Don't Be Such a Turkey.

In addition to catching a Whirling Dervishes performance and getting lost in The Grand Bazaar, I looked forward to a Turkish Bath to complete my Istanbul Experience. Not really knowing anything beyond the superficial details of the cultural practice, I handed over my American Express card and stripped down to my underwear. Based on the stern look of the man in the changing room, I soon deduced that boxer briefs were not customary. Wrapped in what I can only describe as a glorified cheese cloth, I took the bar of soap they provided (and the little pride I had left) down to the communal area where I was told to wait for my attendant.

When he arrived I immediately noticed that despite being at least a full hundred and fifty pounds heavier than me, he was dressed in the same-sized white fabric wrap... except his was wet and as transparent as the look of confusion on my face. He pointed to a door that I knew would lead into the heated marble dome… ancient and gorgeous.. just like the picture in the pamphlet. And it was…except instead of a few beautiful men on their backs in states of obvious euphoria, the place was full of other ordinary-looking tourists. Ordinary-looking tourists who, like me, were slowly coming to the realization that capitalism can find its way into even the darkest and most intimate corners of tradition.

It goes without saying, but there was absolutely nothing even pleasantly awkward about the experience. The heavy-set fellow in charge of me reduced all potential erotic and calming properties of the practice as he proceeded to bathe me… in the same fashion that a weary parent would bathe an unruly child. Stunned completely, I had a momentary psychotic break and found myself having an out of body experience. In front of me was a 25 year old naked Filipino-American with his right hand and in the air having his armpit scrubbed by a hirsute Turkish middle-aged man. It wasn’t so much that the whole thing was the antithesis of a spa-experience so much as it felt oddly clinical that confused me. It was at that moment that I realized I had to make a decision: Continue the physical and mental disconnect, or return to my body and try, with all my might, to enjoy the adventure.

I suppose it’s the same choice we are presented whenever we confront something new or unexpected. Do we ruminate the awkwardness and let it in weigh down the experience? Or do we surrender to the uncertainty? Relinquishing control has always been a problem for me and so many potential opportunities for growth and fun have been wasted. But as I get older I’m slowly recognizing what little is actually at stake in comparison to all that I can acquire. And compounded by the pestering and costly likelihood that the WhatIfs will breed with regret… I’m making a more focused decision to.. just ride it. I suppose it takes someone like me a bit of time to reach this good place, but it is a good place to be. When one can trust himself enough to make a decision, he must then supplement that decision with commitment. Sure, you can modify and reassess when presented with something new, but until then, don’t half-ass it. Crawl into the decision, inhabit it. Live to say to that it was a revelation or a mistake, completely. Otherwise, you’re just the asshole who paid $75 to get your body worked over without every reaching a climax.

Paris, je t'aime

There was this one time on a train in India; the first class sleeper car was full and I volunteered to ride in the common car so the girls could be comfortable with air conditioning and privacy. I spent the whole night awake and sweating, surrounded by locals sleeping on the floor and cramped on the metal beds. My body had learned to anticipate the jolt that would come as we approached each stop along the way.

Another time I felt it in my apartment in the Philippines. I had been living there for a year with no immediate family and only casual friends. My mom had won the battle and I agreed to return to the US and real responsibility. Some movie was playing on TV and a scene of no particular significance caused me to sob so violently that I had to put down the bowl of instant noodles I was eating.

It must have been no more than 30 minutes, but it felt like hours walking around downtown one night in San Francisco. I was in a severely altered state and seeing the world through a lens that magnified normally inconsequential details. I doubted my steps, my tactile senses, my memory.

I also felt it once in Cambodia. I had returned from watching the sunset over the Temples at Angkor Wat and was the only one in the hotel pool. It was one of the first times I had really traveled the world without my family. Just beyond the trees that surrounded the property was the brightest, fullest moon. I had decided then that nobody could ever tell me it was the same moon that I had admired before.

I awoke to a Man Overboard announcement on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of South Africa. We were asked to report to the deck and lend our eyes to the giant swells in search of a single human being. The lights of the rescue markers trailed us as we took a full mile to turn the ship around. There was an eerie silence even though there were hundreds of people standing shoulder to shoulder looking out at the vastness with one common hope.

Then there’s now. I’m in Paris, the City of Lights...or Love, as they call it. And I feel completely alone. I’ve spent the past week wandering around aimlessly. Getting off the train at random stops to discover typical streets with more charm than I could have ever imagined. Everything is infused with charm. Even the bench I’m sitting on as I write this is charming. It’s so charming here, people openly display their affection for one another without shame or pause. It’s so charming here, their public displays don’t bother me at all. There was a time in my life when I would have hated Paris for the sake of hating it.. for everything it stands for in popular culture.. songs, paintings, poems. Take it as a sign of age, but all of this romance is inspiring now.

Somehow over the years, I have convinced myself to dictate what love is supposed to look like, when I’m supposed to expect it, how it’s supposed to feel. How quickly I have forgotten that I've found love in the unlikeliest places when I least expected it. It’s shameful to imagine a feeling as static when I am constantly evolving. I only measure my age by the drastic changes I can pinpoint in the development of my character, attitude and outlook. I have lived so many lives, been so many people.

One measurable change is how I view sex. I used to assign it such casual importance. Not to say I’m now against having it randomly, but I find myself infusing physical connection with warmth. To be honest, I’ve never been really comfortable with randomness, but I’ve always been able to excuse it with youthful inexperience. Doing it for the sake of it. But it’s different now. Whereas I used to think, “I totally want to do it with that hottie over there,” I now think, “I totally want to do it with that hottie over there… then maybe have a picnic lunch at the park afterwards.” Oh, man.

Somehow over the years, I also began turning my insecurities inward. For a pretty arrogant guy, nothing made me live inside my head more than wondering why I’m single. I would ponder --usually before bed-- the possible reasons why I was in bed alone. Thinking about it now makes me feel ridiculous. The reason why I was alone was because… I chose to be alone—whether it was because I was uninterested in my choices, busy, or just not into the feeling, I chose not to make the commitment. My problem was I had trouble rectifying what I wanted with what was expected of me.

The glory of feeling completely alone is that it instills confidence. Whenever I feel completely alone, I recognize my ability to get through the emotion. I recognize that at the end of the day, I’ll always have… me. I'm the only thing I can control. The greatness of feeling completely and utterly alone is that it forces me to become the kind of man that I hope to be. It allows me to invest in growing my patience, my kindness… my ability to love others.

All around me there are people expressing their love in pairs. He’s got his arm around her shoulders to keep her warm. She’s got her arm around his waist just above the belt of his overcoat. I’ll be patient until I can find someone who makes me feel that I want to do such things. I won’t try to cultivate the romance from nothing, make it appear out of thin air. I won’t convince myself that it exists when I’m bored or drunk. I’ll anticipate it and be ready for it. In the meantime, I’ll continue working on myself with the quiet hope that I’ll find someone who is moved by my gestures and we'll serve our purpose. Until then, I’ll love This city, everything it stands for and seeks to instill. And it’s charm. Completely alone.

2009

There’s much to admire about Barack Obama. He’s got a certain swagger. The way he leans in to give people a hug after a handshake. His ease and confidence amidst worry and heartache. His humility that is guided by a clear awareness of what needs to be accomplished. A steadfast trust in his past that has readied him for a volatile future.

But what I admire about him the most is what I admire about all who serve in a public position...what I admire about those who choose a life of scrutiny. I admire Barack Obama and other truly great leaders who can live lives of transparency. Who can say: “These mistakes make me human. They reveal that I can empathize with the common man. That it’s okay to have messed up if I learned something.”

I don’t pretend that I’m either intelligent or savvy enough to ever run for a political office, but I often think of my ability to confront my own past-- a record that I shroud in convenient forgetfulness and delicate omission. How would I handle a history that is forcibly brought to light?

I try to be candid about so many things but remain guarded about others. I’d like to think that I keep certain things secret because I’m a gentleman or anti-gossip. But there’s so much that I’m actually embarrassed about. Wrong decisions. Moments of weakness. Carelessness. Vulnerability.

