pout]
"My dear lady, please stop doing things to change the way you look. I mean it, you have natural beauty. You're physically attractive. If you really want to work on something, work on your life--family, friends, work, your health, faith...it will make you happier, and in a real way, affect the way people see you and the way you see yourself in the mirror."

And she knew that she was and wanted to be the best version of herself when he was there beside her.

The Descent

2011-10-30T22:55:00.000-07:00

Memories - Big Sean

He lives modestly compared to his dreams. He also tends to think too much and it's clearest at night, right between praying and falling asleep. The epiphanies and fantasies come alive and the inner workings of his mind conjure up how to execute the most intricate of plans, but of course, by morning light, he's forgotten and the confidence he built up in his brain has faded and left him feeling antsy.

He knew that he didn't have forever because time doesn't wait for anyone. She couldn't wait for him anymore. Time was neither an entity you can renew nor recycle. Everything had an expiration and he was running out of time.

She always told him to reach father than he could go, ask for more than he could get, and just keep moving, because he could never know how big his potential. He let his fear of rejection and failure hinder his pursuits. The uncertainty of how things would work out simply rendered him immobile. He stopped prematurely in his tracks. His lack of faith in himself, his disbelief in her words, and his indecision meant that he didn't have faith in her, or in them. And so just like that, she was missing with time.

Now all alone he is left wondering what went wrong, but all along, she was right and now she's gone.

He knew he loved her when he first met her, but he would never tell her. He couldn't. He didn't know what binding his life with his would mean to her. He thought his feelings would be a burden to have. He didn't think he could make her happy, so he let her blame him for all of their problems. They would fight and he let her tears fall freely from her face, when he really just wanted to hold her tighter.

And now she left because what he did wasn't right.

He didn't know if he could even make it work, he just contemplates and keeps himself, mostly to himself. He wants her to hear him, but he does not speak. Stubbornness takes him hostage and refuses to tell her of all the guilt he wants to show. Hiding his pain and pretending that nothing is the matter, he debates his conscience.

Because he cut the future they could have had, he's stuck on that and stuck in his path. So he doesn't have a future anyway.

Everywhere he goes, he sees something that reminds him of her face, voice, and way. That's what happens when he denies himself his own emotions.
How many drinks it took before he could muster up the maturity to tell her? How many days before he got over himself and admitted everything?

How many missed calls before you considered fake?
How many dreams before it's considered fate?

He wished he could go back to being young and carefree, but time doesn't let anyone be.

I Hope That You'll Remember Me

2011-10-30T19:20:00.000-07:00

Blue Sky - Common / Makeba

Lying on my bed with my hands folded on top of the comforter covering me, I look to the ceiling with all of our memories, wondering if they were just dreams. I don't know what's real anymore. The thoughts suffocate me into a slumber, my mind dozing off into a dizzy whirl of the mache white paint above me. Its blankness blurring me.

I fantasize death sickness because maybe then, I would be heard. And somehow, I'd get my wish in the news of my fate. Maybe we'd see each other again, and I'd feel your hand holding mine once more.

I don't even want to think if you just came to pity me, or out of respect for the people we both knew. I just want to see you and it sucks that I can't give you a better reason to see me.

I just want that. If you only could, please tell me why you had to hide away from me for? And then you only show up when I'm dreaming. I hate the way you move through scenes, and all I am is a fiend to hear your voice and begin our story. But it all had to change when you grew your wings, and mine just are lame, staying here. And all I am is alone, alone with my thoughts and what we had and could have had.

Pretty are the thoughts I have of you, even though time flies, the moments never die. I try to smile at the thought of you, comforting me, the thought of we. I was so blind and naive. You're gone and slipped away, but I still can't believe it.

I keep my windows open, hoping that you'll come by and see me sometimes. Just to visit and talk. I hope that you'll remember me, even when we're not close anymore. I hope that you constantly see or hear things that remind you of me. But if I could get one thing in the world before time is up, I'd still have your heart. Until then, all I have are these memories and dreams. And I'll scheme about telling you how I would do anything and everything it would take to bring you back into my life, even if it meant the end of mine.

I had these dreams in my head of an endless fear
I could see it from my window
Wouldn't take that long to get me there
Keep running til' I can go
Remember the beautiful things that life could give me
Crazy how I'm the one
Could've been any way, but I'm sitting in the air
With the wheels up staring at the sun
Oh, in the sky we'll find the light
Oh, until high we'll shine at night
Now we in the skies, blue skies
And we going higher, that's right

Mind Fcuk

2011-10-24T23:29:00.000-07:00

Novacane - Frank Ocean
I see you, directly. Speaking.
I see you directly speaking.

It indicates your interest in me. Suddenly becoming “busy,” implies your inherent incapability, unless you implied that I was too busy for conversation. You want to talk to me, but you know you can’t fake genuine positivity.

Did you want him to make things easier for you? Should he tease you, so you don’t have to be aware of your insecurities? But you'd consider the banter and mocking to be pet names, wouldn't you? Would it be better for him to just act like he's self-absorbed and talk only about himself?

I bet her level of self-esteem calls for them. Something tells me that if he treated her like the dirt he wears shoes to walk on, not even worth his feet, that somehow she would love him forever. She gets off on denial.

I want to prove myself to be worth receiving love, as I don’t believe myself to be worthy of it. You can do one of three things. You can push me away, by merely showing or sharing pure validation of self and I will see you and reject you, as I reject the love I so desperately seek. Or, you can relentlessly belittle me, and turn me into your little 69-cent candy bucket, for pure entertainment until you think a woman with true self-value comes along, and you dismiss me with a $20 bill in my garter belt, like the slut you think I am.

Or he can simply ignore it, and continue on his life. He may take this as an opportunity to express alchemy, and list the experience in the “manipulation” folder. If she's lucky, she may even make it to the role of “un-named, taken body” in one of his stories. Even a crossed out line of numbers in his little black book.

But I would rather use you to benefit myself by writing this story.

Occupancy in a Vacant Space

2011-10-11T23:05:00.000-07:00

Addiction - Kanye West

I had quite a bit to drink tonight, it being the weekend and all. So that's how I chose to celebrate it. Never mind the fact that I was alone and that the weather had just gotten colder, which made that bit of information kind of pathetic. I love and also hate my perpetual oneness. Unfortunately, I have this bad habit of bringing extra cash every week, just in case I run into someone, a friend, an old flame, someone to help me get through the night, someone to stay forever and take this feeling away for good. It didn't matter if I was cheapening myself. It's beyond sad, I know. Tonight, I remembered how I did that and loathed myself for it. I thought about the last time I actually expressed how I truly felt about another person.

It was harder than it seemed.

One instance that particularly hurt was of him. It wasn't a novel way of meeting someone and it could have been lewd or indecent. Club scene, you know. Although there were go-go dancers and strippers, he enticed me to be his only dancer and he was my pole. I liked that just my presence every time made his pants a little tighter. And he'd only put it into drive, once he unfastened his belt. I'd let him crash my place and spend the night, where he'd stay for 3-4 nights a week. And just like that, he would leave and I still wonder if I just imagined it.

Tonight, I looked at every face in the bar, hoping to see him. There was no particular reason why or plan of action if I did, and it was just foolish. It was an urge, secret wish at the tip of my tongue. When you want something for so long, you start hearing, seeing, and getting reminded of it everywhere.

Sometimes, I think he's the one intoxicating my mind.

For Pink Fest.

2011-10-10T20:53:00.000-07:00

Yes - Musiq

[my October contribution]

She was about ready to give up and isolate herself from everyone and the universe after the first couple chemo sessions for her malignant lump in her right breast. The oncologist said that by the third session, she may start to see her hair fall out and thinning. It was bad enough that she practically had no left breast. It mostly removed a few years ago, due to the cancer that the doctor said was confined enough to extract with a simple operation. She was now going to get uglier and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

She curled up on her couch, huddling under her flannel robe and hugging the throw pillow, preparing to die there. She thought that maybe she could sleep it through and wake up from this nightmare she was having. She fantasized how she would go. If only there was an easy way out, she'd kill herself and get it over with. No one would have the burden to take care of her and she wouldn't have to live as a freak.

Her scheming was interrupted by the sudden baldness that belonged to her husband, walking into the living room. "So...how do you like it?"
"Oh my gosh. What did you do to your head? Wha...how...why?"
"So we can look cute together, duh."
"Why did you do that? You didn't have to do that. You're so crazy."
"Crazy for you."

Overwhelmed by the sight of his shaven head, she burst into tears and let her hands feel his freshly cut hair. She sobbed uncontrollably then, and fear filled her head with what her cancer made him do. Sensing this, he held his wife's hands on his head and pulled them down to his heart. "It's okay. It's all okay. Look at me. Whatever you're going through, we're going to go through together. I'm never leaving you, no matter what. So I want you to stop thinking about whatever you're afraid of because it's going to be fine."

She felt the rise and fall of his chest and instantly felt better about the whole ordeal. Closing her eyes, she leaned forward to listen to his pulse.
"What say you about us having a kid?" He asked, as he knelt down and rested his head on her stomach.
Surprised at his question, she paused and then answered, "I've already asked about it."
"And..?"
"Well, it's not 100% guaranteed that we'll be able to."
"But we still have a chance, right?"
"The doctor said it should be okay a month after the third session, when I gain my strength back."
"Sounds good to me."

For the rest of the evening, they sat back and watched movies, as he held on to her and made sure she was safe and well-rested.

Untitled Story #15

2011-10-09T23:24:00.000-07:00

Can I Wait - Jason Harwell

She eyed him begrudgingly from across the room.
He tried to ease the tension in the room by giving her a soft, remorseful grin. He wanted to take a last chance to convince her not to go through with the divorce.

But before he could think of what to say or do next, he was mildly distracted by her presence in the room. Even after dating for 2 years and being married for another 2, the sight of her skin still made his heart jump. He began to let his eyes roam around her body, starting from the vast expanse of her long legs and as she bent over the desk to sign the final court papers, he caught glimpse of her decolletage from under her shirt.

His body ached to be closer to her, to undo his mistakes and undo the rest of her blouse and heal their marriage through the touching of their skin. He closed his eyes to concentrate better and instead, he tasted her words from a distant memory on his tongue.

She must have worn the mini to show him what he wasn't going to have any more. It nearly drove him crazy. He averted his eyes to quickly think of a way to reason with her.

He wasn't around when she wanted or needed someone to unload to about work and her stress and concerns about their marriage. Not ever. To be honest, he always avoided being home because if he was home, they would have to talk about what bothered each of them and their would be arguments and fights he didn't want to have. He worked long hours and when he wasn't at work, he went out with his boys, played soccer on the weekends, and hit the gym. In retrospect, he should have had those fights and faced the truth. Maybe if he did, they wouldn't get to this point, dividing up everything they had together and with her packing her things up in boxes and bags.

If he could do anything to make her stay, he'd have to remind her of what they had and they could still have if they just held on.

"Hey, I think there's some stuff of yours still left upstairs in the walk-in closet."
"Okay. Thanks."
"Here, let me go help you pack. It's the least I can do."

As she went towards the stairs, he followed closely behind and covered her eyes. "Remember when we first bought the house and I took you upstairs?"
"It's a little too late for that, let me go."
"Just answer the question, please."
"Yeah I do."
"Remember what we did our first night here?"
"Yeah, but that was a long, long time ago."
"I remember you suggested that we try to have a family."
"That didn't work out and we haven't tried after that night."
"No, but you were my family. You were all I ever needed, baby. Let's talk about it, please."
"There's nothing left to say. Now let me go finish packing up."
"Please, just five minutes is all I'm asking."
"Fine. What do you want?"
"I want you to come up stairs with me."
"Remember how this hole got here?" [pointing to the dent in the wall]
"Yes, and I told you to get it fixed, but you wanted it to stay there as a souvenir."
"C'mon, it's a good story to tell."
"Not at all. You just liked to embarrass me."
"No honey, I loved that we got so carried away and left out mark. It just shows that this is our house."
"Was...our house. And don't call me honey."
"It was when I knew what your weakness was, remember? I wonder if it still works."

Holding onto her waist, he kissed right on the nape of her neck and before she could refuse and push his arms away to release herself, he held her lips in his. The familiarity of his touch made her lose control and she forgot that she was supposed to leave him. It was as if all of the pent up emotions released from that kiss and she kissed him back, her eyes seeping with that tears that she couldn't hold back any longer. She reached over to pull up his shirt, when he let go of her and searched for her eyes.

"Wait, we can't do that. Not like this." She nodded in agreement and ashamedly bit her lip and looked up at him. "I haven't been around and for that, I'm sorry. I thought I was doing us a favor and only talking with you when I had good news or something happy to say. I let us die. I should have fought for you, baby. I made the vow til death do us part and I still mean that. Don't go. I want to be there for you. With you...until the end. I want to try having a baby until we get one and after we get one, I want to try for another and another and stay with you until you're sick of me coming home to take you to bed."

"I still love you. I don't want to leave, but you have to talk with me, even if you don't want to."
"I will and I want to."
"And another thing, fix that hole."
"I'll do that first thing tomorrow morning, I promise. But I won't promise that there won't be other holes."
"You know what? Just shut up and kiss me."

This Sadness

2011-10-08T23:10:00.000-07:00

They say that sadness is a blessing.

While the lady smokes at the table adjacent to mine, I can't help but wonder, even in her lonely self, smoking and staring into space, the light particles bouncing off her apparent concentration. In her regal sense, just the fact that she got to where she was, unashamed to show off her oneness, shows that she already has more than me. She's luckier than I am. At least she has something or someone to wait for. Slow puffs, exhaling slowly out of her nostrils. You could tell she was an expert smoker the way she held her stoge and blew clouds.

And the gentleman at the table to the right in the business suit, was sitting curiously un-still. He twittled his fingers as his eyes darted around the room. Every once in a while, he looked over at his wrist to check the time. He looked tense, nervous, even perplexed. He had dark circles under his eyes, and that just made him look tired along with the receding hairline. He kept twisting what I assumed was his wedding ring on his finger. Perhaps things weren't going well at home.

There was a younger guy sitting in the dark corner of the back of the restaurant. He nursed a shot of what looked like Scotch for quite some time. At one point, he reached for his phone as if he was sitting there for too long and needed to be entertained or something to distract him from his melancholy. But he hesitated and put his phone back in his pocket, resting his head on his arms instead. I imagined that it was a woman, that he wanted to call. Perhaps someone from his past that he regrets is no longer in his life.

As soon as the waiter came out of the kitchen with my penne alla vodka, I dug in and continued to let my eyes wander the masses.

From across the room, I saw a scene unfold in front of my eyes. I was too far to hear what they were really saying, but I filled in the words in my mind for my silent film. It was a man and a woman locking arms, walking up to the hostess. It looked like a date for a serious relationship, perhaps they were celebrating a birthday or anniversary. While they were following to hostess to their table, they were stopped midway by a lady in purple that seemed to know the man. The man greeted the lady with a hug and pointed at the woman he came in with, as if to introduce the two. After the couple sat down at their table, I saw the woman looking flustered and seemed to become progressively more and more uncomfortable. From beneath the table, I saw a velvet red box that the man held in his hand. She began to have a heated argument with the man, wiping at her eyes. The man looked stunned. After about 10 minutes, the woman stood up and seemed to storm out of the restaurant, while the man went after her. I assumed it had something to do with the lady in purple.

