stuffs i still keep
Posted June 15, 2011on:
All these old things are still here. I have deleted at least 50% of the ones that should have been kept, but I guess there are still enough of what’s left to make heads and toes out of it.
Wednesday, September 26, 2001 4:47 PM
RE: I am so stupid!!!
HaHa! That is hilarious. I was wondering why you were referring to me in
the third person. I thought it a bit odd, but humorous nonetheless. Now it
is even funnier! So did you have someone in mind for me? That was nice of
you. It is funny that I would even pop up in your mind, but I am glad that
I did. 🙂 Wow, just think of the things that you could have said . . .
This is the stuff that great jokes are made of!
I don’t think of it as conspiring, I think of it as being thoughtful. So
again, thank you for thinking of me for it is true, I am not married. How
are you doing in “that department”?
Sent: Friday, September 21, 2001 11:21 PM
To: Kevin Hiroshima
Subject: I am so stupid!!!
yeah yeah ^^
but you know, that wasn’t why I started writing to you!!
honestly! My good friend and I were just talking about how my
VN trip is going down the drain and then she said “I thought you
no longer keep in touch with him” and then I said yeah I just
happened to remember Kevin’s email etc., etc.. It ended up that
I said come to think of it, hey, kevin is not married, hook’em
up!!! and then I wrote this message, but it wasn’t meant for
you, it was meant for her, but how the hell did I ended up
replying to you instead!!! hell!!
I need a break, working with annoying clients can do that to me!
Man, am I glad I did not say anything self-incriminating!! Hee
hee 😉 But dude, that was so close!! Now you know how I
talk/conspire about you behind your back >. HaHa, I was trying to be subtle, but I did use “we” and
> romantic weekend all
> in the same paragraph. I thought that the message would come
> across. 😉
> Why is it too bad that I have a girlfriend, were you looking
> for someone for
> me? 🙂
> —–Original Message—–
> From: idlehouse
> Sent: Friday, September 21, 2001 3:27 PM
> To: Kevin Hiroshima
> Subject: whoops, error
> Kevin has a girlfriend already, too bad. Just caught the
> hints in his message hee hee. I was wondering. Cuz I asked
> how he fared in “the other department” and when he wrote back,
> was like “hey, this dude ignored my question!” But now the
> just caught up to me hee hee ^^ not that I really care, but
> the man is subtle!
sometimes I waxed poetry for the men who were around to witness…
one late September afternoon
Wednesday, September 27, 2000 6:14 PM
To: Kevin Hiroshima
Warm in layers of clothes, a scarf around my neck, hands in pockets, backpack full of books, head thinking of a tune, “humm… ta ta..” that’s how the tune goes. Then, I whistled. It’s a beautiful day in the east bay, by the bye, as soon as the sun eased its way through the early morning fogs. White layers of stratus from high above reminded me of San Diego’s beaches in the summer, while the cold, crisp air informed me that it’s the end of September.
On the way home today, I noticed that a lot of leaves have already fallen. Nothing beautiful or dramatic yet, just the dull brown ones that shuffled under my footsteps. Someone wrote to me “you really should visit the east coast at this
time of the year, the whole world is an endless spectrum of colors…” Here, in California, it’s green all year round, or, over night, everything turns brown, and over a couple more windy nights, one sees nothing left but bare branches piecing the blue, blue sky.
If you ever have to sit and wait for someone, or even a bus, you would have time to notice those funny trees with funny little leaves. Like little hands. The back side of each leaf has a peculiar shade of frosted green, so that in the wind, they flip like children’s hands playing the games of “black or white.” Now they are quite green yet. But comes December, they will be all gone. Like the goodbyes, the hands wave and wave as they leave the trees, whirl a bit in the wind perhaps, then settle silently onto the ground and wave no more.
Today is the first day of the week that I came home before dusk. I opened the blinds, let in some sunshine; opened the windows, let in some air. The flowers from a couple of weeks back have dried out in a vase. They were Sharon’s. The vase had to be rinsed, soaped; the flowers, thrown out; the table, wiped. Then, the last trace of her will be gone. As if she had never visited, we had never sat by that table and chatted late into the night. Water hadn’t been spilled in that kitchen; pots had never boiled on that stove; food, never eaten under those lamps…. But then I heard her laugher again, saying “Linh, don’t be so ridiculous!” Then I also heard laugher way way back, when the twins were also here, and John said “OK, OK, we’re going to eat, you can put away that knife now!”…
By the sofa, I remember trying to drag Michael out of bed one morning long long ago. I painted his toenails with bright green nail polish, and as Sharon and I were laughing at it, the fully painted foot disappeared under the blankets, and the other one came out, waiting. Sharon shrieked, breathless from laughing, “He likes it, he likes it…!”
Much has happened since that morning. Plans have been altered, roads crossed, intersections diversed. I would think, as I washed all the blankets, towels, sheets, whatever that got used during their short visits, “well, that’s that.” Once everything got put away, my house again empty, the days wrapped in frenzy motions from morning till night. Emails echoed the past “Oh, got those pictures developed, will scan and send,” “We’re thinking of another trip, in November maybe… but not sure. Will let you know.” “Mike said he misses your soup…” but then after a while, new stories replaced old ones, then school, work, dates: life sets in.
Then one afternoon, in late September, I came home when the grandfather clock struck five, and found myself surrounded by those memories, as if I were there in that room, and it was that morning again, and I saw myself, and everyone else. I heard myself laughing, and heard them, too, laughing. “Why on earth did you buy that many crabs for?” “My God, is this one alive?!” “Give me that hammer. Will somebody lend me a hand? This bastard is alive!…” “SHHhhh… keep it down, my housemate might be asleep!!…”
The house is awfully quiet. Every corner is like a still-life painting. But here’s a little secret: nothing is still. If we let people into our space, everything in that space whispers an eternity of little stories, even long after the people are gone, words forgotten, memory blurred.
And that, is our life.