I read books and mostly sit quietly. I ate some pizza today and a cupcake. I bought ma po tofu from the closest Chinese takeout place because I wanted it. I ordered some Noodler’s ink, a pen. I made these thin hand-stitched notebooks with white covers and hot pink paper. I stopped biting my nails. Here’s my version of the cover I screenprinted for the group project in my Image/Text class that I’m really proud of that I had a lot of help with and I guess I should like more help. I played in a Magic pre-release a few weeks ago and did better than I thought I would. Someone said to an opponent, “I can’t believe you lost to a girl.” I think I was angriest about that.
On Tuesday, Stefan and I weeded out the garden bed and scratched in a layer of compost. I planted some strawberry runners. I’m in a community garden that’s shared with immigrants and refugees. Stefan asked if any of them were Cambodian. I said I don’t know. I try to teach him small words because anything more complicated, I’ll lose the language easily. He can say kuy teav really well and I don’t think I told him, but, hey, Stefan, you can say kuy teav really well.
At some point, I sat in Lindsey’s backyard and saw people I rarely see, rarely saw. I saw a friend’s picture and it made me want to mail her a congratulatory pie but alas, no address. I look at apartment listings, recipes, freelance assignments. I click back and forth. I hold clumps of my hips or belly and shake it and go, ughhhh, I wouldn’t mind if you brought home ice cream though. ;) I look at pictures of myself on my bike. I look at the bed. I crawl into the bed. I hide under the blanket. I try not to think about stuff like murder or foreclosures or being sad or feeling nothing or not listening to my records enough.
9 May 2013 / 10 notes
Police have identified the 68-year-old fruit cart owner slain in what police called a savage stabbing Thursday morning in South Philadelphia as Don Ly, and investigators are asking the public for their help in catching the murderer.
My step-dad’s father was murdered this morning and I don’t really know what to think. You never think murder could hit so close to home. Not when you live a quiet life, and your family lives a quiet life. We do good, do right by others. We live day-by-day and have our own fair-share of struggles.
I didn’t know him. Will, now, never know him. I am not invited to the funeral because I am a step-child. Either way, I, as much as everyone else, would like to see something be done. My step-dad doesn’t deserve any of this. I don’t know about anyone else, but I do know that my step-dad is my father.
And I look out for mine.
I know there are other things going on right now. But this is a little closer, a little removed. I am thinking about my mother and my sister and my quiet step-father and how talking and knowing and all of it is so, so important.
25 Mar 2013 / 3 notes
After every conference or fest, I feel the jolt of productivity. I’m going to write! I’m going to make more pop ups! I’m going to engage everyone I find smart and cute and interesting and be their friend! I usually let it slip away. I am sort of glad that AWP is the exact same weekend but also sad because I should email some friends.
POC Zine Project spotted me and took my picture and it’s on their Instagram now. ^__^ I don’t look at myself very often, try not to. I am glad my face looks like the way I remembered. Ed, Patrick, Maureen and I went for milkshakes at Margie’s but only Patrick got a milkshake. I had the “Bucktown Special” but it turned soupy faster than I could handle. I like sundaes that come in those glass cups but Margie’s serves it in a these giant plastic clamshells, which is great too. We went to Honey 1 afterwards and now I am home with the cats and there is freelance to do.
I walked by the Cambodian Association’s Girls Club table and still didn’t work up the nerve to say something like I am a Cambodian girl and I like that this exists. Maybe next year, again. I bought two zines. One is about Livejournal.
Also, I am sorry I didn’t have my contact information on anything. Punks asking for cards. I wrote it down on a lot of scrap paper. I hope you liked my poems. I am glad to have made them and let them go. Here, I hope google knows that this is me: crushing loneliness crushing loneliness crushing loneliness crushing loneliness. Thank you.
9 Mar 2013 / 6 notes
I am tabling at Chicago Zine Fest right now. Everything is confusing.
9 Mar 2013 / 2 notes