In the mirror that lined the wall in directly in my view, I saw watched the reflection of a couple holding hands at the table from behind where I sat. The man wore a naval uniform spoke intently, while the woman looked at him and listened. The man eventually got up, showed her the time on his phone, and hugged her goodbye. It was a long embrace, as if neither one of them wanted the other to go.

I would be lying if all of the moroseness didn't affect me. I guess when someone leaves our lives (by death, voluntarily, bitterly, abruptly, or even on mutual terms), those memories are still fresh, there with the sadness, and when times goes by, the sadness starts to fade away (and so do the memories)...and so that's why it's a blessing. It serves as a reminder.

And I figured, maybe we're all just beautifully sad.

Your "Crazy."

2011-10-02T18:14:00.000-07:00

"So I saw my psychiatrist today…"
"Hold on, you have a psychiatrist AND a psychologist? Damn."
"Are you just going to mock me or listen to me?"
"Okay, okay. You know what they call them here in California?"
"No, and I don't care, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway."
"Life coaches. Mindset consultants."
"Wow."
"For all the shit you give people, I’d just like you to be self-aware. Forget it...let’s talk about something else...I did bikram yoga this week."
"You do yoga? Next, you’re going to tell me you’ve thrown in the towel on life and you’re just going to move to Hippietown, USA."
"It’s just that you’re. Not. That. Girl."
"You know what? You need a therapist. Very badly."
"I know I’m crazy. I know some people don’t like me because of my personality. I don’t need a therapist to fix me, I've fully accepted my crazy. And you should, too."

Encanto

2011-09-14T19:35:00.000-07:00

What's so alarming about her is that nothing about her is alarming. Yet, she entices you.

Waitress by day, club singer by night. She leads a simple life, trying to sustain living by herself and also treating herself to little indulgences once in a while.

No one would imagine the server girl at Cheesecake looking 24 at most, was actually 31. Timeless like a diary-pressed rose.

Her sadness was hidden in layers of petals. She had a boyfriend once. They met at the very club she performed at a few years ago. He was in town for business and she was still trying to figure out her life. It was a great setup.

They could spend time and not commit to anything serious because neither wanted to be tied down with priorities. After work, he came over to see her just before she left to sing. Together, they would kick back and wind down, talking about each others' days and just about anything on their minds. Before either of them knew, they were getting used to seeing each other so often. She began to have dreams about a future with him in it and her original plans for her future started to change.

But it wasn't mutual, and when she asked him to stay, he declined and returned home, thanking her for her "friendship," hoping they could keep in touch.

Not a soul would guess that such a morose event happened to this beauty. But looking closely at the details, you'd pick up at the nuances. At the restaurant, she always looked around the waiting area, hoping to catch some familiar face. After her day job and coming home, she puts on her bodice and garter belts, tips a glass of Riesling and walks around her apartment, until she goes to the club and sings of her sadness. Riesling was the wine he introduced her to and before heading to the club, he had always stayed to watch her get dressed and watched her leave. When she performs, she doesn't stay on the stage. She walks about the crowds, searching and singing, hoping her voice would beckon him.

Lust: Technicolor Dreams

2011-09-14T19:09:00.000-07:00

Mr. Saxobeat - Alexandra Stan

He was quite conservative and frugal with himself, while enabling others to indulge in luxuries he could afford for all he wished and more.

His late night pastime was reading up on physics white papers and scholarly journals on economic theory, with old black and white films playing in the background. The noise served as his company. He had a habit of reading until he fell asleep with the lamp on.

Of course, in his slumber, his unconsciousness took him where we pleased. In the realm of his dreams, he was king of his own made up world, and his deepest desires and wildest fantasies came alive.

His youth would seem endless as he broke her down, working her into the ground. And they could go no lower than her lying behind the weight of his movements.

And simultaneously, his breath became shorter and his pulse rushed. The feline in his dreams knew the moves to seduce him. Dancing, projected in sultry figures on the wall, hypnotized him.

She strokes his back as a drop of sweat crawls down his spine.

.........................//.........................

She spent most of the day alone, lost in the harsh demands of her life. Keeping a schedule, she had little to no time for leisure.

And at night, she met him there in her sleep. Comfort was a misleading concept. Under the covers, she held tight to herself, clenching sheets, gritting her teeth, tossing and turning, as vivid dreams took her in the night.

Walking right past him, she wanted to reach out and touch him. She wanted him to take her right in the middle of the room. Shaking at the thought, she wraps herself tighter in her own covers.

What touch barriers could disintegrate and flavors of passion could her mind conjure?

She was ready for the unknown, the surprises, and the excitement...all of it.

And the thought of entangling with his limbs rendered her motionless. She kept watch of him in her sleep, following wherever he was, creeping in the darkness, and engaging in the tantalizing spell of his aura.

Gentlemen Are Not Nice

2011-09-07T20:46:00.000-07:00

Puttin' on the Ritz - Fred Astaire

For most of his life, his dad wasn't present. A landscaping architect by profession, his dad managed to provide for his family and the tradeoff was extended periods of absence. The raising of him and his younger sister was left to his mom, like most single-parent families. She did her best to teach and instill in her children, her sacred morals and values, passed down from generations before her.

His self-constructed identity, like most American youth in the modern era, was in large part created in front of a television. This isn't to say his mom used the idiot-tube as a babysitter. It was entertainment and quality time that she spent with her kids, when not at work. The matriarch chose what everyone would watch and so that meant her classic films, which shaped her son's own acquired taste in life.

Through viewing the oldies, he began to formulate his definition of manhood. As a child, he dreamed of being like Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, or Frank Sinatra, and so he developed his interest in girls very early on. There was some awkwardness that would separate him and his peers who wanted to be Batman, Wolverine, or Superman. When asked why he would rather be someone that didn't have any powers or cool gadgets, he'd simply say that girls liked them and that seemed to be enough for him.

Afro-Cubano, Beny More.

At 5 years old, he was already thinking about what girls liked. He would gladly role-play when a female classmate wanted to be a princess and him to rescue her from the top of the playground, as her knight in shining armor and prince charming. For the most part, his heroes were gentlemen. They were the epitome of the vary concept of a gentleman. They were worldly, well-spoken, polite, distinguished, well-dressed, chivalrous, and impeccably mannered. That was what he believed one thought of when they pictured a gentleman.

However, they were also rogues. Their characters were much more multifaceted and multidimensional. And as a young lad, he picked up on this. These gentlemen icons were also charlatans, rascals, vandals, knaves, swindlers, connivers, scoundrels...and boy, did their duality make women swoon! He understood their affect on women, from just dressing up more, too. Being a nice guy that stood on the side or acted as a shoulder for the woman to lean on every now and then (without much initiation) did not win women’s hearts. Nice guys finished last, every time.

It was a conundrum, though. It was strange to him how chivalry and diablerie coexisted. This notion was at odds to answer his own question of how to simultaneously be a good guy and bad boy. A good friend of his, a lady, told him that a gentleman was like a wolf. Calm, patient, but always attentive and prepared to look out for its prey.

He knew why the axiom “nice guys finish last” was quoted without question. It was in the word usage. The word “nice” is too neutral and mediocre of a descriptor of personality. It's for people women don't notice details enough to say. It's to say that guy is mostly agreeable. Not special. Just safe enough not to be someone to run away from. It could be emasculating, almost. Use of the word enters the friend-zone, not saying much of anything about a man. He easily saw why nice guys finished last not only in love, but life in general. Nice guys didn't take risks. Nice guys let her slip away.

Regarding the bad boy image, he also considers the expectation of women to be ethical and less corrupted by society. The expectation was procured for future mothers to be the sole role-model, able to raise their children and teach them by example. Forced to bear that burden of virtue, while also being prone to the same desires as any man, creates a boundary from which women speak of their humanly wants in meta-messages. A man that took the chance to earn her trust freed her inhibitions learns that she wants as much as he. Thus, enabling her to express her own wanton lust, when she felt that he would protect her dignity. The caveat here, of course, is time.

This, he saw exemplified in it time it took for women to be comfortable to let a wall down for touching, a first kiss, and other qualifications that suggests investment for trust to bed them. It was calculated by different variables for each female. But it all came down to trust and time to earn it.

You can say he was a patient hunting wolf. Before she was willing to be thouroughly indecent with him, she had spent a time testing his mental and physical capacity to determine that he was decent enough. He would play along in her game, tenacious to win her over.

It always surprised him how many times a woman would do a double-take as he hastened his steps to open a door or bowed his head to greet them in passing. But simple gestures like that barely penetrated the surface to grab the attention of the most desired of women. He learned of complexities of the dynamic of trust, when his own beliefs of how to woo a female had failed with a woman that he was more than just physically attracted to.

Prioritizing Impropriety

2011-08-29T20:09:00.000-07:00

Empty platters of appetizers, pitchers of IPA, takeout boxes, wine glasses, half eaten chips and dip, and pints of amber ale were scattered all over the kitchen and living room of their one floor apartment. They had just moved in, so it was a housewarming event for their closest friends and family to celebrate with them. After saying goodbye to the last of their guests, she scanned area and let out a long sigh. She was just about to head to the closet to find a broom, when she noticed him standing there, leaning against the kitchen entrance, blocking her path.

His eyes were glimmering with intent, and something mischievous swirled in them. Trying not to give into his aura, she crossed her arms.

"Ehem. Won't you do me a favor and let me go start cleaning this mess?"
"It's already too late for that. Leave it for tomorrow."
"Uh huh...well if I don't clean it now, you won't clean it later, so I believe you should move and let me get to it."

She tried to push him aside, but he would not budge, so she turned around and started collecting the cups and plates to wash. Not even a minute passed, and his arms found their way around her waist, pulling her away from the sink. His hands danced around the top of her sweatpants and landed on her hips.

"There's plenty of time to clean tomorrow. It's Saturday night. It's relaxing time for you."
"But I want to get the cleaning done and over with."
"No buts. I promise, I'll wake up and help clean."
"Okay. Fine. Remember, you promised."
"Want to go upstairs?" he asked quietly in her ear. He didn't wait for her reply and lifted her in his arms before she could protest.

Meeting in slumber

2011-08-29T14:32:00.000-07:00

After talking about when we would see each other, I drifted off to sleep, anxious to meet him there.

Taking him home from the airport, I could tell he was tired, jet-lagged, and just wanted to sleep. He felt bad for yawning earlier and said we could do whatever I had planned, but you know what? There will be other days, other dates, other times to go out. So just let him lean his head on my lap.

Before he could shake his head to detest, I slid my hand underneath his head and carefully kneaded into his neck and shoulders. He let out a soft moan as he closed his eyes. Just as I thought he fell asleep, I tried to lift his head up and keep it level while I got up. I heard him stir and he brought my hands down, pulling me to stay.

He glided his fingers down my legs, returning the favor, and silently told me that he was glad to be here with me.

I just wished it wasn't just in my dreams that I saw him.

Sleeping Spirals

2011-08-28T20:50:00.000-07:00

Our uncovered limbs slept on the folds of his wrinkled sheets, tangled up in one another.

The quiet moments after several intense ones were relaxing. I managed to sit up and took a long breath. Running my fingers along the length of his chest, I watched his eyes twitch and his body rise as he breathed. Lying back down on my side, I closed my eyes to let him continue to sleep. I felt his hand slide over my stomach to find my arms and gently cup my chest.

Tickled by his touching, I turned to face him and he stared intently, brushing the hair on my face aside. We had a conversation with our eyes and hands. I couldn't read his eyes or thoughts lay there. I just knew I liked being with him and that I wouldn't mind if he wanted to stay in bed today. I slowly traced the contours of his face and gave him a light kiss on the nose. We continued to lie there and neither of us said a thing.

His eyes became more serious as the minutes passed, and as he held me, I started to feel something very unfamiliar. He pressed his lips to mine and when we were finished, ended up on the floor, our bodies like a vine to a tree again.

State Unchanged

2011-08-28T17:00:00.000-07:00

The shrink thinks I need to take a yoga class to find my center. I then proceeded to ask her about her problems, starting with her past addictions to gambling, particularly blackjack. Luckily for me, she is understanding and good-humored about my obnoxiousness. I'm sure my bi-weekly visits must give her regular aneurisms. I once went off in a therapy session about how I was livid at an analyst for forgetting to properly check the date of a file. I had let him have it, right there on the trading floor. She asked me why I was so angry.

I answered her simply, "Because small details matter. It is what sets our firm apart from every other firm on Wall St. If he doesn't give a fcuk about his work, we become mediocre and that's not how anyone survives in this industry."

She nodded, trying to suppress a grin. "I meant in general. You seem to be mad at the world."

I like my therapist, but not because she's smart, but because she cares often enough. Which is why I listened to her and signed up for Bikram yoga. I BBM-ed my colleagues about this and realized that I might never "find my center."

"I’m going to take a yoga class starting Tuesday."
"You are far too competitive for Bikram."
"Are you trying to say that I can’t do it?"
"No. I am saying that you won’t relax and you'll get unnecessarily competitive."
"It’s never unnecessary. There's always some bitch that should know better."
"Haha. But that’s not the point of doing yoga."
"What are you talking about? Winning is always the point."

I realize I may have some sort of complex problem with my social skills.

The Slip Away

2011-08-28T16:19:00.000-07:00

You recall that she wore a white lily in her hair that evening, tucked snugly behind her left ear. It was a blossom you deflowered with your eyes. Lovely, delicate little thing she was, but her eyes were so inviting, they got you in cardiac arrest. Her lips beckoned for you to taste its sweetness. A thin maroon slip draped on her body, making the black bodice from under it very visible. It hugged her hips just right. And all of that was propped on some shiny lace up pumps you bought for her birthday just a year ago. She knew how to send your pulse racing, dressed so scantily like that, every time. It wasn't fair that you had to traverse the whole flight of stairs, walking from your parked car to see her.

"Wow. Look at you." you said with a grin, as she willingly slipped her hand in the nook of your arm. You tilted her head up for a kiss, brushing your lips along her nape, and took in her perfume.

You murmured something pleasant in her ear. She tried to say something in response, but her eyes fluttered shut to listen to your whispering and let you swoon her.

You didn’t notice her growing anxiousness, before your own carnal desires heightened. Suddenly, she placed your hands that have reached up to her exposed neckline, to your sides, reminding you that you are outside in the open. You quickly took her hand and led her to the car.

The whole time driving off, you were distracted by her presence. You glanced over at her legs that mocked you, pushing you to push the pedals harder as you sped through the highway. With your free hand, you began to titillate her skin, drawing lines up and down from her knees to the lining of her dress.

You drove up the coast and stopped near a cliff that over looked the bay below. Above you, the only light available was that of the reflections on the moon.

You didn't know she was breathing heavily until you put the car in park and turned off the engine. In complete darkness, you reached over to recline her seat. She leaned back as you massaged her arms and caressed her legs. Your eyes darted around, searching for the glimmer in hers, and you found them blinking brightly, knowing that beneath her bodice, she was ready for you.

Leaning in, you claimed her mouth, and she let out a sigh. Dragging your fingers across her chest, you sat her astride your waist, pushing her further into the seat. You made her take you completely and she willingly submitted, letting the seams of your leather seats scratch against her back.

By the time the moon settled and the sun rose over the cliff, you wondered if it was all just a dream, for only a wilted flower sat on the seat next to you and no trace of your meeting could be seen.

Children at work

2011-08-18T15:16:00.000-07:00

Google Campus

We play rough at work, and we really enjoy insulting each other, because it is really about the deep appreciation that we've finally found our own, strange, mutant kind. Given that a trading floor could double as an asylum, a normal outsider usually won't understand what we mean through our pranks and jokes.

