Checks and Balances
July 23, 2003

“The punch is the pull.” You say it to yourself even though you’re short of breath. You’ve just sprinted six blocks in the middle of the night because, in some flawed dream, terrible visions passed through you. You come to a halting stop outside her window, slipping the last step and falling on the wet concrete. You don’t mind because there are more important things to be considered.

“What does it mean? The punch is the pull? That makes no fucking sense.” Nonetheless, the words are burned into your thoughtstream, clipping away at every nerve that tries to supply your brain with contradictive theories. You shake your head hard, thinking that it’ll somehow knock sense into your skull. It’s like kicking the VCR to fix the blinking 12:00—brute force is only a temporary solution.

But a temporary solution is better than nothing at all. Rain starts pouring, and you start shivering. You left home without your jacket, and now you’re numb to the core. But you think to yourself that there are more important things to be considered.

The girl. The life. The money. The success.

Your life is a cliché. You wake up and think about tomorrow. You fall in love and wonder how long it’ll last. You hope. Mistakes become your defense mechanism for a brighter future. You cling to a pair of sun-drenched sandals that she wore when you met her under the boardwalk. You started singing in memory of the Drifters, but you weren’t Ben E. King. You expected perfect, white picket fences and a son who plays ball with you in the summer. You expected a 25th anniversary wedding celebration. You expected grandchildren named after you, and the most expensive coffin money can buy. But you never learned.

Never expect perfect. Rain will always fall.

Comments (4)

Life in a Box
July 18, 2003

I think it happened yesterday, or maybe it was two days ago. I forget. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. The point is that it happened. I met up with her, we exchanged bodily fluids, and now I’m pretty much confused about what to do with the rest of my life.

It’s as if I’ve lived my whole life in this daze, this short-term goal where all I wanted, all I have ever dreamed of is one night with her. It’s ridiculous, and I doubt any of you will forgive me for such idiocy, but it’s exactly what happened. Everything I have ever done was so that my life could culminate to this point.

But yeah, I have probably a good forty years left in me still. What do I do now?

I’m not sure where things went wrong. When I was eight or nine, I had aspirations of becoming an astronaut, a doctor. By fourteen, I thought I was a smartass and figured being a plastic surgeon would be the way to go. But ever since the day I found myself falling for her, all that I ever wanted to achieve in life went by the wayside. And now, that I’ve somehow reached my goal, my life has become a bottomless pit of boredom.

I guess what I find myself asking now is, “Was she worth it?” I don't really know. I mean, it’s over. There is no “us” from now on. In fact, there really never was. All this makes me feel so sad. Empty.

“There’s a lesson in this, kids.” That’s what I’ll tell some punk after I spit out this story to him twenty years from now. I’ll be the sage, wise man who’s had experience in heartbreak and blind love. Maybe I’ll be a motivational speaker. Maybe I’ll become a therapist. Maybe I’ll wake up one day and find myself in heaven, dead and finally content. Yeah.

Comments (10)

Untitled / 001
June 30, 2003

“How many reasons are there for losing yourself? No, no, let’s not get into that. Too complicated, too bizarre. Something simpler: How often do you change your socks? It’s a simple question, but I’ve always been the kind of person who wondered if anyone would notice if non-smelly, dark-colored socks would be fine to re-wear. I mean, they’re not noticeable, right? And isn’t that the point?

“The point, yes. Well, I think it says a lot about you. After all, so many things we do is in anticipation for, let’s face it, advancement with the opposite sex. So, maybe it means something. The socks, that is. If you change them everyday, does it mean you’re doing it for yourself? Or are you doing it for that person who’ll come your way? It’s an internal issue; you’re the only one who really knows. So, is it about confidence or insecurity? Is it about the superficial or the truth? Does it really matter? Does it really make a difference?”

Something was off with her breathing. I don’t think she stopped, probably just slowed down. Maybe I said something that struck her silly. She just kept on staring at me. The amber-colored lighting was reflecting off the wooden walls and intro her eyes. Very sullen and very warm. The jazz band continued pumping out some cool Stan Getz. I think I had a bit too much to drink. But whatever, I stared back.

