Love is Easy. Relationships are Hard.
by Kelly Zen-Yie Tsai

If the timing is right. If the communication
is clear. If the desires are the same. If the
geography can be condensed. If the eating
habits are compatible. If the sleep schedule
can be arranged. If the friends are not trifling.
If the exes are not crazy. If the toilet bowl stays
scrubbed. If the taxes are paid. If the credit isn't
shot. If the papers are legit. If the addictions are
handled. If the life dreams are pursued. If the phone
can be picked up. If the families are friendly
enough. If the jealousy can be reigned in. If the hygiene
is on point. If the changes can be trusted. If the punches
aren't thrown. If the insults are neutralized. If the jobs
stay steady. If the passion reinvigorates itself. If the
religious practices don't desecrate each other. If the lies
recede to truth. If the truth stays off Facebook and
Twitter...and MySpace. If the Skype doesn't malfunction.
If the childhood trauma heals. If the teen trauma heals.
If the young adult trauma heals. If the middle-aged trauma
heals. If the sociopolitical worlds settle. If the grudges
are finally let go...

If we can do it (just this one time) for the love.


this is SO true for all relationships...and so concise! :)

A Pipetting Poem for Flizz/My last day at Youth Speaks

She fears Cardiac arrest for the rest of the beats in her heart, whose pace doesn’t yield to its maker

She pipettes the pieces of her heart into Petri dishes
Carefully
Making sure all cells are accounted for
Separating the broken pieces
Assessing their dysfunction
Disinfecting the diseases of her heart

She finds she must have pediatric heart dysfunction
The belief in heteronormative happily ever after since age 3, a clear symptom
Specifically the problem is in the valves
The parts giving rise to movement and stirring the passion and purpose in her blood stream

Aspirating the debris of the passion dead in her veins
She removes the strained trust of long distance and endless thoughts of, “What if?”
She untangles the half-knotted truths and sweeps up the shattered promises cutting away at the flesh

As she tends to the malignant maladies of her heart, she looks for what made it work:
Digital pores purposeful in touch
Fingertips curled like twin fishing hooks tugging at heartstrings reverberating 90s slow jams
The brush of his chapped lips on her sun browned shoulder that summer night in Coronado
And the closeness of his exhale on her neck as she cradled him in sleep when her eyes sought him instead of rest

Everyday she nurses a bioengineer’s ridiculous obsession with love
Pipetting pieces of her heart
Re-growing herself in Petri dishes

thank you morose!

Kindness Over Genius
by Kelly Zen-Yie Tsai

for Sarah Gambito who said somethin' like:

“in my 20’s, i was captivated by genius, but now, in my 30’s, i realize how rare authentic kindness is.”

i've got to agree with sarah.

in my 20’s, i thought genius
was the hot shit.

muthafucka’s who taught themselves
how to play 20 different instruments --

a combination lawyer / ER doctor /
and clinical social worker --

a novelist who writes for 10 hours a day,
goes to sleep for 2, gets up and writes for another 10 --

now, genius bores me.
the tedium of the workaholic,
the blistering erections of human achievement,

all while the genius’ life crumbles
around him or her.

the phone goes silent.
birthdays and holidays go missed.
vacations never get taken.

genius doesn’t believe
in such frivolous things.

i know, because i have been
a sufferer of genius.

i’m not saying that i am a genius,
but i've almost died in its pursuit.

sacrificed so many nights not sleeping,

exploded an atomic mushroom cloud
of emotional distance around me,

found my own ingenuity and energy
running over me foot by foot,

genius doesn’t have time
for social skills or feelings
or farmville on facebook

for bubble tea dates on rainy afternoons
or guitar hero marathons or knowing
what one’s loved one is crying about
when the crying eventually does come.

genius is so often absent --
swinging around in its own genius world,
gorilla knuckled with broad teeth and a thick skull,

blowing through the jungle,
not caring who he or she crushes.

to live like this is not extraordinary --

when placed next to the steady hand
that on monday, tuesday, wednesday,
thursday, friday, saturday, sunday stays here

no flinching, no quaking, no fists.