“Would you like me to turn my notepad more towards you? Or are you done copying the notes from the meeting of which we both are in attendance?” I said to colleague with a raised eyebrow. The people around our conference table laughed.

“Which, by the way, is no cakewalk because you write like a chimpanzee,” he said quickly.
“I’d take that over looking like one."
“Gentlemen, allow me to introduce the Senior Rates Trader, now at 10 years old."
“You know, there’s an annual dimwit competition. You should be in it.”

Our boss, one of the firm's partners interrupted us and asked, “Do you two kids need me to be here? Should I step out and give you two a moment?”

We both straightened our backs. “Oh no, sir. Enjoy your lunch,” I said in a acquiescing tone as we quickly shuffled out of the room.

As I walked beside my colleague back to our desks, I looked at my Droid and saw that it was lunch time. “Hey, wanna grab lunch with me?” I asked.
“Sure, what do you want? Questionable Asian food from a shady corner?"
“Hey! We’re off the clock now. No more jabs until we get back to the office.”
“Fine. Let’s get a sandwich and sit in front of the building and watch everyone walk by on the sidewalk in silence. I need to build up my ammo for when we get back.”
“Sure. Game on, man."

In Search of Stars

2011-08-18T14:52:00.000-07:00

"Why do you go to these things? I know you, and I think that you find these fancy dinners and parties you attend, deep down are a waste of time. In fact, I think they mostly bore you. So why do you still go?" He asked as he drove us through the city.

It's interesting how things work.
I first became attracted to this man, because he infallibly saw through things right into the heart of them. This hidden, valuable insight gave him an uncanny power in life, as if he was able to control his world, which was something I desperately wanted to do with mine. As if it was easier for him to focus on the things that were important and discard the rest. He was never weighed down by the illusions that fooled the rest of us. He was traditional in that sense.

"I go for political reasons," I answered, hoping the resolution of my tone hinted to him that I didn't want to discuss it any further. I saw his eyes tighten, but he didn't utter anything more.

After a while in silence, he spoke again, "I know you're protective about revealing your past, but what do you miss most about home?"

I stopped breathing.
That was something I didn't expect to be asked. I cleared the lump in my throat, having no idea how to bridge the ocean that separated his past from mine. The question threw me back to my childhood days where a flood of memories swarmed into my head. A familiar ache spread from my chest down to my fingertips as I remembered the triumphs, pain, abandonment, struggle, loss, bitterness, and hope...so much hope that I packed my bags and left for a new and unfamiliar city.

"The stars," I murmured.
"What?"

I shook out of my daze. Looking at him, I searched his face for a way to explain. "I knew every constellation by heart. When my life felt out of control, I was able to go to a quiet place and count stars. It get me to think that maybe there was a story for me that was bigger than the one I was living."

I paused and looked out the window. "I wonder sometimes if the reason why I feel so lost here is because I couldn't see the stars anymore."

He took a sharp exit from the highway as I snapped back to reality. I asked him where we were going.

"I'm not driving you back to the city, yet. We're going to find some stars. I'm taking you outside this place, so you can see them again. I hope you know that if ever you feel lost again, all you need to do is let me know."

That night, we drove into the twilight, two souls in search for stars.

Untitled Story #14

2011-08-14T21:56:00.000-07:00

He wrote her a letter, saying that he would be coming home last week.

He promised her a back massage after a long talk to catch up and they didn't do either tonight, but it was okay. He was clearly tired from work.

She wanted nothing more than for him to stay happy and healthy, even if that meant sometimes foregoing some of her indulgences. She knew he would make it up to her. He always did. And he always brought it back to her, tenfold. And just like that, when they came home from dinner the next weekend, he slid his arms around her waist from behind her, while she was removing her jewelry. "Uh oh, what are you doing mister?"

"Just helping you out," he answered her as he unzipped her dress from the back and traced his fingers from her naval to underneath her breasts, titillating and tickling her.

"Uh huh, well not so fast. Let's talk first."

Changing into her short silk bottoms and matching top, she took his hand and led him to sit on the bed. For the first time in several months, she felt close to him again. He held her hands and rubbed his thumb on the inside of her palm, listening to her speak of her thoughts and concerns. When she finished, he apologized for things he overlooked and didn't notice was going on between them. He made amends and told her how he really felt about her and expressed his regret for letting work come between spending time with her, also for his short tempers when she asked something of him, and leaving her alone with her thoughts.

He lulled her in his arms with words of a promising future together, and closing in the distance, he continued telling of his heart through his fingers and the touch of skin.

Taking Flight

2011-08-07T01:17:00.000-07:00

The night started with a blur and a whirl of lights. I passed flurries of bodies, my eyes catching the glare of china dishes, silverware, champagne glasses, and the huge chandelier in the middle of the hall. It was nauseating.

Amidst the tinkling of glasses with fellows in the industry and laughter from various colleagues waffling through the multilevel loft apartment in upper eastside, I felt a dissonance within myself. The sense of being separate had always been one of my strengths.

However, on that night, holding up my guard just got too heavy to handle. I escaped the crowd and climbed steps up to the roof and found a dark, quiet corner to breathe. The cold air shook me from my dizziness. I leaned on the railing and stared down at the sparkling city. The sky was also filled with stars that night, and in my solitary corner, they all belonged to me.

“Hey.” I heard someone in the darkness shout.

Startled, I turned around and saw a shadowy figure approaching towards me. It was him. I spent the whole night avoiding him.

“Hello.” I answered and turned back, so that my head was on the railing and looked down at the glowing streets.
"What are you doing up here?"
"Oh I’m just waiting for a call.” I lied.
“Mind if I sit with you?” he asked.
“No, not at all.” Another lie.
“We were all wondering where you went. You were gone.”
“So they sent a Wall Street Journal and CNBC writer, slash former investment banker as the search party?” I asked, not looking at him.

There was no talking for a moment, so I just put my fingers under my jawline and counted my heartbeats to occupy myself and concentrate on something.

“I find myself attracted to your intelligence," he suddenly said. "And this is nothing to mention that I also find you to be the most physically attractive woman I’ve ever met. I think you are...”

I didn’t move at all, despite the cold and continued staring at the flickering lights. I let his words float in the air, fading into murmurs in my head, as I bet myself how long it would take until he stopped talking. Then, I shut my eyes to take a mental picture of the night, because I knew if this conversation continued to go as it did, I would have to leave the view before me.

“I don't get it.” he said.

I snapped out of my self-imposed distractions and tried to focus on what he had just said. "You’re usually always so charming, witty, and just the It Girl; which is unexpected of you, given that all of the other pretty women at these things are of a...certain type, quite opposite of you. I bet back in high school you were both captain of the cheerleading squad and the science fair winner."

I heard him laugh, and I think probably at his own mental construction.

“What can’t you get?” I said, focusing my tone to keep the impatience and irritation out of my voice. I was bored, tired, confused, and somewhat frustrated.

"Hey, what's going on? Did something happen? You’re normally the centerpiece at these parties. Even from across the room, there is constant laughter from everyone at your magnificent story-telling. What happened to her? Why are you hiding up here?” he asked teasingly to try to get a smile out of me.

That was exactly when I knew it was time to go. I had reached the end of the night. For a brief moment, the city, stars, and all belonged to me. It was all mine, before someone else found my treasure and made me let it go. I took my clutch and started to get up and he stood to help me.

"Well, when I first moved here and started working, they gave me this pill to take every night.” I said while he steadied me as I slipped my Jimmy Choo heels back on. “It helps me endure the chaos that is inherent in my life. It helps me laugh and smile and be seen as an appealing character. It helps me be attractive to people such as yourself.”

He nodded, as if he agreed. “And what about tonight?”

“Tonight, they gave me a sugar-filled placebo, so this is the real me.”

Time is Money

2011-08-06T12:53:00.000-07:00

From my trading floor to Vitrine Restaurant, I ran as quickly as I could in my heels. My boss wanted me to meet some colleagues from other hedgies. Even though I was running across the sidewalk on a beautiful summer afternoon, my head was spinning from previously meeting with the alpha trader whose portfolio was running sideways, and I was still figuring a strategy to quietly flatten a full book of transactions without alarming the markets.

"I can only stay for a few minutes," I gasped when I arrived. "I have to go back for a teleconference with the folks in Berlin, tomorrow morning."

I asked the waiter for a glass of water and said no to the glass of Bordeaux one of the gentlemen offered me.

"Why?" my boss asked, curiously.

"Well," I paused and downed the glass of water. "They have confused the strike price at the yields for the Option-Adjusted Spreads model, so our daily factors aren’t normalizing. Ever since that big market swing from Greece, it's all effed up. So I've spoken with Tokyo, Paris, London, Sydney, with...anyway, I have to be on the next plane and get our stuff fixed within the next 24 hours."

“You shouldn't have to do that yourself. Why don't you staff it to someone?" my boss suggested.

“No. They’ll mess it all up."

The men at the table watched me eat one piece of bread dipped with balsamic vinegar and olive oil before drinking another glass of water as they pondered what to say next. I nodded politely to the men as they continued to chat. Then I looked at my phone. It was time. I looked over at my boss to signal my silent question and he gave a discreet nod to excuse me.

"Pardon me, gentlemen," I said as I got up. "It was a pleasure meeting with you all. We must meet again at a later date in the future."

And then they quickly stood up.

Then one of the men spoke up, "5:00am to fix a broken global rates model within the next day? Why are you trying to do this? It seems to me that they’re asking for the impossible from you."

Shaking hands with everyone at the table, I then turned to the man who asked the question.

"If it's flying pigs they want, then it's flying pigs they will get."

Get up, wake up.

2011-08-04T23:15:00.000-07:00

It was 8:30am and she planned to go to the Farmer's Market in the town villa and get breakfast with him. Pulling the window blinds open, she said, "Good morning sunshine! Time to wake up!" But he didn't seem to hear her, so she tapped on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Wake up, mister."

He eventually rolled to his side, his back facing her. Little did she know, he was pretending to stay asleep to see what she would do to get him to wake up.

At that sight, she gave him a loud smack on his bottom and yelled, "Wake up, sleepy. It's time to get up!" He didn't budge, and she rolled him onto his back to sit on top of him and shook him, hoping her weight would arouse him out of his sleep. Maybe he's not feeling well, she thought, so she put her hand on his forehead and took his temperature. It was moderately warm. Smiling at his sleeping face, she gave him a peck on the cheek.

Finally, as she tried to get off the bed and seeming like she gave up, he stirred and pulled her back down.

"I'm up now."
"Okay. Get ready. We're getting breakfast."
"Not yet, I need you to help me do something, first."

And so, at that moment, he scooped her up in his arms, lay her on the side of the bed and pulled the covers over them.

Pleasure Neurosis

2011-08-04T13:12:00.000-07:00

Hard.
I love pain down my spine hard
Shivering and shaking
Like a razor-winged butterfly hard
Flying in fury
I'm never sure why it’s a two-way street
So I let them have it their way
Just to be safe, it's hard
Present in the body
Crying in the mind
Does it always feel this hollow?
Or leave me with no insides, all hard
How much is too much?
If everything feels like not enough
Loving it so hard
The act of loving is no longer my own gift
Just plain heart-hard
Promising never to let it happen to me again.

Last night, I dreamed that I followed you around and witnessed the unraveling of your personal life. You happened to be neurotic, jealous, and not you.

You told me to "Wake up! Help yourself and listen to some Marvin, please. You're having a nightmare. I'm here, and I'm going nowhere. I wouldn't dare to leave a woman so fair, my breathing air."

Play and fight

2011-07-31T01:37:00.000-07:00

We fight and love so much
Sometimes I get confused of who we are
Maybe if we just stop and chat
And we will find out who we are

- Q-tip

My favorite time of the day (or should I say night) is when we get into our bed.

When he slides his half-naked body under the covers that graces his scent, his skin touches mine, and he whispers to me that he loves me. I can't ask for anything more from him. Loyalty, I get more than I deserve. Love, it would be greedy to even think it.

Of course, there are the times that test our patience and push the boundaries to a love that knows no ends.

He works late into the night, so when he comes home, I let him sleep after dinner. As much as I want him to stay up for me, I know he's tired and needs his rest for the next day to do it all over again.

On the weekends, you could say I overindulge myself in alcohol during our dinners out, to keep myself from being too angry about not being able to talk with him through the entire week.

But then, sometimes, I think he starts fights with me when I'm drunk, so that he could do as he pleases when we have make-up sex. It's to the point that I'm so used to having him around, when I wake up and his arms are around my waist, I give him a kiss and think that I could live like this. Every. Day. For. The Rest. Of. My. Life.

"Though it's not a fantasy, I still want you to stay." - John Legend

I hate it that I feel empty without him around. While he's away, I just can't wait for him to get home so that I hear his voice and footsteps in the house, instead of it just being me and my quiet and lonely breathing.

He's annoyed every time I nag him about calling me whenever he comes home late or forgetting to do the little insignificant things I ask of him. All the things I dismissed as trivial and didn't bring up had accumulated and brought about us, some very heated arguments. It got so bad tonight, that he took my arms in his hands and asked me what I wanted of him. "What is it that you want? Because I know that everything I want, I am holding right here."

And with that, I'd just break down and cry and wish he would leave me, the mess that I am, so that he could be happier with someone else. I was always convinced he could do better than me. Instead, I always found him to be around.

There the next morning, he lay beside me, still holding my hand. And I knew that even if I had to, I'd do it all over again just to stay that close to this man.

Untitled Story #13

2011-07-31T00:32:00.000-07:00

"Hey, how does dinner at 7:30 sound to you?"
"Aww. That sounds awesome, but I still have that not so awesome flu right now. Can I get a raincheck on that?"
"Oh that's okay. I'll come ov..."
"Noooo. You don't have to. I don't want to get you sick, too. I promise I'll make it up to you when I'm feeling better."
"Okay, well you make sure to get better soon. I'll catch you later, then. I miss you. Bye."
[Click]

She was in her de-facto "I'm sick" sweater with the hood up and sweats, flipping through tv channels on the couch, and waiting for the meds to kick in so that she could fall asleep. Just as she was about to give up on looking for something decent to watch, there was a knock on the door.

"Hiiii. What are you doing here? I told you that I'm sick."
"As much as I know that you could take care of yourself because you're a strong and grown woman, I think you should let me do that for you, sometimes."

She let him inside.

"I'm going to make some hot tea. Do you want some? I promise I'll wash my hands so that you won't get my sickness," she said with a smile.
"Sure, why not?"

As she got out of the kitchen, she straightened up on the couch, making sure to sit a few feet away from him, so as not to spread her flu to him. They started talking about his day at work, and after she poured him a cup of earl grey, she sat back down on the couch, only to find that he had scooted right next to her.

"What are you doing? I'm sick! Stay over there."
"I don't care. It's okay," he tried to calm her.

She quickly pulled her sweater up to cover her mouth and nose and her sleeves down to hide her hands as he wrapped his arms around her. As she did that, he gently placed a kiss on the part of her face that was exposed--right on her forehead.

The more she tried to resist him and free herself from his hold, the tighter he held her. He continued to talk to her in a steady voice and told her how much he thought about her everyday for the past week without being able to see her. He spoke about how badly he cared for her and wanted her to get well and be healthy again. While he told her of what he wanted to do with her when she got better, she drifted off into sleep.

She would sleep soundly to his voice and when she awoke the next morning, she found herself feeling better in her own bed, tucked under blankets and dreams of someone that cared for her.

