--sunday | september 29, 2002 | 9:11pm-- "last year was one of our better years in a life full of separation." the following is the eulogy i had read at my dad's funeral on september 14, 2002. it was written after a long night of friends, memories, drinking, laughing, and crying. i didn't sleep that night. Dad would've turned sixty on friday. i always made fun of how old he was, never once thinking for a second that he wouldn't be there to laugh with me. i miss you dad, more than anything, dammit...* "I couldn’t sleep last night. Partly because I had been up until 4AM eating Lo Mein noodles at Bo Loong, or playing mahjong at the DeBanate house, or even sitting outside and talking with John Paul and my friends about all the little things that made Dad MY dad. So when I finally returned home, I sat silently in the home my mother and my father built and listened: to the dreamy murmurs of a household full of relatives and friends; to the clock on the wall that ticked and ticked and ticked, wondering why no one in my family ever bothered to set it to the correct time; to Toby, my pudgy, little dog who sneaked into the kitchen for scraps of food that in one way or another may have found their way to the floor; and to the squeaks and creaks of the chair in the den as I squirmed in front of the computer trying to come up with the perfect words to describe Dad. I realized the futility of such a vital task. Because my dad never used the big words. He was a human dictionary, yes, but he chose to utilize a more simple vocabulary. His words were never the most beautiful. His English was rich in Tagalog influence, and every single stereotype I had ever heard about Filipino parents in terms of the language they used would be fulfilled with every word my dad would utter. Half the time, I could hardly make out what he would talk about, what words he would attempt to articulate, or even the point of a certain conversation he would insist on having. And the other half—well, the other half was mostly a garbled mess, a joke wrapped in a language not my own, from a person whose humor I just didn’t understand. An innocent humor. Yes, my dad was a man of a few words, and those words were never eloquent, articulate, verbose. No, the little expressions and minute proverbs coming from his lips that graced our ears were a different language all their own: simple, candid, poignant—but deep down, we understood completely. For Dad was smarter than the average bear, and his wit was on a par with no one else. It took that little extra something to think for a second and appreciate the mind-boggling, thought-provoking, sense-tingling joker that he was. Rather than hold the stalwart demeanor of the strong, silent type, archetypical of most modern-day father figures, Dad made it his obligation to touch us all with his unparalleled humor, and he never ceased to amaze us with an incessant barrage of gags and pranks and silly faces. Was he laughing at us or with us? Did he say a joke out loud, or did he simply fool us into thinking we didn’t understand? It could have been a ten-minute diatribe on the differences between gasoline prices in Lorain and in North Royalton (he would always buy gas in Lorain), or even a single word he would say, pronounced awkwardly or used unwittingly inappropriately and following it with a big, gaping smile that one couldn’t help but laugh at and with and be remembered for years to come. And although the punch line was most often his jolly, belly-scratching, Pillsbury chuckle, followed by a crowd of blinking onlookers that, well, just didn’t get it but laughed anyway, we all miss him for making us laugh and smile and being the funny man that he was. And so, I wondered: What made Dad… Dad? Twenty-one years with the man, and was all that could be accounted for was misplaced humor? One of the earlier glimpses into my father’s life came when my family and I traveled to the Philippines in 1992. I was only eleven years old, and the memories I had retained were mostly fun little tidbits about one-hundred degree heat and jeepney traffic and cold baths. But there was something behind all of the fringes that kept both my sanity and my contentment: It was the family. I can look back now and appreciate with an honest heart the community in which my mom and dad were raised in. I can’t remember names or faces or places, but the feeling of unity and kinship that overflowed on the other side of the world had molded my dad into a giving and caring and positive and spiritual individual. I had met my dad’s cousins and sisters and friends, and it was easy to see how Dad became one of the most gentle, most sincere, most real persons in my life. So my dad was a great dad, but why? So simple a question to answer, but I pressed on to find a deeper truth behind it all. Why did I hold him in so high a regard? What made him more special in my eyes than any other caring and loving relative or friend? My dad and I had our things. I mean, we never really did the routine, father-and-son sports outings, save for the occasional trip to Jacobs Field, him wearing his engineering hat and matching jacket, short white shorts and knee-high tube socks, me wearing the embarrassing look on my face. We didn’t go tossing the football around, although we had one. And I relied on my uncles and cousins for quick pickup games of basketball, although my dad liked to brag about a hook-shot that he never had. But I couldn’t say that we didn’t have things in common, because we had plenty of that. I could recall countless nights in which I would wake up in the middle of the evening, walk down the stairs and into the kitchen to see him sitting in front of the television making siopao or hopia. He would tell me that I shouldn’t be awake, but I would stay up with him anyway, reading yesterday’s paper and watching Benny Hill reruns or Quantum Leap or the ever-popular episode of Highlander. And though I never really liked Benny Hill or Highlander, I could talk to him nonstop about Sam Becket’s trips through time with him on a nightly basis. And my passion for playing music had to have come from him. My mom had always told me about the times when I was an infant crying in the middle of the night, and how my dad would softly play the piano to get me back to sleep. That had to have done something, right? And I won’t even begin to talk about comic books and how he hooked me onto that. But regardless of what my father and I did or didn’t do together, it wasn’t the actual activity or nonactivity that made it memorable or lasting. There was something behind it. There was something small, yet luminous in everything between us. The obligatory pat on the back after I had made a mistake, the look of concern he gave me when I didn’t mow the lawn when he asked me too, the sigh of relief he gave when my sister and I would walk out to the car when he came home from work and carried his groceries into the house, his pretending to be asleep as Tobydogg would stick his face underneath his hand to let him know he wanted to be petted, or when he was singing loud and proud and off-key at Mass and smiling about it as we looked at him funny. He did all of these things with a simple, sweet sincerity, the kind of tenderness you didn’t even believe existed until you knew my dad. It’s sad, sometimes, not realizing or recognizing the innocence. Everything he did, he did so with a humble heart. The only pride he felt was the pride in the family and friends he had built around him, the pride in being able to provide for us all both caringly and carelessly, and the pride he felt spiritually in his works with the parish community, the Filipino-American community, and the community as a whole. But throughout all of his endeavors, Dad did so with a smile, a chuckle, wide-eyed and delighted. Who could ask for anything more? And so, Dad is my dad. I think of him with a full heart, knowing he is watching down at us from above, at Mom, Missy, April, Tricia, John Paul, Lola Leona, all our relatives and friends. I can only pray that we all may step a little forward, laugh a little more, smile and remember the wonderful man that Manuel Valderama Lim is, was, and will be remembered as. I hope I can live up to the name he has given me, to the family and friends he has built for us, to the community of spiritual growth and kinship he has fostered, and if I can become just a fraction of the man he was, then I can understand why he was smiling at me, at Missy, at Mom, at all of us. I love you dad." -----