2008 proved that shame stifles life. I am not ready nor do I believe that I have to put it all out there, but for my own sake I need to face the decisions I’ve made that still affect me today. Let go of the fear. Accept just how much is out of my control. Discipline my ego.

I need to understand that if I’m ashamed of the person I used to be, I can never really be the man I hope to become.

The Persistence of Memory

Is it possible to divorce a memory from a song?
Extricate your virginity from a city?
The quiet, guiltless hour before sunrise,
to reclaim a sense of newness?
Is it possible to forget the outline of your clavicle,
or the liberation of frustrated hope?
To have a fresh heart and lungs and liver, again?
A fury to remember the sighs, the smells—
all the details that will one day become a
spurned phantasm.

A Game of Hearts

I sashay through 'relationships' with a veneer of humility and trepidation but carry my pride like a pair of aces up my sleeve. There's a lot of money to be made on perfecting a 'poker face' but I've found the 'poker heart' far more valuable. I make up the rules and expect others to participate without any directives. Although there have been sore losers along the way, I try not to be smug when they inevitably decide to fold- instead remaining patient that the perfect player will come along. But lately I'm beginning to wonder if there's some other bigger ongoing challenge that I haven't even recognized. One in which the prize is less tangible and glossy than I had imagined but equally rewarding. In trying to monopolize happiness, have I missed out on the fact that there can be multiple winners? Even scarier, have I become the arrogant little boy that nobody wants to play with anymore? I'm still on a roll, but as I get older I'm finding the victories increasingly dubious. It's like taking the jackpot yet feeling numb or ambivalent. The same kind of satisfaction as winning a game of solitaire.

Style.

Although I take pride in my ability to get dressed and be ready to go for any occasion in 15 minutes, I am mindful of the clothes I wear and my overall put-togetherness. Shirts and pants don’t make a man, but they can reveal a lot about a person. Board shorts in November? Probably drives a truck. Clean shoes and crisp collar? Likely to have an alphabetized DVD library. Suspenders and rings to club? Usually super good friends with your sister. There is always some correlation between how a person dresses and other aspects of their life. I am typing this on a plane ride from NY to LA—somewhere in between two cities where vanity is a celebrated sin and I can’t help but think of the one person in my life who has the most inspiring personal style: My dad.

His most remarkable articles of clothing (in no particular order):

1. A t-shirt of Albert Einstein’s face
2. A faded denim vest with a big CK on the back
3. A classic gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off (not at the shoulders like a gym-buff, but mid-triceps… which creates a delicate, billowing effect... much like a vintage wedding dress)
4. A pair of black jeans with random bleach stains all over (an accident that became an exercise in artistic expression)
5. A t-shirt with Ricky Martin’s face on the front and the dates and cities from his 1999 Livin’ La Vida Loca tour on the back

He’s worn these gems of fabric to family parties, my school functions and funerals. Yet this man who tucks his shirt into his briefs walks into a room with a certain swagger. Fearlessly, never flinching. I’ve learned a lot from my dad about personal style. On the surface, he’s taught me the consequence of dressing appropriately. Also, of believing in and committing to your choices. But on a deeper level, he’s taught me to take risks in life and the importance of always, always making it appear effortlessly intentional.

Wisdom.

Despite all the horror stories I’d heard about getting wisdom teeth out, I was as calm as could be sitting in the dentist's chair. But as soon as the oral surgeon walked through the door, that calmness went out the window. He looked about 80 years old and knocked over a canister of cotton swabs as he reached for the needle that would numb me. He then proceeded to poke at my mouth with no warning whatsoever. In complete shock of his abrupt technique, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I was probably staring at him with such an intense look of fear that it became distracting because he instructed the assistant to cover my eyes with a mask. This only heightened my anxiety. I sensed my body trembling. All of a sudden I was 6 years old again getting silver caps to protect my weak enamel. Tense and scared, I could feel the sweat on my forehead and palms and my toes cramping from being curled and twisted. I spent the next half hour expecting to feel the pain— the physical manifestation of all the cracking and drilling that I could hear. But the corresponding feelings never came. Before I knew it, all four teeth were out and I could once again see the light… of the overhead bulb. Reverting to memories of past pain greatly affected my present situation. I felt silly. Being afraid of getting hurt ruined a potentially positive experience. Anticipating the pain was just as agonizing as the actual pain.

25.

More due to the fact that I was pride-rich than actually being cash-poor, I’ve always worked. Too arrogant to admit to my parents that I was in over my head, I’ve scrubbed floormats outside of the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf only to go inside and wash dishes. But I’ve never thought that I was ever above any of that stuff. It’s given me character. Folding jeans at the Gap. Helping old ladies count their coins at Wells Fargo. I keep those feelings with me now as I pursue a graduate degree. I’ve interacted with all types of people, worked along side them, heeded their requests in the service industry. More than working for tips, all of it has taught me how to treat people. Sometime in the future, I will be the guy asking the concierge at a fancy hotel for help and slipping him a five for his troubles. In a glass office one day, I’ll introduce myself to the kid working in the mailroom. I’ll tell him that I was once where he is now. Maybe discuss his dreams. I’ll remember myself in that kid-- proud and humble all at once-- and it will make my success all that much sweeter.

.

I romanticize many things. War. My immigrant parents. The life of a writer. And, until very recently, the idea of Love. Of all the things to surround with unrealistic ideals, dreamy cinematography and a beautiful soundtrack, romanticizing romantic love is the most dangerous. Far too often, I have turned my back on potential goodfeelings because something’s off. And as much as I am all about patience and never settling, it’s foolish to think that any kind of relationship is without a certain degree of compromise. Especially in light of the fact that I’m so flawed. Far too often, I’ve looked into someone’s eyes and felt the remarkable love that they want to share with me, that they want me to reciprocate, and I give them nothing more tangible than second-base friction and good intentions. Yet, I want them to persist, to feed me with romance, sweetness and concern. Selfishness and loneliness- the perfect symbiotic relationship. In my effort to avoid dating a cliché, I am slowly becoming one. But I will chug along bouncing ideas between my heart and brain, until I’m ready to break up with my ego and really commit to someone else.

.

According to my old beliefs (and my last blog entry), I am a man of extremes. But at the age of twentyfive, I will try living in the gray. I’ve been deluding myself into thinking that life is a controlled experiment. And the variables that are beyond my control have ultimately left me feeling out of balance. So I’ll keep my convictions, but bend a little more with the flow of the unknown. Living in the gray will also force me to slow down a little, think more before opening my mouth. I forget that those who talk to me aren’t always asking for advice. Sometimes they just want to talk. Sometimes they just want me to listen. I’m always so quick to say, ‘this is what needs to be done to correct this’ or ‘call this number’ or ‘you can survive this!’ But really, I should just be nodding. Sharing the heartache or joy. Thinking of life in extreme terms makes it all static, which it certainly is not. So much of life exists on a continuum. I will traverse that gray area more. Let the gorgeousness of the day, the situation, the moment unfold slowly

Vanilla.

I have always been a man of extremes. It has rendered me apathetic or ridiculously driven. Determining factors are passion and skill. I pursue what I love and nurture my natural inclinations. It’s perfectly fine to pick a job and make it your career. Or learn to care for someone who worships you, but that’s not me. I learn the hard way, rarely settle and dream big.

<3

It's a line articulated most often by former druggies, women who had kids while in their teens and people who learned too late in life that they were in the wrong profession: "I don't have any regrets; the things I've been through have made me who I am". There is a difference between being okay with where we are in life, with what we’ve done and REGRET. I don’t think people give the idea enough credit. Regret has the power to propel us to do things that we are afraid of. How many times have we thrust ourselves into something uncomfortable knowing that if we didn’t do it, we would one day regret it? We are always given a choice and by making a decision we turn our backs on other possibilities. We lose a different outcome, some other reality. We hope we make the right decisions and sometimes we will never know if we did. However, the heavy sense of regret that we feel when we know we made the wrong choice can do good. It becomes the nagging feeling that guides us in the right direction the next time we’re at a crossroads.

