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| I haven't wrote in a while. I've always been more prone to writing in my journal when things are going really well, where there are moments I want to cherish. So it's no surprise that with all I've been through that things have tapered off on my xanga.
Don't get me wrong, there are so many moments I have been grateful for, so many aspects of my life that I know I'm lucky to have, like my friendships, my talent, what I've managed to do with my life, and how I was able to come out and settle into a really good open lifestyle so quickly with great new friends to go on the journey with.
But since getting my heart broken a few times this past summer and not having anything happen since, and the recent tragedy of my friend that I was not ready to face, there has been an overshadowing cloud hovering over every good and bad moment the past few months. I'm still digesting everything I guess.
My confidence is just shot, and it's so easy for me to get down on myself. One overwhelming thing that has been depressing me is purely superficial: whether I'm cute enough, or whether I'll ever be able to overcome the fact that most people just aren't into Asian guys, no matter how cute they may be.
50% of my friends dismiss my thoughts on this, the other 50% understand it, or at least try to. Every guy I've dated has dated an Asian guy before. I know it's no way to think, but sometimes I would do anything to just trade places with a white dude and not have that obstacle. Dating and looks shouldn't matter so much, but to me, right now it does. I haven't gotten past a few dates with a guy, and I'd really like to. And not someone I'm settling for.
One of my good friends falls into the half that dismisses my problems. He's white, blue-eyed, black haired, hot. He thinks it's crazy that I think that's why I'm having problems, he wonders what I'm doing wrong. He thinks that I'm totally hot, especially for an asian, not one of those "dumplings", but would he even date me if he didn't know me, if the year of friendship didn't show him my good sides? Just break down that statement and even there you can see the battle that I'm facing.
He showed me a guy he was seeing today and I thought to myself, wow, I could never get a guy like that. And he's dating two right now. His abrasive reactions to my problems make it worse, and then when he talks about his sexual history or dating escapades on top of that, it just makes me feel really down on myself. Yes I know I shouldn't compare, but it's human nature. I can't help it. And I'm gay.
And yes, my feelings towards him do amplify what I'm feeling now. And if all this stuff happened last year when I was excited and dating a guy I was really into, I wouldn't even notice these things; I wouldn't have felt like shit when he texted me how well his date went tonight. But there's history too... when I was at my worst moment this summer, when the only (in my opinion) cute guy that was ever truly into me ditched me for another Asian guy and then two more including my first ever ended up with new Asian boyfriends, he ended my depressed conversation to tell me about his sexual encounter with a hot hung european dude on Fire Island. I couldn't even look him in the eye because of how shitty that story made me feel about my own life, but he was so happy to share the story with me I didn't stop him. So tonight, I just sort of went off on him.
The friends on the other half, the half that understands, when I talk to them it helps. Not so much the other Asian guys who pretty much all understand before I even have to explain. For example, I have a gaysian friend who all we talk about is how our other friends don't or won't understand the battles we face, how much it effects us internally and in a social setting. That just helps by venting, and by not feeling alone or crazy.
What really helps is when someone you don't expect gets it. Recently in a cab one of my white gay friends heard me out, and his reaction surprised me. He never had thought of it, but understood it. He was the one who accidentally told me when he was dating his first Asian (and he's been with A LOT of guys. A LOT), and never had been interested in one before while sounding surprised that he did, indirectly making me feel bad about myself. But it explains how he came to realize what I was saying was valid, because he's experienced it himself, but from the perspective from the other side of the fence.
He thought about my dilemma when he wondered how my dry spell could last this long, and a light bulb hit. "I never thought of it, but you're right. And you're hot, but I can totally see guys having that reaction, they think you're attractive but they're not attracted to you. But you're hot and I'd never think you would have this problem. That really sucks."
Which brings me to the point that this depression isn't that I think I'm ugly, although I do have moments where I feel unattractive every day. It's that I can't help but think if I was the same level of attractiveness as a different race, I'd have a completely different experience, and like the "angry black man," it's just something that's hard to get past even if I should. And I think if more people understood the problem, I wouldn't be so upset about it. It's when it's dismissed that I feel even worse.
It sounds so superficial, but every gay conversation is just so consumed with looks, hookups, dating that this stuff is just really important to me these days. I'm a part of it too, I'm a full participator in that stereotype.
