I
First, imagine crowd surfing: hands awkwardly placed under your should blades, ankles, calves, head, upper back, lower back, and accidentally your butt. You are floating in the air, eyes closed and being pushed side to side scared you will fall but trusting that people won't drop you. SPOP is like crowd surfing, people awkwardly touching parts of you that you might not have been so ready to be touched. Coming toes to toes to share secrets, touching your ears with voices ricocheting off all these other voices, your shoulders to cry on, your arm's embrace, your minds' open doors, your hearts' worries. We didn't know someone could lift us up in such intimate places, yet we trusted the hands reaching out to us, the strangers who became close. We are close because we share a common love for the same music, the beta waves that help us meditate on our purpose. SPOP is like crowd surfing.
II
Now imagine that there are no more hands holding you up. No, you don't fall. You levitate on the sweaty air of summer's passings. You levitate on the feel-good moments of highs. And you bob like a buoy in water. Imagine buoyancy. It is not empty space, not less density. In fact, it is the lightness of our being that keeps us up. The surrounding air is filled with light. I believe I am light. I believe you are light. So post-SPOP it may seem like there are no hands around to carry you, but hopefully you believe in the lightness within yourself to carry you.
III
Lastly, imagine you are invisible. You are still floating and can see everything. Sheer will keeps you afloat, and suddenly there is a breeze. You are as light as a breeze. This breeze will move you beyond UCI, circulate around the globe, catch you in the sails of exploration, and ask you to lift others when they are feeling heavy. Remember that the world is heavy and the incoming freshmen want to fly, so be the wind that guides them in their exploration.
Friday, August 27, 2010
drafting spop
there's are so much so i'm just going to start typing.
people i remember: niko is from a military base in italy. he was surprised to see how friendly people where in california. we talked about fusion, technology in the US out pacing other countries.
spop 8 boyband singing "end of the road" and ralph starts balling saying thank you. i didn't know how to respond but cry too. happy tears....sad tears...the emotions waved while the tears flowed. watching spop modern right after that feeling, seeing edge, alex, alek, tom, thy, kristine....seriously my babies!!! ah!
eric who graduated in a class of 7, he came from a school of 23. he told me about his attention disorder. kids in his public school get put into this one for more one on one attention. because of that, he got into UCI. i was so proud of him. His sister got into santa barbara too. their parents must be so proud.
spop 7 crying in the parking lot in the coney because i did not want to face thinking about the transition between spop and home.
coord adventure to the arts building rooftop, having our dandelion ceremony.
driving fabrizio to the train station right after spop 8 so he can make it home. made it there with ten minutes to spare.
discovering after a day with mel how positivity is literally a change in thought and attitude. this affects how you live.
bat watching with mel.
photoshoot. weho. screaming. buck nasty. best friends.
mai-chi cha who has 10 brothers and sisters. she is hmong and an ics major. she wanted to leave as soon as possible because she was from norcal. her dad was coming to get her. at the end of that spop i was walking and saw her. full circle. she smiled.
stephanie tran....she told me about how she didn't want to be at uci. how her parents are forcing her to commute and take the bus. how they will call the cops on her.....again....if ever she stood up for herself.
evgene: he cam up to me and asked about my vegetarianism. he knew about factory farming. pesticides. about organic free-range meat. we talked for 15 minutes about the pharmaceutical industry. he is a bme major looking to cure cancer. he asked me how i knew certain things. he asked me if i was a freshman. i told him i graduated. he asked if i had a job. i said this is my job. one that pays he quips. i do get paid i exclaimed because i'm one of the coordinators...and he walks away from me....and never looks back.
i remember doing adam's family with jansen and with jenny and with patrick and....psychiatrist with jansen, with megan and joey, and with jase and alyssa.
i remember feeling filled by all the light :]
parents who cried. yolanda from tuczan, arizona, suze the helicopter mom, the courageous man who admitted he had difficulty verbalizing/showing love to his child, to mike knox, and to nam, and to all the staffers who share home with me.
