Spare me the lectures about how smoking kills and actually affects health. I’m 23 and I probably know more than most 40 year olds from New Jersey. (Not much though, many people confuse the fact that I’m well spoken because I’m well read and well written as a sign of intellectual advancement. I disagree with this greatly.) My choice of poison, either Marlboro Reds or if I felt as if I needed some fiberglass in my diet, then some Parliament menthols. There’s good addiction, there’s bad addiction, and then there are addictions that made me tear your skin off if you go without it for one day. This just happens to fall into that last lovely category. People have asked me many times what there is in a cigarette that makes me so addicted to them. Personally I’ve never liked the taste, never liked how the stench stuck to my body and my clothes, and have always hated the fact that I have to hide them somewhere in this house when I return home because living under the same room as a first generation Chinese son who smokes would shame the family name forever. Most of the fun lies therein when I actually light the stoge. The flicking of the BIC lighter along with the sudden burst of methane (I think it’s methane?) and a spark from the built in flint that creates the flames of oblivion in my left hand as long as my thumb is still on the gas release button. The feeling of slowly raising my left hand to the cigarette that’s already in my mouth, and listening to it crackle as it lights the tip. Probably the crackling of minutes being drained from my life every time the flame flickers, and that’s the bittersweet beauty to it all. That first drag. The feelgood drag. The one where it stings on the way down, yet a few seconds in, your body feels like it’s sinking from the inside out. Smoking is incredibly bad. I would suggest against starting it, but I’m not a saint, and if you have the willpower to quit, then definitely quit. It’ll add minutes to your life and save you tons of money, especially if you live in NYC. My relationship with smoking is like something along the lines of a bad girlfriend. Always making that attempt to leave, but getting suckered back because I need the release so bad. Of course, I haven’t had a girlfriend in years, so I guess this is what passes by the time.

Before I get started actually typing out all that I’ve actually written from my actual journal, I must give anyone about to read this a heads up that this is an incredibly long entry. So long that, if you decide to read it, you might as well email me for me to buy you a dinner. (Yes it’s that long)
I have also noticed that my blog design for some reason does not indent for paragraphs, or even separate them when I double space for that matter, so what I will do is separate each paragraph with a number accordingly, thus making it slightly easier on the eyes.

With that said, here’s a story of what’s been happening within my life for the past month or so.

