I first knew her as a young girl,

With long hair and a child’s grace.

We knew not how love would furl.



My vision of her was replaced,

When we had both turned eleven

And the boys began to give chase.



Like an angel out of heaven,

We watched her body develop,

While such dogs became my brethren.



The arms of men would raise her up

Till she was almost out of sight.

I, meanwhile, was still a pup.



I called to her from such a height,

To tell her how much I loved her,

And the hounds growled for a fight.



She was caught up in the valor,

And who am I to call that wrong?

In my pain I turned to liqueur.



With it I made my pain more strong.

As I fell into the dark depths,

And sadness was my only song.



She saw me heaving empty breaths;

A young pup crying far away

And she came to descend those steps.



She looked me in the eye that day,

With the same sweetness of days gone,

And told me all that she could say:



“Aiko, would you please sing your song?

I remember that we had sown

That our friendship would be lifelong.



I’m sorry I left you alone

I’m sorry that I pushed you out,

Could we, maybe, share the same home?”



Her lips curled into a pout,

As I sat there in stunned silence.

The other dogs began to shout.



They roared at me to insight violence,

But her eyes were on only me.

And suddenly it all made sense.



All this pain, to the tenth degree,

All this pain that had built my past

So that one day we could be free.



Free to be together at last,

An unlikely pair to find love.

The angel, and the pup outcast.



It was like a gift from above.



Hi! I hope you liked this poem. Let me know what you thought!

I picked up this image from another blog, Morningmasthi, though I’m unsure if it is theirs or someone else’s. Feel free to check them out!



Like the smell of souring juice,

Like the taste of an unripe lime,

Your name torments me all the time,

And your mem’ry tightens the noose.


You’ve made me see in fiery red.

The sight of you entangling

Left my heart void of everything

And now, inside, I feel dead.


What did I do to snuff our light?

With you I felt destined to be.

And yet, alone, you have left me,

Here, bitter, in the dead of night.


Hello everyone,


So I was watching episodes of Avatar: the Last Airbender last night while I was bored and I got hit by a sharp punch to my stomach. Now, my assailant wasn’t someone breaking in, or a person being playful with me, but instead it was nostalgia. Which is weird. I could go on a rant about how Avatar is one of the best shows ever for several reasons, and even if that is true, the only reason I would do it is because the show means so much to me.

Nostalgia is one of those things that make us reminisce about the past, typically in a good way. Sometimes it’s bittersweet, because things have changed so much since then. That’s effectively what this experience was, which was really hard. And it got me thinking: why does a simple television show cause such an emotional response to the thought of it? Or why does any item do this? For example, a lot of people identify various items with ideas—one my family enjoys is the symbol of the hummingbird, which we associate with my grandfather. Or the urn necklace that I own. Each of these things make us think of a very specific and vivid time in our lives that were high drama. Maybe nostalgia is just a trigger, like trauma is for many veterans. Except instead of being painful, it is something positive.

So if nostalgia makes us emotional, how does it impact our lives? I mean, I certainly don’t think that I have been as impacted by a television show I liked as a kid in comparison to someone like my late grandfather. But maybe I have. Avatar is a show I watched between the ages of 10 and 15. Which was about 6 years ago now. For a lot of people, that’s not a very long time, but speaking that 6 years is over a quarter of my life time, it certainly feels like a long time ago. And I can still remember this show vividly. I can almost recite parts of it line by line because of how attentive to it I was.

So something that I am curious about is how nostalgia works for ideas in comparison to real experiences. In a few weeks I’ll be going on vacation to Montana, and seeing the location my grandmother is buried at. I never met my grandmother—she died well before I was born. I have only seen a couple pictures of her and heard a few stories. But I know that she meant a lot to my father and that her death was extremely emotional for him. I also can remember stories he told me about her. In remembering those stories I don’t feel the same emotional impact as I did for this show. But I wonder if seeing her grave will make me feel something similar—or if I’ll experience anything at all. What if all I feel is indifference?

It’s a bit odd to be aware of the possibility of emotion but not being aware of how it will actually occur inside you. Perhaps I am over thinking this though. Maybe instead of theorizing what could be, I should just experience it as it will be and appreciate whatever I get. At least that prevents the possibility of anxiety over something so liberating in my life. I mean, it’ll be vacation! Why worry! Let me know about moments where you have felt nostalgic in your life!


Hello everyone,


Do you ever wonder what could have been? Or what should have been? I know I spend quite a bit of time in the waning hours of the night thinking about it. Lately though it has crept into my mind a little bit more often than, say, after the moon is bright and the world is silent. I’ve noticed the reflection seeping into the daily aspects of my life—in between workout sets, on the drive home from work, and so on.

