Thank You

I am standing here alone, but I am not lonely. There are memories, and there are feelings running inside my head. They are keeping me going, and I am thankful to have them in my life. They keep me going, and they are the reason that I am the way I am.

For giving me birth, for raising me, for taking care of me when I am hurt, and for always being there with me whether at night or day, thank you.

For yelling at me, for being jealous of me, for making fun of me, for every bad joke you were saying about me, and for every good intention that make me better, thanks to you.

For supporting me, for laughing with me, for crying with me, for fighting with me, and for failing with me, for everlasting good memories, I thank you,

For beating me, for punching me, for failing me, for destroying me, and for always coming up with new ideas to restrain me and thus making me stronger, Your efforts are appreciated.

For cheating on me, for lying to me, for hurting me, for loving me, for kissing me, for saving me from loneliness, and for every orgasmic pause, I appreciate it.

For good times, for bad times, for traveling with me, for enjoying live with me, you have my appreciation.

For touching me, for changing me, for giving me a broader view of the world, and for giving me everything without needing a single thing in return, thank you.

Thank you.

Landslide

If I was only a little bit more heartless, I would have walked away from the bar and avoided any further encounter. Yet I was sitting there on the seat tearily, and staring at this emotional cry out from the stage. Next to me was my wife. She knew of the story, but she didn't know anything beyond that. At least, I convinced myself that she knew nothing.

From the stage came a voice that introduced her next song, "I am sure all of you have heard of this song", said the singer. "My Mom used to sing this song to me. And even though I have never heard of Stevie in my childhood, I have heard enough to learn this song. To my mother, this song means as much as I to her. Without the man who taught her this song and saved her from the street, I wouldn't be here. And my beloved Mother wouldn't have given us a chance to survive this long. Even though we are never to see him and thank him again, I wish he is living well somewhere in the world. This song is for him, from my Mother and I".

She plucked the guitar, and the song began to dance around the hall.

"I took my love, I took it down
I climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
'Till the landslide brought me down

Mirror in the sky, What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?

I don't know...

Well, I've been afraid of changing
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too

Well, I've been afraid of changing
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too
I'm getting older too

So take this love, take it down
If you climb a mountain and turn around
If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide bring it down

And If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide bring it down
Oh the landslide bring it down...."

This wasn't from Stevie Nicks. This came from a young woman whose emotion just affected the whole room. While she was singing, the club was quiet enough that a cough could sound like a thunder. Her voice was clear and convincing. Her feeling made every word in the song alive. Until the end, her crys had brought tears in my eye. For others, applause and cheers didn't express how much they have been affected by her feelings.

In the end of the song my hands are held by my loved one who sat next to me speechlessly. Her eyes were holding thoughts back, but I didn't know what it was. Until we were leaving, she went to pick up the car and left me alone in the club. I took the chance and looked at the young singer. She was looking at me from far away with a smile on her face as if she recognized me. She then nodded to me, and then waved. Her face covered by a fulfilling smile. And I puzzled. Did she really recognized me? And how?

On the way back to our home, I was quiet and distant. After a few turns, my dear wife pulled up to the driveway and stopped. "It has been about twenty years, hasn't it"? She asked. While I was shaking my head, she continued with her words, "by the square an underage girl was pregnant and was abandoned my the father and her family. She was given up her life, but was saved and taken into a shelter by a traveling business man".

"You knew this"? My eyes were opened wide in shock.

"She survived herself and the child in her belly. By that time his one year business exchange ended. He returned to San Francisco to his own family. Monthly, he supported the Mother and her daughter for years. Until about six years later, they have gone missing again. His checks were returned much to his displeasure. The daughter later came to California for school, and had been singing around Berkeley at night. She has been looking for the person who saved she and her Mother's life and gave them reasons to live. Her Mother told her that she could find him around the Bay, but suggested her not to".

She looked me in the eyes while speaking all these words. I was nervous, shaky, and uncomfortable. In the end, she moved over to my side and kissed me. With a smile, I understood everything that she did tonight was for me. I understood the reason that we went to Berkeley for acoustic night; I understood the reason she held my hands after the song; and I understood the reason she went to pick up the car herself. I shook my head with my eyes closed, and felt her hand caressing my trembling face.

