dear natasha,

i read your poem 'monarch butterflies use the earth's magnetic field' and i just want you to know

it's a great poem and all but what do you mean the magnetic field is preparing to flip

what exactly does that mean

is this like a real thing or a thing you made up

because i don't have a back-up system

how will i get home

it is 4am and i am really worried about this

i could look it up on the internet but i'd rather have you explain it to me

please write back soon

your friend

emily


ps natasha

it's 4am and i'm reading your poetry on the internet

sometimes the world is wonderful

The Roof of the World: The Pamirs, Tajikistan

i spent my first night in tajikistan
in a squat toilet shitting out my insides
bent over in a spiderweb of pain.
i was thankful, at least,
for the darkness a squat toilet provides.
thankful everything disappeared
into a black hole in the earth.

in my private squat toilet hell
i imagined them finding me in the morning.
pants down, lying in a pile of my own shit and blood.
barely conscious, begging for water, chapstick,
and a new pair of jeans, and to line me up
against the crumbling wall,
shoot my decrepit fucking body
my head was unfortunate enough to be attached to.

i came back to vomit,
my face in front of a hole full of shit,
bringing up what i had choked down,
with my cellphone flashlight
waiting for the battery to die or the sun to rise,
whichever one came first.

in the morning we drove through the pamirs;
remote mountains near remote mountain borders.
they call it the pamir highway,
the roof of the world, "the world's greatest road trip",
and i slept through the whole damn thing.


Karakol:

click on the pictures to scroll through.

Murghab: 

Asshole Mountain, near Murghab:

look at what i did now

in an airport hotel
so i touch your bones for the last time

the sun rises through the window

planes lift their heavy wings
fly over our heads

this balcony gives an excellent view of sky

so at four in the morning i pack my bags
and dive right in

sweet blue tastes like sugar sticks and nescafe

asphalt tastes like clean sheets soft mattress all alone

so i guess what i'm trying to say
is that i'm home

only slightly alternate

nowadays i only ever get drunk on weekdays

and only ever on white wine

i bought at the supermarket for $6.99

i only ever think of a million different people

i've seen that week, some faces more than others

some faces i couldn't get enough of

i only ever think of an only slightly alternate

reality

no one ever shits or blows their nose

it's an open concept loft apartment with a double bed

nowadays i only ever get drunk

i only ever think of all the books i'm going to read

in your open concept loft apartment with a double bed

hi so this is the new year

hi i'm oscar here to bring you a very special message about life which i know a lot about despite only being 7-9 months old.

firstly i don't even know why i have to say this because everyone should know this by now but open bars are a bad idea. the number one rule of life is "don't be too drunk" and open bars result in a direct contradiction of this rule. alcohol is this very silly thing that makes people think it is a good idea to text their crush or jump on the subway tracks or get naked in public.

secondly emily is lying in bed like a dead person because she violated the number one rule of life and she lost her earrings. maybe she should do the dishes or put on some pants but she just can't. now she is suffering the consequences of her actions which i do not approve of because if you come home and have to shut the door so the cat can't get in your room because you don't want him to see you then you are probably doing something wrong.

thirdly emily's number one problem in 2011 which i know a lot about despite not being alive for the entire year was anxiety about other people. i think this is stupid because emily is a smart caring person who always feeds me on time the best that she can but for some strange reason she is overcome with crippling doubt/panic/anxiety that other people think she is something other than what she is. although she doesn't really know who she is so she is also often confused and convinced that maybe she should be who other people think she is or that maybe she is already that person and or that she is a person entirely created by other people's perceptions of herself and what is free will anyway? she's not sure she has to think about it more.

from autostraddle.com

fourthly i been to a lot of places and seen a lot of things and i just have to say that i just don't understand people. i mean what are these portable telephone things that keep bringing drama into everyone's lives. here is a cat's advice: stop drinking (so much) and stop drunk texting. i like it better when people read books in bed instead of texting in bed because paper tastes better. i like to chew paper. also everyone thinks that looking a certain way is very important but it's not really. dogs are colour blind so they don't even know what you're wearing anyway.

in the end it doesn't matter who kissed who last night or that emily's eating processed cheese on a burnt bagel right now. she just wants what we all want: free delivery on new year's day. 2011 was a great year because i was born and 2012 will be even better because i will be there for all of it and there is so much opportunity for snacks. 2012 is the year of snacks.

