I wrote a(nother) book about us

Spring in Beijing

Spring in Beijing is always

a strange mix of hot and cold -

it’s the time of year when the sun shines down

ants crawl up your spine

but when the wind blows

you shake ‘em all off.

It’s also the season of birth, life, love,

of trees sending their dandelion-like

seeds all over the place

making everybody sneeze.

That spring in Beijing,

as the season went with its plan,

as the stars in the sky align,

I sneezed in that breeze, too,

and decided to invite the girl I adored

to a concert I’d perform,

I invited you.

I remember it was my birthday, too -

but I don’t remember anything

from that big day.

I don’t remember anything from that

four-hour rehearsal.

I don’t remember if the brassy smell came

from my horns or my lungs;

I don’t remember if the occasional heavy hits came

from the drummer or my heart;

I don’t remember if it was valve oil leaking out

or my sweaty palms acting up.

I don’t remember anything when we were

finally setting up.

I don’t remember if the venue,

with its oakwood floors, white walls, and tall windows,

was a bit too open or a bit too closed;

and I don’t remember -

I don’t remember if it was the spotlight up on my head

that was blinding me

or if it was the March sun

up the just-blooming sakura tree

shining in from the windows.

I just remember when you walked in,

in that long grey summer dress,

black boots

matched with a black cardigan;

I remember looking into your eyes,

saying “hi”,

your smile,

backlit;

I remember playing lead until it was finally my solo;

I remember presenting in Chinese, English, and broken Japanese

that I was gonna play “The Nearness of You”,

cheekily hinting that I was indeed playing it

for you;

I remember feeling both the hot and cold of Beijing spring;

and I remember -

I remember closing my eyes,

for the entirety of that solo,

not knowing if I was nervous of seeing the audience unimpressed,

or seeing you smile.

I remember, then,

after my solo,

playing that pathetic love song by Teresa Teng

and closing my eyes -

not to unsee,

but to feel,

and to open my eyes to see you,

only to see you with your eyes closed as well.

---

Under Crystal Raindrops

Whenever people ask me what love is,

I’d go back to that Saturday night when we were

dancing to that one song.

It was just the right temperature -

not too hot for a full tuxedo and

just warm enough for a long evening dress -

when we danced and

crystal raindrops fell from the sky.

It was at night so I only saw the rainbow

in my mind.

We saw the rainbow in each other’s eyes.

Just the two of us.

Whenever people ask me what love is,

I’d go back to that Saturday night when we were

running to that one bar.

As everyone else was heading back,

we pushed against the waves of the

sea of people and

it was already too late

even the chefs had gone home so

all we ordered were two drinks

and a plate of mixed nuts

and the cashews on the very top

casually made a little heart so

we didn’t go home because

we found home in each other’s embrace.

Just the two of us.

Whenever people ask me about love,

I go back to that Saturday night when I was

singing you that one other song.

We sat under the moon,

you sat with your legs on mine.

Moonlight showered out the window and

we sat in front of the road that is now a river that is

now wider than a mile and I’d whisper

how we’d be the makers

of our dreams and drifters

of the world that only has us

in it.

Just the two of us.

Whenever people ask me about love,

I tell them it’s when

I accidentally fell down the stairs

in that act of life

of that theatre that is

a basement and flattened myself into

the darkest wall of that

black box and

you were already on your way home -

in fact, you were almost home -

but you got out of the car and turned back so

you could demolish the walls and

piece me back together

from the crumbles.

Whenever people ask me about love,

I tell them it’s when

you got into a big fight with your mom and

she threw a pencil sharpener at you and

you ran out of the house and

you called me and

I took the subway for an hour and

sprinted and panted and sprinted again so

I could pull you out before the

blades of that sharpener

start spinning.

So when I talk about love,

I tell them it’s the type of love where

we walk for hours in a mall and

talk for hours nonstop and stop

at a taco bar to kiss and come by

an ice cream truck and laugh

because we got the special flavor -

from each other’s lips.

I tell them it’s the type of love where

we run out of class to lie down on a hill although

I’ve never missed a single class;

I tell them it’s the type of love where

I touch your face and it’s scorching hot although

it’s freezing out;

I tell them it’s the type of love where

I have just the right amount of sugar in my coffee,

sweet but not cloying, although

I used to prefer it black;

I tell them it’s the type of love where

we climb to the top of the heap and

watch the entire city and the entire world

right in front of our eyes although

it’s a smoggy day.