“You do this often?” She kept on staring, but somehow had those words flow out of her mouth. She had style. Style. The kind you cannot buy or steal or walk away with from the local brothel. You had to be born, and you had to be discovered.

“Do what? Talk? Kind of.” I stretched my left shoulder a bit.

“I meant asking random girls out on the subway. I hope it’s not an everyday thing, because that would scare me a bit.”

“Yeah? No, no. I don’t. I don’t.”

“Then why me?”

“Convenience? I’ll be honest: Everyday, I’ll see a few girls who take my breath away. Usually, though, I’m in a hurry. Or I don’t feel like doing something spontaneous. But most often, I just don’t have the guts. But with you it was different. Not because you were super special or some incredulous hogwash a twenty year old gigolo might spit out at you, no, that was not it at all. It just worked out. I mean, it’s not often that a girl that catches my eye is somehow sitting next to me on the subway—of all the hundreds of different trains, thousands of seats possible—reading the same exact book. It was too perfect, too coincidental not to try something. So I did.”

Comments (8)

Delicate Ironies
June 19, 2003

I want to write a book, direct a film or do something that'll show you, tell you and make you feel about the ironies and preciousness of life. Think, for one moment, if this happened:

An accident occurs. You get amnesia. In the following week, you have the most exciting time of your life. You fall in love, conquer your fears, take over the world in every metaphorical sense possible. And then, somehow, at the end of the week you get your memory back. But don't remember anything that happened the week before. Your monotonous life continues, yet you don't feel regret at all.

There is no happy ending. The girl you fell in love with does not find you out. Somebody recognizes you in the street one day, and you think they're crazy and just walk on by. You are still you, but you're not all that you really are. The potential and charisma that you had that week is now forever tucked away with lady luck in your fifth grade trapper keeper.

For all you know, that has happened to you. And you just don't remember. You just don't.

Comments (6)

Round and Round
June 09, 2003

On August 13, 1998, I wrote:

Wouldn't it be cool if I just stopped writing one day and never wrote again and you never heard from me again and you didn't know if I was dead or alive or doing this or that or whatever and ever so you couldn't judge me for being whatever and ever because you wouldn't know, would you?

Actually, no. It wouldn't be cool. It wouldn't be right.

The past few weeks feel like a blur; I became homeless in New York only to rediscover, at the expense of $441 courtesy of US Airways, my home in Houston. And suddenly, I feel like everything is a clean slate.

A few days ago, I moved into my first apartment in New York City. It's nice and comfy. I don't even have a bed at the moment, yet it feels more like home than any of my past seven residences in the city over a span of three years.

I subscribed to a magazine today, knowing I'll be here to receive all twelve issues. First time I've done that since 1999.

Comments (4)

Beyond the Efficient
May 17, 2003

On a cab down to Chinatown, he realized his sudden knack for being more aggressive than the average New Yorker. It's generally assumed that the island's natives are fast people, passionate about living an efficient lifestyle. But he, an immigrant from the sun-drenched South, had adapted far quicker than anticipated. Maybe it was in him from the beginning. Maybe this is where he was meant to be.

As the cab was trying to cross 9th Street, a hesitant pedestrian put a foot forward on the pavement before receding; this simple act forced the cabdriver to stop and miss the go! go! go! action of the yellow lights. And it made him realize that, if it were him, this would not be an issue.

When he was in high school, he prided himself in being able to navigate the halls quickly, criss-crossing through the bodies in space toward his next class. After coming to this city, he realized those halls were preparation for the pandamonia that he was to face.

Intersections are key: You start walking as soon as the light turns yellow. The idea is that the person driving towards that yellow will see you walking and will hesitate, thereby shutting off his go! go! go! mode. And you'll have first dibs to the empty street. This way, you get from Point A to Point B before anyone else takes a step.