1
Once in a while, writing backwards in a notebook offers the lesser population a sense of relief as we don’t have to worry about smudging the words when our hands drag across the page. By lesser population, I refer to the unlucky bunch that just happen to be left handed. The Chinese had this figured out with the way their books flip from the back to the front. But then again, it was made for right-handers which seems in a way to defeat the purpose. Side thought however.
2
As I sit here in my subway car on my way to my LSAT prep class, I am surrounded by strange faces, and to add insult to injury, I’m seated directly across from a couple who either 1: just got together and are enjoying the bliss of a newly formed relationship or 2: one of those situations where they have been together for some time and the love just grows from there. When I see things like this, sometimes I am overcome with an incredible amount of happiness on their behalf, and on a lesser extent, a sense of envy.
3
I’ve never been known to be a typical alpha male type character that goes on a heart-breaking rampage through the female population to prove my worth (or non-worth depending on the point of view) in order to seek acceptance as a man. In fact, just the opposite usually happens. I meet a nice girl, think she is a good catch, and when things seem to be going great towards the long haul, I am them either greeted with a “you’re too nice for me” or I simply don’t even hear from them again. In relating to the couple across from me. I cannot help but feel the urge to get up and question the guy what he does right, that I seemingly time after time again just never quite get down.
4
All girls claim that they would like to date “a nice guy” and yet when presented with a specimen of such, they do the complete polar opposite. Sure, not all girls may want this. As from personal experience, being a nice guy usually means I finish last, and it is just something that I’ve grown to accept. They also tend to be boring, or in worse cases, a nerd. The list of negativity usually grows exponentially from there, I am sure I don’t have to offer anymore explanations to badmouth myself.
5
Why do I bring up this point? Well I can easily claim to belong to the group in the aforementioned. Although I constantly manage to convince myself otherwise. For the past few weeks, I managed to receive some sort of divine intervention by seeing a girl, that from first glance, I can wholeheartedly say that she was good for me. There’s the saying that goes”if something is too good to be true” yaddy yadda, then it probably is. I had this thought while going into my predicament, but somewhere along the line, I am sure that I have forgotten it. I guess from here on in, this is the story of a girl who I will simply address by her initials as JH.
6
Her full name I suppose, won’t be needed. For matters of confidentiality or otherwise just not to point fingers at people. The first time she graced me with her presence, was when my cousin recommended me to work at her doctors’ clinic as something to pass the time. ( I am one of those people that simply cannot sit idle) I walked in expecting to just be trained and then from every Saturday on, just do the usual one hour train commute to slave away in front of a computer. My manager had called me to go in and ask for a J-. Which is exactly what I did. Of course she was not at the front desk, and so I waited. When she actually came out to greet me, let’s just say I was overcome with a sudden and completely illogical sense of puppy-dog infatuation. I definitely felt it surge through my toe to the top of my head.
7
She was not wearing anything stunning nor did she greet me in a manner that justified my emotional barrage. But she did bring with her to the front desk, an aura of pleasantness, be it self manufactured or natural, that is rather hard to manifest into written words. As terrible as it is for me to say this, she was much shorter than I had expected. But the intimidation factor that she brought along with her beauty, caused me to forget that I was one of those kids that learned to talk before walking. On a more sappy note, she left me basically speechless. (That generally tends to happen when I’m confronted by attractive women)
8
She wore a puzzled look on her face. One that expressed “I guess you’re the new guy” and one that said “DON’T TAKE THIS JOB.” She told me to walk into the doctor’s office to wait and as I was taking the walk (which was only a few feet from the front desk) I struggled to remember whether I spoke Somalian or English. I could not remember a time where I might have been more nervous. The funny thing is that I had no reason to be either. But the anticipation that she was to sit there in that room training me how to do a simple task such as scanning patient information, had my nerves would up tighter than an NYC metro with super skinny jeans on.
9
The training session was rather successful, the things she showed me were things that I would have inferred and perfected over time, but because I am the way I am, I of course let her run the whole deal by me before moving. Before I continue writing, let it be known that staple removers were invented to torture people like me. Really. The fact that I had never previously used one up until that day and the fact that I had her staring at me just created memories of staple removers that I would not hesitate to forget in a heartbeat. At one point during this intense staple removing process, I basically pushed too hard into the paper and had the two prongs from the staple dig into my index finger with an unbridled rage. I think that I managed to hide my embarrassing accident. (I think I did anyway) Go figure. Love hurts like a mother. The whole situation was simply awkward. I made an attempt to make a few jokes which she responded to indifferently with silence. I thought it was funny, but when I am that nervous, somethings I think a dead baby is funny. Before I left that day, (crushed and embarrassed half to death) I learned that she does not even normally work on Saturdays. At that time I believed it to be one of those situations that were come and go, and I would exchange nervous glances, and hellos if she came to pick up her paycheck and I just happened to be there. Needless to say, I would be more than pleasantly surprised.
10
The second time that I ever ran into her, would be that one of those managers was afraid I was not fully capable of handling my job and she had her come in to teach me for the second time. On that particular day, I was incredibly sick. It was pretty obvious. I looked like shit, I felt like shit, and when I saw her walk in with her usual sense of perfection, the only thing I said to myself was “shit”. I sat further away from her. I usually have enough consideration to not put someone else through the same misery that I am. There was nothing noteworthy to mention about that day until she saw me still struggling with the staple remover and SMILED. For all the times that I have been unnecessarily nice to people just to make someone’s day better, it seems as if karma finally answered me back. With a smile I might add. For all the shit piled on top of me that day, I think I forgot about it at that very moment. I felt as if I wasn’t as awkward as I usually was, but of course something like that for me is short lived, but I was relieved to see that it was possible to see a side to her that was not so serious and authoritative. The later parts of the day involved a conversation over lunch where I told her that my lack of a social life and studying to become an aspiring lawyer brings me much turmoil and dismay. We also discussed a few mutual friends that we had. Apparently within this absolutely rich conversation of my hate for academics and paying my soul to the devil to become an attorney, I hit some kind of switch in her system. If I may indulge in some pre-lawyer activities, let it be known on the record that she even looks sensational in nurse scrubs. I never understood why men have fetish for nurse outfits, I now have been enlightened. As the day came to a close, and everyone departed for their homes or wherever else, she even broke the normal cycle of where everyone ignores me and leaves. She comes by with that infamously alluring smile and says “Good bye Nathan.”I think I died a bit inside from the warm feeling basking my stone heart. I also thought when the last time someone called me Nathan instead of Nate was.
11
That night at home, I felt like I was good for a while. More female interaction in one day than I had in months. It would be great to work with her again but I wouldn’t count on it. She texts me later that night telling me how her job sucks out of the blue, and we somehow end up talking about the movie Avatar. (No blue pun intended) WE agree to see the movie, but because of my horrible LSAT class schedule, it took me two weeks to even find the time to go.
