a bittersweet symphony

Four years since... Four years, and not a single Christmas together... Ah, well. Now I can concentrate on the things I want... Like go back to where my life is, or maybe even find someone I have a real future with... That would be mildly awesome.

In the meantime, spending winter break in China, which apparently blocks Facebook and Youtube. Bah!

Changchun:
- food and family

Beijing:
- jade factory
- climbed to the highest point of the Great Wall
- The Bodhisattva on the Water
- Beijing Olympics sights
- Buddhist temple
- Yuanmingyuan (ruins)
- Yileyuan
- factory where they make the blue thing on copper (wtf is this called?)
- Beijing Zoo, pandas!

Nanjing:
- family
- Nanjing delicacies for lunch

Shanghai:
- shopping!
- real coffee (Starbucks!)

i make a little mountain of work
and bury myself underneath
i think it'll help me not love you as much
because that scares me

i get myself a grown up job
and a grown up apartment
and a whole bunch of grown up friends
because only a kid can keep falling in love

i move myself away from your house
away from your warm bed and your warm body
away from the things that give me those butterflies
that make me so strangely discomforted

i think that i can't possibly want to see you every day
that i shouldn't
i think that eventually
we'll get sick of each other this way

we should moderate this thing we have
we should watch it
it could run
oh it could get so out of control

but i forgot to tell you my plan
and as time went on
i forgot about the plan altogether
because it was working better than i imagined

i forgot about you
fell out of love with you
saw through you when you kissed me
and grew up without you

your body stopped being warm and felt heavy
we stopped debating and started fighting
work stopped being a distraction from you but you from it
i stopped being scared of loving you too much but not enough

i take it back, oh i take it back
don't let me grow up if it means i grow up without you
don't let me forget you
tell me you still love me even if i'm an idiot

[end]

how do i say i love you, when i feel it with all of me whenever i'm with you.

the words are there, in the back of my throat... when you lay your head down on my chest to listen to my heartbeat. they're there when we're laying in bed, and you make your fingers all elephant-like and run it down my arm, making me giggle. they're there when we joke, when we laugh and stare each other openly in the face. they're there when i hurt and when i cry, and you hold me in the space between your arms. they're there, on the tip of my tongue, when you've worked a late-night shift and come home, only to find me sick and the bathroom a mess, and you let me stay in bed so that you can take care of it. when you kiss me despite my morning-breath, despite my dumpling-breath, my garlic-breath and my puke-breath. when you tell me to shut up and come here, regardless of my exam/work/sickness-induced hygienic disarray. when you let me cry and get snot on your clothes. when you let me sleep in when you have to get up. when you forego your restaurant of choice just so i can eat something that won't make me throw up. when you sleep next to the window and get sick because it's so cold. when you let me squeeze you into a corner or half-off the bed because you know i like to cuddle.

they're there when your hands touch my face in the middle of sex. they're there when i look you in the eyes, and they're there when you smile at me. the words are there when i wake up, after a mid-afternoon nap with you warm against my back. and they're there when i fall asleep with my face in the curve of your shoulder.

i never expected to find all of this in you, but i'm glad that i did.

i write because i feel a thousand billions things in a day, and i don't see it reflected back to me in the faces of the people that i see. i write because sometimes i can't speak, and i have to relieve the pressure of the words pushing against the back of my throat. i write because i seek an explanation. i write because i seek absolution. i write because i seek to see the love that i feel, the sadness that i feel, the fucking rawness of everything that i feel, in words, so i'll never forget these feelings.

i write because i'm emotionally dysregulated. i write because half the time i think i might have borderline personality disorder. i write because i fucking feel like it, and when my emotionals are amplified like they are, i can't not.

i write because i feel like screaming. i write because i feel like crying. i write so that when i see those words that are so true staring back at me, the catharsis will come and i will be able to actually feel.

i write because i love him. i write because i hate leaving him. i write because i hope that i'll be able to secret away my feelings and my truths in these words so that i don't ever have to tell him. or i'll just be able to show him these words, and he'll know with the utmost precision how i feel. because my words are my weapon. my words gather and shape my world. my words are how i grow, and mature, and know who i am.

the day that i can no longer write... the day that these words are no longer mine... is the day that i die.

I wrote this elsewhere, and I decided that it would be worthwhile to post here as well. Several factors prompted this post.

1) Obama's race speech. Very eloquent and nuanced, expressing many sentiments that resonated with me, as I'm sure they did with many others.

Now, these sentiments have been lying dormant within me for quite a long time, because as far as being acculturated goes, I'm pretty comfortably esconced here, with a great group of friends etc etc, and sometimes feel like there's nothing to want for. However, being acculturated and having found a niche for myself does not mean that one doesn't also occasionally feel the discomfort of being different in fundamental ways from everyone else.

