Snippets...

…of conversations had around my house.

Are you eating? Did your mother make dinner?

No. I was just hungry.

Mom didn’t make dinner yet? What are you eating?

A burrito.

A Burrito? Stephen’s eating a burrito.

Stephen? You’re eating a burrito? I’m making dinner…

It’s 8:00. I just thought…

Are we all having burritos for dinner? I thought you were making chicken.

I’m making you lunch.

You don’t have to make lunch. I can do it.

I’m making everyone lunch. Do you want me to exclude you?

Do you want to go to the Rodeo parade today? First time in a hundred years they’ve had it.

Yeah. I’ve missed that.

You want to go?

I don’t think I can…

I’m going to be dressed as a clown. I told them you might come.

What? I don’t have a clown suit.

Really? Your brother and sisters go to Safeway dressed as clowns all the time.

I really don’t think that’s true, Dad.

Do you want to go with me to my prayer meeting tomorrow? I’d like you to come.

Dad prays a lot. Not very loud, so that you would know it. But loud enough that the relevant people get the message. I think I’m a bit jealous of that. I feel the need to say everything out loud (like what I’m writing right now). I think he really doesn’t care what other people think of him. Mom loves him. God loves him. The rest of us are learning.

Somewhere in downtown Salinas (I’m not sure exactly where because I get lost all the time) there is a room where 10-15 middle aged men and women meet early in the morning to pray for the city. I don’t know how long they have been doing it, but I know that I was there this last Thursday to watch it.

I mean join them.

I mean, I don’t know…

Prayer is a difficult thing for me. It has been a while. Not since I’ve prayed, but since I’ve … wanted to. Me and God, we have trust issues. Same as me and Dad. I don’t really know how they started, but they’re here, and it’s only been a while since I was able to admit it.

This is not the time for that.

A full room. There is a man with a left handed 12 string guitar. It’s a Taylor. He doesn’t play very well.

Stephen Elliott, come on down! You’re the next contestant on “Which of these old people knew you when you were 5, and do you remember them?”

It’s the game show where everyone loses. It’s a little creepy when you enter a room full of strangers who already know a lot about you somehow. I used to want to be famous. I think it might feel something like this.

But these are not adoring fans. They’re religious folk. Praying people. Dad’s friends. I have no idea what they are going to talk about.

Stephen, could we pray for you? Before you go to Korea, I mean?

I was sure that things would never be the same again. That I had grown beyond certain types of faith to the point that nothing would seem like magic anymore. I figure everyone gets that way eventually. We become old.

I think that I was the oldest person there that morning. The one who thought he had seen everything. None would be in agreement. There was no point in agreeing anymore.

I don’t really know why I decided to go to Korea.

That’s a lie. I know, I just don’t want to tell anyone.

That’s not the reason why I’m going now.

That’s the final snippet. The last piece of the conversation before going home. Nothing is as it used to be.

I haven’t seen everything. Tomorrow is meant for someone else.

Day 1: Failure

I apologize that it has been a long time since updating y’all on my life. This place is strange and backwards. I wake up every morning with a different thought in my head and there are far too many to put in writing. I wouldn’t have time to live.

Though, some thoughts have continued to loiter around in my brain since the day I got here, so I think I will share them.

I woke. That first day, when I woke up I was 20 years old again. In a time machine funk. This was the last thing I remember here. Moving away. Not wanting to go then not wanting to come back. It’s a game of Russian Roulette. I am willing to bet that I won’t want to go again when it is time. That’s the thing about time. It’s the trigger. Location is that spinning mechanism that has a bullet, that one chance at escape, nestled inside. We never know which one it is in, but we know one thing: time is the trigger. We do not control when it fires off. We may only choose where to point it.

This place is different. Five years have been lived here, by more than one person. You can see it. The walls are painted a different color. Blackboard in the kitchen, mom says. You can write on it. It used to be, at least, until one of Timmy’s friends drew a body part on it. Now no one is allowed. I think I know which part, but I can’t be sure. I have no idea what makes heterosexual young men so obsessed with that area. I really don’t.

There’s someone I don’t know here. His name is Glen. He says he knows my brother. My brother doesn’t get here until tomorrow. In the meantime I have to wait a day to be introduced to him. I can’t talk to him. I think Glen might be a robot.

Dad says we need to fix the tractor.

What the hell? Where am I? I don’t know how to fix a tractor.

Glen says he can try it. Timmy says he already knows what to do. I go outside too. I’m going to be useful. I’m going to try to be useful. I’m going to stand around awkwardly and take pictures. I now have pictures of Timmy now, and Glen, and the cat who kept trying to crawl in Timmy’s lap while he was trying to fix the tractor. The two of them made a machine work for a few more months but I took a bullet from the gun. I stole a moment from time that it won’t ever get back. Insignificant though it may be, this is my life for now, and this is what I remember from it. I think some day this day will be important to me. I don’t know why.