--friday | august 30, 2002 | 1:02am-- "franky says relax." there are a few things in the world that matter to me, and there are quite a number of things that don't. matters: family, friends, living. non-matters: clothes, hair, bookshelves. the things that matter are things that everyone seems to care about, right? it's a task to find a soul out there that can honestly live without family and friends. and the "living" aspect of life- the part of you that goes out and does stuff, that breathes the air in new places, that sees new things and cherishes the old ones- that part seems to go unnoticed until you become all retrospective.. or is it introspective? whichever. and then there's the stuff that doesn't matter. there's the clothes i wear, the stuff i find for a dollar and wear for a lifetime. or my hair, which i just seem to grow out or shave bald or just wear a hat over for days and days. or the bookshelves i don't own, which cause me to throw my superfluous accessories all over my floor. you'd be hard-pressed to argue that i can't go on with a bald head and a dirty pair of blue jeans. but those are the extremes, right there: family & friends vs. clothes & hair. fight! but in the middle of that spectrum lies every single minute detail that goes under the microscope of scrutiny by me and everyone i come into contact with. there's the music i listen to, the choice of profession i will lead, the foods i eat, the language i speak, the words i write, the songs i sing, the books i read, and the shoes i put on my feet (shoes being completely different from clothes, but i won't get into that discussion at this point in time). so there's the world for you. a couple of things that matter, a few that don't, and a flood of things that people can choose to.. count.. in one's daily passing of time. and so, we go on living, and i go on caring about the same old things, and not caring about the other things, and i forget about what i care about. but it takes something fucked up like a death in the family to get you caring again. isn't that FUCKED UP??? and i'm not saying that a family member's passing is fucked up, but it's just hard for me to understand why i keep slipping into some state of apathy, or hatred, or confusion, or uselessness, when i know that there are deeper, more relevant things to be thinking of, to be a part of, to learn about. and that's when i get stuck and lost and pissed off. and alone. my grandmother, maria belsonda (lola maring), passed away on august 17, 2002. strangely, the night before, i was over at kathleen's parents house for a little family gathering for her mother, who was in recovery from surgery. i was in the basement playing mah jong with her cousin and her cousin's father's aunt. a grandmother of somebody. well, it was weird because this lola looked exactly... EXACTLY... like a younger version of lola maring. even had the mole under the eye. i was even thinking about it the whole time we played, because it had been so long since my lola had last spoken a word, let alone play thrilling games of asian gin rummy. so it was a pleasant occurrence, to say the least, but upon finding out that my grandma had passed away that very night, it weirded the shit out of me. i mean, it REALLY weirded me out. so that's where the caring began, and the, well, "uncaring" of everything else started as well. well, i must say, it wasn't such a sad week. i saw a bunch of people i hadn't seen in years, so that was nice. i wrote a poem about lola and read it at her wake, so that was special. and the service was great, and everything went smoothly, so i was happy, maybe the happiest i've been in a while. then, on sunday, missy, john, tricia, and i went to new york for a day. i must say, i love new york. we were such fucking tourists, though, it was almost embarassing. the worst part was getting into the city through lincoln tunnel, but after that, it was smooth sailing. we picked up metro cards, got on the bus, and then took the subway (everywhere). we went to ground zero, which is now a giant, gaping meteor hole in the ground in the middle of the city. back to the subway, then it was off to FAMOUS RAY BONO PIZZA on E.82nd and Lexington (i think). that was my free advertising, because he was such a nice guy and his pizza tasted great. in fact, all of the foods we ate in new york tasted great. then it was a tour around the new york art museum, which is really amazing (loved the dali painting, the friedman self-portraits, and the giant hills n' valley painting that was really a diary. wow.), and then a stroll through central park. after another subway run, we stopped by times square, and i got to drop by wwe's the world! that's the wwe's restaurant/store, and it f'ing ruled. but i could not convince anyone to stay (i mean, c'mon! it was SUMMERSLAM that night! yeah). another subway and it was off to greenich village and st. mark's and a stroll through washington square park. we met up with tricia's friend gretchen, who liked hornby's how to be good, which i'm about to finish after i finish typing this out (i think it sounds like a guy trying to be a girl's p.o.v. though, but whatever). then we ate dinner under the beautiful moonlight at, lemme try and get this right, trattoria spaghetto (yeah!) at father demo park, where our waiter, who we believed to be the owner of the fine restaurant, seemed to keep crossing the street and coming back sniffing his nose. he kept yelling things out in italian and his eyes never seemed to open and he kept giving us free food, so i gave him a large tip that would most likely pay for his next coke fix. ah well. that place had great chicken parmigiana. we stayed at our friend jeff's very expensive and very snug waterside apartment. it was very warm inside, though. the next day, we ate lunch at canal fun in chinatown somewhere. inexpensive, plentiful, and tasty (my three adjectives)! then i purchased some clothes (that don't "matter," mind you... kidding) at h&m in soho, and by five o'clock, we were beating traffic to get out of that city. i love new york. back in columbus now, and after all that typing, i want to just sit back and relax. so says franky. and that. was. that. -----