I'm different from people who were born in Canada, and those who have grown up around the same group of people for most of their life. I'm different from immigrants who came much later in life than I did, who still hold onto much of the beliefs of their original culture. I'm drastically different from the person I used to be. My beliefs and values have changed, and are drastically different from those that my parents hold. They're drastically different from those that many of my closest friends hold. Sometimes it feels like I've been left out at sea, and have to find my own way back to dry land, else flounder and fail.

I don't say these things to be divisive. I don't say I'm different because I want to judge others. I merely say these things because I feel them, and I'm sure there are others that feel them. And these thoughts can be frustrating, and alienating, and make one disinclined to communicate openly with others because the foundation of a common belief system or system of rationalization is not there.

I feel that this has been sitting quiet within me for a long time, and it was about time that I gave voice to it, simply because I can, and perhaps it might strike a sympathetic cord in someone else. I'm wary of possible negative responses, and who wouldn't be... but I'm trying my best to express my own sentiments, without offending those of others.

2) The second thing that prompted this post was a recent and very emotionally-charged (on my part at least) discussion I had with my Caucasian friend. It began with politics, and we had differences of opinion as to the type of political system we would prefer to be governed by, but that's all common and good. However, our own philosophies naturally cropped up, and topics like religion (vs athiesm) and family (vs self) and collectivism (vs individualism) and existentialism (vs... haha, I don't know what the opposite is... idealism?) all came into play. Because of (not despite) our differences, I am appreciative of my friend for his understanding and open-mindedness that in many ways gave me the courage to write something like this.

Now, through my own experience, having moved around many many times, lost and gained friends within the same year, etc etc... All of the typical experiences involved when your parents leave your home country and try to make a better life for you here... My belief system has changed drastically. It is absolutely more individualistic than it used to be, and if I were completely rational and logical, and took into account all scientific and tangible evidence from all that I've encountered, I would feel as if I can't help but come to the conclusion that existentialism is the way to go. (This is not to say that other rational ppl have to arrive at the same conclusion... This is just how I view things.)

However... and here's the contradiction... These individualistic principles are the ones that I operate on from day to day. For 95% of situations, they hold completely true, and my actions are consistent with my beliefs as well as with each other. But if you were to strip the layers of experience and constructed beliefs away, and get at the core of me, I still fundamentally FEEL the things that I was brought up with, the things that my parents believe are good and pure and respect-worthy. In the last 5% of scenarios (like worst-case scenarios and shit like that, if I were forced to make life-and-death decisions, etc.), I could not violate those principles that I was raised with anymore than I could violate my newly found ones that I have logically decided upon through learning. To take it a step further, because I feel those so strongly, I suspect that I would choose the ones I was raised with... in a pinch (for the lack of a better word? O.O).

This seems contradictory to you, my reader, I know, for it seems contradictory to me as well. At this point in my life, I feel as if a logically consistent solution does not exist, or maybe I just haven't found it. But that's why it's still a small struggle to live in this society, just as it would be a struggle to go back and live in my original Chinese culture. I've accepted the contradictions within myself, and can only live as honestly and self-respectingly as I am able.

While I honour my parents and my roots with respect, and a deep sense of responsibility and duty. While I honour myself, and give voice to the differences that separate me from my family and friends, and try to live according to my own value system. And while I honour all of the people I've met in this society that have accepted me so willingly, and in integral ways have helped me figure out who I am as an individual.

Please everyone comment as you see fit. I'd love feedback on all this rambling! Haha! And sorry to the ppl I couldn't tag, not enough space! Much love.

it's a crying shame,
that she's been closed for too long.
because every time she looks at you
with those cold guarded eyes,
words threaten to erupt from her throat.

don't you know
that she thinks that to utter them
would bring an end
to all the bitter and all the sweet
moments under the setting sun.

it's a feeling
kind of like need but sweeter,
kind of like want but harder,
kind of like pain but softer,
what is that word that she can't say.

it's a crying shame, this laughable game,
where does it end and we begin.
retorts thrown out like a challenge
but mistaken for the truth,
and now we can't take them back.

but under the silken moonlight,
my eyes are open, do you see it.
between our entwined messy limbs,
between our laboured shared breaths
it shines and shines.

soft, the sun is breaking.
the light between us fades under the glare
and honesty vanishes like the memory of a dream.
you don't have to tell her to go,
she tears herself away from the moment that's over.

she thinks to herself that it's a feeling
kind of like need but sweeter,
tinged with regret, so bitter,
kind of like home, no matter where you were,
and she never wanted to let it go.

[end]

backed into a corner
i want to run from you
never see you again
from the corner of my eye

can't give you up
but can't get you either
what is a girl to do
but to give you herself

and you say, oh, you say
that i'm not enough
and you want more
oh, the things i can't give you

baby, what am i missing
what don't i have
because i'll go get it
so i won't have to miss you

how far do i have to run
to forget the feel of you
warm against my back
your hands running up my front

all the darling memories
i'll keep them in a box
cover them over with dust
until you, darling, find them

[end]

Title: Step and Go

Author: Yukiko

Warnings: Yaoi, evil!Johnny, angsty!Jun, child molestation, language… oh, and sap.