The efficiency meter is high in cases like these. It's the cornerstone of his life. But it also creates a life of waiting; sometimes, coming up with seamless methods of action take forever to devise. Theories must be formulated, hypothesis analyzed, data researched and tests performed. The path to the efficient frontier is a long and tedious one.

But he doesn't mind. The ultimate goal is somewhere over the rainbow, and all he sees currently is an empty, dark horizon. Somewhere, there's a voice whispering that in the future, there is a day and space waiting for him, reserved with a golden nameplate. He just has to survive until then, and the world will be his.

Comments (5)

A Semester of Uncertainty
May 14, 2003

The following is as short a summary of my current situation. Most of you don't know what's transpired in my life because I like to look like life is peachy. I guess evading reality is a short term solution for everything.

Due to financial troubles and New York University red tape, the Spring 2003 semester of my education will not count. I worked my ass of to take out loans and register for classes, but I was de-registered without being told. Don't worry, I found this out by the end of April, so I didn't have to kill myself over finals. It was, in a way, a blessing, because I had not had access to books, class databases and professors' emails throughout the semester. My grades were horrible, and my pride was taking its toll. It's not fun asking people to borrow books or notes or other materials over and over again. It's not. And fucking hell, I didn't have access to the library.

It gets better, though. So, I finally got an apartment. Roughly $1100/month rent, great considering it's smackdab at the intersection of Union Square and the East Village, and that dorm payments are considerably more. Our move-in date was scheduled to be May 15, but our landlord took until May 9th to tell us that, "Oh, we won't have the place renovated before June 1st." Thank you. Thank you very much.

So now, I'm in a hurry to pack everything, leave it somewhere and depart to Houston for two weeks, come back and settle down. I need places to store my belongings and then pray that I'm able to get some stand-by flights back home. It's all about praying, at this point.

Life is unbelievable sometimes; everything that can go wrong does. And you're left there thinking, "What the fuck did I do to deserve this?" But hey, what can you do but take it with a grain of salt. Shit happens.

Comments (7)

Tomorrow's Tomorrows
May 05, 2003

Good music and heartbreaks go well together.

Past the corner of my eye on Second Avenue, I see her walking down St. Mark's Place. Short edgy hair with bangs that cover her right eye. Glitter over her eyelids; for effect or maybe for superficial purposes (either work). I'm across the street, going the other way, but she has the uncanny ability to change my direction.

It's not following unless she looks back, and I try to hide. Just to be good and fair, I tell myself that I need to go to the fast food Vietnamese place on Avenue A. Yes, that works.

She arrives at Avenue A and takes a right. Goes down a few blocks and stands still. I can't see clearly because of the deli's tent, so I keep walking. She's standing outside a store and looking at something.

Well, then: It's the Vietnamese place, and she's looking at the menu. She looks perplexed. She looks confused. Chance to help out?

I get closer, and I hear her humming Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here." Didn't expect her to know that tune. The melody draws a tangent from her soul to mine. Now, what do I do? What do I do?

Turn to Page 19 if you want to recommend a dish to her.
Turn to Page 68 if you want to compliment her eyes.
Turn to Page 34 if you want to walk on by.

Comments (10)

Living In A Green World
April 29, 2003

I like finance. I like marketing. I like design. I like technology. I like sports. I like to know you tick, what makes you breathe and what makes you do the things that you do.

Brand New™ For You: DQNX Finance Portfolio

I love so many things that sometimes, I don't know what to do with myself. But here's one avenue which seems to combine what I like. Give me love? Give me hope? Give me a job and/or money?

Comments (7)

Something New / Something Old
April 28, 2003

01: After much intensive labor in the kitchen, I have the next part of the dequinix.com series ready to go for you:

DQNX*process // the flow is your currency

A collection of my "rhymes" written, surely, in absolute boredom with hopes that some record executive would one day hear me, and I would become South Asia's answer to Jin. (Not really, though.) It will be updated ever-so-often, so be sure to check back.