12
For this movie, which I was very wary to call a “date” because sometimes I think they are, and they turn out not to be, then my whole day becomes shaded in gray. Taking everything on the surface is my approach to life with no expectations. Unfortunately for me, that becomes to change as my life goes on for the month or so, and I cannot forgive myself for that false sense of hope, however that will be for later. I shall remember her self proclaimed first move on a text message forever. “Picking the location, time and picking you up, if this isn’t a good example of where the girl makes the first move, I don’t know what is.” I think when I read that, I inadvertently cracked one of the bones in my rib cage when my heart nearly tore through my chest. When a man has no love in his life, the first minor sign of it reverts them back to their sixth birthday. I was no exception.
13
The actual date in my opinion, was an absolute disaster. Avatar was sold out for the rest of that evening. I wasn’t even given a choice as to pick another time. I ultimately ended upon Sherlock Holmes as a suitable alternate. But what kept me going was the sight of her there, wearing these mittens that just made me want to “AWWW” so hard that I would have lost my union membership with the male population. Seeing her ponytail wave in the cold winter wind was as exciting and as eccentrically beautiful as any motion picture, if not more so.
14
These mystery movies don’t fly well with me. I am always looking for intellectually challenging ideas to keep my mind working, thus when presented with such, all I can do is ask questions until my mind is at rest. Herein laid mistake number one. She commented on how I talk alot during a movie, and I was overwhelmed with a sense of shame. There are so many things that I could have said to her, yet I felt that Robert Downey Jr. got the best of me that night. Screw you Iron Man.
15
Next on the list was dinner. I am from queens, I didn’t even know St. Mark’s existed until fairly recently, so as we walked around pondering on where to eat, there goes mistake number two, not being an assertive guy and deciding. In the end, sushi was decided on through a cooperative effort, which was fine with me. I haven’t stuck a raw piece of fish in my mouth in a while since the time I had “thought” I thoroughly cooked a piece of salmon on my George Foreman grill. (The machine reduces fat by the way, for anyone interested) During the dinner, I somehow ended up discussing my not-so-wonderful home life with her and then having awkward moments where I stared into my plate or started scratching my head. Mistakes number three and four. (Not to mention scratching my head over my food just seems unsanitary) All good/awkward things come to an end thank god. I left her that night to walk home alone and without a hug. Mistakes five and fucking six. The train ride home was easily the most distraught subway rides I’ve ever had. My IPod ran out of battery because I somehow left it playing throughout the whole date, so I couldn’t even find solace through the sensory overload of Markus Schulz. I spent that whole train ride mentally abusing myself, telling myself why I notice what I do wrong after and not just then. I had exhausted my whole arsenal of four lettered profanity and I think I even invented some to yell at myself because the train ride wasn’t over yet. (How does YEUK sound? Aside from being a Chinese last name, do you think it can be made popular through urban dictionary?) Needless to say, I could not sleep that night and wondered how I could even face her at work anymore. My friend Unisom helped me with my precious slumber that even though. God bless the creator of Unisom.
16
All hope seemed to be lost after that night, but I guess good karma strikes again when she agreed to accompany me to my friend’s New Year’s Eve party that following Saturday. I almost couldn’t believe it. When I heard the news, I was so eager that day for nightfall to come that I almost forgot I had to run errands for my dear grandmother. That day needed to be perfect. I had to use the right hair gel, had to wear a neatly ironed shirt, decent cologne, and a crisp white tee under my shirt. I did manage to accomplish all that, alas to no avail that I cannot change the face that only a mother could love. But not tonight I told myself as I shaved while looking into the mirror. “Tonight I’ll damn well make it work.” And with that, I set off to pick her up looking and feeling like a million dollars.
17
If i thought that I looked like a million dollars, I think she broke a new monetary world record with her outfit. There were so many number digits that I don’t even think it has a measurement in the real world. Make no mistake, this was like pristine, fresh off the mint, crisp one hundred dollar bills stuff going on here. I guess it was a good thing that she was slightly lost looking for my car because it gave me a few extra seconds to gawk at her. The red coat she had as she walked towards my car nearly gave me a nosebleed, combined with the steady clicking of some sensual heels that she had one just nearly KO’ed me on the spot. First round knockouts suck big time. I had to maintain my composure though, seeing as driving from Manhattan to Queens in the rain isn’t exactly fun if you don’t have your full attention span.
18
The ride back to my friend’s party was not awkward at all., I won’t know for sure but I would say I did a decent job at conversation, whilst still holding back my nosebleed from her stockings and shoes. My main concern was with how she would deal with the people at this party, not knowing anyone and such. That will all come to pass however, since her personality assimilates well with almost anyone. I soon stopped worrying myself sick trying to give her a sense of belonging, as it was apparent that she got along better than I did. How ironic. One acquaintance of mine named Jesse, made a comment asking her if I was the boyfriend, and that the “boyfriend was cramping her style”. (FYI, I SUCK at drinking games.) I felt really awkward. It was like someone opening the door and finding RuPaul performing fellatio on me awkward. I made an attempt to justify her rationale, but before I spoke, J- simply answered “He’s not my boyfriend….yet.” A sigh of relief blew over me, then the double take kicked in. Come again? What is this “yet” business? This whole time I didn’t have a simple clue she saw me in that light. I thought it was just another situation where I would forever sit stagnant in the “friend-barrier”. Talk about euphoria. I nearly lost control of my bladder. (Blame the beer also) I think I was just ecstatic the rest of that evening. She even gave me a peck on the cheek randomly here and there throughout the night. And for what it’s worth, cake tastes amazing when she’s the one feeding it to me. (Gag) The inner child in me was screaming for job, while the outer adult shell went around looking for another beer to celebrate this momentous occasion. We sat there eventually watching the ball drop in Times Square on the television. I was so intoxicated at this point, I kept thinking the clock on TV was supposed to count down, not up until 12AM. Whatever, that was the least of my damn worries. When the ball hit 12, I decided it was now or never and I moved in for the New Year’s kiss.
19
She looked away and laughed. Ouch. Spectacular, the awkward turtle just sneaked in on me and sat down on my fucking head. Or so I had thought until a few seconds later, she returned the favor. Mission accomplished. 2010, a new beginning, and someone to spend it with. The rest of the evening went pretty well. There was a humorous moment (perverted as well) when she sat down on my lap and asked if that was my cellphone that she was sitting on. I just answered “yes”for the sake of simplicity and good manners. (Of course it wasn’t my cellphone, it was my wallet) We stayed over that night. She snored (it’s damn cute) while I laid there staring blankly at the ceiling and tried to gather my thoughts from that evening. I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited at whether this would be the start of something good for me after not having found a bit of happiness in so long. But unlike the many nights I’ve spent awake studying, this was a night I stayed up without an complaint. (Besides maybe a severe case of blue balls) I made no more advances on her that evening. I respected her too much for that. I was never my goal and she had already given me much more than I could ever ask from her anyway. When the morning came, I spent my not-so-drunk house just staring at her when she didn’t notice. (or maybe she did, I hope not, that’s creepy) She is truly beautiful beyond words. Not much else happened that day. We all had Joe’s Shanghai and I brought her home. Here I put the nail in my own coffin. I kissed her good bye. On the lips. Mistake seven. I knew it was too soon, and too non-alcohol driven to do something like that, but I supposed my greed got the better of me. A man reverted to his sixth birthday is entirely too eager for seconds.
