Beer and Tea

I woke up really late this morning after several stints of being up at 7AM to drive to the Korean Consulate in LA. Don't have to do that anymore. I have a big, fancy, embossed sticker on my passport now. Most of it is written in a language I don't speak, with the exception of the word "Visa" and my name/personal information. That was the last piece. I feel like I'm in a scene from Inception. I keep rubbing the top of my visa over and over again, trying to determine if it's all real.

My friends keep calling me, and I keep leaving to hang out. I have so many different types of friends that they all seem to want to hang out at different times, and it all seems to work out...

Breakfast with Liz and Justine.

Beer and fire pit with Joe.

Dinner with Lora (She's working until 5).

Beer and cartoons with John.

Lunch (cooked @ home) with Phoebe.

Tea in the morning with Genie.

Actually, we both originally said "in the morning," though plans have been made for 1PM. Neither of us is really set up to wake up in the morning (that may be why we're both working part time jobs with weird hours). Regular people wake up early in the morning. Genie and I are NOT regular people. That's probably why we're good friends.

Back to wondering if I'm still dreaming. If I am, then it's a good dream. I have so many friends down here, and they are all telling me how much they are going to miss me. Am I making a mistake, just uprooting everything and leaving? I call myself "lonely bear." Strange that I am now choosing loneliness. It had never been my choice before.

This is different though. Really, what I'm doing right now is vacationing at home. I am around the people I love without having to make any personal sacrifices.

It's a lovely place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there.

That's what people say about most of the places they vacation at. Only this time it isn't true. I do want to stay. Right now, what I am doing is not staying.

It's just beer and tea. It's not a relationship, it's just "hanging out." I hang out with a lot of people, but I've never been in a relationship before. Maybe I run away. Maybe that's what this big embossed sticker on my passport is all about. People say that I'm going to be a rock star there.

If I wanted to be a rock star, I would have practiced the guitar more.

I want to stay somewhere. I want to be in a relationship.

I'm already tired of beer, and tea, and "hanging out" and the other things you do when you're not staying. I don't want to run away.

I Want To Be Like You

Yosemite.

One of nature’s great wonders. A jewel on the face of northern California. An impressive collection of really big rocks.

I hope I see a bear.

There are warning signs everywhere, complete with instructions on how to be sure you run into one. Karolina says that I should not wish to see a bear. She says that bears are not cute and cuddly like in the cartoons.

She lies.

Bears are, in fact, adorable and full to the brim with the warm fuzzies. I am going to catch one by rubbing myself in honey, rolling around in graham crackers and singing the King Louis song from The Jungle Book.

I hope I don’t run into any bees.

Maybe I should dress like a little black rain cloud.

No one watches those cartoons anymore.

I think I could make a really good life for myself here in Yosemite. With my new bear friends, we would eat berries, wrestle, and hatch schemes to steal picnic baskets from the park rangers. Mom says we have to go back to the cabin and eat tacos.

Pooh.

Being a human is so full of disappointment.

A Cabin By The Lake

Today is Hannah’s birthday and we’re all camping at Bass Lake. We go camping every year, and sometimes I come along too. It’s a long drive most of the time, but this time I live at home, so it was less of a decision this year and more of a subconscious dragging from one place of residence to the other. I’m the black sheep of the family, except I’m pale white and sunburn really easily. I’m the white and sometimes bright red sheep of the family

It’s not that I don’t love my family, because I clearly do. They’re my only link to this world when I don’t know how to make sense of my life. Sometimes though, sometimes I think that maybe I’m a white and sometimes bright red sheep in a family of Llamas, or perhaps mountain lions. Maybe… deer? I don’t know, as long as it’s something un-insulting. I just feel like we’re different.

Timmy and Hannah keep talking about surfing with Nate and Tabs. (those two seem more like they belong than me) and everybody keeps jamming along to Kesha or Kiesha (don’t really know how that’s spelled) whist quoting lines from movies about sports.

Hey, do you guys think that this could be the lake where they filmed Bethoven? That would be Soooo awesome!

Oh, my God! I love Beethoven!

I think that was in Beethoven 2…

Everyone lays out in their perfectly stretched out bodies on the beach. I’m in the shade. I’m writing and reading.

Oh, my God, I can’t WAIT to get in the water.

Me too, I am Soooo ready. You have NO idea!

What’s in the backpack?

Books.

You’re carrying around a backpack full of books? This is our vacation. I carry a backpack full of books around when I’m in school.

I like books.

I like sitting and reading. They have to write and read, because they are in school. There is no school at the lake. It’s just a cabin. I should not want to sit on the shore to read and write. I should not like the shade, when I can lie half naked in the sun and talk about the different flavors of peach that Jamba Juice has to offer.

Stephen, aren’t you going to get in the water?

I’ll go when I want to. Why do I have to right now?

I think everyone wants to be in the water right now.

I finally go into the water. Everyone else gets out. I move out of the shade. Everyone wants to get in the car. A herd of Llamas and one brick red Sheep.

Why didn’t you go when everyone else was going? Don’t be mad.

I hate it when people tell me not to be mad when I’m not mad. It just proves the point that I am unable to show how I feel in front of people.

I’m not mad. I’m just not a Llama.

Timmy is driving home. He is strong and muscular. He surfs, and he plays Bass in a rock band. Somehow being an introspective, socially backward home-school kid didn’t transfer over to the whole family. I remember though. He used to pee outside, and watch Star Trek with me and Jon. He used to cry to Mom about everything. He should thank me for those muscles. Jon and I used to fight him. He became strong because he had something to fight against, and he became cool because he had something to prove, something Jon and I gave up on. I had nothing to fight, which is why he can bench press me. We don’t wrestle anymore, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not strong.

You strengthen the muscles that you exercise. They didn’t have to deal with being the backward one in a family of forward moving people. They didn’t ever create the muscle memory to look away and pretend not to notice that everyone is either staring at you or completely ignoring you. I’ve always had either one or the other. I have a savings bond of awkward stares that has matured into the thousands. I keep them all.

It’s not just camping in a cabin by the lake. It’s when people tell you how funny you are, when all else they can talk about is how pretty your sisters are or how strong your brothers are. It’s every time someone asks you how you’re doing and you don’t understand that they don’t really want to know. It’s every note you write to some girl you SWEAR you’re falling in love with, even though she’s already started talking about the man that she’ll eventually leave you for. A real man. He’s funny and good looking. It’s everyone who thinks it will make you feel better to know that there’s no one else in the world like you.

Really. No one. I’ve never met anyone like you and I don’t think I ever will.

I keep them all.

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.