Category Archives: writing

Another Honest Topic

My family makes me mad. Which is kind of childish but when it deals with my personal life
of happiness than it is a big deal.

This does not have to do with my parents or my siblings. They are a different story which I
have yet to write out.

My aunts, uncles, and cousins. All of them drive me up the wall. The last time all of us
saw each other we all left on a bad note. Everybody went their own ways with no
intentions of fixing things up with the people who they twisted.

I’m not sure how everybody else did after those events but it left me in a dark hole. So
dark I could not see any light. Of course I don’t live that way anymore, but
there is still a veil to reminding me of what passed and can never be healed.

It’s been almost over two years now, which should make the situation better and less
annoying. Time heals and I feel ready for another family reunion where things
can go well. I want it to happen, because despite all the horrible things in
the past, I miss those idiots.

I feel as if even though I try to make progress to overcome my fears there are still those
who are clinging on to the past. Which has become apparent to me after these
past few weeks.

The family in question. I love them to death and truth be told they stuck with me through all
my hard times. I never made them uncomfortable though and made sure they had a
way out when others were being uncontrollable.

At this moment I cannot help but be uncomfortable in the position they are putting me
in. My cousin is getting married, to someone who is not Hmong, so I assume they
will be doing a formal American wedding. I am happy for her and her decisions.

But…

Here it is. The big deal breaker for me. They must need phone numbers to contact family
members to tell them of the news. Plus on top of that, needing addresses to
send out invites.

I can understand. BUT! Do they have to ask me for addresses and phone numbers which
do not belong to me?

Is the internet not right there in the face? Is Facebook not working on their computer? Are my
cousins not able to write a simple letter to the certain people they want to
contact?

Is it so hard to overcome this hate for a happy situation?

I may be putting things out of content. Seriously though…

Why do they have to make it harder than it seems to ask for those things? We are all family
and should accept family requiring that information at times. But get those
information from the person in question themselves and not from someone else.

I seriously had to go and ask the family members myself for their info for my cousin…
Which is what got me mad. Something so simple but they make it so hard and have
to nag me for.

I gave them all the info the first time and they had to lose it. Hence asking me a second
time. Why is it they don’t learn from their mistakes…?

When family ask of me for my own information I give it to them freely. Sure I would wonder
but I give them full confidence to not use it against me.

No more of this. I am done with it. I will continue my silence for my own happiness.

 

What is a Name?

What is a name?

A way to identify oneself? A way for others to identify a certain person?

If that is true, why is it that I do not identify myself as “Lucy” yet?

I hear that name often. I write that name often.

But when I think of myself, that name “Lucy”, does not pop up.

It reminds me on that one time, long ago.

My family and I were watching a Lucille Ball documentary. Throughout the whole film I kept on hearing Lucy, but forgetting that I am also Lucy. I was named after Lucille Ball since my parents loved the show. I even came to love shows and movies she was in too.

Back to the point… Sorry for the random tangents…

What is the point again?

I can’t sleep and I keep thinking of weird things as I try to sleep.

To be truthful I still cannot believe I was given such a beautiful name. Lucy means light.

I will figure out why I was given this name, and give it a good meaning.

I had so much planned out for this, but my mind drifts off quickly. I was going to mention URL names and other identifications, but then Lucille Ball happened… Shows how messy my mind can be at night..

 

 

Dear Me, Part One

I have been reading a lot of Dear Teen Me stories. It got me to think, what would I write to myself? Did I want to recall such memories like those of whom I read? Memories filled with regrets, hate, decisions to make us who we are today. Do I want to think of my bad memories as the memories that helped make me a better person?

Was being disregarded by my uncle, when all I wanted to do was follow along in the walk and he told me to go back home, a memory I want to use. When my neighbor kid would come over and say that our dog liked him better, and we had to force the dog back home. Following girls into the boy’s bathroom because I thought it was cool, but we got caught by a teacher and was told on. Being lifted upside down by a boy who I considered a friend, were these memories to be used? Did I want to remember how I had gotten a reward for something and my name was listed with others in the lunch room. How my sister was trying to show me, but the girls sitting across from us thought my sister was pointing her fingers at them. A few minutes later, my sister would run to the girl’s bathroom in tears. Is this how I want to remember things?

I just realized… These are all my memories of California… I was just a kid, younger than eight, and I was going through all that. I wonder what it would have been like if my parents decided to stay.

Is it better that we moved?

Do these memories mold me in anyway? Did I learn from them? Did I become a better person?

I learnt that family, although I cannot live without them, is better to be missed than hated.

I learnt that our family is just not cut out to take care of animals, except for goldfishes.

I learnt that true friends will stick by you, even after all the hard times you go through together.

I learnt that I lived in a racist world, were people I loved get hurt, yet we had to deal with it.

Remembering all these memories, I am kind of glad to get away from that harsh environment. Sure there were some bad times here in Wisconsin too, but it did get better. I can’t even imagine the person I would be if I still stuck around those people. Even if I did have a childhood friend there, would they be willing to deal with a girl like me? Would a girl like me being okay dealing with people like them?

There are many more moments in California, too much to write out now. Some I would not like to remember.