02: I need a job and money. I just got an apartment in New York City (haven't moved in yet), and my first set of monies will be due in two to three weeks. As of now, I only have about $500 of the necessary $2200 that I will be liable for.

So, yes: If anyone has any tips on some quick design-related jobs (I'm cheap and quick!) or research-based, finance/marketing adventures, please drop me an email. I will, undoubtedly, love you forever.

Comments (0)

Yesterday's Girl
April 25, 2003

After our encounter, it's hard to tell you long-winded stories about how I feel for you. From the moment I saw you three years ago, you took my breath away. And no matter what anyone else said, I always believed there was something there, hidden like diamonds in a coal mine, that I would unearth and claim as mine. A few months ago, I felt like I received a glimpse of that angelic feel; but maybe it was premature. Maybe it was me thinking in a state of delusion.

Two weeks ago, I told you how I felt in a moment of idiocy. And it wasn't meant to be, somehow and someway. The time wasn't right, the place was wrong and the atmosphere reeked of inadequacy. But I ventured forth hoping for a miracle, one that wasn't meant to occur.

And seeing you tonight, dressed up in silver like an ornament, gave me warnings of a lost winter. It's almost as if I went into hibernation and woke up in the spring, missing you totally, even fatally. It's kind of sad, definitely brutal and evermore disappointing.

So, I sit here, wondering the words I would say to you, in one concise sentence, that would convey to you everything that I feel for you, the urges I get and the maddening sequences of heartbreak that tear through my cranial landscape.

But I don't think I can say what I want to in that short a sentence. I feel at times that you may mean more than that to me, and I don't want to shortchange something so precious. A momentary glimpse from you breaks my heart, because you put me in a place where I can't respond. What I want to say to you, I've said right here. I have no regrets but the ones that evaporate with these words I speak.

You and I are simple; the complexity of our relationship is superficial. The terms we never agreed to are imaginary, and for that I will forever hold you in my thoughts.

Comments (9)

Becoming David Mamet
April 24, 2003

There was a little diner-type place called the Campus Eatery that was situated on the corner of Greene Street and 4th Street. It was, conveniently enough, right across the street from Tisch Hall, which housed many of my undergraduate classes at the Stern School of Business. Often, it would seem, when I had little time on my hands yet had hunger piercing through my stomach walls, I would stop by there, pick up a quick pizza and sit on one of the stools by the windows which overlooked Greene. Sitting there, I could and would analyze the people who would walk by. To be honest, there wasn’t much else you can do while on a rush and eating. The observation of people utilizes neither of my hands, and my eyes do much of the work. This was a thing to do to spend the time, to waste the time, and especially a thing to do since I, for one, did not enjoy eating alone. I suppose the people on the street were, in a way, who I was eating with. They were, what I called back then, my foodbuddies.

SOURCE: Writing Workshop I / December 15, 2000.

Comments (2)

Raison D'etre
April 19, 2003

Proper love takes multiple stages to mature. One must exude the level of maturity present in a 30-year bond before such occurs. A rich parent is a solution, but I believe your heart can be a better answer.

Do you love me? You don't know. I don't love you, so you're off the hook. Breathe a sigh of relief and feel content. Your life will go on.

The reason for the entry into your heart lies in your smile, your hair, your smell and your skin. I wonder and walk around like a fool; moments go by, and I think I've made a mistake in falling for you. But I walk on anyway because I'm willing to make that mistake for you. I am, but you don't know it.

Seconds are like pearls; for every one you jump rope past, you lose a priceless part of me. I'm like a pearl; not exactly feminine, but you'll need to get multiple parts of me before I can breathe your name in contentment.

But you try, and you fail. I believe in you, and you fail.

I wait, and I wait, and I hope, and I wish. I wish. I wish.