Because

I tell them it’s the type of love where

it’s just the two of us and

all love is is us.

---

When an ocean makes up a world apart

When an ocean makes up a world apart,

I stand on barren land barely afloat,

Composed my heart en flambe, a la carte,

Charcoaled and put out, tides rocking a boat.

Thus the moon rounds the sea and casts its light,

Upon the patient heart, uncalled, for now,

And the days of roses are scorns of night,

Watered by a dock, locked a simple vow.

So eternal like the tidal patterns,

Words of pledge pledge to wedge the hull for, ever

Had light kindled the darkness of caverns,

With wintry hands always on the lever.

Cruise the summer heat, waves in disbelief,

'Tis only faith, full when we kiss for brief.

---

I wrote a(nother) book about us

I must be in love with a lot of things about us because

I wrote a book about us and

gave it to you as a birthday gift.

You know, the one with the bold red cover, cute illustrations,

and fill-in-the-blank prompts.

I don’t remember what I wrote exactly,

and I gave you the only copy.

But I must be in love with a lot of things about us -

I love the fact that we have our own little playlist

and collection of puppy stickers.

I love how we always hold hands;

I love that somehow we hold hands

and just magically walk completely in sync.

I love how we both never get tired of walking

and of walking with each other,

even if we’re just whispering sweet nothings;

I love how we’re always walking together,

no matter the weather.

I love how we made ourselves promise rings;

I love the fact that even so we still pinky-promised by Hangang

while drinking cocktails on the rocks.

I love how we always look so good together in the photos;

and I love how we look even better when we see ourselves

in each other’s eyes.

I love the fact that your day is my night but

we're still like the sun and the moon,

how you give me light and I watch over the world

that is ours in the darkest times.

But I suppose love isn’t only blind,

it’s also deaf and mute and

breathtaking because I just can’t get myself to

pop a question -

Like,

what do you feel about the distance that’s between us?

Because I don’t quite enjoy it.

And I don’t mean the fact that we’re in different countries,

I mean the fact that we’re starting to live in different worlds

and you’re not doing anything to help us.

Like,

when are you gonna come visit me?

Because you said you would,

and I already prepared two mugs, two toothbrushes,

and two pairs of slippers -

I already pre-paired everything.

Like,

when are you gonna write me another letter?

Because you said you wanted to write letters,

and, so far, I’ve written you twelve,

I guess you wrote to me, too.

Like,

sometimes,

it would be nice if the sweet nothings could be something,

if the pinky promise can be redeemed,

if you don’t always order our love on the rocks, and

if I can actually hold your hand and look into your eyes

so our love doesn’t stay in the photos.

Like,

Will your broken promises stand

or will they also turn head over heels

like my heart broke for you?

Because sometimes it feels like

our hands are the only things holding us together,

our legs are the only things walking us forward,

and the ring is the only promise that is still intact.

I must be in love with a lot of things about us because

I think I just wrote another book about us.

Although I think I’m gonna keep this copy to myself.

---

All my friends know

All my friends know how much I love you.

Grace says a couple like us will never break up.

Chris would like to invite us to Guam.

Tina wants to be my best man when I get married to you.

And David texts me once in a while just to ask how we’re doing.

All my friends know how much I love you.

Michael says he’s got a lot to learn from our long-distance miracle.

Ayano-san wants me to call her if we happen to be in Tokyo.

And Mr. Twelve asks me all the time when we’ll be back in Beijing.

When I was diving in Koh Tao,

Luke and Katy congratulated me -

they say you’re really cute.

And when Owen said he was bringing you something from me,

what he meant was he’s the best wingman ever and helped me

pack myself in a box and flew with me to Seoul so I can

jump out and give you a romantic-movie-worthy surprise

for he knew my soul was in Seoul.

All my friends know how much I love you,

and you know all my friends.

Yet,

you tell me about your friends

the same way you take my compliments -

reluctant, unwilling, for no reason.

You tell your friends about me

the same way you share your life with me -

random, spontaneous, only when you feel like it.