With her...

2011-07-30T16:55:00.000-07:00

He could be an intelligent, driven, and successful man.

He can be completely his own person, and give everything to the world, whether appearing on a TV show, taking someone out of homelessness, writing clever life observations under a pen name, or becoming a businessman-turned philanthropist. With her, he could have a chicken salad and iced tea for lunch, dressed in his best suit, and not have a care in the world what that may have looked like.

They could talk of the world or have many inside jokes, laughing freely, discussing the future, present, or past, and just be. Some people call that a simple dream.

Here in a union filled with possibilities, he would call it a preference to a splendid life.

She makes him believe he could fly anywhere he pleases.

Your rain, unforgettable

2011-07-29T15:33:00.000-07:00

[This was written in Vietnamese by a friend and I thought it was so pretty, I decided to translate it. The translation doesn't do it justice, but you get the gist of it.]

With just your five fingers, you know how to lure me
Running them through your hair, exposing your flushed cheeks
Just passing me slowly
What are these clouds encircling my eyes?
Blurring everything in sight and never fading away

I'm asking you to please
Only let this happen once
I can't see anymore and my eyes, they burn in your presence
Take the sadness away and send the rain to clear my vision
Let me fly to your heaven
Just let me blink and die in this ecstasy.

It's evening showers and gentle breezes
I'm alone, but as I walk
I hear your footsteps instead
And it all returns to me in a silent whisper
A blossom for me to admire in my dreams

I'm reminded of an old lullaby
That I once loved
When I feel the cool of the raindrops
Seeping into my glass of wine
Beckoning me to get up and walk again

I keep silent and even in the still,
I hear a voice and see a shadow
Cast in the evening like I'm asleep
I look for you among the clouds and in a slow song
Through my rainy dreams.

Untitled Story #12

2011-07-25T16:22:00.000-07:00

"Don't wanna hold my pillow, I wanna hold you
Please be beside me, these king size sheets
Need more than just a queen in between them
This bed is too lonely without you"

- Alicia Keys

[Not sure where to go with this one]

You know what's great about having Andres and Percival as best friends? They can check out guys with me.

We went to Le Bain, atop the Standard hotel, next to Boom Boom Room to be in the hot tub, just the 3 of us girls. It was the perfect way to kick back with your friends when you just danced the last 2 hours in your Manolos and killed your toes.

On the surface, my friend Percival and I appear very different. He's a New Yorker at heart and I love basking in my California sun. However, without my weekly slot with a MBA, I feel like nobody’s listening to me. And his best friend (I call his twin sister), Andres thinks I live in a place where you can't throw a rock without hitting someone who wants to know how you’re feeling or a hippie who wants to fight for your rights.

In physics, there's 2 types of properties that relate an object to another. Mass is a fundamental property, since it stays the same in any state; while weight is a relative property, because an object’s weight depends on the strength of gravity acting upon it. Regardless of how we react to our relative different places we call home, Percival and I will always have our shared fundamental properties: an unrelenting desire for forward movement and our need to arm ourselves with people that we deem essential to our growth, and our loyalty is our strongest currency.

Another point we share is our taste in worldly men. Men who are exciting and open to explore with us. Men who are flexible, singularly focused, and driven. Men who are not afraid to be men. Which is why Percival and Andres aren't together. Andres sees things as black and white and everything that comes out of that mouth is blunt, crass, and...very much to ~~the~~ his point.

I'm just glad Percival doesn't hit on straight guys. He tells me he rather not set himself for failure, which makes hanging out with him all the more awesome! No drama, and I don't have to worry whenever I bring a guy along. Plus, he scares creeps away from me when we're out.

It's all good until he scared the guy I wanted to see at the film screening tonight.

I used to date Darren and I have to admit. I was the one that broke up with him. I was so young. I didn't know what I wanted in a relationship yet. I was high on being single and having fun. I stopped talking to him when I thought he was trying to tell me he loved me. It was the day before Valentine's and he took me out to dinner. He said very seriously that he had been waiting for the right time to say something to me and I wasn't ready to hear it. In fact, I was upset he was making it a big deal.

In retrospect, I knew I had left a good guy. He was always so caring, understanding, and he was just...there.

I was grabbing some whiskey sours for the girls and I at the bar, when Darren put his hand on my shoulder. "Hey, I know you. Remember me?"
I managed a shocked look and flashed a half smile at him, when Percival hastily put his arm around my waist. "Well, don't worry buddy, she's already forgotten about you. Why don't you try asking a drunker girl if she remembers you. You might get better luck."
I could feel Darren try to catch my eye to see if I agreed, but I just looked down. I couldn't help but feel bad and ashamed that I had once again robbed his chance to finish saying something to me.

I later told Percival and he just told me that I'd surely see him again if I was meant to hear him.

You are the stars above me, I want everyone to see.

2011-07-24T23:15:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, there was a woman with whom a god fell in love.

The god knew that the only a chance for her to love him as he adored her, was for him to come down from the heavens in human form with a voice in a language she could understand.

He carefully went to her and she took him in slowly, but there never seemed to be an end to him. His history stretched forever, his knowledge layered infinitely, and his desires ran away with the rest of our dreams...with yours and mine. Even with his divinity, he longed for companionship, wealth, power, creation, destruction, beginnings, ends, war, peace, hate, love...

But he was still a god, and she, a woman. He came from the heavens, and she, from the Earth below. As he tried to love her more and become closer to her, his heart exploded into millions upon millions of stars. That was the origin of his innermost feelings and the constellations buried deep inside him cried for her to know of them.

A shooting star tore through the air and struck her in the eye, leaving her blind as she screamed aloud, throwing her back into the darkness from which all humans came from.

While she fell, he didn’t understand what was happening and the more he felt for her, the closer he tried to move towards her, more stars hit her, and the more he tried to love her, the more the fragments from his heart exploded...the falling stars flying dangerously around her, filling the sky with luminous particles.

She fell to the opposite direction from him, and the god began to back away from her to protect her from his exploding, uncontrollable emotions.

That was his love. Its capacity, stretching galaxies away into the universe.

It's the pain of uncertainty and want that rips through him, that I believe I do not have the capacity to understand the origin of his love for me. I was blinded by the violent turbulence of his illustrious emotion. I did not know that he could feel that way, and care so much about me.

It's in loving him in the shadow of his heart, lying in the darkness and silence with him, hearing only his heartbeat, that I take to trusting his touch to guide me. He took my vision, but gave me something I thought to be much more.

In the end, the god could not bear hurting the woman anymore, and so, to save her, he returned to the heavens above and the world became silent.

And when I see stars shoot across the sky, it’s to tell the ending of the time a god fell in love with a woman. The shooting stars finish a tale of suffering in pain, sacrificing dreams, and letting go of love.

When it hurts, that's how you know it's real. If you're scared, that's how you know it's important. And if it gives you strength or the patience to wait, you know it's worth it.

So when I look at the stars, moon, and sky, I'm reminded of our beginning, our promises to one another, our yearning for affection and touch, our efforts to understand, and our great distance that fades our secrets. Through the dark, together in love and pain, we will walk.

Until we fall in love into the darkness, passing through space and time to find the light.

Deep Dark Depths

2011-07-23T20:28:00.000-07:00

"Turn the lights down low
Take it off, let me show
My love for you insatiable
Turn me on, never stop
Wanna taste every drop
My love for you insatiable
The moonlight plays upon your skin
A kiss that lingers takes me in
I fall asleep inside of you
There are no words, there's only truth"

- Darren Hayes

[Because some moods, however dim, don't go away.]

In private, I have always reverted back to sadness, after he goes to bed. I knew people who go through life beset by a cloudy longing. I had long suspected and feared that I would be one of them. This weary secret lay inside the deep and hollow of my chest, where I fought other despaired demons.

I am good at keeping secrets and dangerously good at concealing, so no one ever found things I hid. When I was wrapped in complete darkness, I found the descent into that loneliness, to be timeless and out of bounds. In these moments, I sought relief and felt insignificant.

There had been one man, my best friend now, who had known my story from the start (although it is probably because my story began with him). As he grew to love me more, I became secretly darker, vulnerable and scared. Despite attempting to hide parts of myself from him, he wouldn't let me go. I had always been a stubborn person, but he was too, and fought bitterly to save me.

There is an ancient myth (probably Greek) about the origins of love.
Before there existed Love, creatures that were two-headed and four-legged roamed the Earth in bliss. And when they were too close to the heavens, the gods tried to teach them a humbling lesson by ripping the two-headed, four-legged creatures down the middle with lightning bolts, as the violent oceans separated and scattered them from each other. It is from being ripped down the middle, that the eternal search for the person from whom we were torn, the act of love-making in our desperate attempt to shove ourselves back together, and the heartache as a result of knowing that our stories are incomplete, begets Love.

My story, however insignificant, began with him. My descent into familiar and timeless sadness is how I remember and preserve him. This is the way I love him.

The Real Fight

2011-07-23T15:36:00.000-07:00

This guy tried to ask me out a while ago.

After half a year of coaxing, I said okay. He was a bit older, so he always drove to pick me up after school and he'd get me into parties and places I was too young to get into. Because he was in a cool in-crowd, everything was new, exciting, and fresh to me.

I had gotten accepted into a prestigious 3-year computer science program that would send me far away from home. I explained to him that it would be a few months during which I would be unreachable, until winter break. I told him that I would be with an all-male group, but I'm not the type of girl he needed to worry about. I’d write, I'd try to call him every night, and of course, I would miss him all the time.

I knew that this wasn’t going to work out when he asked me what he was going to do with all of his time without me. I sat, silently observing him think aloud how I could even do this to him and how I could remove myself from him for such a long period of time. Besides, I got into schools that were close by, I didn't have a good reason to go so far. I watched him reveal himself to me. He asked me not to go. After a long silence, I finally shook my head no. Even though I was much younger back then, I understood what was happening. He wasn’t going to give himself to me, so I wouldn’t give to him.

I went ahead to attend school away from home, and when I returned, I sensed that he was upset with me. When I feel that I am unfairly cornered, I typically become more distant and slowly disconnect myself from people. This was easy to do, as my planner was filled with academic, social, and familial obligations. I'm especially good at withdrawing myself from things, just by using my discipline.

I didn't know that deep down, he really cared for me. He was upset and very immature. He wanted to fight for me, but the problem was he didn’t really know me, and that's why he lost me.

He called me one occasion and mentioned this other girl, hinting at a level of interest beyond platonic. I immediately saw the direction this conversation was going. I stayed quiet, silently warning him that he was messing up. But he just went on describing the way the girl was flirting with him. He waited for me to respond, but I refused to give him a reaction.

In retrospect, I understood why he did it. I knew why he put himself in precarious situations like that over the time away from each other. He was presenting this case to a girl who would hold him tighter, because she may feel threatened that the market demand for him had risen. This is a reasonable assumption. With someone other than me, jealousy would arise, followed by a heated argument inspired by competition and fear to indicate that she still cared. And maybe the girl he dated after me did hold onto him when she saw that losing him was a real risk. The tenuous tension-relief dynamic will become the way to move the relationship along. This is a universal theme in Korean Dramas. Maybe he saw too many of them and decided it would be worth a try to apply them on me.

What he didn’t understand is that I am not that girl. When he tells me there is someone else, that tells me if there is possibility for that, then there wasn't enough room for me in the first place. Shocked at my non-response and finally understanding that he was losing me, he immediately retracted what he said. This girl wanted him, but he didn’t want her, he said. He wanted me, he tried to appeal. I looked at my watch while he was talking, because I was starting to wonder when he gave up on waiting for me.

The man I'd truly want to be with wouldn't need to do this because I wouldn't be able to hold him any tighter. I would never let him go. He wouldn't need to create a situation like this to remind me that I could lose him. I would always know that in the back of my mind.

Afterall, I know that in finance, losing everything you earned is a real risk everyday. He wouldn't need to find his validation in my insecurity, because, well...we've all already graduated from high school. And mentioning another girl is irrelevant, inconsequential, and uninteresting. She would only serve as a prop to reveal to me the real character that makes up the man that I'm with. And only he matters to me.

I hung up while he was still pleading and fighting to win me back. It was too late. He couldn't have me and I didn't want him. I didn’t want someone who needs to manipulate the level of passion in our relationship by artificially inserting drama. I want a man to excite me, not a boy to irritate me. If I like the guy, and he likes me, there will be so much passion, wit, banter, and flirting that he wouldn’t have time to even come up with such a scheme.

The thing is, I can’t cry over someone who was never mine. I am the girl who would fight in the ring until she falls to her knees, vision-blurred and out of breath, for something that is really hers. She wouldn't stop until she won him over. She'd turn her life upside down and give him everything until she had nothing left to give.

Who's too much?

2011-07-18T20:35:00.000-07:00

I walked by a pianist playing a baby grand in the art decorated lobby of my Wall St. West on 3rd (SF Financial District) office. Looking out at the early morning fog, I started to feel guilty for complaining about work to my girlfriend all the time.

"Well enough about me, how was your interview?"

"Oh it was just a group of fund managers who are as dysfunctional as rumored to be in the news. So I naturally had a staring match with them while talking about the markets and buying gold bars to bury under the hardwood floors. To their delight, I turned out to be as dysfunctional as they were and they liked that. So overall, better than expected."

"Congratulations, darling."

"They even offered to pay off pilots if I need to helicopter out of the city in an apocalyptic situation."

"I think you may have some kind of mutation in your DNA structure."

"Don't you mock me. You'll see. I was hedging to prevent another currency crisis! It's easy to forget about 2008 when you have someone playing on a grand piano for you every morning."

"You're right. It's terribly easy to forget about the financial crisis when you live in a multiple story, luxury high-rise with balconies that overlooks the Bay, in the 3rd most expensive city in the world, and never having time to spare to have a proper conversation with your boyfriend."

"Okay, okay. I'm calling you in 5. Well played, sir. Well played."

Source of Strength (public view)

2011-07-18T14:13:00.000-07:00

[There is a good chance it may have been a dream.]

Certain emotions are too raw to be defined. Most often, the woman is the keeper of such emotions. She is elected to be the one to express dismay, fear, and concern. She is the one to weep.

It is such a secret place, the realm of tears.

I hate it when someone sees me cry and just stays there to watch.

I tried pushing him away, begging at first, and then angrily. He didn't need that. I loved and hated all at once that he could bear my being difficult. However, he has always been equally stubborn, so he would not leave by my wish. He sat beside me while I wept. In defiance to him and to myself, I began closing down my senses and allowed my eyes to go vacant while he spoke to me. He knew what I was doing, and he stayed. His words were rhythmic, careful, and temperate. He was methodical in his approach and in his loving way, he kept patient and strong around me.

I know that he carries my burdens. He's the bigger person. I know that any relationship can afford only one to be indulgent, and it had been me all this time. So when he has finally convinced me into dropping my sword, I tell him that I am sorry for my all of flaws. With deep regrets, I told him that he will always be stronger than me, I think.

He tells me that it's okay and that he loves me no matter what. He kisses my forehead and tells me that I am a girl, even if I am uncomfortable being one. He says he knows how this might sound, but girls are supposed to be weaker than boys. That he was there to bear my burdens for me.

The Empire

2011-06-20T13:45:00.000-07:00

Life as a city dweller, an urbanite, is unlike life experienced in any other type of environment. Live in it once and memories of once being a socialite are vivid and fresh.