Right now every compliment or glance I get lifts me up a step, but every feeling of rejection makes me forget it and I take two steps back. And I'm doing my best to get past this, to overcome it, to compensate in other ways to make up for me just being this race. Be more charming, more friendly, dress better, be in good shape. Maybe one day I'll even build up the courage to go up to any guy I'm attracted to and say hi, and not have to wonder "but what if he's not into Asians."
Yeah, I think I'll get past this depression eventually and be confident again, but for now it's hard not to dwell on the "smaller" things, such as those gay user profiles that say "Not into Asians, Sorry."
I'll just have to take it one day at a time and hope for the best.
| | |
| My friend Emma is late picking me up so I've got some time to kill.
After the funeral I had dinner with Jenn at Soho (a Japanese restaurant in Ohio, not the shopping area in Manhattan). It was great catching up with her even though I was back home under sad circumstances.
The next day I ran errands with my mom. It was really cute the way my parents took care of me on the trip. Their lives seem really happy, and with what happened with Richard they really seemed grateful to have me there. That morning I designed a tattoo to remember this weekend and Richard. I wanted to do it while everything was still fresh, so it had more meaning.
Later I went shopping with my mom for a key drive, and it was real nice just doing normal things again. I got home and we packed up, and my mom packed me a meat slicer in a small suitcase so I can make my own shabu meat this winter.
We went to waffle house again for a quick dinner, and then I was back to NY. Being back was kind of hectic. I knew I didn't have time to plan for my trip, and I had all this work to do before I left. That night I searched for a place to do my tattoo. Rising Dragon didnt' have walk ins that night, so I just went to a random shop in my 'hood. He had me do it bigger, and he wasn't the best tattoo artist but it's OK. It sort of gives it character.
I did laundry at midnight, which I never do. Then I blasted through work on Wednesday and went home and cleaned up, and woke up early to pack before my flight.
The flight was easy. Being older, you just worry less about traveling. Though there was a slight moment of panic when I couldn't figure out the LA Metro Bus system, things have been good so far in Los Angeles.
Esther saved me and picked me up from the airport, dropping me off at Mann's Chinese Theater which was across from Jessie's offices. It was so nice to see people I haven't seen in several years. Jessie drove me back to her and Kylee's apartment, and it was exactly how I pictured it.
We went to a Mexican place in their neighborhood, Glendale, and Emma popped by later. The four of us together, it very much felt like the same as when we were at RISD, the comfort level just hasn't changed. After we all went to Jessie and Kylee's and Emma showed me all the gay boys on her myspace, asking which ones I thought were cute.
I slept on an air mattress tightly wedged between their couch and coffee table. Their turtles didn't wake me up, but Meatball, their huge, fat brown cat woke me up twice as she scurried across it and then ate a meal. I sleep well no matter where I am, and I'm totally grateful for that.
The next morning Jessie drove me to her work, and I hung out around Hollywood wandering around, looking at flyers, planning my days in LA. The weather here is crazy, I'd walk in the sun and be burning hot, and walk in the shade and be too cold.
I met up with Jessie and then Kylee drove in and we ate lunch at In n Out burger. It was really crowded, and we grabbed a spot outside near a cute boy in a blue shirt. After, I said goodbye to Jessie after retrieving my bags from her spot in the garage and Kylee took me to the Paramount Lot, where he works.
The pace here in LA is so much slower, and it was real cool to see someone's average day at work. He worked in the Mae West building editing Dr. Phil's show. All the lights were off in the sprawling office, and it was quiet that day. When tapes were queuing up Kylee would show me around the lot.
We figured out the Metro system with a coworker of his, and I was on my way to Weho to meet up with Esther. The bus was easy, and I sat on a bench at the corner of Fairfax and Santa Monica. Esther picked me up, then we went to her place, changed, and then went to a really, really good Spanish restaurant in Weho.
After she took me gay barhopping. The first bar, The Abbey, was huge and visually so different from the NY bars. I ran into my friend from NY, Marlowe, and two other people I met in NY through friends. Esther and I had sour apple martinis and then ridiculously strong vodka drinks.