Finding Chemistry in Chemistry Class

I have a story to tell. It was the first time I ever regretted rejecting someone. The first time I realized that I really did like the boy who asked me out. The first time I found out the true meaning of you never realize what you have till it is gone.

It was my junior year in high school and I had taken Chemistry. In that class, we had assigned seats, and it changed every so and then. I kept on having the same person to sit by. Some random boy who was loud and annoying.

Finally, it was the third time we switched seats, and I finally got someone new. This boy who was in my class. I never really paid him much attention. He was just like every other boy. Well that was the case till we started talking and I started to notice him more often.

We talked, we flirted. He wanted more. He wanted to go out on a date. So he asked me out one day. That was before he told me that he loved me in my own language.

Maybe if I wasn’t contemplating his motives. Maybe if I didn’t go through all those teasing in the past. Maybe I would have taken him more serious and maybe I would of never regretted saying no.

He had actually taken the time and asked someone how to say “I love you” in a different language. At first I wondered what he was saying, the accent was off, but when I figured it out. I didn’t know how to respond.

He asked me out to McDonalds. He let me choose anything from the dollar menu. But I still said no. It was not the best of time. My eldest sister was having troubles with going out with her boyfriend who was a different race. My parents gave her a hard time. I had to see everything and I did not want to go through the same things.

I gave him that story. But did I regret it soon after. I regretted every single day after.

He soon left the class. I was left wondering what to do with myself.

It was probably half a year to a full year later that I saw him again. My friends and I decided to go ice skating. To my surprise, he was there too. We didn’t talk to each other though. But I could tell that he was not over the situation. I wasn’t either, but I guess I hid it better.

While I played around with my friends, he skated at full speed and even fell. I wondered if he still had some grudge against what had happened between us.

Today I regretted my actions the most. I have worked my job for 4 years, and never had I seen the boy who haunted my dreams. I wondered how it would be if he walked into shop one day. I would have never guessed the day to be today.

I walked into work, thinking it was gonna be like any other day. But it wasn’t. He was there. Shopping with his friends.

I had a chat with my best friend about this. She told me that I should of at least talked to him. And truthfully, I should have. By the time I had clocked in for the day and got back on the floor, he was checking out and gone already.

I am never going to get the chance again. I will probably never see him again for a long time. I am going to continue living my life full of regrets..

My College Essay a.k.a Realizing My Dreams

The truth is that I want to be a writer. I have great PASSION for it. But for the longest time I was in great denial about it.

In high school there was a big career decision that everyone had to make and my parents set the goal high. So it put me in confusion. I put myself in general studies for the longest of time with no idea on where to go in life. At the current moment I am just stuck in my studies aka not going to school at the moment.

But at the beginning of this year, I thought about myself a lot. Who I am and what I loved, I even thought about my past, my present and future. The outcome of it was that I wanted to write, or should I say continue writing.

During high school, I spent a lot of time writing. Journals and plots for stories were half of what I wrote throughout the whole day. Right after high school though, I was in a slump. I could not even pick up a pencil or look at a piece of paper. I thought I was suffering from writer’s block. Though I did look up writer’s block and found out that what I was going through wasn’t writer’s block. It was the great denial of wanting to write as a career, and having to do better than a writer.

The pressure of doing better was always there. But in the back of my mind, there was writing. All my stories that I wanted to come to life. A world was building in my mind and it was screaming to come alive.

I had asked myself constantly about what I wanted to do. There were days when it was all I thought about, it got to the point where I was even dreaming about it.

The one dream that will always stick with me, as if I had it last night, happened on a pathway. On each side of this pathway were doors. There was this famous Asian singer there, and he was acting as a dream guide. I meet up with him and he questioned my career path. He took me into this pathway and opened up a door. I was in shock to be honest, because there on the floor was a pile of books.

For the longest time when I thought about goals, I kept thinking about publishing a book. That is what I dream of. Publishing a book of mine is my dream goal. No other idea’s pop into my mind when I think of goals. Every time it is to publish a book.

Why? It is not only that I love to write. I love to read. When I was introduced to books, I was an ecstatic elementary child. I could not wait to line up to go to the library to choose a new book to read. The fact that I could borrow books to read amazed me.

I read every chance I could. I remember the pride I had when my family went to the public library and I could point out all the books I had read so far.

There are memories of wanting to keep reading to find out the progression of a character and the story plot, and it kept me up throughout the night until I could not open my eyes anymore. The excitement when the hero wins, or the sadness that engulfed me when a character passed away, there was also the hatred of evil characters. The climax of story that made me squealing or screaming, sitting at the edge of my chair, too scared to keep reading, and the curiosity that kept me reading. I loved it all.

I loved it so much and it made me that much happier. Every time I finished a book, I would sit there and hug the book, and just take a moment of silence. Thinking of all the great times I had with the book. I felt fulfilled.

That was what I wanted to do. Give that great feeling to some child/teenager who loves reading as much as I do. I wanted to give a fantasy to a reader who wanted to go on adventures, the reader who relied on books to get through the day. I wanted to give a way of escape to readers who needed it.

Writing is what I want to do. I have great passion for it. I have to go through steep mountains and deep rivers for it to happen, but I will climb and learn how to swim if I have to.

Finally, I want to go back to school, for a creative writing degree. I am done with fulfilling others dreams. I want to run and catch mine.