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On days where I start work on the later shift, I would venture out into the garden and munch on all the raspberries that ripen everyday, otherwise the family wouldn’t be able to keep up with all those that ripen each day.  

A childhood memory came into mind as I was munching away the other day.  Growing up in California around the age of 5-8, I found out that my brother Lor found a secret patch of raspberry isolated between high fencing between our yard and our neighbors’ yard and their garage.  This isolated plot was literally fenced all around with four high fence walls with literally no way to see through these fence panels except for a small hole.  The funny thing is, this raspberry bush only consisted of one plant.  Every so often, it would ripen with a few berries, I’m talking 2-3 berries.  We, whomever remember to check up on the raspberry first, would climb over this fence that was taller than us at the time, quickly munch on the berries and climb briskly back over.  

That bush was the only raspberry plant I’ve ever known down there, other than that, we had plenty of wild blackberry bushes growing everywhere.  We often picked them when they were at the verge of ripening and pound them with pepper.  I can’t find these berries at all up here in Minnesota so if you’re confused, I can understand why you are.  

There’s also lots of wild plums so just like with the berries, we would pick them before they totally ripen and eat them with pepper.  

Mom often told me that I was a quiet and a well mannered kid growing up.  I was rarely naughty and often listened and obeyed well.  The only thing was that I was often time a cry baby.  I cried often, mostly because Lor bothered me a lot, but I was a more emotional kid than most.  I remember my mom teaching me all of her herbs in the garden so on most days, I would be sent to go and pick out a variety of herbs for cooking.  Teaching a kid and giving a kid a sense of responsibility can be the most enriching experience; it’s also an empowering potential.   

Eureka.  You are the lump in my heart and I need to soothe you out soon enough.  It’s probably just me and you by the beach when I see you then.  9/19-22/14

You should know that there is something worse than hate and that is unlove.

Because hate is anger over something lost, hate is passion, hate is misguided, it’s caring for the wrong things but it is still caring.

But unlove, unlove is to unkiss, to unremember, to unhold, to undream, to undo everything that ever was and leave smooth stone behind in its wake.

No fire.

No fury.

Just, nothing.

And that is worse than hate.


Your salary is not love and your word is not love. Your clothes are not love and holding hands is not love. Sex is not love and a kiss is not love. Long letters are not love and a text is not love. Flowers are not love and a box of chocolates is not love. Sunsets are not love and photographs are not love. The stars are not love and a beach under the moonlight is not love. The smell of someone else on your pillow is not love and the feeling of their skin touching your skin is not love. Heart-shaped candy is not love and an overseas holiday is not love. The truth is not love and winning an argument is not love. Warm coffee isn’t love and cheap cards bought from stores are not love. Tears are not love and laughter is not love. A head on a shoulder is not love and messages written at the front of books given as gifts are not love. Apathy is not love and numbness is not love. A pain in your chest is not love and clenching your fist is not love. Rain is not love.

Only you. Only you, are love.


If this treatment is the result of the wrong doings of all my previous past-life, then I shall hope to reclaim all of it back in this lifetime so that future lives may be spared of this agony and gloom in which I experience today.  Perhaps there may even be a chance of a brighter day in this once-in-a-life-time journey for this Prince. 

After you’re gone, people will forget your name, no matter how important it was, and your face, no matter how pretty it was, and what you said, no matter how clever any of it sounded.

The things you’ve done will crumble and fade and the places you once loved, will change and be given new names.

You are only here for one moment and it lasts exactly one lifetime


Yet you still value the things you’ve lost the most. Because the things you’ve lost are still perfect in your head. They never rusted. They never broke. They are made of the memories you once had, which only grow rosier and brighter, day by day. They are made of the dreams of how wonderful things could have been and must never suffer the indignity of actually still existing. Of being real. Of having flaws. Of breaking and deteriorating.

Only the things you no longer have will always be perfect.


Everything started when my hands touched yours.

And I’ve done such sad things with my hands since then and I know you have too.

And I know we’ll find light in smaller hands than ours one day soon.

And I hope our hands grow old in each others.

If not, then why have hands, at all.


When something really, really bad happens to you, people will say to you “I am sorry,” even if they had nothing to do with what happened.

And it’s because sometimes thing happen that are so bad that what they really mean is “I am acting as an ambassador and on behalf of everything that must hurt so much right now, I say sorry.”

Because sometimes things are so bad, someone just has to say it.


I hope one day you get to love someone like you love breathing air or drinking water. Like they are fundamental to your existence, needed and necessary.

I hope you get to love like gravity loves, like the sun loves the earth.

Like warm sunlight upon soil that makes plants grow.

I hope one day you get to love like that.


Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy, happier than I’ve probably ever been. If you detect any sadness, it is only because I have found you in this life but I am not sure if I have found you in previous lives and I am worried about finding you in future ones.

What if there is a series of sad me’s going backwards and forwards in time who did not and do not find you?

What if this is the only point of light along that infinite line?

So I am sorry if there is a hint of sadness.

I am just feeling sorry for myself.


You’re so young when you’re born, when you’re taught that nothing matters.

And that’s the first thing people will take from you, because what else hurts more than what matters?

And we need to hurt each other when we’re young to find out if we’re made of anything besides flesh and bone, if we’re made of anything that really matters.

And failure becomes unimportant, when you approach it all, as something that doesn’t matter.

But everything is unimportant, when nothing matters.

And I hope one day you find something that still matters.

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