Next we tried to go to Rage, which was full of Asians, but then decided against the 12 dollar cover. We then went to this corner bar where the vibe was really fun. When we went up to the loft level, it was a packed dancefloor. I was standing with Esther when I noticed arms wrapping around my stomach from behind. I wondered if it was Esther, but it turned out to be a latin dude.
He would do this five times, asking me to hug him, forcing me to make out with him, kissing my neck, telling me he wanted to take me home and fuck me. I declined each time, and after inviting me to his house for an afterparty he left. He wasn't cute enough for me to do this in a strange city!
After that bar, we went to this tropical themed one. It was very different, more hipsterish. Then we went up to the roof and chilled their near a heat lamp before deciding to head out. We wandered past Rage again, and noticed Britney's new video playing. We stopped to watch it and were impressed with how bad it was. Then noticing no more bars, we decided to head home. It's so different when everything closes at 2am, I ended upgetting a decent amount of sleep while still waking up early.
Overall, I'd say it's been really good seeing how my LA friends live. And it's been great getting away. I find myself not worrying about smaller things, and traveling on my own has been cathartic. It reminds me of the rush I felt moving to Providence for the first time, or flying to Italy by myself for the summer program. I've had an intense year, and this is helping.
And for the gay scene, what I've been told has been proven true. I'm much more accepted out here, got much more looks at the bars, and was amongst many, many more Asians in general. I'll probably spend a lot of time wondering if the west coast is a better place for me, as much as I love NY and my many great friends out there.
Now I'm up with allergies (I can't escape these no matter where I go!) waiting for Emma for a short trip to San Diego! I'm looking forward to it.
| | |
| I've never had to grieve for someone like I have this weekend. My boss, having dealt with a friend's suicide before, knew exactly what to say to me. I stayed all day at work, crying off and on, but mainly stayed to protect myself from thinking about my friend. The next morning, I quickly packed my bags early and made my way to the airport. I was numb and crying off and on all night. Certain thoughts would come to my head since I found out Thursday night, and water would just fill my eyes. How do you deal with losing someone you've known all your life?
For the first flight to Detroit I passed out. No ipod, nothing. The second flight to Dayton I stayed awake, and I cried the whole trip as I gazed out the window thinking of my oldest friend Richard and what I'd like to say in my eulogy to him.
When I landed I called my parents and they picked me up at the airport. They were sad, yet happy to see me home. I haven't been home since November, which I regret even more now that Richard is gone forever. They took me to Waffle House for brunch, and I sat there with my parents like many times before, but this time with water hovering behind my eyes.
As we drove home, I noticed a change in Ohio. Unlike New York which had rain every week, this summer Ohio was completely dry. It looked like a desert, every blade of grass dead, it's a shell of its former self. Being on the highways was hard. I couldn't help but picture all the times this place was lush and full and I was in a car with Richard sitting by my side, from kids through adults.
When I got home I searched for the few pictures I have with Richard. My mom sounded cheerful as she tried to help me. She sounded as if he was still alive and laughed, "Haha, here's Richard," as she found one of us right before the 3-legged race looking really cute. Richard was standing in front of me, both of us 3 feet tall with nearly knee-high socks from the 80s and headbands around our heads. I started crying hard, picturing the two of us together and happy as innocent children and knowing that he was now gone.
My parents then took me to their gym. Before we left, she showed me huge banners of them that the gym has used in their promotional posters. We first stopped to look at granite, but I couldn't really help them that much with thoughts of Richard in my head, so I spent most of the time waiting for them in the parking lot, looking at my old surroundings thinking of my past life.
The employees at the gym all greeted my parents eagerly. They were really happy there, and everyone knew who they were. My parents are really happy in their life here, and with Ryan being born, who they talk about every hour at least once. They wanted me to play tennis with them, and it was nice to get behind the racket again. But as my dad marveled at how hard and natural my stroke was after I haven't played for so long, I couldn't help but picture Richard on the other side of the net and feel really forlorn about it.
After about 20 minutes I told them I had enough, and they went about their business. I took a break in a quiet hallway thinking and responding to a text from Tanya, then I went to the weight room and did a routine there.