--wednesday | august 14, 2002 | 3:42am-- "the wonder spot." i don't know what it is that makes me want to type this right now. in fact, most of me is sleepy as hell after laughing through candyman tonight. but i'm pretty certain that i want to get something off my chest. thing is... i don't quite know what. the basics: i'm in columbus, ohio. my sister, in cleveland, has my car. so with my limited resources, i've managed to keep myself pretty busy and pretty unemployed. but i've been reading a lot more books than i'm used to, and because of that, i've been feeling rejuvenated and enlightened and all that. i've managed to begin writing again.. short stories, songs, even that novel i've been putting off. i even started playing the piano again, mostly to spite all the crappy piano pieces i've been hearing lately. my room is a dusty mess. i am in terrible need of a bookshelf, what with the stacks and volumes of piles of hardcovers and paperbacks scattered across my floor. i want to frame the natalie portman star wars puzzle i assembled, even though i'm still quite pissed that she made out with jimmy fallon in that fucking mtv commercial and that she's dating that piece o' shit band's piece o' shit lead singer my cousin is in love with. i can't breathe. and i'm really, really allergic to cats again. my feet are bruised. (notice: there isn't really anything going on with this journal entry, is there? oh well, stop reading or read on if you have it in you. i truly have no idea where this is going.) here's the plan: after i graduate, which will be sometime in the next four or five quarters, depending on how fluent my japanese is, i'm going to travel to san francisco with anthony. we're going to meet up with rudy, who will be living with his sister and pretending to be a famous movie contemporary. after eating rice-a-ronie and riding trolley cars for a year and a half, mustering up cash at some low maintenance, high freedom enterprise, anthony and i are going to fly out to japan, becoming interpreters and longing for the old feudal days. after another year or so of that, we (or maybe just i, since anthony's goals reach their pinnacle residing in japan) will head back to america, bide time for a presidential election, and actually vote this time. and finally, after swearing in another button-happy commander-in-chief, move to canada, somewhere on the western side of the canadian rockies. preferrably somewhere that is perpetually autumn. at any rate, i hope to bring toby along for the ride, and if that isn't possible, i would find some pup on the streets of san francisco. i would learn to cook new foods (or cook, period, really), maybe take pride in the culinary (sp?) arts. i'd like a chef's hat. i'd write superficial memoirs and pawn them off to starving artists, just so they can leave the world something besides their art. i'd like to see a sunrise in canada. -----