20
As I drove home alone that afternoon, I wondered to myself what would come of this. There was no doubt that every cell in my system wanted to see her again, but what would her situation be. Would she feel the same way? The girl that warned me about commitment issues, and my answer was to rush my emotions into her existence. I strive not to ever impose what I feel into other people, so that their decisions made may be as unbiased as possible. I think I broke ever rule that I have ever set for myself over the years in a matter of minutes from one car ride. I am not perfect, never have been and never claimed to be so. However, this is like hitting the other end of the spectrum driving 90mph into a brick wall.
21
Within the following week, much to my surprised again, I was invited by her to have dinner. Now either fate is taking pity with me at this point, of I am just overthinking as usual, and she really didn’t find the past couple of events that bad. The dinner was a casual meal at a Malaysian restaurant. I was more impressed with how she spent over eight hours hunched over a desk, and still looked as if she had just stepped out of the shower. One day she may clue me in on her secret. But given that I’m the furthest thing from a vain individual (this damn beard is a great example). I don’t know whether I would take the time to indulge in it. (Can you imagine me trying to blow dry my crewcut? The thought of that alone is frightening) The food was good, but I am usually so nervous before I meet her that I can barely stomach much more than a drink. I had the simple pleasure of walking her home. Such things these days are overlooked almost as much as handwriting a letter and sending it through snail mail. But something was different tonight. There seemed to have been an invisible field of tension that came out of left field all of a sudden. I was only allowed a kiss on the cheek and nothing more. Did I just make another mistake that I couldn’t even pick up on this time?
22
The days drag by as I sit at work between the two different jobs I had at the time, and resisted the urge to text message her to say something witty or comical, so I just end up doing what I usually do to everyone by now, and say “Good morning”. I invited her to go to another party to commemorate the twenty first birthday of my friends Mick and Mish. Now I’m not exactly the party type, but I suppose so many celebrations in one week gave me an excuse to ask her to come out to do things. She accepted, which was awesome. Now I had to go through the painstaking process of not looking homeless again.
23
Come that Saturday, I could no longer stay in my home as it was over depressing and mentally taxing of me to listen to my parents fight all day about nonsensical issues. I left early. Much earlier than I should have simply to get out and get some fresh air. My boredome that day alone in the city would be cured with the arrival of my friend Cleopatra. As we both indulged in our inner geeks in a comic book store. I listened on to grown men adamantly describing power levels, and describing the female characters to which they worship. I began to imagine what J- would look like in a super heroine costume. When I noticed what I was doing however, I immediately decided to go to another aisle. There is a point of no return when one travels down that dark, dark road.
24
At the party though, I was somewhat disappointed to see that she hadn’t arrived yet. I already felt a bit guilty that I was looking more forward to seeing her that the festivities that usually came with being twenty one. I as was about to retire to the table to drink my depression away with a beer or two, there she was. And this time with friends too, so I wouldn’t have to worry about her getting along with people. Belle and Rebecca were their name, and I will soon find that in the near future, I will become much more formally acquainted with Belle. I couldn’t help but think I was a bit more overdressed than her for this occasion. But as always is the case, with her she would look great even if she rocked a shower curtain to the party.
25
Her height really is an issue sometimes. This place, better known as Forum had quite a bit of people, and the fact that I spent most of the earlier part of the evening trying to see people that were already taller than me didn’t help at all. I thought looking for Belle might yield a higher chance of success since we’re both around the same height, but even that was just a futile attempt. It was like dropping Waldo in the middle of Beijing. I can say at the end of the day, it’s adorable, just not very effective. By the time I found her, she already had a beer in her hand, and I had yet to even find something to drink yet. I guess some people just know how to have a good time. I still felt the same field of tension that I had felt before that day, between us two, however, I could never find the answer to why it was there. Maybe it was the fact that she brought a friend from the Marines with her, and if I made the wrong move, I’d have about a size 10 Marine boot forcefully packing some serious fudge. I tried my best that evening to sit a little closer, say something nicer, try to stand out a bit from her male friends that were Hooah-intensive. I thought I was failing, until she decided to turn around and kiss me. Oh those lips again, the ones that get me into joy and trouble at the same time. Apparently her friends didn’t mind at all, thus I let my guard down a bit and just took the night as it came. Between going out once in a while for smoke, and coming back to see her smiling at me, I think the night went great. I held her hand, the first time ever that I ever actually made the move with all intention of wanting to. You know how in all those girly pictures, where you see a guys bigger hand criss crossing with the girl’s smaller hand followed by some extremely annoying and redundant love quote on top of a black and white picture? Yes, I did just that. Call me a sap, but I just wanted to hold her hand. Any drink that I had earlier, and everyone else around me just seemed to slowly phase out at that moment. I was just staring at her through a tunnel, where she was the only clear image, and all peripheral vision blurred off. It was like my mind was a camera. The focus was her. There was something very enjoyable about that. Granted I was in a lounge with immense amount of noise (and as noted before, generally overly tall people, damn my Asian genes), I still wish that time had just stopped right there. If such a thing was possible, I would never be subjected to the deterioration of the relationship between us that came after this day. Everything would have just ended the way I wanted to. We parted that evening with one more kiss, as she took a cab home with her friends. I went on my own respective departure path with the birthday girl Mish, as I cared for her that evening in her vomiting endeavors. Good times.
26
The next day comes, and she gives me a wakeup call that I had asked for during the party at the lounge. It’s amazing that one can remember that after a few drinks, and yet I have a hard time even remembering my own birthday when I don’t even drink. (The reason partially for that is, it’s not a very special day anyway. Once you’re past 21, nothing is worthwhile anymore) I’m assuming she remembered what happened that night as well. I didn’t ask however. I duly note my own cycles of ups and downs and figured to myself that today would be a down day. Let me elaborate on this a bit with a comparison to a laundry machine. You see, as the clothes roll around inside the machine, they still stick to the side while getting carried up. When the clothes reach the upper peak, they lose their traction and just fall back down to repeat the cycle. From my dates and the New Year’s Eve party, I’ve noticed that when something good happens with this girl, immediately the day after, I either make another mistake, or something else along the lines of such. The party at the lounge was great, so now the clothes are being carried up the spin. Today will probably be the day that the clothes fall down, hence I can most likely predict to have a bad evening with her.