Pairings: Aiba/Jun, Jun/Ohno

Summary: A look at how Jun entered the Jimusho, and why he doesn’t like to be touched. Over the years, Aiba is the only one able to penetrate his armor…

Disclaimer: Everything that follows is fictional, and none of these events occurred as I have depicted them here, especially not child molestation. I understand that this is a sensitive issue, especially while dealing with real-life people. I am only borrowing the characterizations of these people as I understand them, and using them in a fictional story, and apologize in advance if these sensitive matters offend anyone. Please politely ask, and I will take them down, if this is so. I do not wish to demean the character of Johnny, any of their staff, or to imply that MatsuJun got in on anything other than talent. Haha, perhaps this is too controversial of a story to introduce myself with, but as I have enjoyed writing it, I hope you will all enjoy reading it as well! :)

Note: Sorry that this has not been beta-ed. Please bear with me on any mistakes! -.-‘

-----

( “why don’t you want anybody to touch you?” )

Title: Exclusive

Author: Yukiko

Warnings: Lemon, angst, character death, minor OOC-ness.

Pairings: Shuichi/Yuki

Summary: AU timeline. Set about a year after Shuichi and Yuki begin dating. Gravi EX and most of Gravitation (Mangaverse or Animeverse) never happened. Shuichi asks to be Yuki’s one and only, with unpredictable consequences.

Disclaimer: If only I did own these boys… I’d make them do lewd things to each other. Oh wait… I still can do that… neeheeheehee.

-----

( shuichi guessed that was when things started going irreparably wrong. )

It's Monday morning.
A siren blares in the dim backlit subconscious.
I'm not lucid,
And really the truth is
I stayed up all night thinking of you.

It's Tuesday afternoon,
And the dusky twilight finds me
Outside your hospital room,
Trying to wring some courage
Into these balled up fists of mine.

It's Wednesday now.
The hard plastic isn't welcoming at all,
But I'm held mesmerized by your waking eyes.
"I'm sorry,"
Not really as impactful with my lips on yours.

Thursday, oh, Thursday.
Hospital sheets cocoon our reconciliatory fuck,
My lips saying all the things my voice couldn't,
And for the first time,
I let you undress all of me.

Fuck, it's Friday.
I gotta go,
And there are no words while I pull yesterday's underwear up.
You're still not well when I walk out
And I think I love you but I'll never be back.

[end]

you were never mine to keep
this thing between us
slips away
as soon as you walk out the door

our whispered words and bedroom eyes
kept for each other
soft kisses and hard fucking
my knees almost buckle when i look at you

when the moonlight plays over my face
i hope you look
and fall in love with me
so that you never have to leave

what is this
some kind of crazy
how can love be so temporary
and i so bereft

fuck, look at me
look and see all the words i can't say
because sometimes i exhale them
on a last breath as i fall asleep

"i love you" and sometimes even your name
although the daylight makes me forget
and it's okay if you're not there
the sun is in my eyes and the subtleties gone

for today i'll swathe this bittersweet feeling
between sheets of courage and feminine strength
even though your heart is on your face again
i'd risk caring too much, lest i be swept away forever

[end]

the girl, she sits singular
on a crumbling wall from her childhood
singing, smiling
as the looters slip around her and away

mum had said to come back
then mum died
but her memories seep into the girl's bones
and keep them warm

oh, there goes the TV
the thieves are really moving
but they leave her be
as well as her wall

eyes slipping closed
the bright stories, with the fuzzy edges
swim back to her
in her mother's voice

mum used to talk about her true loves
she said, because her heart was big enough
the girl thought
it was just 'cause mum was addicted to adversity

there, they've moved into the basement now
there's some good wine there
she thought
she would miss the wine

mum's first love was a writer
the tortured type, mum said with a laugh
poetry and tears
they always did go hand in hand

surely, the basement is emptied
some heavy thunks drift up
a shift of cloud cover splashes light into her eyes
alas, with no roof over her broken wall

no matter what happened with the first
there was always the second
and oh, the second,
those were some good stories

mum talked about him with a blush sometimes
of the snow and his whiskey
and his endless propensity for drunken declarations
and then she would always put on a song

the girl giggled
sound like light glass, clear and sweet
because her mum was so young in her memories
even though she was old

and all the while
the looters came and went
having gone through the bedroom
and the precious privacy there

and the girl sang
of mum and her life and her loneliness
for there were others
but none that stayed

so she sang of mum and herself
of happiness in being each their own
and all the endless unstealable memories
the looters didn't know they'd missed

