it is indeed, a good morning. thanks.

it's 7:08am and i'm awake, YEAHHHHHHH.

my mom woke me up around 6am and i just finished making her breakfast. about 8 minutes ago i was hella bitter to get out of my bed, but right now i'm pretty glad i did. i just checked my email & got a special message from someone whom i admire so much. it's a trip the fool even responded. but it definitely made my morning.

and now i can't get back to bed.

funny how one person and a few words can change your morning. or more recently, change my week.

i'm free-eee-eee.

cause summer school es finito. dunzo. COMPLETE.
*insert celebration dance here*

it's such a trip to know 6 weeks went by so fast. i can still remember the first week of school when i kept calling Ann during my breaks and eating my breakfast so bitterly on a bench. now fast forward that poor image to 6 weeks later and i feel fucking accomplished. such a good feeling. now all i must do is wait for the grade and hope for the best.

so with summer school out of the way, i got a lot i can do now. the days can kinda resort to how it was back in the beginning of the summer. except maybe just a little different now? i got plans. so many plans actually that i'm going to the store to buy a new planner. i got approximately a month and 5 days to soak in the summer love and get some other biznaz taken care of.

and ummm.... i realize this is such an alcoholic thing to say, but i'm not gonna lie i'm kinda feenin' to get wasted pretty soon. so how bout it folks? it's been too sober.

HAHA.

lemme get at that Shorty Fatz though.

every time i read the newspaper every morning i come across one or a few of amazing people with lifestyles i sometimes envy. when journalists aren't focusing on the war or the election, the newspaper shines light on those entrepreneurs, activists, and even simple people with extraordinary ideas that catch my attention.

so after reading the newspaper today, i discovered Shorty Fatz, a unique bike shop created by ESSJ's finest: Sam Rodriguez & Matthew Rodriguez. i read the article this afternoon when i got home from class and immediately began drooling over a picture of one of their unique cruiser bikes. i never saw a bike that uniquely beautiful before!

according to the Mercury News, these two bike makers have never had any formal training on actually creating bikes. they simply feed off of creativity. what was once a mere fascination for welding, building, and tagging has now collaborated into a piece of art on wheels.

Shorty Fatz bikes are meant for cruising and chillin. it's not a typical bike to be racing in. but according to the society today, these "ultra-ultra cool bikes" are what people are wanting right now. although they've only sold two dozen since they started, they've been seeking much more admiration. especially since their bikes have been shown in the Oakland Museum of Art and San Jose's Anno Domini gallery. with their sheek, incomparable, and mixture of graffiti and low-rider barrio bikes Shorty Fatz are one of a kind.

so since i've been looking for a cruiser bike for awhile, this article undoubtedly had me stoked. i always knew of folks who custom made motorcycles but never actual bicycles. i tihnk it's a pretty sick concept now considering gas prices are so high. i'd definitely swoop one of these up right now if only i had the $$$ to do so. ahhh....



*(pictures courtesy of shorty fatz myspace - click here)
hit up their blog @ http://shortyfatz.blogspot.com for more.

So what have I been up to?

BEEN AROUND GOOD COMPANY. THAS ALL.

we all need checklists to check off...

here's mine.

**UPDATED: 9/18/08 @ 1:22am**

1. vacation to HI.
2. visit LA.
3. adventure in SC.
4. get a new camera.
5. get a voice recorder for Journalism II.
6. maybe a new iPod?
7. paint on a canvas.
8. create a stencil.
9. launch at least one edition of Deep-Fried Funk (online) Magazine
10. go to a show.
11. go to a museum.
12. meet someone new & keep them.
13. do something spontaneous & unexpected.
14. finish summer school with an "A."
15. watch "Dark Knight."
16. get my damn license!!!!!!!!!

that's it for now. i got 1 month & 15 days to accomplish these. WOO.

based on my experience as a person of color

a mixture of things.

i dub this piece 'no longer'

i can no longer bend my knees to fall forward onto pavements when
you find yourself in distance places. places inside your mind, inside your heart.
i can no longer reach for your hands when the cold has numbed them
because i can no longer fuel the fire of your happiness.

it is not me, nor who i wish to be. but rather the stagnant situation
in which i constantly find myself to be in.
with my stresses and yours alone
i become brittle in speech, ego, and strength.
rather i bow down in disgrace, wrapped up in self-hatred,
for the self-inflicting pain the ghosts of your past
draws so clearly onto your eyes.

i never asked for your love, or acceptance
because that is the one thing that i have tolerated
from everyone. rather i stand in disadvantaged lines,
sit in chairs made of plastic money and pretend i'm learning
something.

we may have walked similar avenues, and crossed the same streets,
perhaps we danced under the same light posts...but, trust me,
we are not.
our privileges, our struggles, they're different.
our fighting hearts may lie in the same belief--
but you are not me, nor am i you.