I took a nap when I got home, and then my parents took me out to eat steak at Houston's. I think during this difficult time, my parents were really happy to have me with them. They remember both of us growing up together, and they are probably grateful that they still have me here with them today. We waited 45 minutes for a table amongst a crowd of the oldest, whitest people you can imagine. We were seated next to a table of 4 elderly women. It was like Sex and the City, only it wasn't the city, and instead of sex they spent most of their dinner talking about their medical bills, prescription drugs and how their retirement homes weren't going to shovel their driveways this winter. It was as equally disheartening as it was heartwarming.
By the time I got home it was nearly 10 and I was too emotionally drained to write my eulogy. I saw all the pictures my mom found of Richard when I wasn't looking and placed them by my bed. I set my alarm for 5 am, and eventually woke up at 6 to write it. I, of course, cried throughout. There were so many things I wanted to get across, and so many feelings just kept on surfacing.
I heard my mom awaken around 8, and with swollen eyes I asked her if we had printer paper for my eulogy. I printed it out and began to get ready, showering as I noticed all the hairs falling out of my formerly full head. I put on my suit and found my old diary, I tore out a page from 1991 that I decided then and there to read before my eulogy, and then I moved downstairs where the 3 of us quietly ate oatmeal before we left.
The car ride over was hard because the funeral home was near where Richard's family lived. I remember countless times when I was here before New York I'd drive this way to hang out with my oldest friend to play pool and watch a movie with him in his basement. When we pulled up to the funeral home, I started to cry. And when I got out of the car with my parents, the reality of why we were there hit me and I shut my eyes really tight as tears started flowing nonstop.
My mom looked away as she started to cry too, and I stood among the parents who saw Richard and I grow up as I fought back tears. One by one, I'd see familiar faces of all the parents we'd laugh at and with throughout the years, but few of his friends. When we went inside, I hugged his brother Ben and as I waited to sign the guestbook, I burst into tears as I saw his name, the same name I'd seen him write as we drew as kids, above the guestbook next to a picture of him. I walked into the back of the room and sat by my mom and burst into tears again as I saw the back of his parents heads and his open casket, knowing my oldest friend was gone forever, knowing this was my last chance to say goodbye to him.
The first half of the funeral was much like this. My mom handed me more and more tissues as I cried uncontrollably, squeezing my eyes shut, holding in my deep breaths as I was sitting between my parents surrounded by all these familiar faces, few who knew Richard as well as I did. At one point my dad turned to me and started crying, saying how grandma would ask about Richard when I was little and comment how he would come back to see me. I’ve maybe seen my dad cry once before this.
One by one, his dad (who also read his mom’s eulogy, as she couldn’t speak), brother, and family friend spoke for Richard. They talked about his 7-year battle with depression, which no one told me about. They talked about his remission, which was during the time I was home too. I can’t help but wonder if I knew, or if I stayed longer, or if I came back more if it would have helped. His medication stopped working, and his depression returned this past year. Everyone talked about how he always smiled, from a cute little kid to the depressed adult, his smile always lit up the room. His note even thanked everyone who ever made him smile. He didn’t want anyone to be sad, but he didn’t think there was any cure for the deep depression he faced. They played two of his songs he wrote about his death, and I was the last one to speak, replacing my father who his dad asked to speak for me before they realized I was coming home to say goodbye myself.
Knowing I had a history of crying during speeches, I was afraid I couldn’t do it. But somehow I managed to get through it in one piece, although the tone of sadness was there. I faced his brother and parents but couldn’t look up at them. Richard was laying right next to me but I didn’t think of it that way, for it would make me lose control.
I told them I’d read a note that I found before I started as I held the tiny diary sheet in my shaking hand and took a deep breath:
***
Before I start, I'd like to read something I found before I came here today.
Thursday, August 15, 1991
Dear Diary,
This summer I had fun with Richard. As I was leaving Princeton waving bye to Richard, I can’t stop thinking of all the fun we had this summer. I couldn’t help crying as I realize I won’t see him until Christmas.
Friday, August 16, 1991
Dear Diary,
Yesterday wasn’t the last day I saw Richard. He went to Princeton again then we thought that was the last. But we ended up going to Friendly’s and had ice cream.
We have a lot in common.