thank you drive safe,

oscar

are there snacks out there

it was a beautiful shitty place

names changed for privacy.

i used to live in a shitty apartment in the plateau, surrounded by nicer looking triplexes. the landlord was a busy jewish man with a black suv who banged vigorously on our door for rent every month. i found my roommates on craigslist. i think originally it was supposed to be a one-bedroom apartment but was then turned into a three-bedroom to fit more people. greg's room used to be a closet i think. my room was bigger than his but also small. it could fit a single bed in one direction only. i painted my room green and it was kind of ugly and i left it there when i moved out. nobody ever used the living room. we didn't even have a table until greg bought a tiny tv tray which tilted slightly on the uneven floor. kevin's friend who used to live there before i did still had a pile of stuff in the living room. he never picked it up in all the 8 months that i lived there. it included a tv, a basketball, a book about mao zedong, and a bright blue bra which appeared out of nowhere one day.

one time, i listened to post-war by m. ward a lot and it was beautiful and things hurt but a good kind of hurt, you know? i remember lying in my blue sheets in my green room trying to figure out what 'home' meant.

Life Lessons I Learned This Weekend

1. Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans

I feel like you can try and be really prepared for things but life is just going to happen anyway, and it doesn't care what you planned for. I think you kind of just have to lie in the middle of the road and hope that cars don't hit you. Or maybe that is really stupid.

2. I am in a false world

These are not my pants. Where the fuck am I? This is not living. I think possibly this "living" thing is just "dying really fast".

3. Everything in my life is completely and totally dramatized

4.We are not the people
Who are the people? I don't know, but we are not them.

5. Dreams are not real

Is it Sunday already? I had a good dream last night.

abre los ojos/i saw a shooting star in inner mongolia

in the back of a taxi,
my head out the window,
rain on my tongue,
eyes open enough to see gray concrete buildings
and the left side of beijing blurring by.

from above i was staring at the ground,
by the rosebush crying, with bruises on my chin.
just a tree and a concrete wall,
freshly rained upon dirt,
black dirt and choking up my insides.

lying on my right side,
blinking slowly at two seats in front of me,
dirty beige, ripped, and bumping drunk
in the back of a bus somewhere.

“i love you” slides off my tongue
dripping with heavy,
the lingering taste of alcohol,
my stomach empty and filled with sad,
and, i loved you suddenly after i said it.

from the earth i was staring at the sky,
a sudden sobriety, eyes open to
une année sans lumière, pitch black earth,
and blinded, i had been blindsided. then
lying on my back, in inner mongolia
i saw a shooting star.

things i miss while in beijing

+ milk
+ cheese
+ cereal
+ clean/non-polluted air
+ public bathrooms with toilet paper, doors that lock, and actual toilet bowls
+ a shower that sprays into the bathtub and not onto the floor
+ facebook
+ clean drinking water
+ bagels
+ friends and family

otherwise, i don't ever want to leave. actually, just get me some good milk and cereal and i'm happy.

"The Year In Review": A Few Things I Remember

1. [f a l l i n g in and out and in and o u t of love]

With everything, and everyone, constantly. I just can't do the highs and lows. Well, sometimes I don't understand me and sometimes I don't understand you. I don't know you or me. I don't understand the happiness or lightness of love; I don't understand the sadness and excessive weight of love. I've given you all and now I'm nothing.

2. ["Christmas is S O D U M B."]

I am Scrooge/The Grinch. Whatever. Christmas is stupid. I'm only partially sorry if that offends you. What is Christmas about anyway? Is it the birth of Jesus? I honestly don't even know. I don't even really care. All I want for Christmas, really, is some new socks. Because the majority of my socks have holes in them. I am happy that I am escaping this Christmas obsessed world and going to a tiny bubble in the middle of nowhere with people who also don't care about Christmas.

(Alright, so Christmas hasn't happened yet, but today on the metro I saw a man with a Christmas tree and I thought "oh yeah, I guess it's about that time to throw out Christmas trees" and then I realized that December 25th hasn't actually happened yet. That's how much I care about Christmas.)

3. [g r a dua t ing]

I did it.