He stood there in the backyard cutting the apple tree like he did every few weeks. The reason being that the excess branches was a breeding ground for caterpillars that would slowly destroy his garden of tomatoes and lettuce. The sun was overhead and blaring with its usual June morning heat that made afternoons for other months seem timid. The steady snipping of those garden scissors that became as routine to me during the summer as having to take out the trash all those evenings because my father didn’t want to step away from the air conditioner for a second, because the heat might kill him in a split second’s time. The sweat began to bead across his brown as he diligently kept at this menial task, without a bother in the world of what else was going on. The whole time while taking drags from a half-gone Marlboro, where the middle was soaked from a few drops of sweat that fell off of his upper lip.
I’m not sure how much time had passed by. It was peaceful and nothing else had any sense of urgency to be done anyway, so I sat there with a can of Sunkist in my hand and I watched. I was so entranced by the steady snipping rhythm that I didn’t even realize a yellowjacket had perched onto the opening of the can, with that magnificent landing that only they are capable of. I quickly defended my soda upon noticing. My can of Sunkist was still half full and I wasn’t going to give it up without a fight. When that battle of man vs. nature was done, I just sat back down on those warm sun-baked steps, that were crawling around with the various selection of ants that only NYC had to offer. I fondly dubbed them “big ants, medium ants, and little ants” as far as my intelligence would allow me to. And as I watched him snip away at that apple tree, I wondered to myself, wow that cigarette has been lit forever.
It could have been a few minutes, maybe even an hour, but he finally noticed me in the end and looked my way ad gave me that smile that no one else in the world could do. Honestly speaking, it was probably the ugliest thing anyone could fathom. Half of his teeth were missing, the teeth that he had left were stained yellow from the combined effects of both caffeine and tobacco, and he always forgot to shave the left side of his beard that left a few protruding whiskers, which definitely made their presence known when you looked at him straight in the face. This however, was the smile that represented home. No matter how ugly it was, it was comfortable to witness it, and I let no one tell me otherwise, because if they did, they were either wrong or had not witnessed it for their own eyes. I sat there wondering how many actual real teeth he had left in his mouth, as he bear-pawed my hand and told me to go inside as it was getting too hot outside. I held on to his plantain sized fingers, not caring where he led me. I did not have a care in the world as long as he was guiding me through.
He seated me at the dinner table and swiftly made his departure into the kitchen. I heard the kitchen sink do its nostalgic vibration as the water traveled up the pipes from under the kitchen counter. Usually when I hear this sound, it either means that he’s doing the dishes or washing his hands from garden work. As I heard the Dial soap bar hit the soapdish with that familiar ‘clack’, I was reassured of the latter. I still sat there patiently, it was a very laid back atmosphere, nothing seemed like it could go wrong at this moment. I traced my hand over the gap where the folding dining room table segments combined. The cracks are beginning to fill with random food particles. Someone should really clean it. He took the towel from the refrigerator door and hastily, as well as randomly, ran his fingers through it a few times. For someone who taught me so many things, maybe he should learn how to wipe his hands from me.
He went across the dining room and into the living room where his first instinct was to turn on a Panasonic fan that we owned which was easily twice my age, and dragged it into the middle of the dining room so that I can enjoy the same warm summer air blow into my face inside as it was doing outside. I had the urge to stand in front of the fan and say “aaaaahhh” but I knew that he would scold me. In his other hand, he held a blue and red box, which could only mean one thing.
He was challenging me to a game of Chinese checkers. His invitations always included his signature smile along with the promise that if I won, I would be granted a bag of Wise’s potato chips. I never did have an affinity for junk food, but I did always accept his challenges whether there were prizes or not. Chinese checkers was something that I just wanted to play, and if the opponent was someone I liked, then all the merrier. I also knew that I was a professional at this game, and ever since he taught it to me last week, I still have yet to lose a game. I picked up my first piece, and…