And you introduce me to your friends

the same way you plan the next time we meet -

I still don’t know when “next time” is supposed to be.

My friends are your friends

but I don’t really know any of your friends.

I don’t really know you,

not anymore.

---

You cheated on me with God

Remember when we first started dating

I asked you if God was ever gonna be a problem?

You told me no, other than you promised Him that

there would be no sex before marriage -

I didn’t even blink and said “okay”.

‘Cause not to be corny, I wasn’t dating you

‘cause I was horny.

You see, you and Him,

you guys have a complex relationship.

Sometimes you hate Him,

sometimes you love Him.

Sometimes you hate you love Him and

sometimes you love to hate Him.

I didn’t really understand but that’s okay.

‘Cause I trusted you for believing in Him, and

I believed Him, too, because I trusted you.

So I imagine

when you held my hand for the first time

and whispered to me

how our fingers fit like little Legos,

God hadn’t figured out instructions to

set #21061 -

the cathedral set.

I imagine

when you locked the classroom door,

looked at my lips

and kissed me for the first time,

God wasn’t watching behind

that surveillance camera.

I imagine

when you asked to stay with me at the hotel,

when you turned on TV to play my favorite cartoon,

when you then sat in my lap and bit my lips

and put your arms around me

and your hands all over me,

and when you woke up next to me the next morning,

God was happy we still kept our promise

even as a young couple in fiery love.

So I imagine

when you told me you’d love me,

forever,

when you told me I was the man you’d

marry,

and when you told me you couldn’t wait

to live life with me and get married,

Your God must have gotten jealous.

Because tell me why,

then,

one day,

all of a sudden,

in the blink of an eye,

you told me there can be

no more kissing,

no more staying together;

no more loving,

no more together forever.

Explain to me why,

then,

you would ever decide to reduce

our romance to platonicity,

our love to vicinity,

if not for the Holy Trinity

the divinity because my affinity for you

really went to infinity.

It’s funny how

when my mom asked me for only once

in our now permanently-extended long-distance relationship

if I was ever worried about you cheating on me,

I told her “no” without even blinking.

It’s just that

when I kissed you again and again

to get a taste of my life

for the next 100 years,

when I hugged you again and again

to find the permanent address

for my heart

so my friends could find me,

when I begged you again and again

to not leave me

for no reason,

when I stood in a cold shower

and prayed to Your God again and again

for you to stick with me;

when I figured out while I was day-dreaming

about going on a cruise ship with you

that you were the one who tanked the Titanic

that is our relationship

on that hidden iceberg

you so firmly believe in,

when the shooting stars hit me

that they could’ve all aligned

but you were the one who rearranged them

so they would fall

as the destiny of our love

that is destined to end

before we ever sail

to the destination;

I realized you were never desperate

to plan me into your life, I realized

you already had somebody else

up in your mind.

I realized cheating on another man isn’t the only

way to betray -

for you cheated on me with God.

So I hope

Your God also has a nice bowl cut

with an easy smile,

I hope He plays the trumpet well.

I hope

Your God also replies to all your messages

instantly,

I hope He sends you “good morning”

and bids you “goodnight”,

no matter the time zone.

I hope

Your God also flies to see you

every break He has,

I hope He takes good photos.

I hope

Your God also fights with His mom

so he could travel to the other side of the world

with every single thing that you’ve

ever gifted him,

I hope He knows what kind of flowers you like.

I hope

Your God also writes you love letters in cursive and

seals them in wax imprinted with

butterflies grabbed right out of His stomach and

mails them internationally to you,

I hope He knows you love butterflies,

especially the blue ones.

I hope He knows your favorite color is blue,

you love chocolate but hate strawberries,

your favorite food is curry and

your favorite drink is banana milk;

I hope He can cook and knows

you cannot survive without rice.

I hope He also gets you everything you like

and takes you anywhere you want,

I hope He also keeps a list of

everything you said you wanted to do

in blue.

I hope

Your God also looks at you

with eyes so deeply in love

you can fit the sun and the moon

and all the light we cannot see,

I hope He has your smile burned

into the retina of His eyes.

I hope

Your God is good to you.

‘Cause Goddamn,

I was good to you.

Remember that one night -

we were lying on the terrace,

beneath two maple trees,

gazing at the stars,

and you told me you were all mine?