I am so afraid of regret that I plan my life down to the details. I make big goals and do what it takes to make sure I reach them. Sometimes at the cost of feeling free. I never let new experiences teach me lessons. It’s weird, but even when I am doing something crazy, trying something different, I am doing it with a helmet on. In the rare instances I am being spontaneous, I’m so unsure of myself I feel nauseated. It’s like I am on a train heading towards success. I am comfortable in my seat, comfortable knowing that everything is on schedule, but I look out the window and see a world of unknown potential passing by.

The one area in life where regret loses its power is in dealings of the heart. I think it is impossible to regret loving someone. Even if the relationship ends, even when she doesn’t care to be your friend anymore or he forgets your birthday, you can never regret real love. When you truly love someone, when you give them your last slice of pizza even though you’re starving, when you drive miles empty on gas, cash and energy to see them, when you stand in front of them naked with a flaccid penis and all your dreams of a future with them in it, there’s no room in your heart for regret. The only time love and regret mix is when you know you didn’t love someone right, or as openly as she/ he/you deserved. But even then, you learn.

It's a struggle to find a balance. Regret bleeds gray and it's so hard to decide if it's hindering or rescuing us. I’ve been told to open my heart, to be open to love or I’ll regret it. I’ve been told that I am a cynic. A non-believer. It's been said that cynics and non-believers are secretly the most romantic and crazy of them all. And I’ll be the first to agree. I am crazy enough to believe that I can have the exact kind of love I want. Honest and true, with no regrets.

2008

What we’ve experienced in the past is nothing compared to what we face now. But what we feel today will fail in comparison to the things we’ll have to deal with when we’re older. It’s extremely calming to know that our emotions simply recycle. That we have survived the greatest of pains and that we will feel immense joy again. Hyperboles aside, experiences just replace one another. Waking up at base of Mt. Everest replaced the last dance at prom my senior year of high school. At one point, I was happiest being chosen Student of the Month. Kellyn Farlow breaking up with me in the 6th grade was just strengthening my armor for the one day I’ll have to deal with losing my parents. What might seem like all the world… is fleeting. As much as we try to keep things fresh and create situations that expand our depths, we are simply tapping into a range that already exists in our hearts. The goal is to uncover ways to make the happiness outlast the despair; to find unique relationships, airports and conversations that add nuances to our souls. To always carry the delicate secret that for all our growing and learning, we already contain within us exactly what we need to get through anything. Which brings me to my only resolution for the New Year: To have foresight as clear as my hindsight.

Measure of a Man

I admire people who appear to have it all but revere those who make it seem effortless; their success is born of unwavering discipline and masked by the truest form of pride. I revere them because they have to supplement all their endeavors with a veneer of grace. I revere them because I know their cracks, though harder to find, run deeper and are usually nurtured by quiet heartache.

I am in unspoken competition with these people. Their personal victories fuel me. We exist in an inverse and symbiotic relationship that is driven by a passion to excel. This mentality can be dangerous, I know. So with all my ambition, I never take pleasure in seeing others fail. And with all of my accomplishments, I try to elevate those around me. Is this not the only way for us to truly advance? To challenge ourselves and, in effect, one another? It's why the company we keep is so crucial. If herd mentality is unavoidable, shouldn't we float in circles that share a common goal of attaining greatness? Having been given so much, I can't squander.

*

I used to think that to be a good person, one had to completely reject materialism and the superficial. Now I know that living a humble life can be achieved by recognizing how lucky we are to be in our situations; to appreciate our ability to work hard and be properly compensated. To own nice things but not let nice things define us. Who says we have to forfeit living well in order to do good?

Let us realize that it will never be a leveled playing field, but work everyday to try to make it one anyway. Our contribution can be fulfilled by being considerate drivers, by not littering. By being responsible voters, a faithful comrade. Always erring on the side of kindness. Maybe one day taking my kid to Disneyland and teaching her to share. Humility is never losing self-awareness.

having my cake and a muffin too.

This year, I'll be thankful for losing my wallet. Standing in line at the DMV today, I felt a calmness in me that has been missing for a few months.

My mom asked me if I thought someone would return it and I told her I didn't. Mostly because the only place I could have lost it was in Monterey Park. Hah. But also because I imagined what the person who found it must have thought: This guy doesn't need it.

Contents of Lost Wallet:
- about $200 (neatly ordered in increasing denominations)
- three (3) gold American Express Cards (I'm on my mom's account)
- a Chevron gas card
- an Open Table dining check for $100 (this one kills me)
- several dry cleaning receipts
- service slip for my truck
- my college ID
- my work ID
- various ticket stubs ranging from indie films to Hollywood crap
- ??? (I will never know…)
- the wallet itself which was Gucci and worth about $300 (it was a gift)

It's not that I don't believe in the goodness of people anymore but rather that there is nothing about the wallet that would compel someone to return it, especially if the person who found it was in need of cash. No past due electricity bill. No tattered singles folded in half. No picture of a family. Just a cold wallet of some lucky 24 year old kid.

When I lost about the same amount in the Philippines a year ago, I was pretty confident that whoever found it needed it more than me; I was planning on having a suit designed. Seriously. I’m going to believe the same thing this time around.

I am thankful that I lost my wallet this year because it reminded me of how quickly things change. The fluidness of it all. This time last year I didn’t even have $200 in my checking account. And as painful as it is to lose the wallet, I am grateful to have friends that would buy me something so ridiculous. Before the Gucci I was using a 3 dollar leather wallet I bought at Shoe Mart. It’s funny... cataloging everything in my wallet I almost didn’t recognize the one dimensional identity it portrayed, until I figured out it was exactly who I had always thought I wanted to be. Weird... in losing something I found perspective and the realization that I have so much more, really. Something worth so little is all that was needed to remind of the things that are truly priceless.

baby steps.

My mom has never had a very laissez faire parenting style, but when it comes to lessons about the intricacies of life, she treats my brothers and me with a mature straightforwardness. Although always well intentioned, her subject matter hasn’t always been age appropriate. When I was 8 years old and my brother was about 5 or so, she called us into her room and very seriously said: “You guys are boys now but soon you’ll be young men. One thing I want you to remember is that I do not want you to bring girls here to have sex. I do not want my home to be a whorehouse. Okay, you guys can go back to your room now.” Just like that. My brother and I went back to playing with our legos, giggling at the fact that she had used the word ‘sex’.

Most of these conversations do little but elicit a laugh when I look back on them, but one talk in particular has radically influenced my current relationship paradigm. I was probably 14 when my mom felt the urge to offer her take on romantic relationships over breakfast. Perhaps it was my cereal that inspired her. She said that for a relationship to work, one person has to love the other person significantly more. “For example, your dad loves me more than I love him. That’s why I married him.” Just like that. Of course I knew that she loved him too, but it was weird to hear my mom say something that shattered my idea about love, which at that point in my life was primarily based on Saved by the Bell. The idea that it wasn’t about romantic reciprocity as much as it was about power dynamics. Since then, I have viewed relationships much in the way that I view business transactions. Are all the components present to ensure a successful, mutually beneficial venture? What problems can I foresee that could impede growth? It’s why when at the first sign of trouble or weakness in the other person, I run. Cut my losses, if you will. Protect my assets and maintain power. I’ve always had to be in control.

I used to look around at all of my friends in relationships and wonder why they're involved at all. They are crying all the time. Sacrificing school progress, ruining relationships with their parents. Feeding one another using chopsticks in their early-twenties. I just didn’t get it. I always find it funny that these people come to me for advice when I haven’t been in a real relationship ever. At least the kind in which I surrender to the emotions in the way that they have. Maybe its because I’m always promoting independence. Haha. But I’m slowly learning that it isn’t all or nothing. I’m slowly learning that I can still be smart about it but give a little more sometimes. Take a little more later if I need it. Being in a relationship is listening to someone go on and on about something they’re passionate about but I don’t necessarily agree with and just shutting the fuck up. It’s letting them own a certain time of your day everyday, or a band. Or even a city. I’m slowly learning this. And that it’s not about finding someone who’ll love me more, but finding someone who I care enough about to ride out this volatile market. It’s giving myself the opportunity to find out firsthand if my mom’s advice is golden.

Or maybe simply finding someone who’ll tell me to get over myself. Just like that.