The cab drivers' ability to squeeze inches in between vehicles in moving traffic, the hustle and bustle of adrenaline-pumping rush during prime hours at the public transit stations, and the seemingly constant and incessant noise of party-goers, bar-hoppers, and pleasure-seekers coming from right outside the apartment on a Thursday night or during the weekend.

Today, I believe I saw a scene that can rightly be captioned, "Only in Los Angeles/New York/San Francisco." The proud and complex motto most upscale urban cities partake in; both a verbal shrug and brash rally cry--to be long remembered when, in the uncertain future, as I find myself now living outside the city walls.

Early in the morning, I got off the train into a sea of rushing people with their briefcases, coffee, daily newspaper, and electronic hand-held devices. Already minutes late for a board meeting, I visualized only a few feet ahead, instinctively heading for the revolving doors of the bank. As I approach the corner of the street, I hear words, horns, and vehicles in a strange pitch.

However, I glanced back as I rushed across the crosswalk and did a double take and then stopped to gawk. A crowd of suits with Wall Street Journals, Financial Times, and New York Times stopped around this scene, and amidst the routine and early morning daze, there was an unusual sea of smiles.

And the melody of Frank Sinatra's song came on shuffle on my mp3...

These little town blues, are melting away
I'll make a brand new start of it...in old New York
If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere

The Mark of the Heart (sketch)

2011-06-20T00:51:00.000-07:00

It had been 4 years since he last saw his son and he could see that college in the city had changed him into a crass and insensitive guy, oblivious to the good manners he was taught as a young boy in the rural countryside. It quickly occurred to Mr. Huynh, that his son had no idea the hardships him and his wife went through after they escaped to the states as war refugees to have what they have now.

It wasn't a fancy life, but it was simple and Mr. Huynh and his wife always believed in judging a person by their merits and treating them with kindness. He observed through the window as his son brought his city girlfriend home, and watched as they walked around the backyard. Right before the sun hid behind the trees, they stepped inside the house and Vinh's girlfriend, Dana let out a sneeze.

"Uh oh, are you getting sick, honey?"
"I don't think so, but if I did, would you take care of me?" Dana batted her eyes affectionately.
Looking back as if what she said was ridiculous, Vinh answered her, "Heck no. And risk getting sick, too?"

Mr. Huynh shook his head at what he just overheard. Vinh was a fool in his eyes to say that to a lady. Where were his manners as a gentleman? Surely, he was raised better than that. The episode reminded him of the few last moments he had with his wife before she passed away.

Lan (Mrs. Huynh) had a scar on her cheek from a man that cut her face in an attempt to steal her bag in Ha Noi as a young teen. She begged for a long time with Mr. Huynh to undergo surgery to remove the scar or make it less visible. She told him, "I want to be pretty for you."

That statement broke his heart, because to him, Lan was the most beautiful woman he knew and her enormous heart made her the prettiest thing on earth. But he grew more and more sad each time she would look in the mirror and trace her scar as if she was ashamed of it and he wanted her to be happy. For as long as he could remember, Mrs. Huynh never asked him for anything, so he gave her the money to get the surgery done, but did not know that he would later regret his decision.

Lan got an infection from the operation and complications with the procedure made it difficult for her skin to heal over, as her blood wasn't able to clot normally, and died in the hospital from losing too much blood.

Mr. Huynh understood the importance of making a woman feel un-appologetically pretty, adored for her scars, "in sickness and in health," and wanted in every condition she may come in. His son failed to get that.

So while Vinh was at home, Mr. Huynh made it a goal to teach his son this lesson before he lost someone wonderful in his own life.

Industry Players

2011-06-17T23:37:00.000-07:00

My boss and the owner of Ruby Skye ultra-lounge in Frisco have been friends since they became business partners working together on their first international hotel in Singapore, nearly 11 years ago. We were talking of opening another club + hotel pairing in a second venue on the west and sin city was on the top of our list. So on our last day of visiting in Vegas, the owner took my boss out on a shopping date to "thank" her for making the trip out to see him. Later that evening, we found out that he bought my boss an elegant evening gown by Vera Wang before purchasing for himself, a 4-piece Alexander McQueen tux.

"He just dropped 18Gs, so you guys better look sharp for tonight," she texted to my colleague, assistant, and I just before we were headed back out to meet them at his hotel for dinner later that day.

There were 8 of us in total, 7 men and...me. No sweat though, because I'm used to playing with the boys. A long black limo picked us up and we were treated to a 5-course dinner with mint granita for dessert. After that, we went to another exclusive club that epitomizes the sin in "Sin City."

In retrospect, that night played back like a montage scene in a movie. Loud music drowning any conversations that may have happened, tipsy people sloshing wine on the floor and tables, cocktails emptied in minutes, and champagne glasses were raised and clinked in celebration. Beautifully presented dishes seemed to have drifted on and off our table, strangers opening doors, audible gasps, strangers driving us in a limo, a whirl of laughter and sounds of bottles popping in the car, strangers serving our drinks, being escorted through curtained hallways to a VIP room, and by the end of the night, strange girls who had mounted almost everyone at my table, slapping their bare, plastic double Ds across the faces...of even my boss. It was a reckless air of debauchery.

The client that we intended to meet up with for this trip sits down besides me, and orders off the rest of the girls by telling them that I'm his wife. "Don't worry, my wife is at the casino blowing $10k as we speak, but it keeps these damned girls away from me," he says, as he stuffs 20s in some garter belts and bras. He then let out a long sigh and eases back in his seat.

"That should keep them busy." I turn my head towards the center of the club, scanning a room full of desperate men and women alike. I hear him speaking, but I didn't care to tune in and listen, until he leaned in so close, that I felt his heavy breath on my neck smelling of cigars and cognac.

"So your boss told me that I wasn't permitted to flirt with you."

The smoke from his throat has formed a cloud between us, as I turn my face towards him but pull my body far enough to look him in the eyes and say, "You should probably listen to her. I don't think you'd want to find out why."

Fashion Sensibility

2011-06-16T20:11:00.000-07:00

La Perla

I was in my friend Angel Mendes' boutique in Madrid, fitting a few dresses, since I was going to be one of the bridesmaids for my friend, Jeanalyn. It would be a Spanish wedding since her fiance, Rene is from Andalucia and speaks fluent Catalan. The theme of the wedding was yellow, black, and white. The bridesmaids could wear any dress as long as it was the same kind of daffodil yellow like the theme.

I couldn't choose between the backless halter or the off the shoulder chiffon, so I sent pictures over to my boyfriend at home who couldn't accompany me because of work. He did not like the texture and cut of the halter dress. He chose the other, the tea-length chiffon, and I texted him back to ask if he was sure, which shoes I could I wear with that one anyway, because I didn't have anything of that texture. He told me not to worry because he had few ideas in mind. He said that dress would suit me best, since it would fall on me better, and that its silhouette was more breathtaking. Then, what he texted to me last that day was something I will always remember whenever I dress myself for any occasion...

"It’s not just about being hot or sexy. That’s too easy and not the whole point. It’s about being the most beautiful and unattainable woman in the room, the one that got away from us all, and the one who we could never have. Trust me, elegance, class, and mystery always win, my love. It’s just the way things rank. You are my girlfriend. You're regal, classy, and there's quite an enigma about you. Your dress should match you. And that one does just that, it's timeless."

I stepped out of the dressing room to stand in front of the 3-fold mirror, and told Angel that my boyfriend liked the chiffon one better.

"He's a keeper, darling. He has impeccable taste," Angel told me.

Maxine - John Legend

She is another me: Part III

2011-05-26T18:52:00.000-07:00

"When it hurts, will we still be the same two lovers, all over each other? When it hurts, will we still see why we got together? Promise that we'll never, never ever be...temporary...ordinary"

- Avant

You see, before leaving home to venture out on her own, she had to bite her tongue to tell them she didn't love them, that she her life had no place for romance. Even in her new life, when she dated someone and it got to a certain point, she would break it off because the pressure to give in and surrender was too familiar. She had to break free and surface to the top again.

It was him that left her first and when he finally admitted to himself that he wanted her in his life, that she was his life, she said that she wasn't what he deserved, that he shouldn't love someone as flawed as her, that even if he was right, even if they were supposed to end up together, he had made her wait too long, and her heart would be permanently punctured.

How else would someone feel, after dozens of messages sent, saved conversations, and small gestures by one side became mundane, ignored, and unacknowledged? If there was any indication that he was worried, depressed, not feeling well, she made his problems her own. She set aside time she didn't really have to devote to just asking him how his day went. Even as the sun set for her, she spent countless nights, thinking of him, of how he has impacted her and how to best tell him, how she could get him to feel better, and just dreaming of him. To just be waiting, hanging on every form of response she could evoke, year after year, and getting silence and minuscule drops in return. How much more can someone align their own life with another without reciprocation? There was so much ambiguity and it's hard to accept, when one is not given a reason to hope.

She was done with being vulnerable and she didn't want to go through that again.

Every time she had to tell that man that fell in love with her as she did him, that she couldn't give him what he wanted, she became stealthier and colder and harder. She repeatedly told herself that it was for the best and that complying with his wishes, even if she wanted the same, would only trap her.

So going home meant opening those old wounds again.

She is another me: Part II

2011-05-26T13:43:00.000-07:00

"Time will bring the real end of our trial. One day there will be no remnants, no trace, no residual feelings within you. One day you won't remember me. Your face will be the reason I smile, but I will not see what I cannot have forever. I'll always love you, I hope you feel the same. You played me dirty, your game was so bad, you toyed with my affliction, had to fill out my prescription for the remedy. I had to set you free"

- Maxwell

She remembered when she finally set off to leave home. It wasn't just so she could pursue her worldly dreams. It was also an escape from the life she would leave behind.

If there were any constants in her once in a while, unseen, and silent breakdowns, it was not being able to overcome her loss. The emptiness made her question if what she had chosen for herself was wise or if it was what she really wanted.

Of course, why wouldn't it be? Surely with how much time and energy and corporate politics it took to get where she was, it couldn't all have been a waste. She got so far. It made her stronger. She got the status, proved to everyone that she could do it and make it, alive. Now that she had conquered it, what more could she possibly expect to get?

She loved her job and its challenges. She liked being an important part of something real and tangible. She had power, fortitude, and respect. Nobody that looked at her now, would believe she was that same fragile girl in some distant past. She was able to quantify her net worth, and you can trust that it's way more than you and I could make in a lifetime. She had nothing but projects to worry about. Her life enabled her to provide and protect her loved ones from debt and allow them to live comfortably.

But her inability to be there when her family and closest friends back home needed her the most simply pained her. And the inability to forgive and refusal to go home and face him again was too strong.

She is another me: Part I

2011-05-25T19:43:00.000-07:00

"I don't think it's meant to be, but she loves her work more than she does me. And honestly, at 23, I would probably love my work more than I did, she. So we ain't we, it's me and her, 'cause what she prefers over me, is work and that's where we, differ. So I have to give her free time, even if it hurts. So breathe, mami, it's deserved. You've been put on this earth to be all you can be, like the reserves. And me? My time in the army, it's served. So I have to allow she, her time to serve. The time's now for her, in time she'll mature and maybe we can be we, again like we were. Finally, my time's too short to share and to ask her now, it ain't fair. So yeah, she lost one"

- Jay Z

At her age, her perpetual singledom is viewed as a social disease. "When are you going to give me grandchildren?" her mother asked every time she called home. Her mother was always offering to set her up on a blind date with a son of one of her friends from church or the Asian ladies at the flea market in which she sold her home-grown vegetables.

Her mother didn't have to remind her that she had been alone for a while now. Every morning stepping onto the train to work and arriving at the office before it was light outside, and before her colleagues and co-workers showed up, she was very aware of her one-ness. She remembered the decisions she made that led to her inevitable present, and if she had to blame anyone, it was herself.

It was already hard to breathe and make it to where she was, mostly by herself, and just that thought made her sad. Made her sad that she may be the only one to acknowledge this. There was no one else to trust in her life to be vulnerable around. In fact, she created an environment for herself, where, to survive in it, she couldn't afford even one minute to falter. Her friends, family, boss, subordinates, and networks depended on her capability and her capacity to endure. If she couldn't be strong enough, who could? Surely, she wasn't able to admit she needed someone to help her or be there to hold her up. Weakness only begets destruction and God knows there was too much pressure and way too late to change the way things were, now.

Well, that's not completely true. Behind closed doors, in the darkness of the night, when no one can see her...she falls in her brokenness. It was where her deepest fears about where she was headed, came alive.

She wondered how much longer, that she would continue down this path.

Untitled story #12

2011-05-15T16:43:00.000-07:00

"Let me be the one you come running to" - Al Green

Having OCD means never having to say that you’re sorry for making your most loyal, loving, and understanding friends send you pictures of their dresses they planned to wear, so that no one wears the same thing, and so you can pick the right bag to match their outfit.

And then, what is an awesome night without making your friends sneak out of their own splendid soiree to crash another one across the block?

This new party looked rather suspicious. A crowd of attractive men in dashing tailored suits drinking wine. There were no women in sight besides the 3 of you. One friend looked at me apprehensively and said, “Errr...this looks like something bad waiting to happen.” I locked my arm tightly around hers and walked us through the arched, heavy doors, chin up and swiftly passing the gasps and raised eyebrows. I weaved us through the shocked huddles of men to the other side of the room, grabbed some bubbly for all of us, and raised my glass to her, “To bad ideas.”

Murmurs encircled us and as I looked around to feel out where I was, a gentleman approached us. He seemed to hesitate a moment, before asking for our names and what we were doing there. I asked him where we were. He said, “This is a gentleman’s cigar club. We usually meet at the Yacht Club in the city, but we changed the venue for this event. Why, may I ask, are you here?”

Ignoring the socioeconomic ironies of such a club in the city, and the flutter of feelings that flew around in my stomach regarding the political implications of such a bourgeois order, I answered with an unmoved face, “We're...I'm here to inquire about membership."

My friend’s mouth fell open. The man looked confused. He repeated commandingly, “This is a gentleman’s cigar club.”

I answered with more emphasis, “I understand, What is the application process? To whom should I speak with?”

Flustered, he stuttered in his dignified pose of poise, “Well, I don’t believe we accept women...because, as you can see, it’s a gentleman’s cigar club,” he repeated a third time. He added, “There’s a dame’s club if you would like me to direct you to.”

“No, I want to join this one. And telling me I can’t will only make me want to even more.”

Then he just burst out in laughter. The guys around us who had been eavesdropping on our conversation started laughing, too. And then the club’s president, overhearing me and now also laughing at me, walked over to introduce himself and ask me who I was. I knew then, I would have to go with my friends to return to their party and let them carry on with their hosting responsibilities.

So before walking out, I said, “Gentlemen, you need not to decide now. Just think about it. Here’s my card. And when you’re finished with wine here, stop by down the street. We're throwing a party ourselves.” I pulled my surprised best friend out of the room and back down the street towards our own party to dance and socialize before we went to the after-party at some swanky hotel.

For the rest of the night, we checked out some new hot-spot restaurant and sat right next to Edward Norton. And I would text my boyfriend, "flavor of the month," "Seriously. why. aren’t. you. here." To which he answered from the other side of the country, “I ask myself that a lot.” Then pushing my luck, I text back, “Obviously, not enough ;]”

And we headed off to a speakeasy socialista lounge, where we had a banging fun time dancing and pretty much losing ourselves, and where I met a film director. I remember leaning in and asking, “Didn’t you win an Oscar when you were 25?” He leaned in towards me and asked, “Aren’t you the one to bring about the '08 financial crisis?” We forgave each other, and then discussed NPR. I then decided that I liked him. We made plans for brunch the following week with my aspiring actress friend.

