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A few weeks ago, I visited Pittsburgh to see some old college buddies. While walking to grab some grub, we passed by a couple of drunk students. Upon seeing that a couple of us were asian, one of them decided that he knew how to speak Chinese, and proceeded to call out, "Ching chang chong," ad infinitum. We just kept walking. One of my buddies said to just ignore him. Easy enough, I thought to myself. I felt more shocked than offended; I had never really been the recipient of such outright idiocy. The night passed without further event, and I filed the incident away.

Two weekends later found me in Great Neck, visiting my girlfriend. I was trying to cheer her up by making her some food, with paella being the request. I pulled down pretty much every Spanish cookbook I could find. A librarian noticed me looking through the cookbooks, and informed me that the library had just gotten a brand new Chinese cookbook. Smiling weakly, I told him that I'd pretty much found what I was looking for and kept browsing. How quaint, I thought, at least it was well-meaning, unlike the night in Pittsburgh. (The joke ended up being on me, as I cooked up an amazing paella in a wok.)

On the way back home, I mulled over the two completely separate incidences. I previously held the naive notion that this kind of thing wasn't supposed to happen anymore, that all the racial awareness and diversity pieces in the classroom early on, not to mention the festivities surrounding Martin Luther King Jr. day were supposed to at least let people know that that racism wasn't socially acceptable anymore.

And yet I knew that wasn't the case. I knew in my own heart there still were ugly bastions of racism, pieces that would sometimes bubble up embarrassingly in conversation, pieces that I wish I could just throw away. I wonder what future generations will bring in terms of acceptance.

Thanks for listening to me ramble. I believe that's what these things are for, after all... Feel free to downvote, but at least do me the favor of telling me why.

We should be waking up to mystery...

I have to write this fast. Before it goes away - before it dies - because it dies every night, a quarter after six, or so.

I get off work and I want to do something. To not do something is not acceptable. My time must be free to do something. To live.

I want to be with people. I want to be surrounded by close friends. We can talk. We can sit. But we must do something more, also. We should be lighting things on fire, so they can burn like our hearts.

To not do something that changes, that brings change, is not acceptable. We should be walking around in talkative groups, loving people and lighting buildings on fire.

But no, I’m all alone. my one friend around here is married and I can't blame him for not wanting to light things on fire with me. His heart doesn't seem to burn like mine, or I don’t see it; to lust after life like mine.

I want to share my life with people. To live with people. Friends. I want to share my life with one more closely than others. This is built into me. This is what my heart burns for. For life! Whatever that may be.

My family. I love my family. But I can only sit at their house so much. I want to be around people my own age. People whose hearts burn like mine. Be together so that we can share that burning. So that we can burn things together. We should be lightings things on fire together. We should be waking up.

Going home is not acceptable. Home is where loneliness is. loneliness is where temptation is. And temptation is where death is.

But this is never satisfied. So I never want to do what I need to. To work or go to work.

I’m tired of having my heart on fire like this only to have it burn itself out every night.

I want something more. To love. To live. And not have to force it. For the wounds that keep me from it to have time and space and grace and support to heal. To not be forced. Rushed.

Screw expectations and obligations and so-called responsibilities. I need more! I am afraid my heart will soon burn out and I will lose all of this. Fade into this death that is called life, of matching dishes and home-owning.

I want to be mobile. Nomadic bands of lovers and givers and arsonists.

I don’t want to know where I will be tomorrow. I don't want to know what I will be doing next week or the next month.

As the sun sets, now, it should be lighting this city, this landscape, on fire. We should be waking up to flames, to mystery. To life, to love, to friendship and companionship.

The sun should be setting flames loose, not taking its light away.

This city can only glow as it is burning to the ground.

Not that I think this information will have mass appeal, but there has been sufficient interest in my previous daylog on this subject to say that a month after his operation, my dad is doing quite well. The doctors seem very pleased with his progress, he is almost back to normal in terms of his everyday activities and morale in the family is high.

Thanks to everyone who has expressed concern and asked after me and mine. I'm a lot happier now.

As I sit down to write this there ensues in another corner of the campus the first round of on-campus interviews for the next step of life. Yes siree tis that time of the year again where young hopefuls rise from their death-like sleep (or maybe not) an bring out the already rusting tome of past achievements so that they may once more revel in its gloriousness.

I sit alone in my room typing away...

The urge to put my thoughts to paper or rather in this case an incandescent glow of crystals swimming in unison have drove me to the solace of my room, a quest for peace in this isle of debauchery, pompousness and all things that make us what we are, quite simply put the characteristics that make us what we are. I could have ofcourse continued sitting elsewhere mindlessly watching the world pass me by oblivious to everything including my senses but as afore mentioned the urge was too strong to resist, and so here I sit penning words which I seem to have lost control over quite a while ago.

'Why didnt YOU go?', was the first remark on most of the lips which caught sight of me aimlessly wandering the corridors. I stare blankfacedly at you. 'I do not know', is all I can mumble before stumbling ahead - blindly walking in the darkness of my thoughts. I turn back knowing that you are still watching, waiting for a better answer. Trying to put on your best sympathetic face, trying to understand, trying to help. But I know better. As much as I wish otherwise my gaze pierces your temporary facade giving me a glimpse of the truth that lies inside. Just another looking for a bit of gossip, small-talk to be made in the company of others. You turn your gaze away, not wanting to face the brunt of mine. I walk on in my misery.

How long can I hide ? I know why I didnt go and am yet afraid to own up to myself. The sinking feeling only gets deeper. Perhaps by now I revel in my misery. Seek sympathy but rudely brush it away as soon as it rears its head, lying once again to myself. This outwardly exuberance is all the more frightening as it helps conceal the anguish within. That is why I so hate these lonely moments when I am forced to question my self not for lack of something better to do but more of an instinct which arises in moments such as these. It was fine earlier. The demons possessed both the inner soul and the outer manifestation but now the innards smirk with the knowledge that the other conceals perfectly. Supresses it in public places only to reemerge when the moment is right...

In moments like these.

The destination I no longer know,
the path I cannot see,
but trudge on I must,
for "something" awaits me.

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