Comments (7)

Things I Don't Remember Writing, Part I
April 17, 2003

Here I am, late at night, drifting off into thoughts that are probably too deep for my own understanding. Somewhere out there, there are greater consequences for the tiny thoughts we think, yet we can never grasp the gravity of our imagination. I no longer want to be an astronaut when I grow up. Earlier this year, I would have told you a risk analyst at Arthur Andersen. But when the sun goes down and people are no longer around, all sense of certainty seems to dissappear.

SOURCE: May 13, 2001 / My AsianAvenue homepage.

Comments (0)

What's Your Daddy?
April 16, 2003

A quick response to something Ms. Seo Hee Koh, the editor of Asian Diversity Magazine, said at a panel yesterday: More and more, I'm taking the "American-ness" of people for granted. So, when I look at someone of East Asian descent, I wonder what their ethnicity is, not their nationality (which I assume is American).

I no longer get offended when someone asks, "Where are you from?" and my answer of "Texas" doesn't satisfy them. "No, no, where are you really from?" is perfectly legitimate to me; when I say Bangladesh or others say Korea, a different level of camaraderie ensues. When you know someone's ethnicity, it's easier to find commonalities between them and yourself.

Comments (6)

Better Luck Next Year
April 15, 2003

The hoopla over Justin Lin's Better Luck Tomorrow is half-deserving, half-imaginary. The film itself is relatively solid. There are cracks as well as unnecessary elements thrown in just to anti-Asian-fy the film, but nonetheless it comes out strong at the end.

But what disappointed me thoroughly was the audience. If this is such a landmark work that's supposed to bring awareness to Asian-American filmmaking, tell me why I saw nothing but 16 year old Asian kids at the screening where both Justin Lin and Perry Shen were present. After all, it was in Times Square, NYC, where you'd expect the most cultural non-Asians to be around. But no, the audience was yellow and adolescent as fuck. Something went wrong in the calculations.

Maybe it's because MTV Films is the distributor. Do people assume this film is for teenagers and walk on by? If so, it's a shame. Although it won't come close to cultural standards such as Goodfellas and Boyz N the Hood, it's definitely a start of a movement.

Just like the theatre is virtually filled with African Americans when Deliver Us From Eva is playing, maybe this is the the niche that someone needed to figure out: Who cares if non-Asians don't attend these shows. 4% of the American population is Asian, and a good portion of them are in the $50K+ bracket. Those numbers are big enough to drop some dough into producing a nice "Asian" film that doesn't insult the audience. Here's hoping for better luck next year.

Comments (7)

Heller's Dilemma
April 14, 2003

Catch-22's are generally based around the idea that you can't do one thing for the sake of another and vice versa. Joseph Heller's pop culture slash lit masterpiece phenom started the ideology:

There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to.

And now, I find myself in a modern version of the same game: I need to pay for school, but I need to register for school to pay for school, but I can't register if I can't pay for school because of how student loans work. This corporate red tape bullshit at my beautiful academic institution is killing me.

You see, I attend a conglomerate of sorts. New York University is, in effect, the Microsoft of the educational system. They have a monopoly on the NYC lifestyle, so much so that NYU is consistently top 3 in "most popular" destinations for high school graduates. That, of course, means that there is a false sense of brand equity present, one that derives itself more from the actual location of the school than its academic substance. This is not to say that this is not a good school. But it is sufficient to say that the bureaucracy present outweighs the possibility of this becoming a great school.

I am saddened by this. This is not efficient.

Comments (4)

Clockwork + Constriction
April 13, 2003

this shit, it's unreal / i don't feel / love or hate / cause life's a reel / of sunday night flicks / on nbc / starring jean-claude van damme / and directed by spike lee // no, it's not prophetic / the degree to which i'm systematic / i go erratic under pressure / but stay copacetic / to survive / dig the vibe? / my m.o.'s blitzin' / runnin' experiments from my hive / checkin' all variables / and stayin' alive // cause on life / i got a hundred year lease / time goes by / but it don't phase me / i check my rhyme / and i aim to please / cause my efficiency is so japanese

To excel in clockwork and constriction:
This is Japanese Efficiency. Welcome.

Comments (10)