The Pleasure of Friction

The chemical matter of my mind

Substance- that is non-existent to you.

Frequent firing and wiring of my wording

Is realized, materialized, upon those who

Open their ears and with patience

Let the streams of my voice sink in-

To the sockets of their own eyes

Their firing, their wiring, their insides.

Let my past and, perhaps, pain

Be painted and re-played

So you, too, can be part of the picture

And visualize how I display

My material that is not matter

But my voice, which I hope to you- matters.

Show me you want to feel the weight

Of my internal structures against you-

The friction between your inherent beliefs-

Against the arguments you close the blinds to,

Because I am convinced, as much as you are,

That I am just as justified.

And I, too, in fair turns take in your articulations-

Speculations, because I want to see you

Inside-out. Understand you upside-down.

I want to feel your imagination press against

The walls of my resistance and persistence

That my experience defines as truth.

I want to see the colours of two opposing opinions mesh

And hold back my defense that denies opportunity.

Let two worlds strip completely to the skin

And embrace what is offered by an honest unity

That takes us both over the edge.

I’ll let you in when you let me speak.

I Guess Things Change

I thought I had found the love of my life

Way back in kindergarten

I was five when I arrived.

He caught my eye- and stole my heart, an’

I said to myself, “I’m going to marry

That boy- I’ll marry him one day.”

But I was young, and he was too.

We both grew up and went our way

I guess things change.

I told my mom and dad,

“Someday I’ll be a rockstar-lawyer-writer.”

I was small, but my crystal ball said,

I’d be taller, smarter, wiser.

Years passed by, time went on,

But my height refused to follow

I learnt to shut off creativity

And to keep my dreams so hollow.

I guess things change.

I worked so hard in high school

I saved up a lot of money

Thinking I’d be rich someday

Looking back, it’s kind of funny.

I had more cash when I was twelve years old

Now I’m clinging on to nickels

I have to budget all my monthly bills

To buy a jar of pickles.

I guess things change.

I went to university, 

Thinking I'd pay such good attention.

I would listen to my professors speak

And have one hundred percent retention.

But the desktops, like magnets to my cheek

Kept putting me to sleep

I aced my tests, but I confess

All that “knowledge” -I didn’t keep.

I guess things change.

I thought my dad would always be the man

To make me smile, whenever.

He’d grow old, but strong- he’d live so long

And be here with me forever.

He’d walk me down

The isle someday,

Help build my home

Watch my kids play.

I guess things change.

I thought I’d be just fine as friends

I didn’t want to love quite yet

I’d wait until I was old enough

With a career and my mind all set.

But some boy took me by surprise

And swept me off my feet.

I swore I wouldn’t fall in love,

But I can’t help but feel complete.

I guess things change.

I couldn’t tell you what comes next because

As much as I think I know,

We can’t connect the dots until they’re drawn

Every challenge makes us grow.

Fall seven times, but stand up eight

You’ll be ok tomorrow

Be happy now, but if you make plans

Just know the future’s not ours to borrow.

I guess things change.

Good-bye.

Your cold, unclenched fist reaching down my throat and turning,
Your bony, fleshless wrist twisting past my sternum- burning
Now clenching deep inside my ribs, disgusting thoughts returning
As you bruise my lungs and rip at my inside. 

I thought I earned immunity to those knife-like nights
That kept my eyes red with hate- my skin; a pale, blotchy white
My teeth would bite at my lips, wanting to scream back at you and fight
About how sickly it is that you take pride

In shooting down the fruits of your own womb.
"A liar", you say, "Stupid!" you scream, leaving room
Only for you to barely breathe before you resume
Until your own words themselves collide.

You would stumble, but spit after syllable- disgust, disgust, disgust.
I feel my gut revolting air, my breaths begin to rust,
Corrode with shame that I thought- I thought- that I could trust
That one day I could put this all aside. 

One day I would say sincerely, "I know you love me."
And I'd accept that you made me stronger- but you shove me
Again and again, against this wall- God stays above me
And lets me fall to my side.

Breathless, I cried,
"Good-bye."

between buddhism & christianity

I mentioned once before that as a kid, I asked a lot of questions.

(maybe ate a lot of food, too....)

I suppose, like any other kid does though. I wouldn't say I lost that curiosity, although it is suppressed, yes, because nobody has the answers to the questions that I ask. Maybe nobody ever had the answers, but as a kid I had faith in the all-knowing entities we term "adults". Being one myself nowadays, I hate to admit it, but I'm disappointed. 

