At my for-rent desk I have books, notebooks, a pink organizer, two black binders, a bag of things I got from Las Vegas and should’ve sent to my brother and cousins, a lunchbox I never use, plastic cutlery, a food scale, a bag of receipts, a bag I stole from the college bookstore that houses all my weed paraphernalia, a picture of my grandma, a blue bear Julia painted for me, a five-dollar planter, a disposable camera, and a pumpkin that flashes teal eyes.
My roomie is taking a shower. Last night my roomlord’s wife asked if I’d like to try some of their homecooking and I said, “YES.” I sat at their dinner table and ate fish curry and rice with roomlord’s wife and daughter while roomlord fixed a seat cushion. We asked each other about our lives, poking just the slightest, then I thanked them for dinner and scurried off.
I found my dad on Facebook. It’s like I never realized his name was actually a name. He went to Vietnam and took those cheesy wedding photos with his new wife. She looks pretty, but mom was prettier when her and dad were together and the pictures they took as young people in love are cool. But my dad, like all piece of shit Vietnamese men, cheated on my mom during a trip back to the homeland, and they separated.
On a completely unrelated note, I’m sussed out by men. If given the opportunity to pay for sex with young women, how many older men would turn that down? Especially in poor Southeast Asian countries where sex work is both cheap and popular? Maybe sex is nothing. The man gets to a bust a nut and the woman gets to feed her family or buy a nice bag. Maybe it’s just a human transaction where nothing, like your wife’s feelings or human decency, matter.
I think my mom’s alcoholism peaked right after my dad left, but before Jayden was born. I remember the parties during my elementary years and the way she would drink until she was in bed and crying. Her friends would come and comfort her, and then she’d ask for me and I’d have to lay there and spoon her and make her feel okay. It was a paralyzing feeling; her needing me to love her.
At some point I grew up and started to hate her instead. And then my dad left and I hated him in a different way. And then my mom got a boyfriend who enabled her alcoholism and I hated him, too. And then she got pregnant and pop! came a little brother into the world, born at the exact same time of day as me – 5:34 a.m. -, a little soul twin I cried over, knowing he had a combination of parents even worse than mine.
Now I’m in California, trying to make my life work somehow. I’m working a minimum-wage job with hopes of becoming a writer. I’m writing, I’m reading, I’m making moves. Sometimes the feeling of panic bubbles up and I remember how thrilled I am to even be trying. Not everyone tries, though not everyone who tries lands on their feet. I just have to make sure I land on mine.
So, at the end of August in the year 2017, in sunny California, here is a list of goals for the next month:
- Finish a spec script
(Yes you can use your life experiences. No it is not self-centered. Do you know how many coming-of-age stories and shows there are for white people? Do you know how much you love Malcolm in the Middle? Start writing yours. Jenni in the middle. And then maybe start to envision directing it. And casting it. Each Sunday, you need work you can show. If not, no Sunday Fun Day for you.) - Really keep track of your money flow
(You’re working minimum wage, you can’t do fun shit unless it’s free shit.) - Eat right, work out right, sleep right
- No to lip-picking, yes to washing hair less
(Check your obsessive compulsions at the door.) - Get an aloe plant for your planter
(Lots of questions here.) - Cook a meal for the family you’re living with
(What are their dietary restrictions? Call home for help.) - Go on a date
(The only way to get over trauma is to rewrite it.) - Make a new friend
- Do things by yourself
- Keep in touch
So if anybody’s reading this and lives in LA and wants to take the metro to look at art or go to the beach or some extra shit like that, holla. I never say no to things friends want to do unless it involves spending a lot of money to get drunk or eat vegan food.
Have a good month, people.
A STOR¥ BY ? 