I was supposed to be studying for my TEFL certificate today. It was too full of random things like this. I guess I failed. Good for me. Somehow, someday.

I'm going to right myself.

In the meantime, I think I like it here:)

25 Years Old, No Job, And I Live With My Parents

I woke up early yesterday morning, and tried not to wake Sean up. I'm glad I failed. It would be a shame if I didn't get to say goodbye. He hurt his hand while we were moving, and when his brother couldn't come out to help him move more, he said "That's okay, I have my other family here."

It's true. He's my other family.

I'm leaving my family. To go be with my family. Then, I am going to leave both families in order to be in a different country. Why am I doing this? I feel like I haven't really asked myself that question a lot. I really was at first trying to see if I COULD do it. and now that I realize that I can, now that everything is starting to move, we're generating heat from the source... doubt comes like a cold wind from the north. I'm going for six weeks to live in the north. To live in doubt.

As soon as I hit the freeway, all the warning lights on my dashboard flash on. They are trying to tell me something. It's an omen. The final interpretation of a nightmare. I say a prayer and keep on moving. If something goes wrong, even a flat tire, it's over. I don't have any money. I have tied all my hopes to the mast of a single ship, out on a storm torn sea. I'll have nothing to float on if I sink.

It's weird, I think. How often I am just inches away from ruin and failure all the time. I guess I don't think about it. Issues come up. I have problems that seem unsolvable, and suddenly, at the last moment, everything works out. I've literally had money appear in my pocket. I've had food delivered to my doorstep without me knowing why. I guess it's more than coincidence. I just have to keep driving, no matter what the lights on the dashboard say. I am going home.

What about my family? I am so different now from who I was when I last lived with them. Different in a good way sometimes, but also... just different. I've seen and been through so much that has marked me. I made decisions that only made things worse in that darkness. I am still dealing with the repercussions of those decisions. What if they notice? What will I do then?

What if I can't learn to speak Korean? They say after twelve, it's nearly impossible. I'm 25. Who am I kidding? How am I going to survive out there? Will I come back from this experience changed at all? I have to. Change is vital for me. If I don't change, I am going to a place that I never wanted to be.

Alone.

I would have to make this trip all alone, wouldn't I? It seems I'm always alone, even when there are people in the room. And this trip is no exception. I'm on my way to being alone for a while. God help me, I thought this was the right decision to make.

Every single time I hit a bump on the road, or my car swerves in a funny way, I start to think the worst. It's going to flip over and explode, and I'll die by the roadside before a single one of my dreams is realized. God help me.

I have to believe that he will.

I pull up to the driveway of my parents house, alive and with a perfectly functional car. They lied to me, all those lights on the dashboard, trying to keep me from going anywhere. Inside is my family. The first people to ever truly understand me. I will be okay with them. I will not turn back, even when it is frightening to do so. This is the place where God has put me. Thirty dollars in my bank account. 25 years old, no job, and I live with my parents. Call me overly optimistic, but I think something wonderful is about to happen.

No (love?) Lost

My brother (who has been married for almost two years now) says that I do not understand what it means to be in love.

He's probably right. Not that it's my fault.

Maybe it is.

Love.

I guess I don't really know what it means. I wish I could understand it, but at the same time, I really don't. If what I've been through wasn't love, it hurt bad enough that whatever love might be scares the shit out of me.

Have you ever wanted someone so badly that you thought you would die if you couldn't be near them? And then, you find out that you can't. Love breaks her promise. You can't have what you wanted and it didn't kill you. You have to live without it.

That's why I never pitied Romeo and Juliet. At least they had something that was real. They both felt it, and once it was gone, neither of them had to endure that loss for very long. I, on the other hand, am a living, breathing regret. A monument to loves broken promise.

I talk to God a lot about this stuff. I try not to yell or swear, but it rarely holds up for very long. They say that he never wastes a hurt, never hurts us more than we can handle. There are days that I find that hard to believe. I feel like a dog with a choke collar. Sometimes I just doesn't understand that I'm supposed to move when it tightens around my neck. And love was pulling strings in my life for as long as I can remember. Can I be free of it for just this once? It's got a hold on me, and I can't find anything positive in it.

That's why I shirk away from the question when people ask me if I'm "interested in anyone." As though mild interest was really what it was about. As if it were that simple. I feel like that question is like asking someone if they want to stop by the dentist for a root canal. It's a ridiculous question. That's just not the way things are done. One must first decide if it is something that is necessary, and if they can afford to cover the cost.

Because it does cost.

Sometimes with out the payoff.

So no, I'm not "interested in anyone" right now.

I'm still catching my breath.

