16 february 2000 | back | archive | forward

i'm not a poet, i keep telling them. but they don't listen. they don't believe me. hush, they say. and yet they tell me to speak, to speak my heart, to read my words. but i don't read aloud, i tell them. i write words down. you read them. that is how it goes. i am not a poet, i say.

and then i think of the little girl at the children's hospital where i used to volunteer. she asked carrie to draw a picture.

"but i can't draw," carrie said.

"you have hands, don't you?" the girl replied.

i have a voice, don't i? well, yes. but it stutters and stumbles and mumbles under my breath. it is housed in a gangly body that trips and falls and doesn't stand up straight. it likes to laugh loudly and sing loudly -- but not on a stage, and certainly not in the center of the stage.

hopefully the lights will be blaring at my eyes, and i won't be able to see them, he said. if they could do it, so could i, she said. and they will love me, he said; they already love me.

so i said yes. i am not a poet, but i'll do it, i said. i can't do it, but i will, i said.

because maybe secretly i want to read. maybe i want to prove myself wrong.

my mom is coming home saturday from the philippines. yay, yay.

sometimes people change so drastically that you don't even know who they are, anymore, and you wonder if you ever did.

six people in one place wearing blue shirts and black leather jackets.

"LA is all about being hidden. it's all about mystery and riddles, and every week there's a new question," said john cho when cornered by yours truly at the Union Center for the Arts in Little Tokyo. actually, he was passing out fliers for his band, left of zed. he looks like an asian leonardo dicaprio wanna-be.

i got a surprise phone call today.

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