Maybe it’s because of the excessive levels of drama that a member of my extended family has decided to apply to the rest of us, because thinking about other times helps takes my mind off the problems of the current one. Either way, I thought I’d share with you guys that the last few years have been both wonderful and terrible. I think in the last couple years my life has been both at its most happy as well as it’s most difficult.

For example, it has been wonderful because I have gotten the opportunities to enjoy the things that I am passionate about in life, as well as branch out my groups of friends (acquaintances, if you read some of my previous blogs more strict definitions of what friends are). I met my best friends over the last four years. I found the clique that I fit into well. At the same time, I lost a lot of people who meant a lot to me. My best friend, the person I thought was there for me when I really needed someone to talk to, abandoned me for superfluous reasons. I haven’t done a very good job finding and maintaining romantic relationships. The nights feel more and more lonely—to the point where the days are starting to feel the same sometimes.

Of course, there is always a push-pull in life. Good things happen and bad things happen. Sometimes it’s more of one than the other. But I often think about how things would be if my best friend and I had worked things out. Or if I had at least been given the chance to…but that’s in the past now. Or is it? I mean, maybe I should go text her, or call her, or leave a letter on her doorstep. Maybe I’d just be wasting my time. Maybe I’d just be uselessly getting my hopes up. There’s not “but” here. That’s just the unfortunately reality. It’s possible we could work things out, but once abandoned for superfluous things, it’s better off that I just let someone like that go. To extend this to anyone, once you’ve been shown that a person will only value you if you conform to their exact desires, then they are asking you not to be yourself. And yourself is the best of what you are. Just because someone seems great to you, doesn’t mean they are. Many people are just as despicable as you are in your mind. They think racist things unintentionally. They judge someone based one what they look like at first glance. They will talk behind your back, even if that’s not what they think they are doing. Even if they don’t mean to, it happens. Be you, and things will work out. At least, that’s all we can hope for.


I’d watched her,

As she sat in the shade.

The shadows were like a cure

For that sunburned maid.


I’d watched her,

As she went to the beach

Her smile like the lure

Of a summer ripe peach.


I’d watched her,

And she’d giggled at my jokes.

We’d drive to Big Sur

Just to get away from our folks.


I’d watched her,

Sleeping like an angel.

Her hair felt soft and pure

Yet her skin had turned glacial.


And I’d watched her,

As she was lowered in the ground.

I had been so sure

That she’d always be around.


Hey everyone,


I want to start off by inviting you all to read a story that I posted to the blog yesterday. It’s quite long (about 16 pages double spaced) but so far I’ve only had positive feedback. It also didn’t post properly to WordPress, so I am worried that some of my normal readers may not have seen it. On to the discussion!

Ok. Tough losses last night for the Sanders community. I feel like there are two ways that people take losing. There are two archetypes that I can think of for people who lose—those who take it with grace and those who displace the realities. I say archetypes because the reality is that anyone can be a sore loser about something if the mood hit’s them right. Heck, I’m pretty good about losing, because I’ve done it so many times, and I still get caught up occasionally. Some of the more zealous Bernie supporters epitomize this. Sure, there are definitely arguments that the system is rigged, or that the polling stations “misread” ballots, and while those errors (or “errors,” depending on your view) are unfair and unacceptable, they also are very few and far between. Excluding maybe the lines at polling places in Arizona, there really isn’t an excuse in this kind of argument.

Speaking of polling places, I had the best experience voting that I could possibly have. I mean, it was awkward that my mail-in ballot was sent to the wrong address, and I did not get it until the day before it was due, but hey, that just meant that I had to drop it off at an actual polling place. Anyways, I took it, and dropped it off with the people there. And the place was so empty. This is the real problem with the system—so few people feel the need to vote. “Good” turn out for us is 33%. I know it’s a choice to vote, but by not voting you remove the opportunity to choose a candidate.

Ok, I digress, make sure you vote in November, even if you don’t like either candidate that much. Moving on, we all know the bad losers. The guys and gals that say “my control broke” or “man if only that ref hadn’t been totally against us” every single time they lose. We get it, you’re insecure and don’t want to admit you just got out played (note that if either of these situations were true, it wouldn’t take an explanation). But the people who take a loss with grace are the kind of people we need more of in the world. The people who can bow their head and say, “yup. I lost. I’m not happy about it, but congratulations on beating me.” If you value yourself as an opponent in anything, then you should be the first to congratulate your opponent when they defeat you. Because that should mean a lot. I play a hobby fairly competitively, and I shake my opponent’s hand after every match not because I am happy that I lost, but because I am happy that they beat me. Not everybody can beat me.

Which is a good way to look at things. Not only does a person respect their opponent by taking a loss with grace, but they also respect themselves. The reality is there will always be time for a rematch later, but in that moment it is a kindness to accept being outplayed, or that someone got luckier than you. It happens. And that’s ok.