The beginning of my somewhat tormenting, but more so entertaining current state of curiosity started when I accidentally asked this one simple question and things were never the same again. 

I asked, 

"What came before... ?"

Everything has a beginning, I thought, for example, a batch of cookies. They started off as separate ingredients coming from all different sources; flour that came from grain fields, butter that came from cow's milk, and sugar that came from a plant source. And then it goes deeper- the seeds that fed off of the soil and the conception of the animal. 

Then it goes deeper- the macromolecules of the each substance formed by the joining of monomers dictated by their inherent destiny. (Can you tell I'm taking Cell Biology right now?)

Then the individual atoms with their protons and electrons.

But, my god, how far does it go?! What made up protons, where did electrons come from?

So this started off as a batch of cookies- but now I'm thinking about everything. 

I also mentioned once before that I have two families- two very different families. To keep things sweet and short, one side practices Buddhism and the other is Christian. 

I mention religion because I had a conversation today with an individual whom I barely know. We've exchanged so few words, only enough to be counted on my hand perhaps. But, my curiosity surfaced- I asked "What do you do?"

A thoughtful pause. He replies "Sorry, what do you mean?"

I say, "Well... I study Kinesiology. What do you do?"

"Ah. I study Psychology and Philosophy"

A series of questions landed us in a conversation defining philosophy as the basis of religion. 

I have had pivotal conversations on both philosophy and religion, and I'm most certain I've made the connection between the two, but if so, not so consciously as I have now.

I have never learnt much of religion, only the slightest hint of practices from growing up between Buddhist traditions and the occasional Catholic church-sitting. Being brought up between two religions made it hard to believe strongly in either one. I will state now that I am not religious and I know very little about religion as a topic in general. However, whatever it is that I believe in is not so distant from the basis of either religion that I have solely glimpsed at. 

Believe nothing, no matter where you heard it or who has said it, not even if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense- Buddha

In philosophy, there is no concrete answer. And that is what makes up the robust discussion and the sweet necessity for an open mind. I absolutely treasure discussion- the method we have to express our own perception backed up by our individual background and experiences. How incredible is it that somebody can share their understanding of a context- the thoughts they generate with their own non-physical mind- through the physical production of words that may or may not be accepted by me? Discussion is an experience, and with an open mind can alter your way of thinking.

Or your way of thinking about them....

I'm sorry if I've lost you already, I am displaying my best attempts at sharing with you a part of my non-physical existence- my thoughts, and although words are our only mechanism, they are sometimes limiting. 

And now religion- there is no concrete answer (please note this is only me speaking and I have no means to offend anyone or any doubt in your beliefs). The difference between philosophy and religion is the gap of faith. Without this gap, we either have science or philosophy. Philosophy fills this gap with questions, religion with faith. So, it is through this gap that we create religion- it is through this gap that humanity has created a sense of satisfaction because we all want answers. 

However, (with no intentions of offending) it is through this gap that humanity has created rules that can define you, cults that can control you, worshippers propagating power... wars that preach hate. 

Whether I believe in evolution or whether I'm Buddhist or Catholic, I come from the same beginning. Despite what I am made out of- structural cells composed of atoms (my body)- I have a mind; a soul (I wish I knew where it came from)- just like you, just like my neighbour, just like your neighbour. I pray, maybe to God or maybe to tune my frequencies. Despite what I believe in, despite my faith, I am capable of loving you wholly for who you are- not because a book told me to and not because my teachers taught me to. 

My favourite part about children is that they love you no matter what- even if you're not from the same place, even if you're not the same religion, even if you're not wearing make-up or nice clothes- they can love unconditionally.

Despite your religion or lack of, despite your race or your colour, despite your education or background, no one is better than you just because the society you live in or your religion or the media says so- no one can dictate your worth because we all just molecular interactions.

For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others. For beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness, and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone.

tattoos.

The first one I ever got was a butterfly on my lower back when I was 16. I know, I know.... I'll justify myself by saying, first off, I was 16. Secondly, I was 16. 

I don't regret it though- it marks a point in my life where I felt I had made something of myself and I was really proud for getting there. So it starts way back...

When I was three months old, I was given up by my biological parents and adopted into a Canadian family. My sister (two years my elder) and I grew up calling Erwin & Maureen Leidl our Mom and Dad, and Tara & Christoper our sister and brother. 