not extraordinary, when compared
to the open hand that stays here

through powdery blizzards, balmy springs,
scorching droughts.

the hand that stays here --

and isn’t worried about whatever "hand" things
it could be doing right now?

or what are all the other hands are up to?

or if it really is appreciated and recognized
by the entire world in its true value as a hand?

what is extraordinary is the hand
that stays here and extends,

fingers and wrist rooted in the whole person.
one who is right here, right in front of me,

not racing ahead to seek out the next solution,
the next innovation, the next trend.

the open hand that remains here, unafraid to be kind,
in the midst of so much genius.

old letter circa oct. 29-30, 2008 UNEDITED

A LETTER
TO YOU.
I WANT TO WRITE YOU A LETTER IN ALL CAPS.
THE CAPS MAKE ME WRITE SLOWER.
HOPEFULLY THE THOUGHTS DON'T STREAM TOO FAST.
I FOUND MY SECRET IN SOMEONE ELSE'S.
I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IT WAS MINE TIL I SAW IT.
I SENT IT TO YOU, DO YOU REMEMBER?
WHEN I FIRST SAW THE PICT I SWORE IT WAS US, THAT TIME WE WENT TO MONTEREY.
THE TIME YOU DIDN'T GET SICK.
IT'S TRUE, YOU KNOW, YOU WERE THE BEST FIRST EVERYTHING I COULD HAVE HAD, MORE THAN A FANTASY IMAGINED, A REALITY BEYOND BELIEF.
YOU GAVE ME A LOVE THAT NO ONE ELSE FULLY BELIEVES MOST TIMES.
A LOVE THAT PEOPLE THINK FICTITIOUS.
YOU WROTE TO ME ABOUT YOUR THOUGHTS, YOUR FEARS, YOUR JOYS AND EVEN THE HARD THINGS YOU COULDN'T SAY, ONLY WRITE.
YOU LOVED ME EVERY DAY WITHOUT FAIL.
YOU LET ME RAISE MY VOICE AND HURL AND HURT YOU WITH WORDS I KNEW WOULD HARM YOU.
YOU DIDN'T YELL BACK, HIT ME OR IGNORE ME. YOU JUST LISTENED UNTIL I STOPPED AND APOLOGIZED.
YOU JUST LOVED ME.
YOU NEVER HUNG UP ON ME. YOU ALWAYS CALLED TO SAY I LOVE YOU AND GOOD NIGHT.
YOU NEVER FORCED ME TO DO ANYTHING I DIDN'T WANT TO DO OR DO SOMETHING ONLY FOR YOUR BENEFIT.
YOU SUPPORTED ME WHENEVER I NEEDED IT, EVEN WHEN I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I NEEDED IT.
YOU DID THE LITTLE THINGS THAT GAVE ME LITTLE JOYS LIKE PUT AFTER SHAVE ON, SHAVE AND WEAR SHIRTS I LIKED.
YOU FOUND ME CHOCOLATE WHEN I NEEDED IT AND DROVE ME TO FULFILL MY CRAVINGS, HOWEVER ABSTRACT.
YOU ALWAYS TOLD ME YOUR TRUTHS AND LISTENED TO MINE.
YOU CARED WHAT I HAD TO SHARE EVEN IF IT WASN'T SOMETHING YOU WOULD OTHERWISE BE INTERESTED IN.
YOU PLAYED.
WE LAUGHED.
YOU WARMED UP MY SIDE OF THE BED SO I WOULDN'T HAVE TO FEEL THE COLD OF WINTER BEDSHEETS.
YOU TOLD ME WHAT MADE YOU HAPPY,
YOU TOLD ME I WAS BEAUTIFUL AND MEANT IT EVERY TIME.
YOU PAID ATTENTION TO THE LITTLE THINGS, THE THINGS I SAID IN PASSING.
YOU MADE ME FEEL SAFE.
YOU MADE ME FEEL LOVED,
YOU LOVED ME.
I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE TO SAY BUT THANK YOU, THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING, THANK YOU FOR BEING THE YOU THAT YOU ARE. THANK YOU FOR LOVING ME.
YOU REMINDED ME I AM WORTH SOMETHING PRECIOUS.
YOU ARE MY FIRST LOVE. MY FIRST EVERYTHING.
I LOVE YOU STILL.
I LOVE YOU ALWAYS.
- ME