I also want to talk of the moment when I saw that back-stabbing, terrible so-called ex-friend, dirty blonde heiress, who pretty much ruined my best friend’s life so many years ago with her high school style gossip attacks because my friend dated a guy with whom this woman was in love. Between the "get the f away, you cancer upon my life" and "you're such a sad pile of crap," lies her life story. She’s what I would refer to my colleagues as a toxic asset.

But why dwell on such social circuit poisons? Love is all we need. One of the blessings of growing up is that I’ve been able to get perspective on my ferocity.

Worthless girl viciously gave my best friend and I the evil-eye, so I grinned, raised my glass to her, and gave her a silent toast while winking, as she stared back with eyes that said I shouldn't expect to be on her Christmas list anytime soon. Madonna’s "Get Into the Groove" came on and as much as I shall miss her death stares, I simply lost interest in her existence as I was most concerned with keeping up with my rowdy friends on the dance floor. Besides, when the Material Girl tells you to get into the groove on a night as epic as this one, you had no choice, but to acquiesce.

The night became one of those crazy, awesome nights I'll cherish most, as I read on my phone the next morning from my girl friends, “Wow. How unforgettable was last night? And how did I end up in my bed at 4:00am? Did you bring me home last night? Because if so, I love you."

It all comes back to the love, right? I know I belong here. I love the city. Not in the corny, tourist way. I don't "heart" it. I truly do love it. I love a city, in which I can have a night where it would be un-lady-like to capture everything that happened, including a moment involving pole dancing at one of the clubs, and another involving my awesomely gorgeous and smart friend who normally likes to tell people she's just an urbanite with nothing to lose, having been pushed around by some douchebag ibankers before she had enough, and stated in one glorious moment, 'Beezy, I work at Goldman. I have perfected the art of being a jerk. Now, do you still want to take me?"

The 3-way fun

2011-05-09T20:07:00.000-07:00

Maia: "Down to come out and play tonight? I need you all to sway with me. Are you guys ready for this jelly?

Des: "Bring it! Imma throw down, trick!"

Shirene: "Wow...you're like...you talk like...I'm speechless. But I still think you're my type of girl."

Maia: "Thanks, but I'm not swinging that way anytime soon, hun. Okay, Phat Kat at 11pm, and then Orange Lounge by 2am. Des, since you're a 0 on a scale from 1 to 10, you'll need to come through with me, and Shirene, you're fine. Just wear your kinkiest number."

Des: "Alright, 11pm sharp, Phat Kat."

Maia: "Wait, what? Are you making fun of my weight? You're the fat cat, fcuking beezy!"

Des: "How nice. It went from zero to effin' beezy in 20 seconds."

Maia: "Just keeping it real."

Shirene: "You're getting hotter by the minute."

Des: "Glad to see you never take a day off from your feisty self."

Maia: "Okay, fine. I'll admit that I take pleasure in making fun of you. It helps with digestion."

Des: "Wow. Aren't you in fine form today?"

Shirene: "You should take those claws out more often. I love me a tigress."

Maia: "This is only foreplay. More of that coming tonight."

Shirene: "Game time!"

Des: "I'll bring my whip, then, and...[pause for effect]...catnip."

Grown Apart

2011-05-09T19:58:00.000-07:00

"Finally, the future seems clearer
Finally, we can be who we are"

Grown Apart - Lisa Shaw

She started to wonder if giving everything was good enough.
If it was enough that she had the passion.
Perhaps doing her best didn't cut it.

She went through the changes.
She gave chances.
She tested her patience.
Searching for countless ways to expose herself.
Rendered herself empty, only to receive modicum amounts in return.
Her mind was fragmented.
Soul disintegrated.
Heart dissolved.

Held her tongue when she usually would speak and vocalized what would otherwise be kept private.
Adapting, compromising, gave up pieces of herself, that she can never get back.
She can only tug at the strings so much until it breaks, and what ties them together...loosens, leaving all the words, time, and energy to unfold.
Pouring residual thoughts, regrets, anxieties, uncertainty.
Through several seasons of their being.
Leaving them directionless.

So she set him free.
And she will never be the same.

Going for it

2011-05-04T12:46:00.000-07:00

"Now we can end the story right here
But shorty didn't quit it was something in the air
He said it was something so appealing
He couldn't fight the feeling
Something about it
He knew he couldn't doubt it
Couldn't understand it"

- Lupe Fiasco

He woke up and warmed up the morning with 50 pushups and 200 situps. Going through what he will say in his interview, he picks up the pace of his exercise. He started breathing harder and the thoughts jumbled in his mind, each idea being organized into categories of: crucial, optional, and avoid.

After a few minutes, he let himself collapse on the floor and lay there with his eyes closed, going over the words in his head one more time.

"I’m fine," he somehow manages to mutter, as if he had to convince himself. Things will be okay. Everything will go smoothly. He drifted into a light slumber and he saw the other traders in line to interview for the same position at the hedge fund. He would have to outdue them and outshine 85% of them before the last round of interviews.

He suddenly gets up and goes to take a shower and get ready. He was now anxious and the reflections became more and more real as he doused his head in the hot running water. His hands began to feel as if they were burning. His vision blurs, and he could feel the water beads streaming down on his skin, as if he was sweating from nervousness.

Then he suits up. He couldn't focus on anything else anymore except for the interview. just then, he decides to sit down and take a look around his apartment. His eyes stopped at a photograph of his mother he hadn't seen in a long time.

"You’re going to be fine. Remember to breathe. You will always make me proud. Tough tasks require a tough mind.”

Her words echoed in his mind.

It was the first time he realized that, for a rakish industry that would go in and out of trades within milliseconds, its interview process to accept members into its club was always going to be notoriously, ridiculously, and absurdly long and nearly impossible to endure. the hedge fund world is particularly interesting within the larger arc of Wall St. interviews, because hedgies tend to be mildly jaded, often viewing themselves as outsiders with nothing to lose.

With that thought, the 4 hours of questioning and tests of compatibility flew by him and before he knew it, he became one of the remaining 7 fellows sitting outside in the lobby after lunch, that survived the last cut. Repeating his mother's words again in his mind, he stood up and entered the board room first, with the other applicants following slowly behind.

The wealth of knowledge

2011-05-01T21:07:00.000-07:00

You happened to have the experience of crazy, debaucherous, and unforgettable nights in the sparkling streets with your friends and acquaintances. And you overcame your fear of the world that you lived in and forgot all that you have or could have endured before you made it here.

You knew that it was the kind of night when, upon looking out into space and being caught off guard...there, looking ravishing in a number that exposed skin in precisely the right places that would cause you to adjust your collar, you would leave your soul to make your move, as you try carefully not to quiver with ecstasy at the sight of her.

Amidst the chaos from the past few months, not including the rather public dueling Charlie Sheen meltdown and the market-vomiting disasters often on the trading floor of Wall Street, you have been planning your next strategic career move.

As a way to encourage you, the city, using her resources from within or outside of the industry, organized a multi-model soiree inviting the professors, professionals, players, and those in the know. Part of being a mastermind didn't mean being book-smart or knowing how to solve complex differentials. It involved calling networks or elites and people that knew other people to help filter and gather information. Piecing ideas and opinions from each of them to best motivate and eloquently support you is not simple, but it was just very easy to wait on such information to retrieve for you, because you're that well-liked.

She was getting to know you as you tried to find your dreams placed within her.

Comforting warmth

2011-04-29T23:58:00.000-07:00

"Everything is all a lie,
If you're doubting all the feelings that you have for me
And if you stop to wonder why,
And you question if a good thing will never come to be
When you see just what you get,
And when you show me who you are,
Then I'll show you all the love that we could make.
And I could feel you all the time,
And you were always on my mind
If only I could make you feel the same..."

- Aya, "Put Your Faith in Us"

He was in his white t-shirt, shivering in front of the tv. "Are you cold?"
"Not really."

She grinned at his efforts to seem so strong around her.

She went back into the kitchen and brought him a cup of tea. "Thanks. I'm not that cold, like I said earlier, but I'll drink this just because you made it for me already." He smiled as if he was doing her a favor.

"Uh-huh, mister."

He gave her a mischievous smile and motioned her to sit beside him. He took her hand and his fingers felt icy on her skin. Grabbing the throw blanket, she spread it over them both and found his hands again to massage them in between hers. While she did that, he kept silent for several minutes.

"Wait a minute. Are you trying to seduce me?"
"So what if I am?" she teased.
"Oh don't stop. I'm flattered," he squeezed her hand.
"Is it working?" she winked.

He seemed to be slowly drifting off to sleep in their touching, so as she started to get up, when he pushed the blanket off and let it drop to the floor. "Where are you going?"
"I thought you were going to sleep, so I thought I'd let you."
"Not before I get to warm you up, too."
"Haha. Is that so?"

Pulling her hand, he had her sit back down on the couch as he took both her legs to drape over him. She began to massage him again, this time, more like caresses in effort to take away the cold from his skin. He leaned down to give her a light kiss on the lips.

"Are you sure you're not cold?" she questioned.
"Never when I'm with you."

Devoted to you

2011-04-29T23:32:00.000-07:00

Won't you demonstrate your love to me?
I want dedication, care, and loyalty.
You know that for you, I'd do it all
Anything you ask for, and every time you call
Everything I ever do and will do, is for you and me
Because I'm just dreaming of when we can finally be.

Passionate Display

2011-04-25T08:38:00.000-07:00

"My hands are shaking from carrying this torch
From carrying this torch for you
My lips are bleeding from kissing you goodbye
From kissing goodbye every night
My sheets are tearing from sleeping in too long
From sleeping in too long with you..."

- Sondre Lerche

She watched him fall asleep midday after wheezing and coughing the whole morning. He insisted that he was well enough to go to look for work, but she didn't allow him to be stubborn with her. He had been stressed about them not being able to make the payments on the house and his worries had caught up with him, affecting his physical health.

"Let me be your nurse," she said she got up to make him some soup when he finally lay back down.

She watched the fluctuations in the intake of breath as he slept. He laid almost on his side, curled up under the blankets. Thank goodness he wasn't such a big baby. She should wake him up for a hot bath soon, she thought. Fix easy to eat foods: noodle soup and some hot tea with lemon. Then rub his throat and chest with ointment before sleep, to help him breath better through the night. Make sure he dressed in layers and put on extra socks for him. The poor man. He worried himself into a flu.

She had the urge to caress his face and assure him that they would be okay, but she should let him sleep through without any disturbances. Carefully sliding in bed beside him, she leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his neck. She heard him breathe heavily into a light snore, so she said a prayer for him and turned off the lights.

And for the morning, she planned to continue to care for this man that cared for her so much, with just as much passion and tenderness.

Therapy

2011-04-24T02:12:00.000-07:00

"What's not to love about you?
Everyday, I find more reasons to"

- Dwele

Where do shrinks seek help? Who do they tell and unload their problems to?

She guessed that was the issue with her. She has been so busy helping others and going through their suffering with them so that they were not alone, she had to keep her demons to herself.

Out of all of the psychoanalysts she's seen, only one has moved her to tears. That is because this particular "doctor" was honest when he told her that he didn’t know how to solve her problem, but that he understood why, in order for her to live through a fallen world, to find herself a fighting chance in her brokenness, to not submerge underneath the violent waves, she needed to completely and quickly disconnect from people she loved the most.

A walk through the street

2011-04-23T13:09:00.000-07:00

"I walk the city late at night
Does everyone here do the same?
I wanna be the things I see
Give every face and place my name
I cross the street, take a right
Pick up the pace, pass a fight
Did I grow up just to stay home?
I'm not immune, I love this tune..."

- Everything But the Girl

Along the pavements you trek, it's a scene stuck in the past.
Conglomerate of beakniks.
Party of lunatics.
Pack of secrets.
Stream of criminals.
Mountains of pretentious pricks.
You may be the only normal human.
You are the antihero of your story there.
It's your doom and destiny to live through it and tell it.
Its benevolence and rigid animosity
It thrives disdainfully.
Every crack in the cement is its own tale.
One could be swallowed whole if they closed their eyes for too long.

The bustle of cars, traffic, and people concentrate the air.
If you can hear the noise, you're still yourself.
If you become immune and the noise is a static, you're a zombie now.
If the noise somehow becomes music, therapeutic to your ears, check yourself in, because honey, you're insane.
A prisoner of your surroundings.
You're someone else.

Sketch #207

2011-04-22T11:00:00.000-07:00

While I was in college, I was often asked, "What do you want to do after you graduate?" My elaborate answer always involved many options. In fact, I had so many interests and decisions to make; it immobilized me.

I could take a year off and travel the world. I could find an internship or some easy job unrelated to my major just to have some money to spend. I should try to get as much experience as I could or build up my resume and get as advanced as I could to give myself a competitive edge down the road. I needed the money to support my expensive habits, I should start paying back my college loans asap, I should work and help my parents with the expenses, I didn't need the money immediately, maybe it was a good idea to have some money saved up just in case. I could work publicly or privately. For a small firm or a big time corporation. Maybe I should try working overseas. I could start my own business. I could go back to school. Go to school out of state. Get a second degree. Get my masters. Get certified in something. Get training. Work part-time and take classes to refresh my knowledge and keep current. Work a couple years to save up to be able to go back to school. No, I should work full-time to be taken seriously in my profession. I could make a 5,7, and 10-year plan. I could move to somewhere else. Start anew.

I visited a friend from my first year of college at his office. We caught up on what we each ended up studying and how he went on to receive his multiple degrees in his field. He told me of his past projects that he had headed. He spoke of the networks he acquired and how he was going to expand his company with his innovative ideas. He was a part of many committees, associations, and exec boards. He was able to develop for himself, an impressive reputation among his colleagues and peers. It was clear he was well off academically, professionally, and financially. He contributed and his work gave him great autonomy and was self-rewarding. He was the epitome of success. He loved what he did for a living and only a few people are lucky enough to love the place where they worked.

And just to add icing on the cake, the partners of his firm were wonderful, intelligent, and driven people. He greeted his VP with a fist bump followed by a "Blow it up." He went to happy hour with his co-workers and in conference meetings, they shared random youtube links.

I wonder about my own passions and what would mean success.

Carried away

2011-04-20T10:22:00.000-07:00

"All you gotta do is say yes
Don't deny what you feel
Let me undress ya baby
Open up your mind, just rest
I'm about to let you know
You make me so..." - Floetry

We walked out of Phillz Coffee and into the rainy concrete of downtown and there was a giant puddle in the middle of El Paseo de San Antonio. Of course, I looked over to see where it was most shallow so that I could cross it with little to no splashing on myself. As I prepared to skip over on my toes, he suddenly got in front of me.

He was pulling his coat off and I thought to myself, please don't put it over the puddle and ruin your nice coat. I'm so not worth that much!

But he actually took the coat and draped it on me instead, my face sheltered from the showering, carried me in his arms, stepping over the puddle, and hurrying to the other side of 3rd Street to stand under the eaves of the San Jose Repertory Theatre.

He finally put me down and although I felt kind of embarrassed that he carried me ( I was sort of self-conscious about my weight) out in public like that, I managed to let out a smile and thank him.

It was then that I started to look at him differently.