Don’t be 70 and wishing you had been more selfish once upon a time.

Amandip Gil, our H.S. valedictorian, once gave me the most backhanded compliment ever. He told me I was wasting way too much potential. On days when I disregard my passports, my UCLA degree, my parents who still go on weekend vacations alone together, or my amazing friends who nag me about being M.I.A., I remember that asshole's cold words. The sting.

I'm lucky and I have good luck. And to see people with less, doing more- It gets me pumped. :)

How an infant killed me.

As convoluted as my life is, a few things have remained very clear. Like not wanting a serious relationship. Or not getting married until I’m in my thirties, if ever. Even trivial details such as the type of flooring in my loft or the model of Porsche I’ll be driving are part of this blueprint that is my future.

When I envision what’s ahead, I see myself in airports with good friends, listening to my iPod, planning the next great adventure. I imagine crisp, white sheets on a bed that hides my secrets and a fridge stocked with to-go boxes and bottled water. I imagine the kind of independent, wonderful and untroubled lifestyle that all my married/divorced/loser friends will secretly covet. And all the shit attacks I have about grad school, my mounting credit card bills or getting laid seem fleeting when I focus on the permanence of my end goal. Amidst all the variables, the concept of my future-self is my tangible answer to the mid-twenties. So you can imagine my surprise this weekend at a family party when that idyllic life was shattered.

I avoid taking girls to family parties because a) I am Filipino and parties= awkward situations/probing questions, b) I would rather not subject my FEMALE friend to a situation she is not contractually bound by blood to endure and c) I swore off it after my mom wrote me a well-intentioned email a few years back about some girl I was dating who had a kid. But I had been neglecting this one particular friend and I knew she missed her family on the east coast so I thought it would be a perfect scenario. And it was, which is the problem.

We snuck out of my aunt’s swank new house to check out the model homes down the street (one of my favorite pastimes). As usual, in order to get a pricelist and brochure, you have to fill out a questionnaire and appear to be seriously in the market for a million dollar house and not just another underage teenage boy with a fetish for nice furniture. My friend suggested that we pretend to be a newly married, ubersuccessful couple. Of course I agreed because I love to make believe. We pretended through model units 1-6, never missing a beat. We pointed out components of each home that would compliment our fake life together: “This garden area is perfect for the brunches we’ll have together every Saturday morning because no matter how busy our lives get, we have to make time to enjoy each other’s company.” At one point she even lamely/cutely encouraged me to get into a tub and talk about my stressful day at the hospital only so that she could complain about her horrible day at the office (I know, barf). Usually I go to these things by myself or with my cousin and talk about all the things I could do with the space or lament about the tragic design but this time it was different because she had her own ideas and…. opinion. I had to mimic compromise. But it was nice, really. And when she dedicated the downstairs bedroom to our visiting parents (they would watch the kids [3 boys] whenever we went on vacation), sized the backyard up for a swimming pool, or put her arm around mine, I thought nothing of it beyond two big kids playing the grownup mental equivalent of dress-up. That was until we returned to the party.

Being that it was a baptismal celebration, kids were everywhere. So many kids, you’d think we were Mormon. After our 4th trip to the food and the 19837th question about our dating status, we thought we found refuge in the living room with a grandma and her infant grandson. Smitten by his cuteness, my friend decided to borrow the kid and test her skills. She bounced the baby on her lap. She held the creature up in the air. She even talked to it in that annoying baby voice, all the while smiling at me as if to show off her charm. And that’s when it happened. BAM! A feeling crept up from the area that holds my tiny heart, traveling slowly up my throat, finally manifesting itself as a smile on my face. In front of me was a beautiful woman, holding a beautiful baby, in a beautiful house full of happy people. Suddenly I noticed the Benz SUV parked outside and the brown loafers at the foot of the stairs. I was even wearing a daddy polo. It was an image that all at once scared the hell out of me and made me so happy that I yelled for the poor girl to return the child to the grandma and stormed off to get more chocolate covered strawberries.

I was perplexed as fuck. My confusion had little to do with my friend (I could never date her for homie-related reasons) but she provided me with a glimpse of an option that I never considered before. And that’s unnerving because especially on days like the ones I’ve been having lately in which I roll out of bed at noon and debate whether or not I should shower, I find solace in knowing that it’s just a transition phase into my alone-but-not-lonely bachelor life. I had never imagined Alann: Conventional Version; a newly presented alternative of late breakfasts and relaxing baths with one person, 637. Most confusing part of it all is I think I could be successful at it too. Rims on a mini-van. Packed-lunches, even. And now I can’t return to a simpler time: A rapid succession of beautiful people in my bed serving as the little spoon; nothing to tether me from hopping on a plane and disappearing for x amount of time. I’m in think mode. Did I really want that ‘empty’ existence? Or did I just trick myself into believing that I wanted to be independent because I couldn’t find anyone I really liked? Had I committed myself to that lifestyle because I knew deep deep deep down inside that I might never have the kind of life my mom/society/god wants me to have?

In order to function, I think we have to operate believing very few truths. But the danger in that is that sometimes you're presented with something new that nullifies their corresponding dreams and all of a sudden you find yourself flailing. No longer grounded. Visions of concrete floors and a Porsche 911 Turbo in the basement garage become fuzzy. I can no longer see the goal, picture my ultimate happiness.

It’s funny the things we pretend. That we’re strong enough. We’re over it. That we don’t notice or feel flattered. I suppose it’s the hope that if we fake-believe it long enough, eventually it’ll become real.

More than ever, people have been reminding me of how lucky I am. But because my life is all about winning, losing at shit has been taking its toll. She says, you can’t win ‘em all. I think I can…eventually. Or at least pretend I will.
.

I’m as peeved about this war as the next Prius-driver, but the Filipino in me is ambivalent about complete troop withdrawal. I find it to be a disservice to the ‘liberated’ Iraqi citizens should we leave them ‘hanging’. I mean, something tells me that we’re more likely to see another Osama than we are an Imelda should we fuck this thing up further.
.

Before I go to bed at night I hug my dog Tux. He doesn’t move, even though I’m sure he’s really uncomfortable. It is in those silent moments that I think: if I forget to feed this black haired mess, it’ll die. It is in those moments I am also reminded about trust and responsibility.
.

I’m a year older. Even though I can still taste the sweetness of Bali where I spent my 23rd, this year has been a blur, really. But when I go to Tibet next month, I’ll feel satisfied about my time here on earth.

verizon.

nothing epic, just someone worthy of my daytime-minutes.

2007

my ironheart father used to dispense high-five's when i was a kid like they were gold bars as the highest form of affection. now, i catch him hugging my youngest brother for no reason. everything is fluid except the power of perspective.

i'll always be the friend that will wait outside the bathroom of a walgreens as you take a home pregnancy test. we're just older now.

..

the best part about the New Year is the wonderful gift it affords us to believe that anything is possible. the real trick is rationing the hope so it lasts for a whole year.

...

it isn't painless letting your love show.