4. [s u m m e r in America]

It was hot. There were fireworks and a parade and everyone I love in Riese's living room. I feel sad and nostalgic because it will probably never happen again, I mean, not like that. You and I are not the same people anymore. But we are still beautiful.

5. [moving i n and o u t and in and out of h o m e]

Frequently I ask myself "why do I live here" and fail to produce a decent answer. Then one night I slept in my old bedroom and felt annoyed at all the space. My room was too big. It doesn't matter. Nothing is ever clean in my apartment. But my small room feels at least a little more like home. It's warm and the bed is comfortable. It's safe.

I still feel like I don't know where I live, or where home is. I guess that's normal.

6. [the year in r e v i e w]

I remember parts of the year. I remember February, vividly. I remember March and feeling high and happy and perfect. Things made sense in March. I think I went on a camping trip in April. I remember my legs sticking to the seat of the bus in May. June and July are stuck together in a gooey mess of sweat and kisses and tears. August is one long train ride to nowhere. September - November is 10,000 feelings I'd like to erase. I am drained and pulled apart.

I am tired and I'd like to stop counting. I'd like to stop counting backwards and forwards. Sometimes all I know is that I'm a mirror of other people's feelings and opinions, a composition of people who came before me. Sometimes I'm amazed at the love I feel, and the strangeness of how I can love people I don't know, so much so that I turn the people I claim to love into strangers. Sometimes I'm surprised at how angry I am, when I don't know where that anger comes from. But mostly I'm surprised/unsurprised at the way the world heals itself, and how when everything feels upside down, the world will turn you over again.

"I love the number of people

you can love at the same time,

one deep, erotic love,

radiating even to strangers,

cynics, making a temporary sense

of the senseless, choreful day."

- Stephen Dunn "Loves"

Is this year over yet.

Identity Crisis

I've never seen myself as particularly "Western" before, but that's because I live in The West. I identify as a Canadian partially as a reaction to the things surrounding me that are Not Canadian, like the United States. I notice my "Chineseness" because of all the Non-Chinese people around me. And I identify as gay, or queer, because of the "divide" between queers and straights. If there was no such thing as heterosexuality I wouldn't need to identify as queer at all. I would just be. Even though I'm Chinese, I'm also mostly Canadian, or Western, or North American. I wouldn't fit in in China at all!

That's sort of how I feel about living in the West. Prior to this semester I had never taken any courses that taught me anything about places further east than Europe. Africa was just this one chunk of land that was full of starving black people and South Africa had some white people. "South Africa" could basically have referred to the lower half of Africa.

But now I'm learning things about The East and it makes me feel really self-conscious of my North American Status. I've never felt that before because I don't feel like I'm an embodiment of "capitalism", but I guess I probably am. It's really hard to talk about things that are not Euro-centric without bringing in my own presuppositions and attitudes and I feel like I'm interfering in something that isn't mine. I feel like Stuff White People Like: Being an Expert on YOUR culture. Like, look at me, some North American with enough money to go to university and listen to another North American talk about Asia.

I think I feel weird about this because I've never been a "majority" before. I can't look at myself the same way anymore. I can't ask the same questions anymore. I don't wish that I was Eastern. I wish that being labeled as "something" wasn't so important. I wish that I didn't have to feel "American" and that democracy is the best and everyone should have democracy. I feel weird about having "power" but also I don't feel like I have power. I don't know. This probably stopped making sense a long time ago. I'm having an identity crisis, I'll get back to you on my feelings later.

Open Letter to Myself

You got what you wanted. You stumbled home drunk and it was cold. Why is that a thing that you wanted. You were alone. You were walking with a ghost who's not coming back. You lay on the bed and your head spun and your ears rang and your heart burst but mostly you did not feel because you had drank too much. And it reminded you of other nights in another city where things were softer. And you said to yourself why did you do that. And you said to yourself, to make it hurt. Because you're a masochist. Because you're crazy. Because there's something wrong with you. Your mind is on fire.

Put it out, put it out. Don't ever put out the fire in your heart.

You got what you wanted. You wandered towards the moon. You wandered towards the cross on top of the mountain which never got any closer. You never got closer to anything. You never figured yourself out. Instead you trapped yourself inside a box and now you're stuck. And you wake up and you don't know where you are.