--wednesday | july 24, 2002 | 4:34pm-- "i'm far past the point of return tonight." let's make this easy. for me. life. the doctor gave my grandmother 24 hours to live and pulled the plug on her. so, we rushed to philadelphia on the eve of my twenty-first birthday. it isn't like i had big plans or anything, and at the time, that was completely beside the point. on the drive there, outside of pittsburgh, a truck four cars in front of us lost a tire, hit the wall, and exploded. i mean EXPLODED. f'ing 200 yards in the air, giant ball of flame. it caught the forest and only got worse. i felt helpless. traffic was at a halt, and we were stuck there for four and a half hours. i found out the driver survived. a miracle. when we arrived in philadelphia, it was another miracle. lola was stable. we spent our week there enjoying family time. it was nice. on my birthday, i went to a picnic, sweated a little, and then we ventured to atlantic city. blackjack was intimidating, so i spun the slots and won 200 bucks. it was a fun day. i drove back to columbus yesterday, and we stopped at the rest area where the accident from the week before occurred. the truck was still there, disfigured and burnt to a crisp. it looked like a dried onion. literature. sitting in philadelphia for a week gave me the opportunity to finally get some reading in- ethan hawke's the hottest state and nick hornby's how to be good. ths... i'm sorry, it sucked. horribly. unintelligent, choppy, predictable. my three adjectives for it. htbg, on the other hand.. love it! it's very intelligent, it flows very smoothly, and it's just GOOD. great book... i am now reading the bear comes home by rafi zabor and kurt angle's autobiography, it's true! it's true! music have you heard the new home grown record? of course you have! it rocks! it's not quite act your age, but it's got some very catchy tracks, mostly adam tracks really ("you kiss me, then diss me, but now you say you miss me! you use me, confuse me, but you don't wanna lose me? you don't talk to me, don't acknowledge me anymore- i'm just another score..." awww, how cute. johnny trash is thirty-five years old and hasn't settled down yet.)... the new a new found glory record is crap... saw the juliana theory. JEEBUS! yeah. he got thin and hairy... saw rilo kiley, it was very good. except for the dude in front of me waving his emo/indie rock fingers in front of me like a fucking mop-head. rilo comes to columbus on monday. that should be fun... i'm going to warped tour in chicago. i don't know why; i think it's because i haven't gone to chicago this year yet and it's a scab that needs picking. i want to see alkaline trio. i bet they don't show. like last year, according to simon... oh yeah, and my apartment is now in mix tape mode. there's only one cassette recorder thing and simon's on it right now. he put piebald on his tape- who's gonna be the lucky shmuck? i'm readying my tapeage now. i'm sure they'll be loose, lack direction or theme, and overall, be loved by their impending owners. i'll be sure to leave out husker dü. film. one word: amèlie. "she'll change your life." i think the stars were aligned juuuust right for this one to materialize. best film ever... i ended up buying the amèlie and the royal tenenbaums dvds in philadelphia. thank Christ for commentary tracks... saw road to perdition. and if you've seen american beauty, then you've seen road to perdition. wwe no more euro-title, the rock with the wwe championship belt, eric bischoff, stephanie mcmahon, triple h heel turn... what da smuck is going on with world wrestling entertainment?!?! where the hell's ric flair???? thank Christ for booker t and goldust. rey mysterio debuts on smackdown! this thursday, it should be fucking rad. can you smell it? alright, i'm back in columbus. i have another roommate for a week. no opinion. -----