realizing the difference between a great staffer and a good staffer. remembering what it felt like to sacrifice a meal to make someone's day.
people i remember: niko is from a military base in italy. he was surprised to see how friendly people where in california. we talked about fusion, technology in the US out pacing other countries.
spop 8 boyband singing "end of the road" and ralph starts balling saying thank you. i didn't know how to respond but cry too. happy tears....sad tears...the emotions waved while the tears flowed. watching spop modern right after that feeling, seeing edge, alex, alek, tom, thy, kristine....seriously my babies!!! ah!
eric who graduated in a class of 7, he came from a school of 23. he told me about his attention disorder. kids in his public school get put into this one for more one on one attention. because of that, he got into UCI. i was so proud of him. His sister got into santa barbara too. their parents must be so proud.
spop 7 crying in the parking lot in the coney because i did not want to face thinking about the transition between spop and home.
coord adventure to the arts building rooftop, having our dandelion ceremony.
driving fabrizio to the train station right after spop 8 so he can make it home. made it there with ten minutes to spare.
discovering after a day with mel how positivity is literally a change in thought and attitude. this affects how you live.
bat watching with mel.
photoshoot. weho. screaming. buck nasty. best friends.
mai-chi cha who has 10 brothers and sisters. she is hmong and an ics major. she wanted to leave as soon as possible because she was from norcal. her dad was coming to get her. at the end of that spop i was walking and saw her. full circle. she smiled.
stephanie tran....she told me about how she didn't want to be at uci. how her parents are forcing her to commute and take the bus. how they will call the cops on her.....again....if ever she stood up for herself.
evgene: he cam up to me and asked about my vegetarianism. he knew about factory farming. pesticides. about organic free-range meat. we talked for 15 minutes about the pharmaceutical industry. he is a bme major looking to cure cancer. he asked me how i knew certain things. he asked me if i was a freshman. i told him i graduated. he asked if i had a job. i said this is my job. one that pays he quips. i do get paid i exclaimed because i'm one of the coordinators...and he walks away from me....and never looks back.
i remember doing adam's family with jansen and with jenny and with patrick and....psychiatrist with jansen, with megan and joey, and with jase and alyssa.
i remember feeling filled by all the light :]
parents who cried. yolanda from tuczan, arizona, suze the helicopter mom, the courageous man who admitted he had difficulty verbalizing/showing love to his child, to mike knox, and to nam, and to all the staffers who share home with me.
realizing the difference between a great staffer and a good staffer. remembering what it felt like to sacrifice a meal to make someone's day.
drunk girl songs
I'm addicted to drunk girls
who throw up on their 21st birthdays.
The way they hover over toilets,
snotty, projectile vomit forcing through
the basins on her small stomach. She purges
all the painful layers of adolescence
to leave her butterfly body.
She is broken. Her hands are on the ground,
holding up the weight oh her mother's voice,
"A cold washcloth and an aspirin. That'll do
The trick." Her shoulder blades rounded up
like mountains afraid of the sky. These
are her growing wings.
Her forehead is on the backs on her hands.
With the pounding of her father's voice,
"This is what you wanted. Suck it up!"
Her spine is a raised railroad track that
gets lost in the tunnel of her spaghetti strap.
Here lies her courage.
Yet she cries like smallness in a big world.
She apologizes for being weak, not ready
for performance in the world stage.
She cries and apologizes in
the embrace of an echoey bathroom
And to my listening ears. I stroke her back
and hand her tissue until the box runs out.
I am beside her, her sob songs in my ear:
Songs of girls who grow into women too soon,
These songs of battered women,
songs of her period, songs of leaving
her family for her husband's home,
songs of shame, songs of feeling ugly
and not enough, the song of her first daughter,
songs of her dead mother, songs so deep
they fill the hallows of honeycombs.
These 21 year old drunk girls hold
the music collection of our women's souls.