I woke up.
It’s 3:14AM February 5th, 2010 as I write this after having woken up from this dream.

During the whole event of this dream, I was anywhere from five to seven years of age, as that’s the only time I remembered learning how to play Chinese checkers. I’m now 23 years old.
The side of my pillows are wet, and so is my face, so I can only assume I was crying in my sleep and didn’t notice. The person in this dream goes by the name of Chow King Yee, and he was a man that meant much to me in my life. This man is my beloved grandfather who passed away 3 years ago, and since then I have not touched that Chinese checkers box which still lies there in the drawer underneath the television in my living room. I’ve always had the urge to play, it’s just that no one can be quite as great an opponent as he was.

I was no prodigy at this game, he taught it to me for a reason, whether it be recreational or for deeper reasons that I would soon find out on my own. I won in the beginning because he let me win, yet I was too young at that point to realize it and made the mistake of inflating my own ego with my spectacular skills. As the years progressed though, the games got harder. At first I told myself that maybe I’m just losing my touch because my academics have gotten more difficult and I haven’t been putting enough attention to these games of checkers. But the older I got and still played with him, the games simply got exponentially harder, to the point where I was in high school and I could not even win a game anymore. Have I been doing other things so much, that I simply forgot how to play this game? It sure didn’t feel like it. It only just dawned upon me maybe shortly after his passing, that he let me win for most of the earlier years, trying to build up my knowledge of the game, showing me what to do and when. I ran over some of the games that I could manage to remember over my head, and see what moves he was making, and it was so obvious, yet at the time I was so blinded by victory that I took his “freebies” for granted.
He always had a saying ever since I was small, until I was in my teenage years, telling me to never let success or power get to my head and always remember from where I started. I don’t know if this was the reason behind the checkers games he played with me, or if it’s just a correlation that I made myself in relation to his teachings, but I will never know. My grandfather was a genius, and a very humble individual. He would teach me things in ways that would force me to think, and before I knew it all of the values were instilled in me. I can only imagine this lifelong game of checkers, where he completely slaughtered me in the later years, by taking nearly triple the amount of pieces I could take from him, in an effort to show me how brutal and cold reality is in the adult years. Gramps, I’m truly thankful of you.
If I could, I would wish nothing more than to play one more games of Chinese checkers against you, just so you know where I stand today.