#11 hug
January 16, 2010 · Filed under Uncategorized

dear you,

you give good hugs.

what i mean is that when you and i hug, we fit. my height seems to fit your height. my cheek rest comfortably in the nook between your chest and your shoulder. my arms fit around your waist, as your arms drape over my hips where your hands cup the slope of the lower curve of my back.

sometimes, you would take a deep breath, say that my hair smells good and touch your cheek to my temple.

we are a two puzzle pieces, you and i. at least when we hug.

i never told you this but i can hear our heartbeats synchronize, whether yours slows the pace or mine quickens.

or, if we are deep in conversation and i can’t hear the beats, i notice our breaths will start to match, the rise and descent of our chest.

and the laughter.

i never had anybody’s hug fit me as well as your have.

but maybe i am putting way too much emphasis on this thought.

i miss you

-alfie ebojo

http://bubbleblower.wordpress.com/2010/01/16/11-hug/

looking for the right fit.

old letters

i almost forgot what it was like in the beginning, almost.

excitement: momma's coming to symposium!!!!!

unsureness: graduation???

happiness: potential summer goodness in the BAY

frustration/reflection (here goes):
in her poem, release, kelly says that love is not something to be possessed. i think she is right. to possess something is to take claim on it and power over it. it is like building a fence around it and being the guard saying who else can pass through its gate. i mean what is love if it is not shared? what is inspiration without another person to live in it with you? inspiration cannot function in isolation. and what of joy? There are things that i love and that have inspired me but i feel like i am not allowed entrance because someone else has claimed them and deemed me unworthy. I know that this is an internal battle but it has become as much as an external struggle as an internal one. because as much as i seek self-validation, i still have the desire for others to believe me. and for people i have yet to meet, meet ME not someone else's conception of me. i mean first impressions are important and i just want to be able to make my own. if people are going to judge me then let them judge ME. the part that gets me heated is the fact that i feel like the foundation of these walls has not been laid by me. most of this isn't even about me but about people's personal insecurities and internal battles. i just want people to say what they mean and mean what they say. more forced silence to be broken with voice, i guess, but no body wants to talk. as much as people talk about, literally give workshops and speeches about, solidarity, love etc they only seem to be able "apply" them to "community." but the community is us, it's individuals! so, as it is written and has been said a million times before, it must start with us, our everyday. why do you think we are all writing about the everyday??? that's what we live! ok, rant ends here. solution(s): live anyways. walk through walls. give people the benefit of the doubt.

hmmm: kelly also said that love, like everything else, it is temporary.traci said that love is everywhere and is everything. i think they are both right. the potential of love is in everything and that everything, is temporary. the temporariness (is that even a word?) of instances of loving has to be temporary so we can move on and love again. it is not fair (as my mom always used to say, life isn't fair and my response was always, "but we should try and make it as fair as possible then!") that only one thing/person/cause etc receive love and passion. thus it is temporary so that energy can be shared with other things/people etc. while a problematic movie, i remember a line from troy that seems relevant. achilles says that the gods envy humans because of our mortality. it is the in the certainty of death that humans live. we live in fleeting moments and thus find pleasure in the now because we know it will not last. Remembering that things are temporary allows us to live in the moment and move on when we have to. everything is fleeting and that is why we try so desperately to hold on. if it wasn't fleeting then there would be no joy in it.

deep breath: to moving and to joy.

on momma's day in no particular order

one: i think i lost my best friend all over again
two: i am trying to survive with living life with chronic hyper-empathy
three: i miss my momma

A Song For Mama - Boyz II Men

update:

STILL struggling with love
trying to find the language to legitimize something that shouldn't have to be legitimized
legitimizing love
organizational nightmare for the next 3 weeks
my readings are late
can i go outside now?

lessons:

1. i'm not very good at doing more than one thing at a time, on a small scale or a large scale
2. love languages can be manipulated

all about love, again

starting again.
opened up to page 207, chapter twelve, Healing: Redemptive Love.
someone marked it with a red leaf, kissed between the pages.
thanks.
used books. mmmmmm

let it wash over

Blessid Union Of Souls - I Believe - Blessid Union Of Souls

Peace And Love - Blessid Union Of Souls

for you

i'v been going up and around and down emotionally and i haven't been recording it. for now this is as much for me as it is for you. love you lil big sis.

This Too Shall Pass - India Arie

little joy

watchin my momma play wii :D i miss her.

wake up call

i haven't missed him in a long time. a long time meaning a matter of weeks, but still, that's a long time. now i miss him. ugh. after waking up by myself from a nap that was supposed to be 30 minutes but ended up being 3 times that- things don't always go as planned- i miss him. i miss being able to depend on someone to wake me up and have it done with love, not just obligation, to be woken up with hugs and warmth not just a shout from upstairs. don't get me wrong both work- well usually- but with the former i wake up refreshed and not angry, ready and not just looking forward to the next time i can close my eyes. it used to be if i didn't get up it was my fault for really wanting to stay in my dreamworld- of course dream and reality used to be a little bit more blurred then. i used to like being woken up by someone, there is a comfort in knowing that someone took the energy to watch the clock for you while you were lost in the timelessness of sleep. now i guess i'll hafta rely on myself instead, be the keeper of my own time whether my mind is resting or my eyes are open. too bad i've always had a terrible sense of time. *sigh

interned

so i realized the other day as i was sitting in lisa lowe's intro to asian am lit class that if not for internment i would not exist. i realize that if not for a lot of things i would not have been the product of my parents, like if my mom had said no to my dad in december 1971 when he asked her to be his girlfriend, but it had never occurred to me that my maternal grandparent's entire relationship is so richly and unquestionably entangled in the barracks, despair, loss, shame, and dust of japanese/ja internment.
my grandfather is 6 years my grandmother's senior, i still have his jr. high yearbooks from topaz. my grandmother left for topaz on her 9th birthday, her head cocked to the right because of a childhood illness. 6 years is a big difference when you are nine. my grandma was in elementary school and my grandfather in jr. high. they never really crossed paths, her still unquestionably a child with only vague memories of the stuffing blankets and clothes in all the cracks in futile attempts to keep out the dust and seeing a ghost in the fire of the little black potbellied stove; and him being class president and voted "most likely to succeed" by his peers, thinking himself almost a man. my grandmother had met my grandfather's sister at camp but my grandmother never mentioned having ever met my grandfather before they were in richmond housing.
after getting out of camp my grandmother, along with my great-grandparents matsumoto and her 4 sisters, settled in salt lake city for a while, my great-grandfather attempting to buy a house there. somehow they got clearance to move into the richmond housing back in california, which was mostly reserved for JA WWII veterans and their famililes. it was there, at the age of 19, that my grandmother became pregnant with my uncle joey, my grandfather joe's first son. they were quickly married and 5 months after her 20th birthday, my grandmother gave birth to my mother on oct. 27th, 1953. just 3 weeks shy of exactly 33 years later, i was born.
so you see, without the racism and war hysteria that fueled internment, richmond housing would have never been set up and my grandparents would have never met. i guess that makes me a product of racism and war. it is of little wonder to me that my grandparents relationship was as battle-ridden, torn by razored tears and riddled with pain and fears as it was. what is amazing to me is how that violence ended there, how the razor wire rusted and shattered when my parents were just over 18- almost the same age as my grandmother when she married my grandfather- when another war raged for the ego and arrogance of the U.S. it is true then that war, family, and love are intertwined like the gnarled limbs of an old tree, the years' battles and triumphs as evident on the trunk as the newest green leaves are from this year's spring.