--monday | june 24, 2002 | 1:14am-- "i'm very ape, and very nice." there's nothing wrong with a little relaxation period, is there? i've just experienced a very lazy, television-soaked, alcoholic weekend with a bunch of great people. about the only one i felt sorry for this weekend was tobydogg. poor little trooper; i didn't have time to play with him.. well, i was either out of the house or watching some movie from the thirty or so movie channels at my house. but anyway, don't we all owe it to ourselves to just unbutton that top turnbuckle and layeth the smackdo... err, well.. just relax? it's weird... when did i become mr. responsible all of a sudden? i was in a fucking ska band before! how immature and unemotional and uninhibited was that? well, anyway. had a great time this weekend at aimee's little shindig. and i beat anthony in the second longest chess game EVER (queen for a queen? WTF?!). wwe is about to experience rey mysterio, rock on! i'm beginning to write again.. take THAT four months of writer's block! and tomorrow it's off to philly. again. they "say" it's just to visit. but i have this feeling that i'm gonna be dropped off on the curb, and someone'll say, "yeah, you're here for the summer to work. bye." and then there goes columbus until the fall. blah. ah well. -----

--thursday | june 20, 2002 | 1:21am-- "the love song of j. alfred prufrock." i don't know. i'm getting that feeling again. you know the one: your one eye is fine, but your other one, in my case my left eye, is just twitching. well, not really twitching; more like fluttering. and it's all cringly in your stomach, and i know "cringly" isn't a word but blah, and it's just hard to swallow. and it's just not the time for you to be typing into a journal, but your head is just so swollen with thoughts and horrible, horrible emotion.. and then there's that fleeting sense of relief. a moment where you can picture yourself walking through autumn leaves, and every footstep that you make plows through cringly, resounding leaves. and the wind whistles a sweet tune into your eardrums. in that moment, you feel like you belong on this earth. in that moment, you feel like someone cares that you made dean's list last quarter. in that moment, you feel like your new poster on the wall matters. and in that moment, you feel the farthest from what you feel right now. i don't know. it was just two days ago when i felt so sure about my life, that the choices i've made were the right ones. the choices about school, major, life, people, music, clothes, guitar, apartment, frozen food.. everything just seemed right. and a tweak and an hour later changes all that. i'm lost, and i'm alone, and i have nowhere to turn to, nowhere to go, nowhere to look except down at my empty hands. if only i could step out of myself for a second or two. just to see me, and not a reflection of me. i mean, my reflection is what i want to see. and i don't want to see that. i'm tired of it. i want to just take a peek, a glance at what someone else sees. if i could just feel what anyone else can feel for just a moment, i think some of the things i don't understand would make sense. kind of like right now. well, there's always pogo.com to keep me.. sane. and if i don't hear from me for a while, it's because i'm working on www.mafa2003.org. cheap plug. you all should go, it'll be great. goodnight, for now. -----

--monday | may 14, 2002 | 10:06pm-- "i have nothing to give to you but empty palms and weeklong headaches." the first thought that crosses my mind is the temperature of this room. it's halfway through may, and i'm freezing. nothing. yeah, booker t joined the nwo. yeah, the cleveland indians are disappointing me. and yeah, i performed with my cousin last friday in jonra, and it rocked considering we wrote most of our set the night before and the day of. and yeah, this is the week of hell for school, and i probably shouldn't be typing all this out. but yeah, there's really nothing, you know? i think i'm writing this simply to satisfy myself into thinking that i'm important and that my typing this means i have something to say. which i really don't. so don't be alarmed! i'm not dead yet. happy. p to the s.. oh yeah, and a bird shit on my cellphone WHILE i was talking on it. worst day ever! -----

