July 2 – I Hate You

There she was. Right in front of me, like a blooming flower in midday, it was so impossible, yet here the contradictory laid. I couldn’t imagine something so real and so fictional all at the same time. It almost made my heart break. I held back the tears, the memories, the “what if’s” crawling around my mind these past few days. I felt sick… And of all places Miss 626 had to be lying in the bed of my only communication line between my film and our first encouter: Nate. Why did it have to be like this…

After days of writing in this journal, I’ve finally learned the craft behind writing a good story. It’s been good practice for my grammar and format, by pen I’m almost a master in my own eyes, but by speech I am still, well, speechless. As much of it I have been taking care of, it didn’t help me prepare for the real thing. Not like this.

Early this morning, I came to pick up my phone from Nate’s apartment. I didn’t want to be disturbed while I was finishing my submission for the Grant, so I made sure he kept it away from me, in case I had another temptation to call Miss 626 in the middle of the night. Now that I know she’s more abused than loose, a tragedy like that would go unsaid until someone else can do something about it. A car door was too much for me. I imagined myself as her hero at that particular moment, when her date made her cry at that stop, but I suppose I needed to be faster, stronger, more of a man. I considered myself a coward for not acting so quickly. Damn my nerves, I swear…

But of all times, right when I completed my project and submitted the final cut to the upcoming film festival, I return to my phone, to Nate’s alcohol, to her…lying unconscious on his bed…his bed. I swore I woke to a nightmare when I found Eve. The walls came crashing down, and my lungs suffocated under a thick mist of jealousy. Was he to become her hero? What was there left for me? I signed the form for the Grant, confessing my ardent piece, revealing my soul through her face, Shakespeare, and stupid rap music! It was suppose to be art, it was suppose to be a masterpiece, but right then, just as I saw her snoring in between his sheets and my cell phone, I affirmed the pervert Nate had to be. The Bartender and my bane. GOD, WHY!!!

Why did she sit there with her dry lips and dampened face, sounding like a trumpet — young strumpet, are you real at all?  What was all this for, if it were to just to end in humiliation? I think, I do think too much, and much too much am I finding myself more and more hysterical, lyrical, but hysterical. God, why-God-why???

I left my car, and walked home. I have my phone, but I don’t think I’ll be able to pick it up for another year. I wish I were quicker, stronger, more of a man. Maybe none of this would have happened. Eve can stay as Miss 626, for all I care. I’ll stay in hellish Northridge forever, and forget that day of paradise between her smile and voice and shoulder and phone number. My fingers can be wiped clean now, her number’s no consolation anymore. I hate the world, I hate being me — twenty-something and a stupid artist, as if I didn’t feel isolated enough for being only half Asian, my friends have to rub it in my face how slow and weak I really really am! I hate you Nate, I hate you. And Eve, how could you?

I’m in the bus and I

I didn’t take a shower, and I’m here at Ho

I’m about to flush the toilet, my film’s about to show. At least if I get this Grant, I’ll be rich enough to move out of this city. I hate Hollywood, but the festival is here, maybe if I make it in the Indie scene, I can go to the festivals in Texas instead. But for now, the Egytian Theater is all I got left. If I lose, at least I can end my career in Art today, and get a job at some Insurance company in the Midwest, where dreams are just another TV episode on Lifetime.

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June 28 – Singing Telegrams

These past few days have been quite the turn of events. So much that this past week has simply been a whirlwind and I can only now write about it !

The phone calls got more frequent, Jack was leaving voice mails, and they were not just the “Hi it’s me” kind. No they would go on with his stuttering (Jack always stutters when he gets nervous) about reuniting for a good cause and get cut off before I could quite understand what the fuss was about. Well, after a week of the banter I went to the mobile store and had his number blocked. I even celebrated and got myself a new book at Vroman’s on the way back.

My plan was simple, I wanted to curl up to a good book and my current tea fling (Jasmine w/Rose Mmmm) and finally fall asleep in sheer lazy bliss. You’d think that this would happen as there was a blocked number and I’m become quite the isolated character, but just as my eyes got heavy THE PHONE RANG ONLY ONCE! It wasn’t a number that I recognized, but it was from the same 818 area code as Jack’s. I was fumed, had he finally sink so low?

Overwhelmed with frustration I did what I thought I would never do again, I unblocked Jack from my Facebook and messaged him to stop harassing me for the sake of decency. He instantly replied. My heart stung seeing his face pop up with his icon. I felt a bit of guilt. I was a few days off before a year and six months since the break-up, talking to him almost felt like I was cheating on my decency. In the conversation he had one bit of leverage, Henrietta. Long story short, I agreed to meet him on our old campus in agreement that he would stop harassing me after I helped him figure this out.