424

to rip your heart out of your chest and show it to her. bloody. still beating. to see that she doesnt even care enough to think its disgusting. to smoke two dirty cigarettes. throw 'em out the window of your truck and drive away. to know its a neighborhood and a street and trees that will never see you walk her to the door again. and completely get her, still. to know and remain hopeful about the whole crazy thing- independent of her.

sadly, it took losing 200 dollars to humble my ass. although I cant really afford to lose that amount at the end of my stay here in the Philippines, id like to imagine it happened for a reason. whoever has that saved-for-filipino-couture cash probably needs it more than me. if I hadn’t lost that money, I probably wouldn’t have ended up at some dive bar in quezon city overlooking the smog machine that is edsa. and had I not been at this bar, I wouldn’t have witnessed the best karaoke background video ever- a hot white girl in a bikini dancing in the middle of a group of masai warriors. though it is worth noting that for once, the girl in the video was actually hot, I also thought that in the whole bar im probably the only one who is watching this video and thinking, gosh, how I miss the Serengeti and those crazy Africans.

perspective

i'm all about it.

you might catch my friend richie on the 405 in his big black truck with a surfboard in the back, all decked out in his nursing scrubs and never guess that he's probably listening to nsync's christmas album in the middle of summer.

models here in the philippines, more often than not, take the bus to get to their shoots. nothing wrong with that, its just not all glamour.

i remember being a kid, sitting in my dad's blue toyota cressida watching my cousin engaged in a rather serious conversation with her friend outside. my cousin had on overall shorts with only one strap over her shoulder and thick socks bunched up just above her high-tops. her far less fashionable friend was rocking the parachute pants in a pattern that clashed horribly with, what i can only describe as a wide-brimmed, oversized newspaperboy cap. a deaf spectator might have guessed that their heated exchange was about world politics or even an asshole boyfriend. but it wasnt. they were debating whether or not the newer sanrio characters posed any real threat to the original kerokerokeropi and friends. i just sat there, head out the window, wondering if i could ever be as cool as them and praying that one day i would be.

at the new employee orientation of my last job at the viceroy, we were asked to pick our dream place in the world and provide the reason for our choice. a new dizty woman from sales picked paris because its, like, so romantic. a young bellboy went on about the relaxed vibe in spain. east africa, particularly tanzania, did it for me. then a mexican man from the kitchen staff spoke. humbly, he said that his dream has always been to see america. and now, he couldnt be happier because his dream has come true.

we're all lucky, kids.

i miss my friends

Phill Meeniples (2:15:43 PM): so how many girls have you fucked over there?
Phill Meeniples (2:15:55 PM): and if you havent.....lie to me

23.

this year, I lost track of the day of the week and almost missed my birthday. I guess that’s what not having a real job does- makes the days of the week insignificant. but my Days matter.

every year, I ask myself if id be friends with the kind of person I am. id like to think so, especially now.

a few things I learned this year:
- always use the name of the customer representative assisting you. things are more likely to happen.
- nice people always trump beautiful people. nice AND beautiful people trump everything.
- in the right situation, an English accent is worth gold. so is a good smile.
- always be prepared for airport tax.
- I have passion in me, I just gotta direct it towards something productive.
- in adulthood, friendships grow stronger even though they seem to be getting weaker. you just get busier.
- Philippine cinema needs a revolution.
- you’ve gotta let go of the past, man.
- nothings more refreshing than moving to another country.
- she meant more to me than I ever did to her. haha.
- never buy big furniture. always go with simple lines and solid colors.
- I am one lucky bastard.

a few things I want to accomplish before I turn 24:
- fill up my passport. one more page to go.
- not live at home with my parents.
- pay off the wells fargo credit card.
- date a model (ramp, commercial, whatever)
- spend more time with my brothers.
- learn Spanish.
- gain at least 15 pounds. be able to run for at least 40 mins at a time without stopping. fast.
- organize my address book. reconnect with old friends.
- memorize the Filipino national anthem, that prayer in church that begins “I believe in the Father, creator of heaven and earth…”, and ALL the words to “juicy.” the mumbling is bullshit!
- finish reading ‘atlas shrugged’
- find a career.
- say ‘sorry,’ ‘please,’ and ‘thank you’ more.
- budget better (time and money)
- have a girlfriend. buy her flowers just because. let her really love me.

plans for my life right now:
- get married in my 30’s (enough time to sufficiently scare my parents into thinking I like boys). honeymoon in morocco and Egypt.
- publish my own book (a children’s book and a photography book- I got ideas!)
- finish my screenplay. make a movie (not necessarily based on my screenplay)
- have a son, give him the middle name ‘ever’. make him take Spanish, French and tagalog language lessons.
- take my lola on a trip around the world. show her the great wall of china.
- furnish my house with Filipino-made furniture.
- go back to school for something. but only for something I love. right now, I can only think of design school.
- still have the same friends.
- own a house on the beach.
- own a condo in makati. or the fort. floor to ceiling windows.
- return to Bali before it disappears.
- buy each of my parents a car.
- show my feelings. apparently its something I cant do.

no matter how old I get, the smell of sunblock will always make me feel like a kid.

L.

so placid, then suddenly you realize, she can still break your heart.

"i have only one word to say to Anne... I will love you forever."
- my dad's speech at their silver wedding anniversary

"who's her?"
- me (a sign that maybe i have been here too long)

"ano ka ba?"
- amber tamblin's character in joan of arcadia dubbed in tagalog

the city is getting smaller, my dick is still attached, and ill get a job soon.

times they are a changin'

My father’s duties since my grandma moved to the Philippines:
- cleaning and restocking the refrigerator
- my youngest brother’s full-time chauffer
- laundry
- ALL the yard work
- dog maintenance
- basic household chores
- being patient
…..
“ How come you don’t feel anything?” A.L.
“ You have no emotional range” - M.P.
“ Do you even care?” - S.D.
....

The sadness I feel is not the kind born of separation or complete isolation, but a deeper, epiphanous kind. Ive left before, but I knew that things would be pretty much the same when I got back. But this time, I surrendered the keys to APT 7. I surrendered Richie’s stern criticisms, Richard’s understanding. I surrendered the mysterious funky ball-sweat smell in the bathroom. Spontaneous karaoke competitions, playing Hot Shots Golf for dish duty. I surrendered 9 pillows on a queen sized bed and a window that welcomed the Santa Monica breeze each and every morning. The kind of unerring promise of normalcy that is both comforting and distressing.

Richie asked me if I was running away from something. A year ago, I probably would have said YES. But, right now, I really like my life. Im pretty content with a lot of aspects. Maybe that’s what bugs.

I think we owe it to ourselves as young adults to explore. that’s why im always endorsing travel. Taking yourself out of the mundane, the familiar, forces you to reexamine who you are, whats important, what you want to stand for. It also makes you feel more appreciative.

I can proudly say that everything ive ever really wanted to accomplish in my life, I have. I contribute such success to two things. One, I don’t ask for a lot of shit. Two, I approach seemingly insurmountable or unattainable things differently than most people, I suppose. I don’t make a list all of the things (whether subconsciously or on a spreadsheet) that could potentially make my goal unreachable or think of all the difficulties (whether financial, or otherwise) that would make it seem like a bad idea. I instead visualize it happening and create an action plan to get the ball rolling. When I accept it as a reality- something tangible, it becomes impossible to accept failure.

I mention this because I want to make it very clear that anything is possible. Im not an eternal optimist, in fact, sometimes, im disgustingly paranoid- but I don’t want fear to prevent any of my friends from doing something they really want to do. Alann’s math:

Everything you like < REGRET

Okay, so you might fail. But your greatest Success is better than your worst Failure. Sure, you’ll miss things. But you’ll miss them like you miss an old song you used to love. That one summer hit that you rediscover on the radio years later and instantly, youre a sophomore in HS at Monica’s house trying to figure out how to make your dick work. What you miss isn’t the song itself, but the feeling you associate with the melody. That very specific time in your life. Who you were, a kind of rapidly fraying innocence. But there will always be a better hook, a fresher beat. Luckily, my life has an excellent soundtrack.