--thursday | april 18, 2002 | 3:33am-- "the world is a vampire." top five films i've most recently experienced, for the first time, in no particular order: grave of the fireflies mulholland drive bottle rocket nausicaa: valley of the wind apocalypse now: redux and i lied. i only saw about a third of apocalypse, but my free-loading ass had to return the film to the library. and i just realized that sometime, someplace, somewhere i've seen parts of bottle rocket before, prior to a time when i could really appreciate how clever it is, i.e. now, and i realize that it stole my idea for a movie about suburban, mischievous thievery and whatnot. and watching all that anime makes me frown upon american intervention into other countries more and more. and that george w. really is, as simon puts it, "the anti-Christ." and ya know what? fuck apocalypse altogether. i saw this film red cherry, and that blew me away.. and there were nazis in it (and you KNOW what "they" say about nazis...)! and yes, i'm pissed the fuck off at angelo for cancelling step practice while i was sitting there AT practice after driving to campus on my day off, the day after i get my first fucking speeding ticket while coming to campus yesterday. pissed the fuck off. i didn't get to practice my fucking shizzybombdiggity fighting sequence against dennis. it's the shibaaaaaang. oh well, i'm going home tomorrow, probably, so now i don't even give a fuck. but first i have to read fucking chaucer tonight, as well as some keats (which i really don't mind, but at this point, i'm not in the mood for some british romantic melodrama), and then do my accounting homework, and then find time tomorrow to cash a check before the bank closes, get gas for my empty gastank, and CHEAP mind you, even though gas prices rise to whack-o prices on thursdays, then go to class from 1130am to 830pm, miss smackdown!, and then drive the fuck to cleveland. that's my fucking plan. so i guess i haven't been on this for a while, huh? well, there are only a few things notable in the last month or so. spiritually, i've gone to Mass about every sunday for a while now. that's a good thing. but it hasn't helped my swearing problem. i bought my first lottery ticket for the seventy-five mill. last saturday. and lost, of course. musically, my cousin and i are gonna perform p-noise on may 10th here at osu. in the nerd world, i finally got around to bagging and bording all my comics and reading all my daredevil ones, heh (surely i needed to mention that...). and finally, i died in a dream. pipe bomb. killed me instantly. do you know what happens to you when you die? errr... to me when i die? nothing. complete and total blackness. at the moment of death, everything goes dark, and then there is nothing. no big hooplah, no fire, no light, no harps, no nothing. however, on hindsight, i realize that after the darkness had lasted for several minutes (although i cannot be certain of the extent of that timeframe), i had awaken from my dream. which could be interpreted as new life after death. which would just rock, right? well, i hope you've enjoyed this, and i'll try to do this more often. of course, i won't be anywhere near a computer for the next four or five days.. but that's beside the point. -----

--monday | march 4, 2002 | 10:50am-- "i'm waiting to hear impending laughter." smile. i sit at the SEL, waiting for rj to deliver me a mcdonald's double cheeseburger. i'm hungry like no other, and he said he owes me for almost ruining my play. as i laugh out loud in this empty computer lab, i hear that voice in my head telling me, "hey you. fucker. you wrote a hit play and directed it. so you're not sweating it either." there's only so many reasons in this world to really be happy. i'm impatiently tapping my foot on the hollow floor, putting off readying myself for a history paper due in twenty-three hours in favor of waiting for a double cheeseburger. but this wait feels good; it was only a couple days ago that i was pulling my hair out over this play, but i sit contented in the afterglow. the play was "a hit." in all seriousness, i'm in awe of the cast and crew. every time something went wrong, we pulled together and made it seem just as right. even the step-dancing performance. sitting onstage in the aftermath with everyone around me, answering questions from the audience (completely off-the-wall mind you), it just felt good. and then to hear people's reactions to parts of the play- the laughter, the "ooo's," the crying, the applause- it just filled me up. out on stage, i'm sitting there answering random questions about psa and filipino history and inspiration and whatnot; in my head, i'm formulating another script. a new script. something that can top what was just done. then there was the cordial congratulations from people i don't know, but i was happy they were happy. and then there was the "here's what you did wrong" from the people i know. and that made me happy. but it wasn't complete... not nearly complete until this morning. waking up in kathleen's arms, and hearing her tell me that i did a good job on saturday. that, above all else, is what makes it and everything i do in the future, worth it. all the headaches, all the heartaches, the sickness, the coughing, the yelling, the swearing, the hurting, the gas money, shit even this "don't get fucked up until after the play" unwritten rule i imposed onto myself.. all for one good day, a shrug and a smile. worth every second. -----

--wednesday | february 27, 2002 | 11:02am-- "i'm looking for something to bring me down." long overdue entry. meh. beat. almost completely spent. COMPLETELY. here's hole, help dig: no cash, need a job. job? couldn't get one before, was writing a play. play's written. needed direction. directing. still no job. still no money. bills piling. just got new credit card in mail. refusing to use it, when bereft of job/cash. back to job. no job, need job. play's saturday. three more days of play practice. then play. then job? no, no job. papers. midterms. finals. spring break. spring break? owe it to self to go on break this spring? yes. will i? need job. therefore, no. back to now. school. becoming more and more top priority in life. why not before? because dumb. english major. business minor. need twenty more credits for business minor. need advisor and forty-five more credits for english major. do math correctly. equates to more than one more year here at o-state. scholarship runs out in one year. need cash. need job for head start on student loans. real job. like apartment. don't want eviction. need to write papers. ace midterms. ace finals. make proud parents. make proud family. make proud me. get job. quit hearing sister whine about car. must clean apartment. parents coming to stay weekend of play. bathroom disgusting. top off, sick as all fuck. coughing. sneezing. can't breathe. dizzy. walking difficult. must keep going. need sleep. haven't slept. play and play people very trying. make me sicker. coughing more. don't understand sacrifices. don't understand me. don't understand self. lost. need direction. how to direct.. the director. -----