Rain call

2011-04-18T09:40:00.000-07:00

Rain, your sobs are so sad.
Please stop your whimpering
Crying on the city makes the town smaller and smaller
And you bring your coldness, freezing the streets
Not soul walks through anymore and the voices wash away

On faded nights like these, I remember
Those feelings of warmth were just a dream
Yet your mourning insists otherwise
Why do you let the tears fall from the sky?
What are you trying to tell me?

Storm, I know you are bitter
But I cannot hear you through your thundering
What do you remember?
Do you feel you've been forgotten?
You have always rumbled in my soul
And I wish I didn't have to wait
Until it rains to hear from you

Your empty promises linger in the ripples
Reminding me with every dripped drop
And on every gray cloud
That I miss your rainbow
And the sunshine we once knew.

The way you are, as is.

2011-04-15T09:22:00.000-07:00

Her head of hair grew very quickly.

The other day, when she lay next to her boyfriend, she accidentally turned her head so that her hair swept across his face. He said that she had so much hair, it was difficult for him to breathe through the thick silky strands. So she thought he might have preferred short hair on her, but she had to make sure of it.

She asked him, "Do you think my hair is too long? Shall I make an appointment for a haircut?"

He said, "It’s long enough to trim it, if you want to."

She knew what he was trying to do in his response, so in a controlled tone, she continued, "You didn't answer my question."

He took a step closer to her and then wrapped his arms around her suspiciously. "You know, you're so sexy when you get all feisty like that." He winked and attempted to give her a kiss.

She pulled back just enough to avoid it and managed to suppress a smile. She raised a single eyebrow to signal to him that she was still expecting an answer.

"Ehem."

She tried to focus and stand her ground.

He looked at her, studying her face, and then, with a grin, he said, "You're beautiful. Your hair is beautiful. And these are not just opinions. So like I said, your hair is long enough for a trim if you want."

Undeterred, she pressed on, "But the question was about what you wanted."

He took her hands in his and replied, "You. I want you in whatever form in which you come. Long hair, short hair, with makeup, no makeup, feisty, reserved, agreeing, defiant, sinner, saint. You know...simply you on different days."

Untitled story #11

2011-04-04T21:44:00.000-07:00

After endless rounds of interviewing and with the encouragement of his mother and girlfriend, he had gotten the job offer, and several months later, was asked to get on board with the team. While he had no formal background in finance, he was diligent, discreet, and knowledgeable. He has proved himself over and over again worthy of his weight in gold.

In meetings with his supervisor and the board of directors, his notebook was squarely aligned on the table, and he was poised to take such detailed notes that could later incriminate a forgetful person in the conference. He had taken seriously what his girlfriend advised to him in his first year-end performance review: Pay attention and always keep updated, especially in the details.

One of the VPs asked him what he wanted to become. Surprised at the unexpected question, he thought of his hard-working mother and answered, "I want to develop a skill and discipline in this field."

He then scheduled for time every week to attend fast paced seminars on finance and the hedge fund world. He would read books his girlfriend recommended after work, in which his research often ran late into the night. He taught himself how to read financial models, put together effective presentations, and how to discern between different trade strategies, occasionally asking the girlfriend for clarification. He absorbed everything he could get his hands on and learned quickly.

One evening, upon returning home, he dropped his briefcase on the floor with a loud exhale as he entered the door.

Earlier that day, he stared at the glowing monitors in front of him, confused at what just happened. His heart raced as he held in his breath to look again. He had accidentally exercised the strike price to a put option that artificially elevated the profit of his trade. It was the nature of his work that required him to make decisions on impulse with not even a tenth of a second to spare. At least the numbers did not tank, he thought, but he would have to explain the small change. He briskly walked into the empty board room. He paced back and forth and just as he was about to text his girlfriend on what to do, as if she had telepathically sensed it, too, by some miracle, she called him and told him about the hedge fund she was looking into.

At that moment, it occurred to him what he needed to do and hopped onto the nearest computer. He could offset the slight increase in profit with a call option denominated in some other equally volatile currency and hedge it that way. With minutes before the market closing, he scrambled to make the last trade. Two minutes before closing, he hit the enter button and waited for the numbers to shift. He saw that it wasn't a long enough time frame to realize a change.

He walked back to his desk, hovered over his computer thinking the worst. He thought of his boss happening to check Bloomberg on his Blackberry and getting furious over the 5 basis point shift. He might not have the chance to explain himself and could get the boot the next morning.

After a moment of silence, he stepped outside of the office, not knowing whether to scream or collapse. When he came back into the office, he had not found anyone left on his floor of the building. He felt defeated. So many times in his past, he had returned home empty-handed, thinking the world had gypped him, that He had lost some battle, however small, insignificant, or even irrelevant. But at the moment, when he had to keep his face still so that it wouldn’t crack and give way to the confusion and frustrations underneath, it wasn’t about the insignificant size of the battle relative to some war. It just wasn’t. When people like him set out to do something, it was singular, and it was consuming. He couldn’t see anything else. He sought out to make strategic decisions set upon an individual board on a game theory model, and when he failed, it was hard for him to take in the thought that it could possibly be the equilibrium.

He called his girlfriend and wanted to tell her what had happened, but his pride kept his lips sealed. She told him that he had her and a good dinner waiting for him at home. He knew he would need to tell her once he got home. Hands trembling with disappointment, he went home.

"You know, I’m really not an expert on many of the things you ask me about. I only look like I know what I’m doing. But I actually rely on a team of analysts and statisticians to feed me all relevant information I need, so that I can make decisions on trades executed at the best prices. I depend on the people I trust in the industry to tell me their best opinions on value, on prices, on quality. Otherwise, I just wouldn’t be able to measure everything. You know what I’m trying to tell you?" his girlfriend said.

He stared at her for a while, trying to take in what she had said and just then, his phone vibrated. It was his boss.

"How did you see that dip coming, kiddo? We beat LIBOR (London Interbank Offering Rate)!"

"Really?"

"Good move, man."

Still on the phone, his tense face eased with a triumphant smile. He had forgotten that in trading derivative securities on the foreign exchange, other markets were opened and closed at different times due to their time zones, so there was lag time for his trade to fluctuate.

"You're pretty new, but I think with some more training, you could be the best market price strategist we've had in a long time. We could sure use your mind on some future projects."

Left dumbfounded and speechless, he wanted to tell the boss what had really happened when his boss ended their conversation with, "Look, I was there once. You fixed and took responsibility for the trades like it was your own flesh and blood. Your discipline told you to do that and that's why I trust you on the team. You've got potential, kid."

Lure

2011-04-03T15:16:00.000-07:00

I get cold very easily, so in the micro-climate of my town (drops from 60s to 40s at night) I relish the moment of crawling into bed under a heaping pile of heavy, 350ct Egyptian cotton-threaded blankets and a down comforter and dread the idea of getting out from underneath it to do anything I remembered I forgot to do. Like turn off the lights that are merely 15 feet away.

last night, I stared at the light switch for the recessed ceiling lights all the way across the expanse of the arctic circle I was in from the sanctuary of my bed, a mountain of glorious warmth in an ocean of icecaps. Unable to fathom getting out from my bed, I turned to him, who was sitting beside me finishing up some work on his laptop.

"Hey, Mr. Sexy Pants, the king of my heart, the guy that rules my universe," I cooed. I slowly pushed my body against his firm posture. I felt myself conforming to his shape.

"Hello, love," he said and took off his reading glasses and looked at me suspiciously.

"I think you’re the most awesome person I know," I said, warming his leg and massaging his thigh.

"Oh really?" he responded, putting aside his work and looking at me to observe the direction the conversation and touching was going.

I sat up and put my warm hands under his shirt, leaning my chin on his shoulder, then my face close to his neck, and softly blew cool air onto his collarbone, so that he understood how cold the room was.

"Since you're not shivering yourself, could you turn off the lights for me, sweetheart?" I whispered in a whimper, sounding helpless as best as I could.

He slowly let out a laugh. "For a minute there, I thought you were going to shower me with compliments and things to get me to stop working." He stepped out of the bed and turned the lights off.

When he slipped back into the bed, he kissed me and said, "So as a king, I get treated nice, right? So what will you do for me?"

"Being warm and well-rested is most essential for a king at this time of night, so close your eyes and hold onto me, your majesty."

We.

2011-03-26T01:20:00.000-07:00

You (The Only Ones) - The Strange Fruit Project

You're the only one I want to fall weak for
But you hold still
And I only hear from you when I call
Is this really real?

What do I have to do
To prove myself?

I'll try to get there where you are, Godspeed
By your side before another one
Hurry up like it's your open heart surgery
Just so I can tell you that we won

I'm terrified that you don't want anything to do with me
But all the same, you're the only one to free me
Only if you show me a sign, a word, make me see
That we would someday, one day, be a we.

Atop the skyline, he stands.

2011-03-21T19:40:00.000-07:00

"Places like LA, NYC, and Las Vegas are those where they'll pay you thousands for a kiss or touch, but pennies for your soul." - W

Competing in one of the most fascinating, hopeful, stressing, anguishing, and sometimes euphoric cities in the world; merely makes him a survivor of many around him.

Talent, skill, and ambition was what one needed to embody, to get through the masses, and have the will to wake up every morning to the hustle and bustle of the streets.

Obtaining silence in that environment was the real skill that differentiated him from his peers. Deep in his psyche, he was able to block out the static and stay calm, even under the weight of pressure, much like that of the BP oil spill.

He was neither completely risk averse or risk tolerant. He just knew what he wanted. Even if he didn't, he was there at the right place and time to seize the opportunities that come forth.

After all, the hardest part was believing that he could do it and actually take the steps to move into a culture-saturated, body-dense pool.

Whether he was in it for the short or long term, he understood what the place asked of him. He had to prove he not only belonged there, but that he was a direct shareholder of the street he lived on. He had the remarkable discipline that placed him 2 standard deviations to the right of the bell curve in his profession.

He was no longer the token minority guy, so his excellence in his work ethic was able to illuminate in the darkness of that celestial city.

Let's say, he sat in the best seat of the house, directly to the right of his boss.

He was sensibly consistent, an adept observer that had the capacity to discern the temperature of any situation. Realistic and within reason, he scaled future ranges of his work, and all the while comprehending the purpose of limits and when to surpass them.

At the very least, one would say that he was a man of extraordinary caliber.

Fullest moon in Manhattan, sent to me by EK.

A midday nap

2011-03-21T10:45:00.000-07:00

"Let's go to sleep in Paris
Wake up in Tokyo
Have a dream in New Orleans
Fall in love in Chicago
We can land in the motherland
Camel-back across the desert sand
Take a train to Rome, go home
Brazil, for real"

- Lupe Fiasco

I dream of you beneath the tall stalks of bamboo, shading overhead. And I'm swinging on a straw hammock, lightly closing my eyes and listening to the swish of the breeze coming through. The air is warm. It is you, I think is humming. The hum of silence and distant chirps, lulling me to dream. And at every slight touch of the wind, I wonder if it was you, leaning over to surprise me with a kiss.

I lamely reach my arm, still with eyes shut, out into space and try to outline your face with my fingers. It is simply bittersweet bliss, as I think about that spring with you, I miss.

Shuttershock

I want to know of his dream: an attempt

2011-03-20T22:30:00.000-07:00

[prompt by C. Nguyen]

He did not come from a crowded family.

His father left when he was 9 and came by every so often with "gifts" of food, as a way to keep himself in a positive light to his children, but other than that, he had nothing to do with their later upbringing.

In his childhood years, his mother returned home from her nursing shift, very late in the night. She was the first to rise and the last to go to bed. She cooked enough food for the family for the next day, the night before. Eyes red from sleep deprivation and expression austere from duty, she portioned out the proper serving size, and then covered them to store in the refrigerator. The next morning, she was gone, returning to the hospital that left her face in lines of fatigue at the end of the day. After she left, he and his younger sister took care of house chores everyday, after school.

His family was solidly working class for the majority of their beginning. Food was rationed and at one point, they had not purchased new pieces of clothing in two years. That was the crucial ingredient that bound them together. They were all hungry and together. A family that believed they were above indulgences and luxuries.

He and his sister did not share the childhood of many of their peers, they never did notice the other kids' mothers buying their friends toys. With little material possessions, they were forced to be creative and make believe. They would have races of who could finish their part of the chores first and enveloped leisure into their seemingly mundane routines. It became competitive enough that they took their tasks very seriously and their competing spirit would follow them into their later futures, especially for him.

He lives in New York City now. He ate every meal out, as in fast, take-out places, and every dinner was rushed to beat out the crowds of other hungry city dwellers. After lunch, he would rush back into an office that reportedly sat on one of the most expensive streets in the world. He lived in an apartment with monthly rent that was more than his past job's entire year's worth of wages. He also had a doorman, chauffeur, and housekeeper who made almost as much money as his mother did as a small town nurse.

While he was able to lift all of his family above the water, it was this intolerably distorted context that he was unable to reconcile with the history that shaped him and his family. It occurred to him in a painful moment that he could not be recognized in anyway to the person he used to be. So he sought to reconnect that part of his old self.

There were a few things about him that I learned through his mother and sister. He was a driven man. In his young life, he was so eager to help his mother lighten her workload, he pursued to get higher education. He was singularly focused and with his multifaceted abilities, he impressed his professors into pooling a scholarship to watch him succeed. His aristocratic undertone wasn’t just my imagination. He had been a man whose own family had raised him for an elevated occupation, a different life than the one he grew up with. Above everything, he was a family man. Before his career, his own happiness, dreams, and any notion of individual destiny; his family placed first.

He and I are not that different. It seems talking about him is becoming a sort of personal confession. It upsets me a great deal that I cannot talk to him in real time and ask him for the intimate details of his life, but I will try to do my best to summarize what I know of him so far.

This despondency has turned into countless, sleepless nights and a recurring dream for me.

Back to the point. It occurs to me that while I often am able to swiftly and icily dismiss people and feel no compulsion to explain myself; with him, I sought to be understood.

Each physical body carries a continuous story. I suppose this explains the reason why I see myself as fragmented narratives that somehow connect with his displacement. I feel that even when we're from very different pasts, cultures, and experiences, we were able to understand each other, regardless. We were never the type to openly talk about our family struggles. That was a private matter we carried silently, but together.

But that's enough about me, back to him.

So he lives in his very own Gotham City, which is rather glamorous and surreal most of the time, resembles much of what is portrayed in films. His impressive achievements in his own cutthroat field and personal life underlines the fact that he survived and is a fighter. He has extraordinary will and amazing level of perseverance. His mannerisms and the way he treats others, models that of a disciplined general. He is reasonable, intellectual, and clever.

However, the trouble is, these descriptors by themselves miss the entire plot of the story. They miss the fact that he has felt hunger and that his desire to win was because he didn’t see this as just a game. Much like his mother, he needed to pull through. Not just for him, but for his family and to carry on what would be "the dream."

Throwback: "Catch Me"

2011-03-17T15:35:00.000-07:00

I know I haven't really said much.
I wanted to so much, but I really didn't know how to approach you.

I'm ready to fall.

Sometimes the load seems so heavy I just want to let go and fall.
Like I feel I should give in and not always have to be the strong person.
That I should let people come into my life without being so guarded.
I'm tired of carrying my burdens on my own and all alone.
I'm burned out of having to be the reliable and under-appreciated one.
Having to stay strong for myself and others, and completely heartless.
I'm sick of pretending to know everything when I really know nothing.
I want to stop and catch my breath.
And take notice when others notice.
I'm weary of not letting people see my pain and hiding under my own skin.
I'm exhausted from closing people out.
I'm done with clamming up my emotions.