recently, i've moved beyond the limiting fantasies i once
enriched my own optimism to be. yet, time and time again,
i found myself falling. pretending to be invincible when truth knows
i was the most vulnerable victim to myself.

i placed empty jars across the window sills in hopes
rain would fall in and not flood the hopes i had left-
but instead the frustration and negativity of others
cracked them through and through.

some times i hear that people have good hearts
and that their minds are just displaced-
its just another excuse to justify the wars.
the wars we fight inside, and the wars we start with others.
this fuel, expensive fuel, is just a catalyst, a tool, an ideology
that a power, a power of three placed upon us, above us, and on our backs
so we could excuse ourselves from our behaviors, and disregard our hurt for one another.

i refuse to believe that there are certain institutions that we don't agree with because of their oppressive mentalities and behaviors towards certain demographics of person(s). because behind those lie layers, upon layers, as if histories repeat itself without any reach for a discontinuity of its regression. we must remind ourselves that in any truth, there is a lost and we must analyze our understandings and the foundations of those thoughts.

we continue to evade, evade the realities that face us on the daily.
instead we mark tracks and race across boulevards looking for the
next outlet, the next comfort. we refute the idea that the self is the only necessity that may ground us, take us to the next level of our highest being.
we just mask, mask ourselves and bask in what we idealize.

don't call it love if there is no solidarity, because i have learned quite plainly that love is not solid, but rather cracked in tiny places upon a cemented foundation that we didn't build, but someone else did.

[addition]

we act like rebels against a cause. bridging between oppression and advocacy. all we fight is silence, inside and out. and there is no savior in mind.
just ghostlike histories of assumed identities in drowning waters--intentionally drowning by the lightness of you.

this fucking system keeps us down, turning ideologies of communities into gangs and shame into poverties through these undetected properties. and my brothers and sisters read the histories of your people, instilling lies in our heads, rather creating avenues of silenced, willing deaths.

it's enough you choose to exploit at will what lies
in your land, in your hands--but then you fly into our
'homes' announcing war to threats you manifested in the
first place, to instill broken democracies.

stop telling my family that if they keep afloat and listen
to your phallo-centric infiltration that we will
win the fucking war. this is your war, not ours.
trying to save an economy due to fear, when were constantly
losing bodies to your systems of oppressions.

who's to break down the beams that hold your ceiling to high--in which
cascading suns brown your bodies while others color themselves red, and others ceilings collapse due to the rain of your hate.

bars, books, buildings allowed for your elevator ride onto your
awaiting pedastools. i can taste the constant conspiracies in my mouth
and the way it burns my skin. you censor books that are necessity, vital for pure education, you stigmatize our drugs you pour billions into pharmaceutical companies to label something "safe", "effective" rather than investing into resources that haven't changed since it was written into the system.

justice. justice. liberty? pursuit of happiness? for all. mind you that 'man' in law was only made for one kind.therefore the shackles you continue to force us to wear disallows for any type of revolution rather a subjugation, assimilation into your own right. rights.

i can no longer collapse to my knees, and scream in bitterness. the anger ruptures through my body like dominoes, one after the other,click.click.click.

apparently there really is just no rest for the weary.

My new thrill: the East Coast.

after being born & raised in the bay area and never living farther than 45mins. away from my family, i finally feel like i'm ready to venture outside of beautiful California.

and no, it's not a type of move where the norcal girl moves to socal to feel something "different." it's more like a move worth more than 1,000 miles away. a move so far that if i ever (which i will most likely) feel homesick, i can't just drive a couple hours to go home. i'll have to suck it up and get through it.

the thought of me exploring other lifestyles and atmospheres have been encircling my mind for awhile now. lately, it's been all i can think about. i mean could it be because maybe i just need a vacation? or maybe i'm really getting tired of the California routine right now? is this a phase? or possibly am i just tired of doing the same things over and over again here? whatever it is, i finally feel like i need to get away for awhile. i feel the need to change a bit and be surrounded by different scenery, different vibes, different everything.

obviously though... since i still have about a year (and maybe a half) to go till i graduate at USF, i can't leave just yet. and considering i'm poor as hell, i probably won't get to leave till a year after i graduate. but i think just taking note that i really wanna pack up things and step away from the west coast is a step up. because i never thought in my right mind i'd want to leave the bay to go somewhere else. EVER. the idea of such would be ridiculous to me about 4 years ago.

but i've changed and grown. and i guess i need something else to help me continue that and break out of my shell more. for me to take on something new and fresh. now i know i'm talking way ahead of myself right now but i just have this gut feeling that won't go away and i thought i'd make note of it (so i won't back out).