--thursday | february 14, 2002 | 9:07am-- "stupid games are for stupid people." you know what the worst part about today is? you guessed it: the color red. eep. last night i saw a little film called life as a house. not to ruin it for anyone, but well.. shit. what a great fucking film. if not for the subtle and the ever-so-prevalent obvious relatedness to american beauty, i would rate this as one of my favorite films. every last detail of this film reflects ab that you'd forget kevin kline and think he was really kevin spacey and you'd expect to see scott bakula running around.. and you do! fucking quantum leap is in there too! ah well... either way, it's still a great film and one of 2001's best.. and i'm not just saying that because 2001 sucked nuts in the film world. but anyway... so i'm reading poems here. and i think back. there used to be some pretty, happy, fun, creative poems that inked from my pen to my notebook. poems that sounded good, but in all truth, didn't have any texture to it. any background, inspiration, experience and whatnot. it reminds me of this time i went to victorian's midnight cafe. there were some acts doing their talents and there was this 12 or 13-year old girl that was singing and playing the piano to songs that she wrote. talented, yes, but touching? hardly. she was singing songs about love, love lost, even of fucking georgia, where she's never been. and we're all sitting there like, "why's she singing about true love in georgia? this girl can't even cross the street." in this context, singing about shit that you didn't experience really doesn't bode well. lots of bitterness involved, playing with people's collective heads and all. but how about in my case? i was 13 once. i wrote poems and songs and stories and journal entries. and people can read whatever they wanted and believe whatever it is they wanted to believe. did that matter? back then it sure didn't. if somebody read my shit and was touched, then it was worth it.. you know, it still is. that's one of the big reasons i still write. to toy with dreams and reality. the real world and the fantastic. to fuck with your head. but it's different now. because i have experienced. and i have been inspired. there's so much to write about, and if that is true, then there's so much to be happy about. to be sad about. to live, to be inspired by, to experience.. and whatnot. -----

--monday | february 11, 2002 | 1:36pm-- "i'll be finished soon, but when the system crashes i'll be screwed." hmm... there. the sound of a room full of keyboards constantly clicking has finally got to me. i'm going nuts. 1:18-3:00pm i have a break from classes, so i sits in a computer lab instead of studying or spending money i don't have at record stores. and it's the death of me. it's what, the 11th? so that means about two more weeks until showtime. a quick synopsis for those keeping score at home.. "Puso Ko Sa Langit, translated "My Heart In The Sky," chronicles the journey and struggle of the Filipino from the Philippine Islands to the United States in the early 20th century. The story centers around the life of Josephine Capulaan, a Filipino student who, on her 18th birthday, is forced to leave her home and her love. She is sent to America to fulfill certain obligations she holds as an educated woman in the Philippines. There she experiences the struggles as a stranger to the New World. Her time in America, primarily at The Ohio State University, teaches her lessons in appreciating distinct cultures, and her journey mirrored her country's own struggle for independence. (taken directly from the script) we're prepared, but we're so not ready. i'm thinking that since it's my first production.. ever.. i may do a webpage for it. well, i'm excited. i'm thinking tonight. during raw. yeah. "people on my really, really, really good side" list: don- his work and dedication towards the play is the highest of us all. even me. jamila- she's sittin' there dying with a cold n' cough, yet she comes to every practice- and on time. that's fucking amazing. viviene- we match veins in our foreheads and puffy, sleepy eyes for this play. angelo- he's quitting red lobster so now he doesn't have to wear that funky-colored shirt anymore. putting in the last two weeks instead of just up-and-leaving kinda took points off, though. well, to recap since last week, i've seen a semi-crappy movie, i am sam, i've eaten some really good sushi via japanese oriental restaurant, saw a funny-looking, impressive-as-all-fuck singer/guitar extraordinaire in jim volk, watched some really bad olympic sports, and went to meijer's until 5am. "i feel like julia roberts in pretty woman.. you know, except for that whole hooker part." right. bye. -----