The remains of what used to be a fully functional society slowly fades away as the charred pieces of whatever was, or was ever to become let off a nonchalant crunch under my Chuck Taylors, and float off into the incendiary world that was left. I try not to let it bother me much, because whatever it was, it was no longer and continue walking on.

Sounds, the sounds… they’re everywhere, and yet not a single bit of it makes any cognitive sense to me whatsoever. With the world as the way it is, how can I be hearing steady beats and bass lines going off in the distance? Is there actually a DJ that is mixing in all of this turmoil? G-d is probably a DJ, yeah..that has to be it…

I walk up to the door that is the exit to my house, and the entrance to whatever terrible fate awaits me in the outside world. I suck as much air in as I can to brace myself before turning the knob. But as I reach for it, something peculiar strikes me…Why is this door unscathed, and in such fantastic shape when everything around me is deteriorating? As usual I try not to think very much of it, and I finally turn the knob.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The world is exactly as I saw it from my window, fire and fire everywhere, almost like hell on earth…what am I supposed to do now?

“Nate!!”

What the heck? Is someone actually calling me?

“Nate!! Man, Nate!!! Run dude they’re coming!!”

I try to follow the sound of the voice calling me so I look towards my left, and I see Marvin there running at me at a speed that I couldn’t even fathom his body would allow. It was slightly ridiculous, because his legs were going in a full circle so fast that it looked straight out of a Looney Tunes episode. All I could make out were his Vans sneakers, and then what appeared to be a tornado of leg movement on top of them. I was tempted to laugh but I saw in his other hand a machete that was covered in black blood, and I’ve come to the conclusion that my poor friend has simply lost his damn mind. And as anyone with any form of common sense would do, if you see a 250 lb man running at you with a huge knife, you of course…run away.

As I turn and make my futile attempt to escape my deranged friend, I nearly trip because of the excess I force I put into the turn on my heel. Yet before I gracefully faceplanted onto the cold cement, Marvin picks me up by the collar with what seemingly little effort, and drags me up and runs away with me. My initial reaction was how did he even get this fast? I was the one on the high school track team! Life is so unfair. My second thought was…I’m probably going to die now.

“Holy shit! There’s so fucking many of them!” exclaimed Marvin.
“Wait what, many of what? And what are you doing with that knife man, you look freaking crazy. And if you must kill me with it, do so painlessly please.”I said.
“What? No! Zombies man! They’re all around us outside. We need to find a safe place to get to, I think Albert has some weapons or something, let’s go meet up with him.” said Marvin.
“Knowing Albert, he’ll probably charge us by the bullet..”I said, and reluctantly began following Marvin away.
I noticed that it took no effort to run, in fact this time I wasn’t even moving my legs, I was simply floating. Something is really strange here.

As we’re running to wherever it was that Marvin was leading me. I noticed someone calling me again, but this time from some place really high.

“Lao dong!!”

I look around and I see nothing.

“Lao dong!! WATCH OUT!!!”
I look straight up and I see Stephanie fly straight into my face. As her ass collides with my face at Mach 3 speeds, I began to see my life flash before my eyes, and hoping that I remembered to write my last will and testament.

Strangely enough I felt no pain, no broken bones or anything, so as Steph got off of me, I began to brush myself off and pondered how she even survived a fall like that. I can barely play a game of basketball without pulling my groin or twisting my ankle, and here she was flying 700 feet from the air ass-first into me.

“Lao dong, you have to be more careful of where you are going! It’s so dangerous right now!” said Steph.
“You were the one who flew at m……”as I tried to finish.

A creature roared in the distance.

“We need to go now!”shouted Marvin.
“Ok Steph let’s worry about your drop from the sky another day, we need to go now before we die!”I shouted at Steph.
“Haha, are you asking me out on a date?” mocked Steph.
“No! I’m asking you to stay alive!” I yelled.
“I am only kidding I want to see your reaction!” said Steph, and she began to run away with us.

In what seemed like 2 seconds, we managed to arrive near the Little Neck Parkway. As expected, I had a tough time applying what quantum physics I knew ( or don’t know ) into trying to find out a logical explanation of how we went from Jamaica to Little Neck in what felt like one step, but I decided that I didn’t quite want to pull a muscle thinking too hard.

Albert was sitting on his front steps smoking a Marlboro Smooth so relaxingly that you’d almost not notice the machine guns he’s set up in a perimeter around his house. Yeah, right.