(eulogy begins)
My friendship with Richard was important to me because growing up in Ohio he was the only Taiwanese friend I had. It was the only taste I had of what everyone else’s friendships were like, where your parents could also talk and be friends, where we both knew to take our shoes off in the house, where we both looked the same and just felt normal. And when I think of Richard, I think of my entire childhood.
Many of you remember all the Taiwanese events and parties we had throughout the year back when Richard and I were growing up. If something were planned, I would look forward to it as long as Richard was there.
I remember hunting for Easter eggs with Richard when I was 4 years old, in the picture of all of us Richard, who always had a sweet tooth, is looking through his bag candy while the rest of us looked at the camera. I remember being tied to Richard in a 3-legged race at GE Park. He was left handed, and I was right handed, so we did well together. I remember being at a party as his old house in West Chester, and we ran in circles outside of his house through mud and we couldn’t stop laughing.
On Saturday mornings, I’d see Richard at Princeton High School where all the parents played tennis. We learned how to play when we were really small. We’d hit the ball with our parents for a while before running down the hill and playing with rocks in the creek or playing hide and go seek through the parked cars.
I still remember clearly the day our friendship changed. I was 8 years old and there was a party at my house. We were eating bah-tzang on my fireplace and as usual we both couldn’t finish. When we gave them to our parents we moved to the living room. We sat on the orange couch and Richard told me he was moving to Japan, and I started to cry. Richard looked at me and told me not to cry, that it would be OK and that we’d still get to see each other.
He was right. We’d see each other every summer from then on, and I always looked forward to them as if he were the only friend I’d ever have. I’d always look forward to that first day pulling up to the tennis courts at Princeton and seeing Richard waiting in the back of their rental car where we would repeat this every night.
Through these summers we’d have sleepovers where we’d order pizza and play cards, staying up talking in bed all night. Or we’d go see movies together, or swim in his apartment’s pool. Some summers, we had season passes to Kings Island where we’d spend the whole day together before calling our parents to pick us up. In July we’d go to the Midwest conferences together and we’d be roommates. We’d take care of each other, pretending to be adults. We never bothered meeting any other friends because we always had each other.
As we got older, our interests in our summers together changed from digging up rocks, to toy cars, to game boys, to drawing, to computers, to movies. But one thing that never changed was tennis. We were always equal partners, and we never competed, not playing a single game against each other in 20 years. By the end of each summer, we’d get really good at out-smacking each other. We’d play until it got dark, drink sodas on the metal benches while waiting for our parents and talk about the year to come. Then at the end of each summer we’d get in our cars and from the back we’d wave to each other until one of us drove out of reach, waiting for the next summer to begin.
From college onward Richard and I mostly became movie buddies. He’d pull into my driveway and we’d go to a movie. Or I’d drive to his new house, and we’d shoot a round of pool before watching a movie in his basement. We watched the Lord of the Rings movies together, which he loved. And we made sure to see all the Oscar-worthy movies, going to small independent theaters we’ve never been to before.
Back in 2003, Richard and I started watching the US Open on TV and decided to play tennis again. The first day back on the court it was like we had never left it. Seeing Richard on the other side of the net was one of the most comfortable feelings in life. It was like we were both kids again, where everything else in the world went away and we were just happy. We out smacked each other until it became too dark to play, and we even started playing games against each other for the first time. We regretted not playing sooner, so we played every day for two weeks until winter set in and we couldn’t play anymore.
That February I moved to New York. Since then, I tried picking up tennis only once, but my new tennis buddy wasn’t Richard so after 2 times I stopped.
If Richard could hear me today, I would thank him for all of the memories we shared, and thank him for being a part of my life. We grew up together, and he will always be a part of me. I’ll always think of him on the other side of that tennis court looking back at me, whether he was 3 feet tall or 5 foot 10, where the feeling was always the same, where we were happy.
And if he was standing next to me right now, I’d like to imagine that he would say the same thing he told me 19 years ago on that orange couch in my living room. I picture him looking back at me and telling me not to cry, that everything is going to be OK and that we’d get to see each other again.
