emancipate

mlawyue:

It was around lunchtime in Arusha when a man approached me over my right shoulder. First, I noticed the half-eaten, hastily mangled mango in his hand. Then the mango bits strewn across his upper lip, just sitting there as if on purpose, the juice smeared across his chapped mouth, pouring down…

Everyone should follow Matt as he embarks on a journey of self-discovery in Tanzania. An incredibly eloquent writer and wonderful human being… totally wish I was in Kilimanjaro with him now eating mangos. Miss you my dear friend and happy birthday! xx

he makes me feel a way no one else ever has. three years and change later, nothing’s changed. it is the same comfortable, casual, understanding yet electric and exciting connection we’ve always had. it’s always been him, maybe it always will be. maybe i’m going to end up moving back to los angeles after all…

he told me he loved me unconditionally – without fear and without consequence. he said that regardless of wealth or success, health or security, he would always love me and want to be with me. we drove in silence for a minute as i inhaled and tried to grasp what he had just said. i held my breath as long as possible… as if to freeze that moment in time for all eternity. it was the second time he’d said he loved me. when i finally exhaled, we were two blocks down the road and my head buzzed from lack of oxygen. i realized then that i didn’t know how to love the way he could. i had expectations, fears, consequences and conditions. i wanted to whisper that i loved him too, that i wanted to share my world with him but it felt so fake in light of what he said. it felt so tainted. instead, i asked him how. i asked him to show me how to love so freely. to teach me how to give without needing something in return. and so, our journey began…

love is so easy to write about because it transcends all languages, cultures and emotions. it’s something we can all feel, experience, share, and agonize over. the flutter of butterflies in your stomach. the pain of betrayal and dishonesty. the aching mystery of things that could have and should have happened. love reminds us that we’re human and prone to the dangers that accompany mortality. it makes us do the crazy things we swore we wouldn’t when we saw our friends fall victim to the very same pitfalls. love is so simple when you let it be. when you give yourself completely & absolutely. like ms.hill said… it can all be so simple…

when i lived in los angeles, sanity came in the form of cruising up the PCH with my sunroof open and old school hip hop on blast. when midterms, bicoastal life, and ‘overachieving asian’ syndrome became too much bare, i’d escape to the chill of the pacific ocean and the sound of waves crashing against rocks 30 feet below. i’d pull over amidst a patch of straight asphalt and turn the engine off, bothered by nothing more than a mellow playlist and my own thoughts. it’d be so easy to lose myself while glancing at the shimmering field above me… my mind would wander, the music would fade and i’d doze off easily. carelessly. peacefully. there were also the moments when i would inhale the fresh saltiness of the sea and wonder what it’d be like to walk forth and never come back. but as the cold sand crept between my toes, my senses would be shocked back to reality. i’d always think of my parents and their sacrifices for my sister and i. their hard work, their dedication, their support, their love. their devastation at knowing how easily i gave up on it all. i never enjoyed the tear-fogged drives back to reality, but i understood their necessity and appreciated their reminder of mortality.

this feeling reminds me of those sleepless nights driving through los scandalous. windows down, sunroof open. thoughts of humanity, mortality and love quickly pacing in my mind, one chasing the other. the same NAS album on repeat, the occasional skip from a pothole on wilshire. driving past LACMA, lights illuminating my path brighter than my (future) path. if only life could be so easily illuminated. fucked up. drugged up. crept up. slept up. burnt up. turned down. no matter my aimless meandering, i always aimed for hollywood and vine; our rendez-vous location that had you paying for my cab fare and me sobbing in your arms about a stolen wallet or forgotten friendship. fuck. why does it always come back to this? a sleepless night, fogged by bottles of champagne and freshly squeezed orange juice? a distant memory, immortalized by the feelings that lay nestled in our hearts forever? with the bottles of veuve come the memories of a not so distant past. with the accomplishments come the humbling reminders of who we once were. we were so close to perfection, you and i…

whatever inclination made me think it was a good idea to buy an entire bottle of veuve and attempt to ‘study’ italian/ gmat math was seriously on crazy pills. what??! i dont even drink these days! fuck. this is the shit i do when neil leaves and i have the convenience of my credit card, a liquor store downstairs and freshly squeeze orange juice. i think im on my 6th mimosa. christ. havent even opened my GMAT book; no, im too busy catching up on stupid words with friends games. did you know ‘cunt’ isn’t an acceptable word? im starting a ‘WTSBAIWWF’ tumblr. aka: “words that should be acceptable in words with friends” tumblr. haha. the title is a work in progress. so is my life. time to sign off before my rants get too (em)o. no accomplishments to drink to… 7th mimosa, here i come!

The problem with being blessed from an early age is not fully understanding just how damn good life is. Between the most supportive parents an Asian daughter could could ask for, to a slightly-stressful-and-underpaid-but-tremendously-fulfilling-and-relatively-successful career, to the world’s most incredible significant other… there are only the gaps of silence and obscurity that haunt her. The would’ves of a past flame. The could’ves of a past degree. The should’ves of a position unfulfilled. These lead to moments of unhappiness, prolonged until success rears its shining head from the blinding dominance of material wealth and she’s enamored once more. Enamored by the life she’s worked, and fought so hard to achieve. But even amidst the first-class bicoastal trips and luxurious 27th floor (almost) penthouse, she can’t help but recall what joy and happiness there was in simplicity…

She laughed and told him as she told everyone: It’s a lonely road to the top. He mutely responded: It’s even lonelier when you’re there.

The problem with being blessed from an early age is not fully understanding just how damn good life is. Sometimes, you have to lose it all to realize what you once had.