I'm sick of everything, but I'm especially sick of myself.
I've been distancing myself from you, when you don't deserve it.
You mean something to me and I failed to show it.
To let you know.
Oh how sorry I am to you.

I've broken down and fallen to my knees
I was hoping you'd accept this as my plea and catch me.

Overcoming obstacles.

2011-03-10T13:08:00.000-08:00

After getting the news from work that his branch will be phased out with the big company acquisition, he just lost it.

He had just signed for the $750k house in the Los Gatos Hills after living in an apartment for 3 years and moved in with his wife (who was now 7 months pregnant), putting down a large down payment from the wedding gifts they saved and invested together. They also created a trust fund for their future kids from her cashed out portfolio, drawing from the '00 tech bubble. For 3 years, he has been working longer hours to compete for a promotion at his firm and now this happens.

The worry and stress and panic surged over him. He thought they had everything under control. Everything was planned out for their future and they was already set to follow that plan. Now, they might not be able to keep the house and keep paying the bills and support a family with those expenses. With the current state of the economy, he wasn't sure he could find a job in the same industry, at the salary they needed to sustain their dreams and plans. And he didn't want to move back into a cramped apartment or ask their relatives for a loan, he wasn't sure when they could pay back. He nearly wept.

He avoided telling his wife for a week until she noticed a change in his actions and asked him what was wrong after he brushed his teeth to slip into bed.

"I'm losing my job in a few months. I knew we should have settled with the house we saw in Mountain View. We don't need 4 bedrooms and a pool."
"Don't say that. It's okay. The worst that could happen would be living in an apartment again or moving in my parents' house. We'll figure it out and it'll be okay. Come here. Let's talk."

She could tell he was beating himself up for every decision they made together after they got married. That made her worry and feel guilty, but she knew they had to stop being fixated on what was wrong and focus on what to do with the baby on the way.

He stayed silent for a while, sitting on the bed and leaning his head against the wall.

"Come back to bed," she said, when he got up to sit in chair in the corner of the bedroom.
"Why does this happen?"
"It's life. It's not going to be easy all the time."
"It's not fair. We've worked so hard to get this far and I don't want to have to stop and go backwards."
"Stop it now. I know it's hard, I'm upset about it, too, but letting it bother us won't get us far. This baby is coming when we like it or not and we'll just have to get through it as best as we can."

He turned to look at her stomach and up at her face.

"Come here. We'll be fine, I promise."

He lay his head on her leg and she grabbed his hand to put it on top of her round stomach. He felt a kick. "See? Even the kid agrees that daddy should stop worrying."

Daddy, he thought, picturing the family they would soon have and all he saw was the beautiful face of his wife and heard the laughter of his children as he fell asleep.

City is his

2011-03-06T16:30:00.000-08:00

"Hey, this is the story of a youngin dreamin
Left his city to see if he could be what he dreamin" - J. Cole

When it is quiet, we can hear our demon’s whispers.

This is how he came to be irresistibly attracted to the city, a place at once turbulent and inevitable in its size and concentration. The tumult, continuity, and solidity of the city not only provided the intensely excited person, a quest for something, but its tidal restlessness provided a strange sanctuary from the poisons that dwell within him. It’s hard to explain, but the noise here gave a temporary peace.

He feels he must not become weary and forget that he went there in search of something and to escape something else.

Involvement in this city serves as self-preservation. Everyone works, laughs, plays, cries, loves, and fights because they want to feel connected and escape their undisclosed guilt. It is their occupation with their determinate achievements, haughty disposition, and measured selves that silence the devils who threaten to shout down the angels.

The city was a place he could commence his pursuit for that holy grail. It presented an empty canvas he could conceal his own insecurities. Around him, he saw the unforgiving, impersonally erected walls, in which he needed to measure, if only to prove his caliber. He saw a labyrinth here, a complex puzzle that if he was able to solve it, it would authenticate the individual characteristics that defined him. That included his intelligence, humor, strength, and wit. He felt a fire in the pit of his soul, which blazed into the concrete jungle with the aim to scale the artificially constructed, precarious, and often times corrupt steps of a ladder that ascended to some crescendo.

It was intense, glittering, and rapid, the life he began to live there.

The fact is that his own illusions about the world entrap him, imprisoning him rather than freeing, so he wanted to take steps to coming to terms with a haunting truth that threatens to shake the foundation of his construct there. Nothing was grounded there. Breaking down the barriers of entry around him didn't give him any release. It only served to tell him that he could do it, but it didn't answer his question of what exactly it was that defined him. The walls he saw in the city had always been the projections of the walls he built around himself. The intricate maze he felt in the busy streets had always been the ones he drew from his mind. These are his demon's murmurs, suggesting his weakness and his human form.

In facing this mortifying truth, he took time to reflect on reconciliation and redemption. In spite of current standings, he knew he was destined for greatness. He just had to have the strength to conquer those demons.

His own resolution would be to see the world, its triumphs and tragedies, as both universal and relative to personal perceptions. He wanted to read people as if the obstacles they overcame, aversions they possessed, and the consummations they achieved were his very own. He wanted to be active, innovative, and bold in scaling his abilities to get know the world out there.

It’s time that he shouted down his doubts of the city and trusted his investment in her. He believed their truths could be unveiled to each other over time, and that it will translate their world into ever more strange and complex patterns. And he wanted to do this with her because, indisputably, he thought she was worth it.

Restriction

2011-03-05T22:47:00.000-08:00

[with C. Pham]

I close my eyes, so that I cannot see what you have done
Betrayed me, lied to me, reduced everything I thought I had to none.

I cover my ears so that I cannot hear you mock me
So I cannot know what our reality and truth will be.

I seal my mouth shut so I cannot speak fire
And let all of my pains out to transpire.

I tie my feet together, so that I cannot run away
In front of a moving train to take my troubles away.

I bind my hands with wire and rope
So that I cannot light aflame
The object you love the most.

The Night City

2011-03-04T19:28:00.000-08:00

He saw her standing at the window. The light illuminating from the city, outlining her body. She wore the backless, mid-thigh length dress that conformed to her every curve. He could see her without it and in his arms, inviting him to touch.

"She came from overseas to be a star on the boulevard
She wants sex on the beach
We can share, it's only fair
I got paradise on call (it's ours)
She got a little taste and she wants more"

- Ya Boy

Of course, after the third glass of red, lines of dream and past blurred.

It was the dead of winter and he could see his breath in the air. The wine, no matter how strong would not warm him up. Maybe some gin will do. He got up from his chair and floor creaked. Walking to the window, he let his fingers glide along the sill and with sudden defiance, opened the latch and let the frigid air fill the room.

Looking down below, the street lights were dim through the low fog of the night. He felt like he knew the corners and sights by heart, yet at the same time, he didn't know why they caused him to choke on his on breath.

He saw the same woman at the window, sitting in the middle of the clearing of the park, randomly situated between the condos and apartment buildings. He rubbed his eyes and looked over to the pavements, with sparsely scattered night dwellers. A couple was walking along the path, laughing and conversing aloud. Taking a closer look, the woman was also her. The lady in the coat walking out of the store at the corner was also her. The scantly dressed gal, stumbling out of the bar, too. All five or six women in the vicinity below wore her face.

In a rush to stop the haze, he closed the window and returned to his chair. He vowed to stop drinking and just go to bed.

But she would haunt him in his sleep and star in his dreams.

No makeup

2011-03-04T14:24:00.000-08:00

"Okay, I just put my eyeliner on and finally found my clutch. We can go now. Are you ready yet?"
"Hmm. I wish you didn’t put it on."
"What, too flashy? The buckles are a bit much, I suppose. I'll be right back with my other bag."
"No, I meant your makeup. You are unbelievably gorgeous right now. Really, I can’t take my eyes off of you. You don't need that stuff, you can do without it."
[grins]
"I'm just feeling so lucky that I get to take you out tonight."

Forgive them.

2011-03-03T01:03:00.000-08:00

He was told many times in his life that trials lead to the perfection of character and soul.
That everyone was equally possessed by the everlasting and the temporary.
Someone that he trusted, said that he was too sad, too frequently, and that he returned to the dark too freely, too quickly.
The person that he loved told him he was too stubborn and his defiance kept him from loving her, because he didn't love himself.
His father told him that it was a part of growing up, to accept.
His God told him that everything was within reason, but not all reasons were agreeable.

She was told that she thought too much, analyzed things not necessary to ponder, and that it affected her health.
A dear friend had said that her dignity was hers to lose, not someone else's to take away.
Someone said that it was only natural that she felt hurt from loving too much.
Peers have told her that it was okay to ask for help.
That she is allowed to pray, even if only in darkness.
And that was fine if she felt defeated and too weak to keep the tears from falling when she knelt in the confessional in front of her Father.

They were told that to forgive their city indulgence or small town complacence.
To embrace the simplistic and complex.
And then to forgive themselves.

Gestures & Inflections

2011-02-27T10:41:00.000-08:00

Sensuality - Vikter Duplaix

She always wanted him tell her to "slowwwww down," when she tried to get dressed for work. In fact, she imagined how persuasive he could be.

To tell her to take her time getting out of bed, laying his arm over her and he would make her pry her way out. And while she tries to get up, he'd take in her essence, breathing her in, glide his hands across her body, feeling her warmth, just desperate for one more minute with her, looking at her, creating a visual memory for himself to ponder about, that would linger through the day.

He would tell her with his eyes that he wanted to have "breakfast" in bed and that she should spend the day in bed with him.

Instead, he always looked up at her hurry to get to work, his face scrunched up, like he was going to throw a tantrum, his eyes stinging from the morning light, and he grunted at her haste. He would start by complaining that once she was up, he couldn't go back to sleep anymore. He also added that she should quit her day job and find something "better." That was his way of telling her that he cared.

Turn around

2011-02-26T10:34:00.000-08:00

I woke up and still in bed in my silk pjs, I called him, "Did last Monday really happen or did I just dream it all?"

I can tell he was smiling over the phone as he said, "Go get ready. I'll come by in a bit to get brunch."

He was the guy that made me light up whenever he said my name. It's funny the way it happened, because I was certain he would never look at me that way. He was 7 years my senior, so he often treated me like a younger sister. I just remember how cool he was and always considerate. He often teased me being short and skinny and how I should trust him because he "knows better" by his age.

We stopped talking on a regular basis as he moved away, he and I still kept in touch via Facebook. Every now and then, he'd ask how I was doing and if I was in law school yet.

It was distant until I moved to go to Stern at NYU for B-School and bumped into him at Nouriel Roubini's infamous TriBeCa summer party. I was flattered when he did a double take as I passed him at the loft, even though he probably just thought I looked familiar. It wasn't until he heard me talk to some of the notable economists there, that he recognized my voice and pulled me aside later that night to catch up. By the end of the night, we exchanged numbers and promised to kick it since I was now in the area.

And hang out we did. I paid for tea and listened while he talked to get over his last relationship and in exchange, he showed me the best places to eat and hang out around the city, and got me sweet deals for books and other college stuff.

There was always this unspoken attraction between us. I could tell he felt it, too at times between the flirting and joking. It was like a tension that neither of us would try to break because we were both too chicken about what it would do to our friendship.

Before we knew it, I was graduating soon and I told him my plan to move back home to start my own mutual fund, managing large cap stocks. I was actually waiting for him to refute me. Instead, he asked, why don't I stay there and be near the trading floors. I forced a smile and told him that I couldn't handle working in such a cutthroat environment and that I valued my sleep too much.

My flight was scheduled on the morning of my 25th birthday, a Monday, and so I said goodbye the day before, since he had work. I had already planned as I was walking through the terminal to sleep on the plane and go home to cry myself to sleep.

It was then that I heard a voice calling me and turned around to see him hovered over on a chair, gasping for breath because he had ran. "Why are you here? Don't you have work?"

"I took the day off, I couldn't say goodbye to you yet."

Me, still shocked, responded, "Why?"

Struggling to catch his breath, he continued falling on his knees, "This is going to sound weird, but we've known each other for so long and the last 3 years of you living here were the best years of my life. I didn't realize how happy you've made me until I thought about you being gone. And I would regret it if I didn't ask you this one question. I know it's a little late, I love you and will you be mine?"

I remember dropping my bags then to help him up, but I tripped over my heels and fell in my efforts and we both sat on the floor trying to contain ourselves and breathe. I gave him a hug and said yes.

Now back to this morning. I responded with, "Yes, can we please get together and talk about what happened last week? I can't stop smiling, my jaw hurts."

He replied simply, "Seriously, me too."

She's that kind of girl

2011-02-25T18:42:00.000-08:00

Jenn Tam

She's the girl you'd want to take home if you saw her sitting on the curbside by herself.
You'd want to hold her hands and spin around until you heard her laughter echo in the night air.
For the first time in your life, you don't care that other people can see when you're so in love with her.

She's sophisticated.
Not in a prim and proper way, but she makes you wonder how such a person can exist.
So special she is, you wonder if everyone else knows that, too.
In fact, you want to tell them all and at the same time, keep the treasure that she is a secret to the world.

Yet she's carefree, spirited, and full of soul.
She reminds you of how loving and not silly cheek kisses are.
Skipping isn't just for kids.
Nor are flower wreaths and flowers in your hair.
She makes you love life again.
Makes the rainy days bearable.

Even when she's gone, she still manages to make you smile.
You smile of the times you had with her and the gift of memories she left that will stay with you until the end.

She's the kind of girl you wouldn't mind calling you at 2am to sneak out into the dark and hang out on a rooftop in the cold.
Even when you have work the next morning.
It's worth the insomnia when you're with her.
Honestly, if she gets you sick, who cares?

You're with your best friend and life is better with her around.
You don't even remember what you both ate at that bakery downtown, but you remember her voice, so excited and thrilled to be with you.
She could have spent her last $11.00 of her paycheck on tea and dessert with anyone, but she spent it on you.
She handcrafted your last birthday card, but you don't even remember telling her your birthday (she asked another friend).
It surprises you all the time.
She makes you believe in love.

She's the kind of girl you love to love.
She's love.

Asking for my number

2011-02-20T12:56:00.000-08:00

"So, you've never asked for a girl's number before you asked for mine?" I nearly choked in astonishment.

It was only our first drink, but that bit of information caught me off-guard and my kamikaze nearly sloshed onto myself. I looked around, nervously hoping that no one else in the restaurant saw. I smiled back at him.

"Nope. That's why I was hesitant to ask."
"Bullshit! I don't believe you one bit. How did you ever meet any of your ex-girlfriends?"
"Through friends or friends of friends."

We were reminiscing about the night we met, often wondering aloud what would have happened if he had never asked for my number, or if I hadn't called him after a 2-week stint.

"I would have never seen you again," he quietly says, looking down at his empty steak dish, pushing all the remaining sauce with his fork.

We were thinking the same thing. We never hang out at the same places, know any of the same people, and I was new from west, and he was from the east.

"I know," I said, as I left my words drift in my mind, racing along, thinking of how happy I've been with him over these weeks, and the months that flew by so quickly.

"Do you remember? As you were leaving, that guy tried to hit on you, and I called out to you to ask if it was alright that I called you sometime. Gosh, I felt so stupid."
"Aww don't. I thought about asking you for yours...or maybe tracking you down through that friend of ours."
"Really?"
"Yeah, maybe not enough for me to actually do it, but it crossed my mind."
I was relieved when he smiled, and after a brief pause I continued, "So tell me, why did you ask for my number?"
"Because...well...you're the kind of girl that made me want to."