[end]

pen to paper
it hums through me
the lines and lines and lines
the possibilities

the wind stirs
changes direction around me
a whim tugs my hand
follow where it goes, fingers

lightly, lightly
soft strokes on a blank page
caress that emptiness
fill it with your presence

and, ah, there's a nose
the page can smell
the autumn in the air
and in my hair

like a watermark
or a shy smile
it all fades into existence
and i'm afraid to lose it

so quickly, quickly now
before the windy muse runs
before the autumn changes seasons
sink your pen into it

before it sweeps away
humming off to another tune
get it on paper
your paper, your pen

[end]

Lonely sonatas
take a winding sojourn through my head
making love to off-white ivory
standing long unused

Gentle puppeteers
held in place by vicious puppets
dance alongside souls
wanting for conscience

These false faces
shed beguiling smiles
shed winter's skin
shed open tears
and can face you no more.

[end]

sometimes i really hate the juxtaposition
of dark chocolate on vanilla
the sweet and the bitter there in my head
behind my eyes i want both

a spoonful of truth washes over me
but half of it never stays
and these, my fingers try and try
but no, it never stays, and truth leaves me cold

i hate the painful love
offered to me by the wishful thinking of children
and i give them a bandaid with cartoons on it
just cover it up, kids, for me

and yet, to me, it's the vanilla i hate
melts too easily, too yielding
nothing half as bittersweet, half as worth it
as my dark chocolate crepe on a sunday

[end]

put your hand upon my head
deja vu: you've been in there before
or at least i've told you of it
sometime after we met

light and dark, these days we walk
sometimes together, but never for long
like the sandy beach and the tide
meeting and parting with a wink and a laugh

i mention circles one day, in bed
it must've been cold, we're in a pile again
limbs and limbs, and sometimes feelings
all of it inconsequential in the grand scheme of things

i've got your music blasting in my ear again
thoughts of later is for later
today, it's a bittersweet pill to swallow
but, you know, i'm kind of addicted

[end]

getting high with all these friends
is nothing compared to being up in that hot air balloon with you
shaking around, the head lolls
and it's all kind of out of focus in the camera

my nose was bumping up against your finger
for some obscure reason
but it's a big flying colourful dream
the clumsy peanut butter jelly sandwich aside

thinking dumb sentimental words picked from a random lineup
i take my coffee outside, and smoke a cigarette
's not much: open here, microwave 3 seconds
ready to consume, these instant-made sugar-coated moments

fondly, i walk away from a majestically cold iced-latte
some notes from a song play in my head
maybe that scene from the movie we both laughed at
else i'm just getting high with my friends again

[end]

whispers of breaths through parted lips
heard through parted windows
parted for me
part of the grand transcontinental line

black lashes dust sleeping cheeks
and like a child
you sleep
like a sleep of the deep
blue waters pulling me under

clothed knees touching bare elbows
with the halfway contact of the millenia
touch each other
softly, touch
and come to rest against each other

mussed strands of hair
short and terse
brevity like your sentences
like you, like me

this precious body lying before me
i reach over to touch
to wake
but not yet
not yet

[end]

to be that desolate wanderer
that i've stared at for so long
to walk the empty corridors
warm but cold with loneliness
dry but wet with tears

to fall out of love with childhood
and be plunged out of the home
i've been going back to all these years
with the whiteness i've loved to touch
and my fingerprints on the walls

to lie to the big people with the big intentions
saying less over the empty phone line
imagining that final quiet car ride
with the radio blaring to cover tears
and then smile to them with the same face

to put on a tattered sweater from high school
and sleep in it serenely for a week
threwn into the trash on the last day
for the sake of new beginnings and ends
for the sake of new loves and new friends

to reach out to blue curtains
in front of supposedly blue skies
and have my fingers touch linen instead of air
to be so lost, so unwanted
to search for the thread to repair

to look at the orphan children
and hold them like siblings
infinitely gentle white fleece
covering their sweet faces
from love they haven't known

and after a star-speckled walk
down the wet mirror streets
to run into the arms of my love
who'll hold me til i die
and dam the salt water fall

[end]

poetry died when the glass fell onto the ground
shattered, just like it mattered, into a thousand staccato shards
and what remains is ugly, like these inharmonic chords
clumsily strung together into a semblance of pretty words
pretty emotions, pretty faces, pretty lives in a cage

the sky came down because she couldn't hold it up
she couldn't die trying, like a good little girl should
and she wanted to make...
she wanted to make...
she wanted to break and take and fake it all
just so she wouldn't have to see her own face in the mirror

and this isn't even poetry, she said
i just wanted to make poetry, she said
and where was the poetry that was all inside her head
this isn't life, and it isn't happiness, she said
she didn't want the courage sitting beside her bed

and once upon a time, she said
once upon a time...
..finis

[end]