You're drunk all the time. You're not even a person sometimes. You're a shadow. You're the moon which never gets closer to anyone. You just run away all the goddamn time. Half of your christmas lights don't light up and you don't know how to fix that. And what about your inability to glue even the largest of broken pieces back together.

Why did you make the choices that you made. You got everything you wanted and you're still let down. Why do you live here. And what if you could have someone here right now beside you. Instead of writing this you could be talking to someone real instead of talking to yourself. Sometime there'll be someone here beside you and this room will be too small and you'll bump into each other way too often.

But your loneliness will go out like a candle in the close quarters.

[And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor --

And this, and so much more? -- ]

[Places to kiss:

+ On Rachel, in the middle of the street, between Clark and St. Urbain, facing the mountain.

+ Against the Sun Youth building.]

This Train Is A Long Goodbye

Have you ever been on a train and dreamed about being on a train? Well, I have. I woke up at 4 this morning to catch a train that would take me to a place where I could get on another train. I fall asleep on the second train, and that's where I have my dream.

I was asleep on the train and then I woke up. Someone I knew was sitting next to me. She wanted me to read to her aloud. She couldn't read the word 'schedule'. I tried to read aloud but every time I did a few words would come out and then my mouth would hang open and I wouldn't be able to close it. I could only make sounds in the back of my throat. I knew that I was capable of reading aloud, only my mouth wouldn't move. I fell back asleep.

When I woke up there were a few little girls boarding the train. They must've been 9 or 10 years old. One of them sat next to me. I dozed off. I woke up and one of their friends was getting on at a new stop. She had a striped blue and white shirt. My clothes were all out of my bag. How did that happen? The girls seemed to be running away from something. They huddled together and spoke to each other as if they had a plan. I started picking my clothes up off the floor and putting them back in my bag. I had to reach over the girl next to me. Sorry, I said. I went back to sleep.

I wake up in real life with a little bit of drool on the side of my mouth and a slight fear that if I try to speak my mouth will hang open and never close again. There is a person beside me in a striped shirt. It has only been an hour and a half since I fell asleep. I'm supposed to be asleep for the next 10 hours.

Have you ever said goodbye to someone at a train station? Have you ever sat in your seat and looked out the window and the person you care about is standing there waiting for the train to leave? I have, and all I want to do is jump out the window and leave the train behind. But the train starts to move and my girl starts to cry. I want to ask someone when I will see her next but I'm afraid to know. I lay down across two seats and let small tears crawl down my cheek. Hey, how're you doing… the ticketman comes to collect my ticket. His voice trails off as he sees me crying and he avoids eye contact. I fumble with my ticket. Sorry, I say. He says nothing. I go to sleep. I want to sleep until the boa constrictor in my chest unravels and slinks away.

When I wake up again on the second train the person in a striped shirt is gone. I am unsure if they were ever there or if it was something I dreamed into life. There is no evidence of their being there. I want to go back to sleep but instead I write. The shake shake of the train makes me feel like vomiting when I stare at my screen. I write until I feel fully nauseous. I want to be asleep. I write 'I want to be asleep'.

I want to be asleep.

I have a brown paper bag full of snacks for the train, but I'm not hungry. I pick at the food on top; chips, some candy, and a peanut butter bar. It is only till much later that I check the bottom of the bag for more food. There's a napkin underneath with words written on it and I feel my throat close up and my eyes burn again. There is a flood behind my eyelids and if I keep them closed it will not leak out. To anybody else, I suppose, the napkin is just a napkin. But to me it's a little bit of home, or a little bit of a place where there's warmth and comfort. It's a part of a safety blanket. I keep it at the bottom of the bag.

The train is very cold. I wear your shirt and your sweater and your hat. I want to feel like I am wearing you, but it just feels like I am wearing your sweater.

++

In relation to the earth and the universe, we are just two tiny blips on a very big map. There are many people who have lived before us, and many who will live after. There are many people in our time who we will never meet, who will never know us separately or together, will never be touched or changed by us, will never know our names. We will likely be lost in the history books, but we have found each other. We exist to love and to be loved, to know that our own stories are enough.

The Supreme Art of Letting Go

The slow change of summer to fall, and we sit in denial. It's not quite happening yet, but you begin to think to yourself that you need a new pair of boots, and your mind briefly passes over that sweater you will wear when the weather changes -- it hasn't changed yet. But you know it will. It's happening right in front of your eyes.