My friends, I will not accept mediocrity, atrophy or complacency. Be better than right now.
….
And the Oscar goes to Heath Ledger.

i am thankful for:

- edward. a fun lovin’ kid (on roids)
- kelly clarkson (cant deny it, cant pretend)
- run’s house
- a job I love
- america (with all its flaws)
- myspace
- paul dizon (drunk and sober)
- motherfuckinonetreehill
- the word “lecherous”
- my pride that fades away to forgiveness
- burgeoning relationships
- madelaine. secretly, my biggest fan
- a bachelor’s degree (i can chill for now)
- beautiful people (the shallow kind)
- beautiful people (the deep kind)
- postcards
- adults who behave like children (its reassuring)
- time (when enough of it elapses, youre left with just highlights)
- making sweet, passionate love to uncertainty.
- fucking uncertainty from behind. hard and fast. then saying 'i love you so much'

it's a coming of age tale

"rambling and surprisingly pointless" - denton record chronicle
"tedious humor and sentimentality" -hollywood reporter
"leaves one adrift on a raft of morose questions" - new yorker
"a jumble of potentially intriguing concepts that rarely gel and leave a sticky residue" -palo alto weekly
"sporadically funny" - new york post
"dreary, self indulgent" - arizona republic
"could have used a bit more planning" - newark star
"much of it is not half bad" - boston globe

reviews about cameron crowe's Elizabethtown. but they might as well be about me. well intentioned, less than stellar execution.
....
NYC: architecture? immigrant history? effecient public transportation? theater arts? nope. i feel like at any moment i'm going to spot batman or one of the ninja turtles.
....
if you are beautiful, rich and/or nauseatingly pretentious, come visit me at my new job, the viceroy- santa monica. i used to think i'd do something meaningful after graduation. but i love it.
....
at what age do girls stop with the janetjacksonspeak? i'm going to need you to be very clear with me. i'd like to understand so i know what the fuck to do.
....
if you have straight guy friends who enjoy dancing shirtless onstage at gay clubs, the experience is unforgettable.

school's out (forever)

remember how stupid you got over the summer in elementary school from not reading and shit, and how weird it felt writing your own name on a piece of paper in the fall?

the rest of my life will be summer. i think this is the most smartest ill ever be- its just downhill from here....
....

and for the record, NO, im not. but it shouldn't matter.

labels are for jars.

thank you, arrogant fuck.

kanye west during a live televised benefit for the victims of the hurricane:

"Appearing two-thirds through the program, he claimed 'George Bush doesn't care about black people' and said America is set up 'to help the poor, the black people, the less well-off as slow as possible.'

"Comedian Mike Myers was paired with West for a 90-second segment that began with Myers speaking of Katrina's devastation. Then, to Myers' evident surprise, West began a rant by saying, 'I hate the way they portray us in the media. If you see a black family, it says they're looting. See a white family, it says they're looking for food.'"
....

he said what we were all thinking, emphasizing that Bush is the most dismissive, neglectful fucker in power. i mean, are we going to punish the people who were too poor to fucking flee to their vaction homes, those who don't have cars? the general mayhem can be expected. come on, bodies floating around, no food, people dying? hell yeah, its about to get crazy up in herrrrrrrre.

i also thought about how oppoutunistic some people are, and of how sad it is to take advantage of the situation by looting. right before i thought about it happening here in LA, and of how many plasmas can fit on a surfboard.

umm. yeah, so donate twenty bucks people- but not to the overly-bureacratic red cross. try worldvision.

Pinas

dark skin on pink pebbled beaches, sweating
furious, dancing fingers around the cockfighting ring
My father’s broad shoulders plowing the dirt fields.
diamond cutter precision driving, jams, taxi!
open palms, dirty nails, calloused feet
papaya soap, cover songs- stockholm syndrome
sewer, spit, tragedy of the commons
Sister, come home, it’s late.
fists in the air, misguided complaints, our inaction
Behind the single buco tree in the whole mango plantation,
I see my grandmother waving to me, sweating.

….
outsourcing? Sprint fired a cousin in san diego and hired another in manila.

….
a blowjob for ten bucks. no toilet paper anywhere. the persistent fear of being kidnapped. talentless, beautiful celebrities. wealth is relative.
....
"not to be a downer, but you might have A.I.D.S."
....
my mother was once 22 years old, and my now dead grandmother was once my mother’s age. sometimes, i watch my life passing by too quickly and want to cry- but instead I stay in bed and refuse to get up. fuck you, you can’t make me do anything.

i watch my friends moving away, i see my cousin in the same place i was not too long ago and I realize, the people around me frame my existence. they are my change-markers. through them, I can piece together my life. not just the highlights that my memory selects, but all of it- the quiet heartaches, jokes, the color of my dad’s old celica.
….

then: a girl whose primary form of birth control is prayer (in theory)
now: im not afraid of being hugged, i fucking hate the idea of being let go.
....
wheel of fortune, price is right, family feud- eureka! more ways to prolong getting a job.

i find my last blog entry to be vomit-inducing. i think i meant that im still too young and stupid to be an adult. or maybe that im still far from being the kind of person i want to be. or maybe too many things are happening and i dont want to let go yet. or perhaps i am bisexual.

now, im in some dankass internet cafe in bohol, PI. i love my family but i guess you cant really travel with people for a long time and not get fucking annnnnnoyed.

i miss my friends. my apt is undergoing a renaissance just like my life. i think this country is making me more shallow and i love it for that. and i love a girl who couldnt be less interested.

Peter Pan

i still hold my breath in tunnels, believe fortune cookies, wish on shooting stars, pray every single night, inquire about the meaning of my dreams, pick up pennies, will for the phone to ring, imagine holding your hand, practice my signature, secretly hope someone will find me attractive and talented enough to be a model/singer, praise disneyland, talk to puppies.

i still nod and smile even though i dont agree with what youre saying, hate you but want you to like me, think about what i shouldve said in a situation that took place ten years ago, cant admit i made a mistake by liking her too much for too long, feel guilty after masturbating, hold "making out" very important, drink to get drunk to get numb to do stupid shit, wish i were still in school, judge people based on their looks, want to be rich, equate wealth with happiness, am afraid to be a father.

i dont want a job because im not brave enough to do what i want.
....

give me back the feeling of being in in the middle of the serengeti, hyenas in the background, rain pattering on my tent, a masai warrior with bow and arrow guarding the site, sticking just my penis out to pee cuz im scared of hyenas, the masai warrior, rain and absolute darkness.
....

come back lauryn hill. please.
....

philippines for a month, richie's ipod, my favorite cousins, travel experience, bigger balls. lets see how this goes.

andrew mcCarthy is my hero.

roe v. salvador

this morning on 'the view' a man and his lawyer attempted to make a case for what is known as 'male abortion rights,' or a father's right to have a fetus aborted, and it reminded me of when i was all about such rights in an intro to women's studies class a couple years ago (back when i was in school, ahhhh). except he wants the right to terminate the pregnancy to avoid '18 years of financial obligation' or some shit, and i was arguing about how helpless a man would be in the situation if he wants to keep the baby and she doesnt. but basically, it all boiled down to one simple fact: sex roles are unequal. im all about gender equality, but fuck, you cant change sex roles (biological differences). and that sucks. i mean, this guy (who was stupid for thinking that he could get his point across on 'the view') seemed like a real bad person, i know, but he exposed a greater truth: women hold so much power! like if she chooses to keep this baby, the man has to pay child support, or she could terminate it (even if he wanted to keep it), or she could have it and abandon it, or give it up for adoption, or teach it how to hunt like a wolf and speak only latin. the point is, women can make a unilateral decision when it comes to birthing a life. and i dont know how to feel about that (but imagine how much greater our world would be if everyone acknowledged that, and instead of punishing them, celebrate women). can you imagine how many deadbeat dads would take advantage of this right if it were to materialize? that sucks. i just think that the guy should have some say in it, especially because women are always talking about fairness and how 'it takes two people' blah blah blah*, i would just like that equality to extend beyond convenience. and if i sound like an asshole, i dont mean to be. i know ultimately, it is a woman's body and guys can be jerks. i just hate to think that i might never be a dad, because women i "knock up" , might change their minds, or just not feel like it. oh man, what am i saying?

well. it all comes down to my belief in equality. and whatever my beliefs are, it is not my final decision (unless it is my fetus, then, it is BOTH of our decisions). like gay marriage, my ideas on abortion are my own. and what i think about the two should not affect, or limit another person's rights. so fuck you republicans.

*"blah blah blah" = "etc."

.....

i would be perfectly content living in an apartment my whole life, but own a niceass beach house

.....

at a cuban restaurant with my cuban roommate, only my hunger prevented me from ordering "fidel's forbidden salad". so tempting

.....

go away, tom cruise. far far away

.....

"mr. and mrs. smith made me feel all bi and shit"
....

my mom sent me a postcard from hawaii, in an envelope

and why you mustn't either

Why I Must Never Stop Writing

Poetry frames my emotions
in the Oz between the abstract and concrete.
It becomes the silent hand
that tells me to be less tragic
and instead
write!
Poetry is what remains when the memory becomes a hazy
parallel reality-
the emotion that remains a sharp blade.
It is what I can show you and say
this is it, this is my story
and have it be enough.
My poems are my undisciplined children
that will live beyond me,
the one word with an always different meaning.
It exists in a dark alley behind my apartment
lit by a single, flickering lamp post.
In bed at night, when the world prepares to recycle,
poetry becomes the lone vestige
to differentiate between the blackholes
that only grow
with time.
Knowing that I must write forces me to find
poetry
in everything,
and writing becomes easier.
The reasons that I must never stop writing
are the same reasons
why I should write poetry in the first place.