***
And with that I folded together my eulogy and my diary page and returned to the seat between my parents with my head facing the ground and the funeral ended. One by one, the rows exited by viewing the casket to say goodbye one more time, and to offer condolences to his family. As I got closer to his casket I started crying heavily again, holding my handkerchief tightly to my face as I held back from sobbing uncontrollably. My parents were ahead of me, crying too, saying their apologies to his parents.
I looked at my friend in his casket. He had a suit with a guitar embroidered on to his lapel, and his face was bloated. It didn’t look like my friend, but I said goodbye in my head, and that I’m sorry. Sorry for not being there for him, for not coming back more, for not being able to help, and for the pain he felt alone. I told his parents “I’m sorry” as they clasped my hands tightly. His mom strained to give me an envelope with Richard’s picture, his song lyrics, and a burned CD of his music on it. As I rushed outside, there were no more tears left for that hour. Some parents had kind words to say to me, and Mr. Hsu, who used to always exclaim, “Your buddy! Your buddy is back!” when he saw the two of us together, struggled to say something to me about Richard being a good friend to me as he fought back his own tears.
My parents were really sad and rushed out of there, and we drove off together silently. I came home, told my sister how it went as she cried back to me on the phone, and I passed out, not ready to truly face that my dear friend is forever gone.
After awakening I called my good friend Jenn so we could hang out. I’m not back often, and if there is anything to learn from all of this, it’s to treasure what time you do have with your friends before you regret not having that one last time to just be who you always were together. | | |
| Today always felt like a weird day. Whenever I ate, I had hollow pains in my stomach. I thought perhaps it was the shocking stories of what my dear friend and coworker Sean was facing as we ate German hot dogs and sweet potato fries outside on a summer-like fall afternoon. But really, it was something else, something I had yet to find out.
I had post work plans to meet my friend Ran for dinner to catch up and also because tomorrow is her birthday. As we ate Indian in Curry Hill, my phone buzzed and it said "Mom & Dad," so I silenced it.
"My parents are remodeling, they have been calling me five times a day about granite," I said as I rolled my eyes while joking disgust.
My phone buzzed from the voicemail and then for a text message, and it was Sean thanking me for listening to him. Then not 5 minutes later, my phone rang again. It was my parents again, and this time I decided to pick it up.
Thinking it was granite again, I grunted as I answered the phone.
"Did you get Daddy's voicemail?" My mom asked.
"No, I'm at dinner with a friend"
"Robbie, this time it's bad news."
I thought of my sister, my nephew, and then my mom said as she started crying, "Richar' commit suicide yesterday." I cried out in shock as water welled up in my eyes, and Ran's face showed that she could see something bad was happening.
Richard is the longest friend I've ever had, and there's so much history between us I can't even begin to lay it out here. I only had 3 great friends before college, and he was one of them. My mom said minor details and was telling me more and more, but I was not ready to accept this, I was not ready to absorb this. I told her I'd call her later, and decided to devote my denial to spending time with my friend.
We talked about it for a while over our lamb dinners, I was a bit detached in doing so before we changed the subject. We eventually went to 34th street where we found a spot outside to play Mario Kart.
When we finally separated at Queensboro, I knew it was time for me to start facing my feelings. I checked my voicemail to hear what my dad said.
"Robbie, it's Daddy. I have bad news, Richar' committed suicide yesterday. Thursday, the 26th. We just got message today."
I cried amongst a crowd of strangers, I cried as I walked home in the dark, and then I came home, pulled up the few pictures of me and Richard growing up I kept on my hard drive and cried until I couldn't breathe. Heaving, painful cries I have never cried before. There are so many memories I want to bring back of my friendship with Richard as I mourn his loss while my cries fade in and out. I remembered I wrote a lot of pieces in my food writing class in 2001, and I was thankful that I found a piece I wrote about Richard.
I am trying to get past the first paragraph without my eyes being clouded in tears and my breaths stuck in heaves. And there is more to say than this old, poorly written piece but for now, this will do.
Richard
Richard and I met when we were babies, just like me and Bradley. We were always very alike, I assumed it was because his birthday is June 9th while mine is June 6th. Bradley and I led childhood together but our parents never spoke to each to each other. My parents are shy and don’t have any American friends because their accents make them feel insecure. Richard’s parents were also Taiwanese and also on the same political side. My parents were friends with his, so it gave a different level to my friendship with him. We were the same ethnicity and both babies of the family. It was a great contrast to my other buddy, Bradley.
