sometimes my dad calls me.  they’re never normal conversations though.  they’re weird random phone calls in different accents and high pitched voices.  sometimes, he asks for my imaginary sister. well, sometimes he pretends he is my imaginary sister.


when i was small, he used to play games with me.  he used to make funny faces…talk in funny voices….and tell me funny stories.  at one point, he made up an imaginary sister for me that was actually a more interesting kid than both my brother or me.  her name was duku.  sometimes, i was jealous of her.  she always did fun stuff with my dad and played the best tricks on my brother.  but then my dad would talk about how duku did something really not nice or really not ok and then i would feel like the perfect kid again. (insert hug to daddy here). 


nowadays, conversations with my father only happen on car rides to and from school.  we usually talk about work and the cousins and my brother and other random family members.  we get home, he turns on the tv, and i go to my room.  eventually, he falls asleep.  sometimes, on my way back from getting a midnight snack, i look over…and i watch him.  part of me doesn’t believe he’s sleeping.  part of me thinks he’s just lying there, watching me.  i’m waiting for him to jump up and  make some strange noise.  but he doesn’t.  he sleeps…soundly.  hah…well, with the sound of the typical (or maybe not that typical) old asian man snoring. 


i’m going home soon.  yay.


hah.  look at me.  tomorrow’s mother’s day…and here i go writing about my father.  go me.

if i were a teacher, i’d tell my students…especially the full of potential struggling yet on the verge of apathy good will hunting finding forrester type of students…that if you can read something and say, “wow.  that’s good writing,” then you can be a good writer too.  simply as that.


(today’s entry was brought to you by the letters U, L, and the number 4)


ambition.

Of the Sentimental Type.


“it’s nice outside,” she said.


i turned around and there she was. admiring the grey. measuring the wind.


book.


        in.


               hand.


no place to sit, didn’t matter.


no welcoming sun, didn’t matter.


so calm. so serene.


i’ll miss her.


(in reality, she was probably just ….waddling about, digesting her food…finding any excuse of distraction from her studies.)


Yes. i will miss her.


 

*****: well like they say…


*****: vsa does very little


*****: so it is pointless


Me: i…i don’t know what to say to that.


Me: because the only way to do MORE…is if the people want it.  i want it.  but everytime i shoot out an idea i get shot down myself


Me: everytime i want to say, hey..let’s do this.  people are busy.  everytime i say..let’s talk about this…they say…that’s a little too heavy..will people care?


Me: everytime i try to do something….no one believes in me.


Me: what do you expect me to do??  i said, let’s go to vascon.  they just kinda…entertained my idea…and no one joined in until i had already raised $700


Me: and they realized….oh…it IS possible


Me: what iv’e been trying to do all year long…is to open doors


Me: open minds. 


Me: open hearts.


Me: but it KILLS me


Me: absolutely KILLS me…that it seems worthless


*****: yeah


*****: well you have a start


Me: a start that *** and other people can’t see


Me: a start that isn’t clear to you either.


Me: because i haven’t made that evident enough


Me: because you, too, think that vsa does very little.


*****: then find a way to make people see


Me: do you think i did anything this year?


*****: well the vascon thing..


Me: is that all?


*****: viet night


*****: and tet


Me: there are things inbetween too, ya know?  like meetings….like slowly putting culture into it.  like the open discussion meeting we had.  even silly stuff like tet trung thu meeting…it was learning an old story that exists in our culture


Me: its stuff like making the dragon together


Me: its making the t-shirts


Me: its talking about the t-shirts


Me: its semi-formal…creating connections with other asian groups


Me: i’m learning myself, ya know.  what it means to really love the vietnamese in me.


Me: and i’ve been trying so hard all year to show people that


Me: to show people how much i love it.  because that’s the only way i know


Me: because people DON’T respect me.


Me: because people DON’T listen to me.


Me: i just have to try to show them what it means to me.  start there.  move up.


*****: some people are like that though


*****: they don’t care to listen to others


Me: i know that


Me: i understand that


Me: and that’s why i have to try to SHOW them.  but you know what?  if you haven’t seen the heart in me all year


Me: than i’ve not done a good job


*****: i think people do see that you have the heart


*****: but there are some who just don’t care


*****: or they don’t see that it matters


Me: does it to you?


….

Brother :you’re better than i am
Me :why?
Brother: you want it more
Me: people will always see it more with you
Brother: no


that’s….that’s just really strange to me.


and then this:


Brother: either people are sincere or they are not
Brother: as soon as they show signs of insincerity, i will not give them any say so
Me: you don’t give then chances?
Me: i think i trust people more than you.
Me: and believe in people more than you.
Brother: i think i see through people better than you do
Me: isn’t that the same?
Brother: trust is based on not knowing what a person’s true intentions are, but giving them a benefit of a doubt
Brother: me… i don’t doubt that they’re up to no good, cause i can pick up on the signs
Me: are you always right?
Brother: nope
Brother: but for the most part
Brother: it’s either i like you or i don’t
Me: can that change?
Brother: i don’t want to waste time with the grey areas
Brother: of course
Brother: but my circle is therefore intentionally kept small
Brother: and strong friendships are slow to develop
Me: heh.  i think i live in the grey area


eh.

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