"I hope you would forgive me for what I did tonight. But I just thought that young girl deserved a chance to meet with you - the one who made her. She deserved a chance to thank you".

I laid myself in her arms helplessly. Warmth of her heart was keeping me comfortable as ever. I didn't say anything. I didn't think anything needed to be said.

Art Works in Chaos

Nothing affected me more than an influential artwork. It doesn't matter how disturbing, how compelling, how forceful, how annoying, or how gloomy. I always braced myself for emotional shocks that these fine arts raged. This afternoon was no difference.

Have you seen red bubbles drawn in lines that represent a gruesome accident? Have you seen a realistic painting about how human experiment was operated, with some bisect body and a cut-off head? Have you seen an abstract that symbolizes a horrifying war? Have you spent time looking at an aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in drawing? Have you felt a powerful drawing that portrayed a deep gray sky with factories underneath? Have you seen a stripped naked man, strapped with firecracker and red ink, being filmed in front of camera? While each firecracker was exploding, pieces of them and the red ink went gushing. Have you seen this video that showed us how terrible and inhumane gunshot killing is?

I have felt all these emotions all afternoon. I have buried these emotions in my mind. They were haunting me with images and my own imaginations. I was trapped in my own world, and tried to break free from the darkness of my heart.

The darkness of my heart didn't prevail, however, because there were plenty of joys and daylight complementing the negativity, and pulling me away from the dreadful spiral.

There was a woman, symbolizing a house wizard, walking into a door, closing it, and climbing over layers of a wall. There were people, in a video, walking past one another only to show how our living world is just like a hallway. There were lines and dots connecting little galaxies, which made them a little time machines. There were tilted statues that could be straighten while screwed on tight. There were paintings giving me views to waterfalls, mountains, and babmoos. There were many more sarcastic, laughable, cute, and beautiful works shown among series of seriousness.

My emotions were pulled from all directions, and clashed in the middle of my body. I felt the beating, and took time to digest. I walked outside the door, and felt the sunshine and breeze. I looked at the beautiful young models from a graduation project, and were preparing for their runway walk. I saw people running around carelessly, and enjoying life. These scenes added to my thoughts, and slowly merged with other feelings in my head. They entered me, and eventually became mine.

It was great to be able to feel. It was great to be able to think freely. Yet it is the greatest for one to have the ability to digest such vast amount of creativity. I was nowhere near that state, but I was trying.

Take Little Hands

Strolling on the busy street, sweaty, disgusted, angered, I am aimed to destroy. I want payback. I want revenge. I want to see innocent blood spill, just as my bemourned family were drained until dry. My demand is simple - to let these people have a taste of the bitterness that I continuously tasted for years.

Flashback of a haunting moment and a muderous feat is still too close to be put behind. Because of them, I am taking my vengeance right here and now as I am to detonate at any second. Only if they knew, mercies will be begged, and tears will pour. But I, a man with steely heart, will not be shaken. They will die, just as my little sister was murdered, raped, and burned. They will feel my wrath, simply because they are the support of those murderous demons.

The festive celebration is behind the door. Crossing that line, I will find no return. A matyr I will become, and a hero I will be for many who are about to follow. I am ready to set an example as a true servant of the God. I have no regret. I have no fear. I feel treasured and pleasured to be looked up to.

But the little hands reach me, behind the closed door. The little eyes of innocence reach me behind the window of my soul. The little smile soften the steel that shields my broken heart. I take her little hands, as if I am taking my little sister's hands - the soft, pure, warm hands. I take them in mine, as tears fill my eyes. Time pause in and around me. Screams raise and alert, but I can't seem to care. Firearms are pointed at me, and I have to let go of her little hands.

Her little hands free me from my hatred.

Her little hands free me from my misery.

Her little hands separate me from others who either manipulate me with my own anger or see me as a souless enemy.

The little hands make me feel honorable and strong.

Bullets of reality hit as feelings of pain surge. My body is draining out blood and the lasts of my strength. I have failed, as a sacred fighter. I won't be an exmaple for many hot-blooded men. I will be laid away casually by my enemy and laughed at by my comrades. I choose this road at the last second, and will have any regret? Will I?

I have fell, and am seeing the final moment of myself. A hot steel sphere was fired in between my eyes. It is raging fast, but I see it moving slowly. With every inch it charges closer, my fear grows.

And then, everything goes black.