tonight's lullaby

"And sometimes I worry because we women learn how to love so hard."
- ruby

love lists

so people keep telling me that i should create a list of things i want to do before i die. it hurts that i feel like i can't do it, that i don't have any goals. for now my goal is to finish reading all about love. each chapter is like taking a deep breath, an inhale until my lungs feel as if they are going to burst and a release that leads to moments of emptiness. i need it but my asthmatic lungs make it laborious. i think i have come up with one thing for my life to do list though, to make a school of love. it sounds like a lame pick-up line out of context but for reals, we seem to have schools for everything else but none to teach how to love. i used to think that love was innate. i was wrong. love is learned. love is an ability, a skill. one like any other that must be practiced.

why does the word love seem so cliche? its name is over-used and it is under-practiced. how can a word be simultaneously constricting and freeing? ever-present and elusive?

goal: use less, practice often

"I, on the other hand, thought all my grown-up attempts to write love poems were mushy and pathetic. Words failed me when I tried to write about love. My thoughts seemed sentimental, silly, and superficial. When writing poetry in my girlhood, I had felt the same confidence I would come to see in my adult life only in male writers. When I first began to write poetry in girlhood, I thought love was the only topic, the most important passion..."

i think i got it

Fear of love
talking about love is revolutionary because it calls attention to the ways we are and are not loved. it calls attention to the violence and the pain. revealing those wounds reveals the ways in which we (womyn of color, queer etc) suffer from oppressions.
Lovelessness is the lack of understanding, care, affection, respect, communication (being heard/seen, not gazed at) and thus talking about love brings these voids under scrutiny, it challenges structures of power that cut us deeply and irrevocably change, create, and destroy us. talking about love is revolutionary because true love transforms, it too can forever change us, build us, and heal us. "we want to know love...We want to know what it means to love and to be loved"

offerings

"...
And really, a lot of this poem is for me.

Who can't seem to learn how to be happy
But be willing to offer my deficiency to fill those who only feel half full

Cause this is all that I got
And my arms is all I got to offer
I know It's cliche as hell
But I can be here to catch you

So if you're falling,
Don't trip
Love,
I swear,
I got you."

- ruby excerpt "For the Fallen"

rest in power

i don't know what i'm thinking or even what i'm feeling. violence in oakland is in the news again, though still now important enough to air outside of the bay area apparently. peaceful protests out of love, anger,ourage, sorrow over the shooting of 22-year old oscar grant III by recently resigned BART police officer johannes mehserle on new year's day at the fruitvale bart station and the failure of murder charges being filed against mehserle. some news stations are reporting a "fraction of protestors" have turned violent and others that it was a "splinter group." the violence and vandalism is now taking center stage in discussion of oscar grant's death not the lack of charges being brought against mehserle for shooting an unarmed man in the back at close range who, according to some witnesses, was lying down and pleading not to be tased.the news reports keep mentioning that no police officers were hurt but fail to say if any civilians have been injured.
there is just so much that needs to be talked about and i don't know where to begin. a young black man was shot by a BART police officer. grant was unarmed. he was cooperating with the police. his body was racialized as violent and dangerous. the lack of charges being brought against the officer renders his life expendable, his death justified. what if he were white? what if he was a woman? he was killed on the fruitvale BART station platform at night, in oakland. what if it was dublin/pleasanton? what if it were during the day? what if it wasn't new years?would it have turned out the same way? what if the call about the fight on the crowed train was between two middle aged white men, would it have ended the same? why did people need to mobilize to bring attention to his murder? what if???? why wasn't the public outcry at the loss of another young life listened to? a father's life? a son's life? a friend's life? why did ppl become violent? is that the only way despair and anger could be actualized? recognized? legitimized? can violence arise out of love? there are so many things and the white box i am writing isn't giving me answers. i don't know what to say, what to do. can i do anything? helpless. i hope. i hope for peace. it sounds so lame but i don't know another word. justice. violence to end. clarity of mind. acceptance. love. an avenue.