--wednesday | february 6, 2002 | 1:35pm-- "in the bright of day, it may seem like the stars are gone.. they never leave. they come back when the sun moves on." my earliest memory of my grandma/lola is new year's eve. philadelphia, sometime in the 80's. my lola with a pot in one hand and a stirring rod in the other. i don't quite remember if she had one on her head.. either way, she was dancing and walking around, smiling and singing, banging in the new year with each and every clang and pound of that rod against that pot. this was before her stroke, exactly seven years ago saturday; before lolo passed away; and before she went into a coma this past week. which i had just recently heard about yesterday. christ, am i just wasting my time? in columbus, in school, on earth? what? nothing i think of between yesterday and today wasn't accompanied by the thought of my mom taking a bus to philly that morning and how much it hurt when my lolo died. do you know how clear everything looks around you the moment, the very second after you cry? and i'm really serious. the second that your eyes dry out because your body stops weeping.. you can see everything. just seconds ago there were tears coming out of eye sockets, caused by the body's natural reaction to emotional stress. a second later, the eyes just give up. the tears release the pain, but inside it still feels like shit. and your body knows it, knows the futility of the cleanse. so there are no more tears. sticky face, itchy hands, runny nose. but when the shit's fallen off the fan, you can stare up and see like a newborn infant. everything is beautiful. everything is brighter. everything stands out in front of.. everything. and there's no more tears. were they there just to hide the beauty? were the tears meant to shield the happiness that you're supposed to feel because inside you're feeling lower than pond scum? tears.. the freshness of the moment after seems too much for us. like a glimpse into what we're supposed to be, to do, to feel. the second after. i look up and i feel something; something better than ever. i know it's there, yet i can't act on it because my lola is in a coma. and so am i. -----

--tuesday | february 5, 2002 | 12:05am-- "remember to breathe, and everything will be okay. all right?" [look] [food] [project] [random] fuck me for being so fucking happy yesterday/today. fuck it, i'll do this some other time. fuck me. -----

--monday | february 4, 2002 | 8:10pm-- "worked up so sexual." [look] [food] [project] [random] i am sexy. so i think i did okay on the econ midterm. yippee-ki-yay motherfucker. but now i'm here sitting around spinning my pen and trying to figure out how to study for my midterm tomorrow, considering i don't have the book. or half the notes. hmmm.. i am somewhat peeved at this turn of events. it's as if i didn't want to ace this bad boy.... white castle. 9 piece chicken rings. yummy. wwf monday night raw in less than an hour. i must prepare. but thanks for noticing! good day. -----

--sunday | february 3, 2002 | 10:16pm-- "oh no.. it go.. it gone.. bye bye." [look] [food] [project] [random] brb. ok. so i have two midterms, then i'm going home for half a day. funnage. i feel like after tuesday, a big burden shall be lifted off my shoulders. gotta keep my head on straight. focus. i obviously haven't finished postering up my room. nuts. and someone drank half my case of beer last night. FUCK! alright, what the hell am i doing on the computer. i have a midterm in half a day. see you tomorrow when this page is really up. bye. -----

--saturday | february 2, 2002 | 6:35pm-- "gravity- it got you good." it's fucking groundhog's day, isn't it? shit, i just realized that. how could so trivial an american holiday sneak by me? is it even a holiday, per say? meh. so i saw le pacte des loups (the brotherhood of the wolf) the other day. pretty rad, if i do say so myself. went in there thinking it was another crouching tiger, hidden dragon, though. bad idea. it was good in and of itself. had fun at ren's party last night. got drunk? is that even anything new? "drunk at ren's." that sounds like it should have a copyright or something. john was there. we hung out for once. doesn't that "for once" right there sound just so sad? i know.. that'll do, ryan. that'll do. -----

--wednesday | january 30, 2002 | 3:50pm-- "i've got posters on the wall." [look] [food] [project] [random] hi, remember me? i took my ball and went home on january 4th. on january 23rd, i wrote a big fucking mission statement about things and more things. yesterday, it got deleted. ah well: my one, fleeting moment of clarity wiped clean from this world due to the fallacies of the internet and my reluctance to back up my shit. in more ways than one. well. this is what qualifies as "news" these days. i recently found that people don't want to do this play. if you didn't know, i've written and i'm directing a play for the pilipino student association here at the ohio state university. yes, i really had to write all that out. it sounds so official and shit.. in all seriousness, this-is-a-travesty. bitch. i'm all hyped to doing this thing, and finding out people don't want to do this anymore got me super mad. a lot. too angry now. comment later. saw slackers, the crappy movie not the crappy band (yeah i said it!). lucky for IT, jason schwartzman saved it from exile into the dude, where's my car? realm of "forever-to-be-forgotten" movies. alright. that's it. no big return for me. i'm done. gonna just continue eating ravioli and putting up posters. it's relaxing. it's cute. -----

( ( ( i love capturing moments with you ) ) )