NOTE TO SELF: "don't pussy out." HAHAH

on the real though, i think it's been on my mind way more now because i DO only have a year left here till the real world takes control of me. after i walk down that aisle with my degree in my hand, what else am i supposed to but try to make something of myself?

i keep hearing stories and seeing people take risks to make big changes in their lives recently. whether it'd be through finishing school or throwing ideas up in the air and hoping it can make them famous or simply just following their passion... i've been inspired to do the same. and considering how much i've changed within this past year and all the new folks i've met, i feel more hungry to pursue a different lifestyle. the "risky" kind. cause lately, i've been feeling stuck in a transformation irking to fully bring itself out. as if i've been waiting too long to figure out what i have to offer.

but now that i finally feel i have somewhat of a grasp on who i am and what i wanna do in life, i'm ready to do it. though of course my gemini-self is like a rocking boat always going back and forth with ideas, i finally feel sure of at least one little thing: i wanna do something creative with my life.

with the major i have and the plethora of imagination that comes with it, my dreams can't hold me down in the bay area anymore. i'm feening to show the world the ideas that i've constrained for so long. whether it'd be through writing, through communication, simple art or associating myself with different people, i'm determined to spill creativity and mark my name on it. i'm tired of playing it safe and being engulfed in the same circle in the same city...

i want something FRESH. something that'll make me feel uncomfortable for a bit... a different venue with different risks.

so as of today, i've made it a life goal of mine to make it to the East Coast after I graduate. wherever it may be, New York, Baltimore, or Boston i'm making it to the East Coast. and we'll see if i'll like it or not.

take a mental note of that kids, i'm gonna make it happen.

can't sleep...

so here's a slowjam (for the weekend):




LOVE IT.

response #1: How I came to be.

09071987. Numbers? Statistic? Identification Number? No, just my birthday. Twenty years old with a swollen epidemic called immaturity. No, not really. See, I’m the kid that carries the ‘brown’ jokes in their pockets and I’m still coming to the cross roads of my identity. It’s definite that I’m never going to be a fixed self, nor do I want to. When I was younger my grandma talked to me in her native language Tagalog until my loving father reprimanded her for not speaking English to me. I guess you can say that’s when americanism and assimilation literally flooded my family.

I’ve never really rested on the idea of how I’ve come to be, but rather analyzed the multi-faceted “characteristics” I’ve grown to accept. Like culture, I view my “filipinoness” as something not so traditional, but rather clueless within my own knowledge of its traditional histories. To be honest, I have not rested upon my asian roots or how it is incorporated into my assumed american privilege. Rather, I consider myself a product of americanism, but not willingly so.

I actually find myself angry and frustrated that conflicts arise with my perceptions of what it means to be asian, asian-america, asian america, and american. Although they’re all subjective (within a personal context) I feel like they all reside in some type of stereotype—how the east perceives the west and vice versa. I grew up in what started out to be an average neighborhood in San Jose, CA, and then as time progressed the grass literally stopped growing and cops became more present. My house lied in that neighborhood, but my middle and high school years resided in Santa Clara, CA-the majority of members being white.

Even now (specifically in Santa Cruz) I find myself trying to figure out who I identify with, and why I become upset, in terms of race and culture especially when it comes to certain relationships in my life. I guess you can say that is when my pocket of brown jokes becomes versatile. Most of my friends are predominantly white, therefore, when there’s any ounce of asian anywhere—I’m assumed to know what it means, understand it, be it. I always get those eyes, and sometimes the jokes don’t start from my own mouth. I feel the stereotypes flood their minds and I’m just the one vocalizing it because if I wasn’t there, they would either still think it, or not relate it to me but to what main stream america has taught them about asians.

Yet, what have I been taught about america or asia? It’s nothing as different as my friends understanding and/or knowledge. I can only take into account and be responsible for my own history, my shared experiences, and my struggle within a system that acts like a device that doesn’t want my voice to be heard-unless the ‘white-superemist-capitlistic-patriachy’ benefits from it. As much as I want to pin point moments in my life that acted as turning points in which I produced my several identities- I just can’t. Maybe, I’m just in this boat of constant insecurities floating into any direction where there is no land so I don’t have to stake my claim, but rather am allowed to find rest within the water’s fluidity and pick and choose what and who I want to support.

I want to find and learn about my cultural identity instead of basking in jealously of others who know their culture well. I want to believe that my parents still want to insert type of filipinoness in my blood, instead of sending me to the phillipines every once and while to figure it out (when I go there, I’m not tapping into the histories of my identity but analyzing the systems and relationship that take place between this homeland and that homeland). Hustling between my assimilated family (except the Filipino food) and my assumed to be diverse college education of a town I still stand at the cross roads. Maybe something will land on me, smack me up against the back of my head (not so much a hand) or shake me so I can feel confident and willing to identify with something. All I know is I was born in america (no choice here!), love filipino culture, but am an invisible race in america-perhaps I just lack the exposure to filipino history. In any case, I don’t feel pity for me since checking a designated box on an application is the least of my worries (when speaking of ethnicity/race).