Your God told me

you might’ve been full of faith,

But you were never really faithful;

I might’ve seen you as my angel,

but you were never truly mine,

for you were born in His cradle.

You cheated on me with God…

Or did you cheat on Him with me?

---

Truth be told

Let’s play two truths and a lie -

except in every two truths,

there is a lie.

The crowd is silent

yet deafening.

I woke up this morning

but I’m still asleep.

I love to write

but I hate to talk.

I am alive

but I feel dead.

I am full of youth

yet I waste all my time.

I do not lie

but I think I am

sometimes a liar.

The more I know

the less I think I know.

For less is more

but more or less,

the odds are even that

some will find this seriously funny,

or terribly good.

I could be deceptive

yet honest

but here is my

unbiased opinion.

Truth be told,

in every truth,

there is a lie.

If not,

how come money talks

but wealth keeps it low?

How come the armchair critic

always gets the dough?

How come the ones down-to-earth

have their minds up in the air?

And how come the only way to not give up

on your dream is to still dream during the day?

Truth be told,

in every truth,

there is a lie.

If not,

how come we always talk about

the butterfly at the party

but never how the caterpillar digests itself

to come out of the chrysalis?

How come I try to be a people person

but only want to be alone for the afterparty?

How come

when I want to be alone

I still want to be together with you;

and whenever I’m with you I still have to try hard

just to act naturally?

How come

love makes you blind

but I see the apple of my eye;

and we’re just walking up the stairs

but I feel like walking on thin air?

But how come

you say you love me

yet keeps it an open secret;

and you took your heart off of your sleeve

just to swallow it back in?

How come

I’m your better half

but you won’t give me your better half;

and you have all the faith for God

but none of your faith in us?

How come

our love is here to stay

but we still parted ways;

and all the kindness you showed

end up being cruel?

How come

I still love you,

but I still hate you;

I still miss you,

but I still hate you.

I still dream about you at night,

but I still hate you;

I still think about you during the day,

but I still hate you.

How come

I still love you,

but I still hate you;

I still want you,

but I still want you

to go.

On one of our first dates,

you wore a beautiful white fleece jacket.

I joked that you were a

wolf in sheep’s clothing.

How come astrology is a pseudoscience

but I can predict the future?

Yet when you said you love me,

I know you meant it.

You meant it in the moment and

that was the truth.

Like a collection of love poems

in another language,

I got the message but clearly

misunderstood the specifics.

It’s just that in every truth there is a lie,

and truth is only the future tense of false.

---

Still, thank you

Thank you,

for picking up your phone

on that Wednesday evening,

saying yes to what is probably

the worst confession ever made,

at least that I know of.

Thank you,

for holding my hand and taking me through

the peaks and troughs of the trek that is life,

handing me a torch when I forget that

I couldn’t see in the dark.

Thank you,

for opening my eyes with your kindness,

waking me up from my nightmare full of

judgement, prejudice, and cynicism,

hollering at me in the sweetest voice ever

to love with passion but

to live without anger.

Thank you,

for reminding me what a smile is,

showing me that it is all the beauty I need

even on days that are ugly.

People say we have the same smile,

I just smile and say I learned from the best.

So, thank you,

even if the last Wednesday you picked up your phone

was to propose what is probably

the worst decision ever made,

at least that I know of.

Thank you,

even if you’re not gonna hold my hand

and lead me through the whole journey,

even if I am now the one carrying the torch.

Thank you,

even if your kindness doesn’t penetrate

the armor of your own nightmares,

even if you no longer offer me the angelic sound of your voice

and allow your passion to die.

I may be sad but I will not be mad.

So, thank you,

even if you tried to factory recall the smile you gave me,

because I know the good days were not accidents,

and there are no defects in my smile.

I know I learned from the perfect smile,

even if the perfection is imperfect.

Still, thank you,

even if you’re just stopping by,

even if you can’t stay for long;

even if you planned to stay

but “priorities” called;

even if you never prioritize the responsibilities you claim,

even if you always claim they are not your responsibilities;

even if you are usually kind but occasionally ugly,

even if you are often perfect but sometimes faulty.

Still, thank you,

thank you for stopping by.

I think now is where I invite you out the door,

and say,

thank you for making me smile.