PTSD

karaoke, mariokart, shopping with no money, random restaurants, irregular sleep pattern.

the life of a college gradumate. day two.

....

"live your life like its a lucid dream" - richard

....

i need a job that pays well with no skills required, please.

"you should think about being a screenwriter. i mean you have to join the screenwriters guild, but youre creative and shit" - ed

yes im scared, duh. but it sure is great knowing that i dont have a paper due in half an hour. standing up there at graduation, i realized how many girls (and people in general) there are that i never had a chance to meet.

no, alann, stop it! focus on the philippines- less than a month and youll be at boracay, shopping for toptier counterfeits, getting "massages" from "legal" girls (wait, what?!). yes. yes. yes. itll be like a whole month of "the last quarter of game 6".

....

yesterday, in the alley behind my apartment (which we playfully refer to as "bosnia"), i saw a pimp and two hos. like an actual snoopdogg-impersonating-cane-holding-hat-tipped-gold-toothed-pimp and two halfnaked-cracked-out-sad-ass-hos! and the pimp waved to my roommate! wow, my neighborhood gives me character.

Angry Al.

remember your black 89 mitsubishi galant? the time when the power windows didnt work and it was afuckin 105 valleydegrees outside and even hotter inside? you had to keep opening the door at every stop to prevent from passing out: "i swear, all i need is AC and a CD player?"

and

how come in front of 4000 people, reading a speech, youll only be thinking about 4001?

my life right now. i should be starting one of the three papers due tomorrow so i can hang with a fun girl who makes me laugh tomorrow night. but instead...

why is it that when we get what we want, we just want more? and for all the good that is going on in our lives, instead we focus on the shit?

just one of dem days, like monica says. the biannual feeling i get that forges emotional growth. yay.

sometimes, i am just a big fat asshole. i need a fucking filter in my brain and my mouth.

I Am Gay

okay, im not. but as someone who has given off that vibe (partially due to my strange affinity for Mariah Carey, Colin Farrell and Carrie Bradshaw), I would like to ask- so, what if i am? Would you treat me differently? assuming you love me (and if you know me, you probably do), would you deny me the right to see my boyfriend (enrique iglesias) in the hospital, on his deathbed (knock on wood)? would you deny me access to his millions that anna kournikova (bitch!) has a chance at? what if i really loved him and didnt just want his half latin, half filipino hands all over me 24/7 (uncomfortable? this is for you)?

i mean considering that being gay is NOT a choice, and therefore i have "always been gay", would you think differently of me? of the memories we have shared? of the times we have debated who's hotter, angelina jolie or brad pitt (wait, umm)? and for you dumbfucks who think being gay is something someone chooses to be, die. as if someone would actively seek discrimination in school, the workplace, at home. as if someone rejoices in the fact that idiot fuckers snicker and gossip about them to their face and behind their back. imagine living a life where everything someone does to you is clouded by the lingering question of homophobia.

and to all the fuckers at UCLA who are being educated by some of the greatest, most liberal minds in america and still dare to write the school newspaper about how you believe marriage between two people of the same gender is stupid and a direct assault on community, try replacing 'gay' with bigotry and intolerance. and to you religious crazies who are offended by being called homophobic but simultaneously label gays as morally weak and subordinate, go to hell! and while we're at it, Ratzinger- bad call announcing that gays, prochoicers and politicians who support feminist issues as minions of the devil- you're wrong (i want to say something worse, but am still afraid ill be hit by a thunder bolt. damn you catholic school. damn you!)- your god is not my God.

yes, im very angry. read into it all you like, but i just hate people who are so fucking intolerant. fuck you. fuck you. fuck you. you cant step on or discriminate against people who are different than you, weaker than you, or foreign to you. i also find that great hypocrisy can be found in what you say that i'd more easily forgive in someone who is not a fucking asshole, prick!

fine, keep your traditional values, your economic conservatism, your distaste for ethnic foods. BUT DO NOT FUCK UP SOMEONES LIFE by limiting their rights, perpetuating the idea that who they are is wrong and that they should be ashamed.

you know what? realize that you can't back yourself up with anything that is not laced with racist, ignorant bullshit. so fuck you one last time and forever.

some of the greatest people youll ever meet are gay. they also know about the best clubs.

i am also a champion of children, the homeless, women and dr. pepper.

....

sheila and ro are the best.

....

my dad offered me a copied dvd of the paris hilton sex tape.

circles.

college graduations are eh. what now? more of the same. just coasting.
middle school graduations are too frivolous.
but high school grad is the best. tears. drama. originality through shirts and ties. the deluded notion that 'best friends forever' doesnt really mean 'until you get a boyfriend'- too good.

its fucked up how virtually impossible it is to escape the label youre given at a young age. gold cords will always be gold cords. class clowns will always be class clowns. quiet and shy people will always disappear for a couple of months only to be spotted at the mall with bigger boobs and newfound confidence. wait, wha?

funerals suck. too much for me. awkward silence that gives way to a tentative hug. ahhh. its not about the person in the coffin (theres a reason). we are crying for the people who are still alive, right? YES. remember that.

beginnings and endings. my life right now.

one more time. so as an adult, you cant ask her best friend if she likes you? that sucks.

wow. i blinked and here i am.

...

"you can use visa at coffee bean? i thought you can only use credit cards at starbucks because they sell, like, cds and stuff."

A Losing Battle

i cant escape you. youre everywhere i go. its my house, you cant be here anymore. we ended it last year, promise remember? i said no more, i dont want to keep hurting you. but here you are still. in the morning when im brushing my teeth. in the kitchen when im making dinner for one. even in my room, what should be my last private sanctuary. this game we play, its getting old. i cant do it anymore. but....i cant escape you....



the ants are back!!!!!!!
summer is here....

....

so im about to go to my cousin sean's graduation from h.s.
ha, those fucking idiots think college is the real world. i want to warn them, tell them to hang on to it as long as they can, but..........

.....

nothings better than watching my roommate, richie, reciting shakespeare with a jamaican accent in his underwear for me at 2am. sexy fuck.

ahhh. i need a Fight Club

"i guess im just wondering what everyone here wants to know....have you actually met brad pitt?"

wow, to be chuck palahniuk. its more than devoted fans. its knowing that youre influencing everyone in the room. a whole demographic of the generation.

....

the joy of writing. too bad its always clouded by the lack of talent.

....

"hi, i was wondering if you guys had a dvd or video of Twelfth Night."

"of what? night as in 'night and day' or what? spell it."

"yes, night as in night and day. t-w-e-l-f-t-h n-i-g-h-t."

"is that an adult one?"

"no. its shakespeare."

remember alann, just a few more papers EVER and then youre an ADULT!

speaking of adulthood. i now have a blog and myspace. is it because i dont want to let go?

my day in numbers

1 - hour of sleep i got today (saddle ranch, the o.c., family guy, staying up and talking about scary dreams/ghosts/stories, breakfast)

41. 23- dollars it cost me to fill up my 1998 four cylinder Toyota Camry with the lowest grade gas. !

6- number of lecherous guys who started dancing (ewww) with Ro and Jill without asking. thats gross. we just wanted to dance.