I grew up like any other Canadian kid (apologies, this is a pretty big generalization). Mom and dad put me in dance class, took me to Kinsmen Park (I still have a nasty scar on my knee for being faster than my feet could handle), and taught me how to use my manners. Every Tuesday or so, my biological dad took my sister and I out for dinner. I'm not sure if I understood who he was- I don't remember much.

 I never heard from my biological mother all too often.

Thanks mom & dad for all the opportunities.

When I was five, give or take a few months, my real parents showed up and announced they were going to take us away.

I've heard hedgehogs are quite hostile to a new owner. I imagine myself like a hedgehog. No warnings- just up and away and given a new home and a new family. I was a pretty closed-up miserable kid.

Anyhow. It was about that time in my life when I was supposed to be going to school. My seven-year old sister set her alarm clock, woke me up, fed me breakfast if I was having some that day, and helped me get dressed (I guess I have her to thank for my incredible sense of style). My favourite outfits always included one pink sock and one purple sock.

Yes, even bad fashion. In fact, my socks still don't match.

School was only two blocks away, so we walked. 

Learnt to socialize, count, share. Lived with a babysitter- Joan. She's still my number one lady- even today. I met her grandson, Keaton, when I was six or so and became good friends. Even a good fifteen years later...

My best friend/escort at my graduation :)

(And he doesn't even know how important he is)

I never really saw my real parents at home- my mother moved out by the time I was ten, but it didn't make much of a difference. My sister and I turned out to be her employees, not her daughters. (She is an amazing women though, and someday when I grow up enough I'll be able to accept that.)

By the time I hit my middle years, I needed a good place. Home was empty. I ended up doing everything I could to avoid "home"- art club, track and field, volleyball, basketball, cross-country, yearbook, stage band... you name it. School was my haven. 

My sister found a different path to keep occupied. We sort of went in opposite directions and despite being super close, I don't know much about the in-between years. Trouble kept her occupied, but, hey, she turned out like a butterfly :)

When life gives you lemons... Keep them. Because, hey, free lemons!

The best days were Fridays though. On Fridays the blue chevy would always be parked in the same spot at the edge of the playground behind the "Rumper Bus" (which read the "Humper Bus"- even elementary kids have dirty minds). 

Dad (from my Canadian family) made the commute all the way to Biggar every weekend to pick my sister and I up and take us back home just for a couple days. 

Actually, my favourite tattoo comes from one of these moments driving home when I was six years old. It's one those memories that don't really have a reason to be remembered. 

It was summer. We pulled over in the blue chevy just inside the border of the city. My sister, my dad, and I hopped out and perused a garage sale across the street from where we were parked. On a shelf a little above my eyes (I guess it wasn't very tall) was an owl; tiny, carved out of wood, and about as tall as a quarter, if that. I fell totally, deeply, irreversibly in love. 

I left him though. Went back to the truck and buckled up. Before driving away, dad turned to me and chuckled, "Hey Jewy (he used to call me Jewy), you really liked that owl?"

I smiled, my cheeks probably took over my eyes like they always did when I smiled... For example:

I'm pretty sure that still happens...

He said "I'll tell you what, here's a nickel. You go ask the lady if you can have him."

My owl still sits on my windowsill, fourteen years later.

So back to tattoos.

Number 1. There are far better things ahead than we leave behind. If you crawl- learn to fly. Find your cocoon and surround yourself with whatever it is that gets you by. (Is it music? Writing? Fitness? Friends?). Challenge yourself and change yourself from where you are to where you want to be.

(WARNING: May contain nudity/sweatpants)

Number 2. "Fall seven times, stand up eight." It's a japanese proverb (I'm Chinese- just to set things straight). My sister and I got a shoulder tattoo together. Unexpected things will happen, you will make mistakes, you will hurt, you will suffer over and over again- and it's okay to be at rock-bottom. But you only stay there if you let yourself stay there. Seek guidance and take steps in the right direction; you will always be ok. 

Number 3. My favourite. I lost my dad a little over 8 months ago on October 5th. The amount of love, opportunity, and guidance he gave us two girls throughout our lives, even though we weren't his own, is forever imbedded in my being. It's not about the nickel he gave me- but about always doing everything he could to make me happy. He gave his whole heart to his family, and I will always carry a piece of it.

So moral of the story?

Have a good week- and find joy in the ordinary. xoxo