They hold it in the deepest pit, reverberating
in the toilet bowl. Alcohol happens to be the key
that unlock these songs of being a girl.
who throw up on their 21st birthdays.
The way they hover over toilets,
snotty, projectile vomit forcing through
the basins on her small stomach. She purges
all the painful layers of adolescence
to leave her butterfly body.
She is broken. Her hands are on the ground,
holding up the weight oh her mother's voice,
"A cold washcloth and an aspirin. That'll do
The trick." Her shoulder blades rounded up
like mountains afraid of the sky. These
are her growing wings.
Her forehead is on the backs on her hands.
With the pounding of her father's voice,
"This is what you wanted. Suck it up!"
Her spine is a raised railroad track that
gets lost in the tunnel of her spaghetti strap.
Here lies her courage.
Yet she cries like smallness in a big world.
She apologizes for being weak, not ready
for performance in the world stage.
She cries and apologizes in
the embrace of an echoey bathroom
And to my listening ears. I stroke her back
and hand her tissue until the box runs out.
I am beside her, her sob songs in my ear:
Songs of girls who grow into women too soon,
These songs of battered women,
songs of her period, songs of leaving
her family for her husband's home,
songs of shame, songs of feeling ugly
and not enough, the song of her first daughter,
songs of her dead mother, songs so deep
they fill the hallows of honeycombs.
These 21 year old drunk girls hold
the music collection of our women's souls.
They hold it in the deepest pit, reverberating
in the toilet bowl. Alcohol happens to be the key
that unlock these songs of being a girl.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
boo
i was feeling so good talking to akshay about levitating people and the power of belief.
i was having a good time trying to connect to people
and y'know what happens?
i get pulled over....by the same cop who gave me my first ticket.....
full circle.
thanks city of irvine
i was having a good time trying to connect to people
and y'know what happens?
i get pulled over....by the same cop who gave me my first ticket.....
full circle.
thanks city of irvine
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
thoughts of lucy
Seeing myself in the mirror made my eyes water. Wanted to share the sob stories of my diaries with my sister. The way she is like me, and how much I take from her. I can't hide it. I've made a mess and it's time to clean up. This is probably the first thing to teach a child--to clean up after herself.
Why am I competing with my sisters? When really the power is in our hands and we can rule the world together. But why don't we do this? Why do we keep our diaries from each other? The closer I got to things the more I got consumed. Sister, help me see the colours that surround me. Sometimes I feel like the escape is to sleep. Eternal sleep.
Our electricity will fuel the current of the next generation though. Maybe the pulse and pull is getting too heavy. I can't keep my mind in one place....maybe that's why my mother wants me home. To keep her mind in one place. And the closer we get to the core of it, you want to escape, to runaway, runaway....
The words are throbbing and seems to only make sense in my mind. I can always make things better. That my place is at home. Whoa. Mazed ourselves back behind our masks. Or maybe home is no longer a space that can contain me. That's why the universe exploded into itself.
The place in our society where women are still cordial with each other is a beauty salon. To trust another person with your hair or appearance is a sacred code. Sounds like this is all bull.
Why am I competing with my sisters? When really the power is in our hands and we can rule the world together. But why don't we do this? Why do we keep our diaries from each other? The closer I got to things the more I got consumed. Sister, help me see the colours that surround me. Sometimes I feel like the escape is to sleep. Eternal sleep.
Our electricity will fuel the current of the next generation though. Maybe the pulse and pull is getting too heavy. I can't keep my mind in one place....maybe that's why my mother wants me home. To keep her mind in one place. And the closer we get to the core of it, you want to escape, to runaway, runaway....
The words are throbbing and seems to only make sense in my mind. I can always make things better. That my place is at home. Whoa. Mazed ourselves back behind our masks. Or maybe home is no longer a space that can contain me. That's why the universe exploded into itself.
The place in our society where women are still cordial with each other is a beauty salon. To trust another person with your hair or appearance is a sacred code. Sounds like this is all bull.
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