8- times i rolled my eyes during "monster in law"

2- unexpected phone calls that made me very, very happy (one from my friend adrian, whom i love even more than pop music and another that made me smile all night)

....

wow, i almost forgot how good it feels.

why couldnt they all just be the wet kind?

you know that place between awake and asleep? it can be a very scary place to be:

it started out okay. i was inspecting a house with some people, i think i was planning on buying it. i was really annoyed about one particular part: just off the kitchen, there was a wall with a small cutout. i was thinking, this is so unnecessary, there should either be a complete closed wall or just a wider door opening. i then began to explore the rest of the house. i started walking around thinking, okay this is the living area, this is the den, this room has a bed, therefore it is a bedroom, etc. soon i realized that i was going around in circles but nothing was the same. every room i was entering was new and i couldnt find the front door, my way out. as soon as i thought, something is wrong here, something is wrong with this house, an old man in a striped shirt came running down the stairs towards me. he was moving in that scary movie hyper speed. i knew he was a ghost. he jumped on me and started to strangle me and i couldnt get him off.

heres the thing though: i was conscious that i was 'dreaming' but i couldnt snap out of it. it was so intense and real but i knew it wasnt. i could hear conan o brien introducing james spader on my tv. i could hear them engaging in some funny banter. i could hear richard playing a michael jackson song on his guitar in the room next to me, but i could not get this guy off me. i could feel my eyes moving REM style, i was telling myself to just open my eyes, to just get up, or yell or anything. but nothing. for ten seconds this ghost man in a striped shirt was killing me. quite possibly the worst feeling because i was completely and utterly helpless.

crazy shit.

and youre right richard, its better to close the bedroom door when youre alone at home. it does feel like something is watching you.

fuck this shit, im 22.

im going to go sleep with richie in the living room. hes buff. i hate night terrors.

sometimes, a queen size is too big

you better:
- have a life of your own
- handle a.d.d. well
- know im new at this, too. its been a while
- like karaoke, or at least be my groupie
- want to pinch some kids' cheeks so hard they cry
- be smarter than me
- be able to give me the beat to any song at a club
- indie, bollywood, pinoy cinema, documentary, etc.
- just colin farrell (and enrique iglesias) , accept it
- yell at me!
- get my humor and love it anyway
- be serious. relax.
- talk. shut up.
- like flowers. hate red roses.
- like my friends. i will never choose
- pay, because ill never ask and always offer
- just tell me. we're adults, we change our minds
- agree with me that she's hot
- make me feel it, 2 weeks, 3000 miles, whatever
- not lie. really love me. dont settle. dont judge.
- judge me a little for having a blog

aUCLAnn83 (11:28:22 PM): ah. i forgot how to date.
seeanne29 (11:28:37 PM): s'okay
seeanne29 (11:28:42 PM): i apparently don't know how to love

i dont like your girlfriend.

....

"(10:09:10 AM): do a lot of people "bug" you?
aUCLAnn83 (10:09:17 AM): actually no.
(10:09:26 AM): it seems your the only that takes initiative to dislike people."

- what? am i crushing?

- wow, pcn is over....so close to being a good experience.

- fuck, another late paper.

- drop it. as if. youre ruining it.

- god, please help me dance and sing better.

- like me back.

- alann, put yourself out there.

- any meat and rice. any. right now.

- i do hate the bar/club scene.

- the bar/club scene is great when youre with someone.

- fuck you. o.c. parties are great.

- almost there, hang on....just a....little....longer.

Ode To Nice Guys

This rant was written for the Wharton Undergraduate Journal

This is a tribute to the nice guys. The nice guys that finish last, that never become more than friends, that endure hours of whining and bitching about what assholes guys are, while disproving the very point. This is dedicated to those guys who always provide a shoulder to lean on but restrain themselves to tentative hugs, those guys who hold open doors and give reassuring pats on the back and sit patiently outside the changing room at department stores. This is in honor of the guys that obligingly reiterate how cute/beautiful/smart/funny/sexy their female friends are at the appropriate moment, because they know most girls need that litany of support. This is in honor of the guys with open minds, with laid-back attitudes, with honest concern. This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl’s every facet, from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style.

This is for the guys who escort their drunk, bewildered female friends back from parties and never take advantage once they’re at her door, for the guys who accompany girls to bars as buffers against the rest of the creepy male population, for the guys who know a girl is fishing for compliments but give them out anyway, for the guys who always play by the rules in a game where the rules favor cheaters, for the guys who are accredited as boyfriend material but somehow don’t end up being boyfriends, for all the nice guys who are overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated, for all the nice guys who are manipulated, misled, and unjustly abandoned, this is for you.

This is for that time she left 40 urgent messages on your cell phone, and when you called her back, she spent three hours painstakingly dissecting two sentences her boyfriend said to her over dinner. And even though you thought her boyfriend was a chump and a jerk, you assured her that it was all ok and she shouldn’t worry about it. This is for that time she interrupted the best killing spree you’d ever orchestrated in GTA3 to rant about a rumor that romantically linked her and the guy she thinks is the most repulsive person in the world. And even though you thought it was immature and you had nothing against the guy, you paused the game for two hours and helped her concoct a counter-rumor to spread around the floor. This is also for that time she didn’t have a date, so after numerous vows that there was nothing “serious” between the two of you, she dragged you to a party where you knew nobody, the beer was awful, and she flirted shamelessly with you, justifying each fit of reckless teasing by announcing to everyone: “oh, but we’re just friends!” And even though you were invited purely as a symbolic warm body for her ego, you went anyways. Because you’re nice like that.

The nice guys don’t often get credit where credit is due. And perhaps more disturbing, the nice guys don’t seem to get laid as often as they should. And I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can’t. From what I have observed on campus and what I have learned from talking to friends at other schools and in the workplace, the only conclusion I can form is that many girls are just illogical, manipulative bitches. Many of them claim they just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say irrational, confusing things such as “oh, he’s too nice to date” or “he would be a good boyfriend but he’s not for me” or “he already puts up with so much from me, I couldn’t possibly ask him out!” or the most frustrating of all: “no, it would ruin our friendship.” Yet, they continue to lament the lack of datable men in the world, and they expect their too-nice-to-date male friends to sympathize and apologize for the men that are jerks. Sorry, guys, girls like that are beyond my ability to fathom. I can’t figure out why the connection breaks down between what they say (I want a nice guy!) and what they do (I’m going to sleep with this complete ass now!). But one thing I can do, is say that the nice-guy-finishes-last phenomenon doesn’t last forever. There are definitely many girls who grow out of that train of thought and realize they should be dating the nice guys, not taking them for granted. The tricky part is finding those girls, and even trickier, finding the ones that are single.

So, until those girls are found, I propose a toast to all the nice guys. You know who you are, and I know you’re sick of hearing yourself described as ubiquitously nice. But the truth of the matter is, the world needs your patience in the department store, your holding open of doors, your party escorting services, your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile. For all the crazy, inane, absurd things you tolerate, for all the situations where you are the faceless, nameless hero, my accolades, my acknowledgement, and my gratitude go out to you. You do have credibility in this society, and your well deserved vindication is coming.

Fu-zu Jen, SEAS/WH, 2003

But part of me also believes that Nice Guys have the exact love life they want. When they're ready, when someone's finally earned it, GAME ON!

And to all the girls who turn Nice Guys into Assholes by forbidding them to see their friends, forcing them to use terms of endearment such as "boo" or "babe", who use "sex" as a weapon/punishment/distraction, or who do anything else to manipulate, scare or confuse a Nice Guy....DIE.


Ladies, remind me to introduce you to my friend Chris Cuenza.

youre sweet, but wrong: im just an arrogant, standoffish asshole.

"i don't know...i think that you're soo nice and that people hold your opinion about things very highly...and i think that they're afraid that if they say something or do something, you might be disappointed...and i think that disappointment from alann could almost be as bad as getting your toe cut off."

how can i be intimidating when most of the time im just scared?

on another note:
who cares if they think we're together/ you like me/ i like you? am i a mongoloid (not that there's anything wrong with mongolism)?

PLEASE, LESS pOLITICAL cHILDISH nONSENSE.

dylan, dylan and dylan

so dave chapelle checked himself into a south african psych clinic for undisclosed reasons last month which explains why his show's season premier has been pushed back. all i can say is.... don't miss out on great white shark diving at seal island- its fucking awesome.

"obsessively clicking the 'refresh' button will not make people email you"

fuck you, dru hill was oh so good.

i hate it when people are meaner when they know theyre talking shit to/about someone who won't talk back.

nobody watching? thats CHARACTER.

i thank god for friends who are genuinely nice. you feel it. its authentic.

i hate assholes. get over yourself.