An incomplete list…
I live next door to a boy who drinks red stripe and writes haiku.
My professor closes his eyes and smiles like i do on the dancefloor.
I am reading a book called the Karma of Brown Folk.
I got two beautiful handwritten letters in the mail from SF on the same day.
Bloomington knows how to do Korean BBQ and lemon custard ice cream.
My love is coming to visit in ten days.
I can give my new friends rides home at night.
I can cry when I need to and it keeps my heart open.
I just sold one of my short films to a college library.
I go to a school with running creeks and gingko trees on campus.
I am almost 33.
I can still imagine the ocean in my mind.
Category Archives: food
An incomplete list…
it never lets me down. like last night when i came home after class and made adobo, my first bloomington batch. i shovelled out two steamy scoops and topped it off with my extra vinegary sabao. then this morning mixed with green onion and diced tomatoes and then two fried eggs with soy sauce on top. sarap! it’s my own cooking that will now be my comfort food. not mama’s, not james c’s, my own. My rice cooker is my ace-in-the-hole. the part of the meal i can take for granted. i have so much love for the things i can take for granted…
i’ve made a few friends here, but we’re all still checking each other out, taking it slow. No one wants anyone to get the wrong idea or overcommit. To grab on to new friends sometimes feels like it means i’m letting old ones go. So I don’t grab. We’re all here to write anyway. The real task is making writing my new best friend. Figuring out how to stay up late with my writing. How to be loyal and stick up for my writing. But how, against the voices that say I’ll be neglecting my old friends? Who needs a new best friend? This writing is too demanding. And what if we don’t hit it off? Well, either way I have a story due in two weeks that I haven’t started yet. Best friend, enemy, flabby muscle, whatever I wanna call it, it’s time to get crackin. sometimes i wish my writing was like my ricecooker. Easy, reliable, comforting and filling me up. Taken for granted. But in the absence of wishes come true, there are deadlines.
i’ve spent two days on my own in my apartment. reaching out to connect with new people i can take it or leave it but always glad when i do. maybe it’s time to learn that lesson soon. it’s all new to me what i do on my own. so far i like where i let the wind take me. the past two days i’ve spent worshipping, cooking, making house, writing, budgeting to Hector Lavoe, Willi Colon, Cheo Feliciano…salsa. feeling it now in a way i never had in a dance club here in Apt 6 at 1516 S. Dorchester Drive. Then in between songs at half volume, but still loud as fuck, crickets and other bugs singing their songs. The people who grew up here almost don’t hear it anymore. Trip.
I rode my bike once. It’s a fast one. Light, too. One arm up the stairs. From here on out a sweaty helmety student bicyclist. With small ziploc bags of mixed nuts, carrots and a sandwich. A good sandwich mind you. At least meat, lettuce, cheese and pickles. I got lost on the way home and ended up on a freeway exit. Gave up and took a bus with a bike rack back to my apartment. Watching Being John Malkovich that night with a ginger beer never made me laugh so hard.
There are other things to mention in list form because I need to get crackin on making a big batch of fried rice for the coming week: garage saleing, farmer’s market, 1st year mfa bbq, contradancing, queen elizabeth the only gay club in town, sunset walk with mike d, feeling my ancestors and i go into my first day at school tomorrow ready and amped.