Life of a Starving Artist in Haiku

I was trying to come up with something to read at my open mic night this week. I've been really busy, and I haven't had time to write anything really long, so I tried my hand at haiku. I wanted to write things about my life that frustrated me. I wanted to get like three or four of them, but I had so much fun that I did fifteen. I really want to share them with you all. I categorized them for easy reference:)

JOB

Hello sir. Can I

Get you a glass of wine to

Wash down that smug look?

Thanks for applying

We want you to have this job

Oh. You're an artist

I have a B.S.

It's really a B.A., but

It's in film, so... yeah.

Account overdrawn

I want to change perspective

Paycheck underdrawn.

I am a waiter

Until something better comes

my job is to wait.

GIRLS

You must wait until

My heart stops beating so fast

Then I will call you.

ROOMMATES

I will wash dishes

When hell freezes or I write

My English paper

Arhythmic snoring

If you take requests could you

Sing soft in your sleep?

Your girlfriend giggles

When you tickle her elbows

I'll cut off your hands.

Heavy metal songs

Fill my ears in the mornings

I need a Q tip.

I wish I could say

"Go to bed, it's 3 AM"

In Vietnamese.

I like loud music

until I'm tired and have to

work in the morning.

I know how to sleep

With the lights on and a big

pillow on my face.

MISC.

Bumbling hornet.

How are you inside my car?

Did you bring a friend?

Is it chocolate chips?

I found in my silverware?

Never mind, rat shit.

Haha. Sorry about that. It made me giggle.

A Prayer For Cindy Park

Awake in me

Soul of a floating shipwreck on a war torn sea

Whose tidal patterns never cease

To tear

At the foundations of the rocks who stand firm

on the ever- decreasing shore

Break this ship from your beach

Sign your sail to the wind

That echoes my name

This untamed ocean of mine moves

In shifts

In phases

Effaces

The shore lined sand castles

Where all my children used to live.

Break free of this earth

And let your heart be led

To a place where feet will find no solid space

to tread

My love

Means never wondering when

Your toes will touch on solid earth again

I will rename you in ruin

In the salt

In the pounding current events

Floating driftwood, keep your lungs

Just above the water

Just beyond the vanishing point

My thoughts of you

Would eclipse the moon

If I could stack them on your tired head

Drown in me

Let slide to deep

These skeletons that you carry

On your slowly breaking back.

Never will you stand on your own two feet again.

Oh waves, hold me back

Oh ocean

Oh beautiful

Floating shipwreck.

Beautiful Hurt

Besides the arhythmic snoring and teeth-grinding of my roommate, it's completely quiet here at home. I'll miss him when he's gone. I said that once before, when it was a distant thought, a glimmering possibility, far off enough to almost be untrue, but now I know. Acceptance letter arrived a few nights ago. He's going to be an architect.

I'm so proud of him. He worked so hard and he deserves this.

I'm letting it sink in that I'm going to be alone soon. That I will have to share this room someday with a stranger (though I'll likely be the stranger of us two). I'm not sad about it. I've stretched and worn my supply of sadness in this life, like moth-eaten winter coat. Like a pair of ripped burlap shoes that should have been thrown out long ago. I'm not able to be sad anymore.

I carry all my hurt with me. It's been a long time.

I went to a party tonight. Surrounded by people I know and love. It was Rika's Birthday party. I just wandered the room for most of the night, watching them all. I still don't know what to do around people. I like the quiet. The stillness of night time. The hush reaches a deafening pace about 1 AM. It helps me remember.

I've been hurt. I've been hurt a lot, with few moments of real remembrance. I have no interest in why anymore. I don't feel the need to keep asking that question. Not in the quiet, black speckled with black night that I don't have to share with anyone. This time is ours. My God and me.

Is it vanity? Is it narcissism? That I imagine I can feel the Earth picking up speed, swirling around the sun at such a rate that I may one day just slip off it, and be crushed under the gravitational thrust of something so much greater than me? I feel pinned to the ground of this great massive weight of sky, like a bug trapped in a spider's nest.

I am not afraid.

Fear will do me no good any longer. I've lost. I chose loss, and it found me. It sought me out, and tried to remake me. Now I carry the weight of my pain on my back. I carry all of them. The ones that hurt me. The ones that tried to help me. The ones that see me as beyond helping.

People ask me about it all the time. This pain that I keep hidden. They want to know so that they can lift it off my shoulders, perhaps so that I might breathe again.

I gave up on breathing long ago. I wouldn't trade my pain for a world of happiness, if such a thing existed. I met you through it. I can see something in it too. Something deeper than happiness. My pain is a beautiful pain, that I can't put completely into words, or paint on any canvas. None will stretch far enough.

I am grateful. I have been touched by something deeper, darker, and more rich in color than anything I could ever have taken upon myself. I have fallen head over heels for the hurt that found me. Alone is not a punishment. Pain is not a punishment. I will not run from it any longer.