For a while you refuse to shed the light t-shirts and shorts, until, undeniably it is fall and then possibly winter, and your shoes are wet from snow that melts when it touches the ground. But you still don't wear those boots, and your jacket is a sweater inside of which you shiver once or twice. One day you wake up and go outside and your breath catches in your throat and you know it's time to get the heavy-duty stuff; the hats and gloves, longjohns, big sweaters, and the hibernation attitude that allows you to trudge through dirty snow on your way home, where you will wear all these things. The days are short, but you knew this was coming. You saw it happening, it happens every year. But you are just not ready.

++

Slow change is like this. You wake up next to somebody and know that soon your bed will be empty, because summer is leaving and you are hungry. You can see the day when there will be no more hot whispers in your ear, no more christmas lights in August because it is no longer August, no more warm fireplace, no more warm body next to you, no more fingers on green shirts, no more kisses or touches or toothy grins kissing touching toothy grins.

Denial is easy and you hold on to it for as long as possible, but little by little you put the sweaters in the front of your closet, preparation for the coming cold. You don't wear them yet though. Summer is leaving, you know this, but you are just not ready for it to go. Knowledge does not make it easier, in fact, very little makes it easier.

++

You feel, and you let yourself feel it. You let the fall sharpness bite you, just for a second, before you wrap yourself up, and you hold it inside yourself, and then you inhale and exhale and you let it go. You breathe the cold air out and then you breathe in and out some more, because that's what you have to do, breathe the cold air out of your lungs until there is no more, and then you walk. You walk and talk and breathe and move your fingers like a human being with human tendencies. You make sure to wear your thickest coat to soften the blows until it doesn't feel like punching anymore. And that is all you need to do, for now at least. And you will emerge. You will emerge.

I Want the Ocean Right Now

About 3 months ago I had to choose between going to the University of British Columbia or staying in Montreal and going to Concordia. If you've been reading this you know I've decided to stay in Montreal. Or maybe you just guessed.

Reasons:

1. The program I want is better here.

2. It's cheaper.

3. UBC didn't give me enough time to decide.

4. I still have a love/hate relationship with Montreal and want to learn to love it more.

All in all, one of the main reasons I wanted to go to UBC was because I wanted to move out of my house. Then I realized I could still do that in Montreal, so I chose Concordia and found an apartment for the fall. But there's something really daunting thinking about spending the next 3 winters in this city.

It's probably because I'm sitting here and it's summer and I'm not as busy as I'd like to be that I feel all the feelings I felt that made me want to leave this place in the beginning. I think it's a feeling a lot of people have and sometimes it has nothing to do with geography, just a simple desire to "get out".

I love Montreal most of the time, but goddamnit, I want to see the ocean. I want to be in Seattle or Vancouver or San Francisco and I want to be there now. I would write this off as "cabin fever" or a case of "got-nothing-to-do-this-summer" but I've always had a love affair with the west coast, so. I know it's silly because I idealize these cities but I will never stop until I go there. Which I will, one day.

I don't regret choosing Concordia. I think it's the right choice for me and I'm excited to move out of my house and start something new. But I'm still dreaming of the west coast.

from if you're going to san francisco pt ii

i step in puddles and i don't care.

i step in puddles and i don't care

how wet my feet get.

i fell asleep at 9pm

while i was still at work.

no one notices the water in my shoes.

one time i whispered, "i want to go home,"

while already lying in bed.

"but you are home," was the response.

i knew, but she didn't

know how sincere i was.

i want to cry so badly that i laugh.

i want to sleep so badly that i lie awake all night.

i strain my ears and try to hear

but the suburbs are quiet all the time.

and when i open my eyes in the morning,

i see walls and not a window of blue sky.

Philadelphia Smells Bad, But I Like You

My room is the same as when I left it, just cleaner. The walls are still blue. The calendar is still on June. It's like time stopped when I left, and now it starts again the moment I walk in. Now my bed is unmade as I lie in it. My desk is messy and my bag is half unpacked on the floor.

Feels like home, I guess.

But my clothes still smell like you, and my bed is too small and empty. The mirror in the bathroom is too big. The floor is cold, and my heart hurts.

Who is going to light sparklers with me and listen to Death Cab for Cutie?