“What took you guys so long? I’ve been fucking waiting here for like 3 hours..”grumbled Albert.
“What..what the hell, aren’t you always the one that’s late anyway, why are you complaining about us being late just this once, and I don’t even know what’s going on right now..” I counter-argued.
“I’m always late because everyone else is late and I don’t want to be the first person there waiting.” responded Albert.
“Are you kidding me? What makes you so special?” I began to say.
“Guys! We have a crisis on our hands, let’s save this for later, we still need to meet up with Greg, I heard he’s running low on food, so we should probably pick him up as well..Al we’ll take your car, since Mack has been overrun with zombie goo, and it probably won’t start anyway.” said Marvin.
“When we meet up with Greg, I have alot of mei fun to share with him for food! ” exclaimed Steph.
“How do you know Greg?” I asked Steph.
“We’re all friends here la.” answered Steph.
“Alright we’ll take my car, but I hope you guys can pay for gas because this is going to be a long ride.” said Albert.
“Seriously man, we’re about to die, there are zombies everywhere, and the one thing you want to ask me to do is pay for gas right now?”I said to Albert.
“Yo shut the fuck up son, gas prices are going back up and shit, so I ne..” Albert tried to say.

A zombie moaned again in the distance, and we all just jumped inside Albert’s civic, and began to speed towards Fresh Meadows.

As I began to take out my cell phone to call Greg, I notice that..

Markus Schulz music goes off in the background.

Wait..what?

The sound continues.

I open my eyes, I notice my blackberry alarm was waking me at 9:00 AM.

I rub my eyes….oh..that was a pretty interesting dream.

Note:
1. Yes I wrote down my dream as quickly as I could before I made this entry so I would remember it as vividly as possible.
2. Dreams never make sense, then again I never make sense.
3. Lol.

“Moving on is simple, it’s what you leave behind that makes it so difficult.”

Live and learn..painfully.
Durate et vosmet rebus servate secundis.

Here is an except from one of my theories on the different types of writers, not based on any formal scientific research, but simply on my own opinion. Also as a an introduction, I was discussing my ideas about Freud’s superego concept before I began to digress into something else. As I will be writing this basically verbatim off of my journal, I hope that everyone can make an attempt to follow my train of thought.

Talking about the supergo and ego will take some brainstorming in order to conceptualize the ideas and theories into coherent thoughts, but before that I would like to make a promise to myself to make a better attempt at grasping the full capacities of the English language. My thoughts have matured since the last time I wrote, and rightfully so because I am after all, more physically(I’m starting to lose my hair) and mentally mature. However, with this maturity it seems as if my writing ability is regressing for reasons unknown. I begin to speak more fluently through the pen and paper process ( write more fluently to be more politically correct) but my writing is becoming more and more simple. I’ve heard of the phrase ‘ Keep it simple stupid’, and needless to say it does hold merit in most situations aside from this one. I am a firm believer in the eloquence of writing, because not everyone can do it well. In my perspective, writers ( or bloggers if you may) come in three categories. The most primitive one is probably the first: 1. Those that write, write very simple, and write solely for attention. To elaborate, one may usually find these individuals on the internet blogs that are covered with pictures of finely tuned Japanese automobiles with scantly clad women, or some webpage with a pink background filled with various specimens of pixelated fauna which probably do not exist in the real world. If it sounds as if I detest these kinds of blogs, then it may be because I do.

A common post in one of the aforementioned blogs goes as follows: ‘Christmas wishlist: LV bag, BMW, breast implants ( because obviously we all indulge in Freud’s concept of id), new clothes’. Fantastic. This blog also usually is accompanied by a plethora of one-sentence statements that most likely sound like the following: ‘Aww I want that too!’ or ‘<3 you so much you sexy bitch’. Is a pattern becoming apparent yet? Where is the substantial information in something like this, and what is there to learn from it? Usually two conclusions dawn upon me after reading something of the sort. Firstly, I know what you want for Christmas, and I still refuse to buy it. Secondly, nothing set off intellectually in my mind, and now I think that you are a money-hungry sorority girl. I am fairly certian that this was the intent that was meant to be conveyed from the post?

The second genre of writers that I will explain, just happens to be my personal favorite. I fondly, and very generally dub this category as ‘the creative writers’. My personal friend, Marvin is a great example of this. These writers, from a personal perspective tend to be a very social and happy bunch. I suppose this is where the stimulation for creativity comes from, through the daily interactions with different people, and with a quick flip of the ON switch on the brain, a rough draft for a story is formulated. THese writers’ purposes are generally meant to entertain. Again speaking from personal experiences only, from reading the various facebook posts by Marvin, I believe myself now fully capable of surviving an outbreak of the undead armed with nothing more than a blunt object. Frankly speaking, I am not sure of whether or not to accept the separation of fact from fiction in this matter, because I firmly believe the reanimation of the deceased is much closer than people think. It may be morally wrong but one cannot reject this advancement in modern science. These creative writings are good to pass the time as they still provide more intellectual stimulation through the necessity of simply still needing to read as opposed to the garbage that MTV feeds to someone through the optic nerve. There are no limitations to how the reader wishes to protray the story, the possibilities are much more abundant. What shows on television is shown through the director’s eyes and not your own, hence may be the reason so many people think that the book equivalent of a story is so much more satisfying than its visual counterpart in the movie theatres. When in doubt, grab a book.

More on the third and final category of writers on a future post.