When I was eight I thought our friendship was over. My parents had a party, which they rarely do. I didn’t realize it was a farewell party. We were in the family room eating Bah-Tzang. Our parents unwrapped the banana leaves and put the rice on a plate for us to eat. We were both fickle and couldn’t finish. Richard liked chicken. My mom told me the story of how he would cry all night keeping his mom awake when he was a baby. The only thing that would shut him up was chicken.
We gave up on the Bah-Tzang while sitting on edge of my fireplace. Richard’s dad threw his away and my mom came in and gave the rest of mine for my dad to finish. Later that night my mom complained about how his food was wasted. We went to the living room, weaving through the crowd of Taiwanese speaking parents. We sat on the orange couch when Richard told me that they were moving to Japan. I started to cry, thinking I would never see my close friend again. He calmly said "it’s no big deal, I’ll be back."
He was right, our friendship wasn’t over. For the next five years he would come back every Christmas and summer. After that they became tired and only came home during summers. The first day back was always weird. We didn’t know what to say, but on our first sleepover of each summer we would end up talking through the night.
We became closer through the time we were forced apart. In the summers we would go to play tennis every afternoon until night fell with all the other Taiwanese parents. We never played a game once in ten years. We just liked to hit the ball to each other and avoided competition. Afterwards we would have a soda and sit on the benches waiting for our parents to finish their doubles match. We would talk about comic books or movies, then as we got older music, then talks of college and being grown ups. Once it got dark we swatted the mosquitoes as our parents stood in a circle for another hour, yapping away in Taiwanese. We would then wave goodbye from the back of each other’s cars and wait to see each other the next night.
This year Richard’s family finally moved back to the U.S. They returned as millionaires and bought a huge house. After my first year in college we really grew apart. He likes Rock Music and I like R&B. All that was left was our common interest in movies and computers. Just like when Bradley moved in to his new house four years before, Richard and I played pool in his new basement when we were bored. There wasn’t much else for us to do but watch movies or play pool. The last day we spent together this summer we spent hours deciding what to do for dinner. Do we eat in? Eat out? We’ve always taken a long time to decide things. We ended up eating at McDonald’s. Richard had chicken. Inside we are the same kids we always were. Even though we have little in common now we still hang out every summer. Our friendship has lasted nearly 19 years and I’m only 20. I doubt it will end anytime soon.
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| For those who see the protected entry below, it certainly does speak for itself. Perhaps it was an irrational move. I don't know. When he first texted me again, the reaction on the faces of the friends I told was pure terror. As they questioned why, the sound in their voices said, "oh no, Robbie is going to get hurt again."
My thoughts were, it kinda feels good that he chose to contact me. I knew deep inside and even acknowledged it, that 99% of the time, your friends are right. But I told myself, "they're just being overprotective, it's not that dangerous of a situation, is it?"
And so I reached back, to no response. And the more I thought about it, the more stupid I felt. The embarrassment and the pain started flowing back in after I had reached a state of being comfortably numb.
It's been a rough summer. I greeted it with a healthy dose of optimism and an active social life that would make anyone jealous. I had the feeling that the potential for love was there for me, and I'm leaving the season with a wave of depression, with pessimism that finding stability within a relationship will never be within my reach. By the end of the Keith saga, it would be a total of three ex-lovers that'd I would suddenly find to have new boyfriends within a 2 weeks span of time, and I was left broken. I let my social life fade back, and I'm left in the position of breaking things down with the hope that I can build it up over again, better and stronger.
And I see it around me. A wave of setbacks hitting most of my friends, just as we were feeling our best, stronger and better looking than ever, in a place where we were more comfortable in our skins than our previous, less-experienced selves. Like the weather, the massive rain, the waves of sudden cold next to days of 100 percent humidity, our summers have left us comparing good days to bad and has left us wanting more of the good.
One can only hope that the crisp fall wind to come can clean us off, clear out the air, and with the frost of winter, kill all the pests, bugs and life around us and we'll be able to start anew and life will be good again. And then maybe the mud in my face will dry, crack up and wash off, revealing cleaner, smaller pores, causing the radiant glow of optimism to return.
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