I didn’t sleep the whole night, I didn’t even read my book. I felt terrible, weak, and a little excited all the same time. All of my self doubts and slightest second thoughts were going to be indulged in a couple of hours. In a couple of hours I was going to see all my hard work of staying strong crumble. I didn’t even bother getting ready, I slipped into my hoodie and flip flops, and didn’t bother to change out of my pajamas.

Walking on campus again felt like I was going backwards. It was early enough in the morning where the sun was just about to peak through the marine layer, and the sound of sprinklers and lawn blowers encased me from the urban sounds of the bus and traffic of cars. There he stood at the administration steps in his distressed  jean jacket, gorgeous as he always was, like some hunk out of an 80s movie. He was obsessed with the 80s all the way to it’s fashion. It suited him well, as all I cared for was being swept away by the free spirited reject that he was.

…I forgot how good he looked in a tight clean t-shirt… freak.

…he even brought my Bavarian cream doughnuts from the shop near his house…

… the Styrofoam cup of Moroccan Mint tea had the words ‘I’M SORRY‘…

“Hey Bright Eyes.” He sighed, trying to keep from smiling. How dare he use my old pet name! It was almost instant that I remembered why I could never fully love him, his over confidence. At first I thought of it as a Marc Darcy and Elizabeth situation, but it never seemed to really fade. It wasn’t that he was never good to me, but sometimes when we kissed I felt like he was kissing himself, EW!

“Lets get this over with.” I told him.

I didn’t eat the doughnut, I tried to resist drinking the tea (but you know me and tea) which ended up to be me sipping it from time to time. He explained everything, desperate in his own way. There were times when he was running short of words and trust me, Jack’s a lyricist, there was definitely something wrong. He recently spoke to Henrietta, the girl that played matchmaker with us. Seems like she’s getting married! I had known Henrietta for less than Jack had, but were very close until she went to study abroad in England for a semester. That’s where she fell in love and has been in an online relationship with a guy for almost 3 years.

She invited us to the wedding. Yes US, the us that needs to die in soon-to-be a year and a half. Seems like the guy she fell in love with was the teacher. Its how she pulled the strings to stay in England and complete her major there even though her grades were sinking. Just as I was appalled with the thought of how many sluts I actually knew. I realized why Jack made such the effort to see me.

Henrietta swore that she believed in love again because of us and would kill herself if we ever broke up.

What else do you expect from an Emo/Goth Theatre major? The cutting was a nightmare, I won’t even get into her eating disorders. But Jack and I noticed something in the early stages of us getting together: she started to cut less and less and actually moved on. It was one of the reasons we were together for so long, I mean us as an item was actually a good thing. Jack lied to her that we were still together for this very reason.

Call it redemption for actually giving into my guilty pleasure, but I agreed that I would play along only if I was able to tell her after the wedding. Since he had no choice, he agreed. The ceremony is in late August at The Brewery where her parents live.  I’m sure it will be nothing less of Henrietta, artsy and all.

Here’s the strange part: As we were about to leave, I told him I would agree to unblock his number if he promised to stop calling me on strange hours and different numbers.

“What are you talking about?” He looked puzzled. I knew he wasn’t acting, he was horrible at lying. His reaction frightened me.

“This” I showed him the number on the phone log. I felt my heart stop. Who else would have called me? It couldn’t be… could it?

Taking the phone from me, he put it of speaker and dialed the number. I couldn’t seem to fight him, I was dying to know who it was as well… The phone rang until it hit the voice mail; strange enough it was a song, recorded from something else.

“Who does that anymore? That was an early decade thing, haven’t heard of that since high school.” Jack laughed at first, but he started to hum the song. I knew what he was doing, memorizing the lyrics.

We Googled some of the lyrics on his phone, it was Bjork’s I Miss You (Remix) from her Telegram album. None of knew anyone that listened to Bjork, let alone extensively to buy this remake album. I begged him not to call it again.

“Seems you have bigger problems than Henrietta, a stalker. Can’t say I’m not jealous.” He taunted, I was too shocked he easily took me in for a hug.

As he disappeared I realized I was eating the doughnut, stress eating. No wonder he was making fun of me. Still, I couldn’t deny the truth. I was losing my control, and a fragment of my reality was unraveling before my eyes…