narcissustears14-blog

[narcissustears14-blog]

san jose, california

explaining why a relatively irrelevant town in california is so important is difficult at times. heart breaking at worst, liberating at best. i can’t call it just a town, it’s filled to the brim with such memories of wholeness and the utter feeling of freedom. like you could throw your head back and let the salty breeze play with your hair and the chilly day warm your soul.

san jose.

san jose.

it’s more than a town, a city, san jose. it tastes of oranges and smells of salt and feels like floor carpet. it’s a second heartbeat in my chest, a second breath, a second voice. what i’d give to have the town, the city, san jose, to be mere seconds away.

instead it’s a six (near seven) hour flight, eighteen hour drive, and a four hundred seven walk.

what luck.

unlucky, unlike one of my favorite parts of san jose. soon to die and wither away and be left to warm summers with chilly oceans and dark sand when i was younger.

the luck of san jose and the luck that felt as though it flowed through my veins. luck was red and luck was gold and luck was twenty bucks in an envelope. little red envelopes with golden chinese words filled with a few dollar bills. the gift being sealed with a pat on the cheek from an old woman. the luck of feeling as excited to open it up as the last time. we were only lucky enough to do this once every few years.

feeling whole was a common side effect of visiting the californian town, the city, san jose.

from chinatown to the restaurants, it felt whole and full and right.

the restaurants were always good. from roasted duck to dumplings to rice. i’d have to say, i even still hold respect for egg custards. despite attempting to eat a full one and never being particularly fond of the taste. because they’re a recipe from people like me, made by people like me, for people like me, and finally it was people like me. it felt like home.

my favorite home in california, san jose was my grandma ju’s. once my grandpa ju’s as well but time ate him up as it will our bloodline.

i remember hopping up on each stepping stone on the gentle, grassy slope up to her house. sardined in between two other houses, it was blue and narrow and tall and lovely. i remember the curiosity and excitement of opening the door and stepping onto the carpet. i loved her carpet as i loved her tile.

she had a garden too. she was old and fragile but she never seemed to stop caring well for her garden, as it was luscious and bright and alive. i hope she stays that way. she’d take her shears and she would shuffle to the greens and chop off tomatoes. and whoever was nearby would be juggling three or four tomatoes in their arms. it was fun.

it was fun to run around her backyard, to touch the apple trees and the orange trees and the lemon trees. to pluck cumquats right off the tree and eat them, small and sour fruits that both my father and my mother and myself love. i miss them.

i miss hearing a voice from the kitchen speak to a voice in the living room in a foreign language that somehow was familiar. to wonder what they were saying, to wonder why they’d ever give that up, to wonder why they never taught my father so he could teach me, and wondering if he even would.

would they ever take me back?

to the salty breeze and the chilly waters? to the place where i wish i knew better? to pluck cumquats off of branches and to eat roasted duck with people i wish i could know? to take me back to see people like me? 

would they take me back to san jose?

to the beaches? where you could stand on the sand with your feet in the ocean, feeling the push and pull of the untameable waters. pointing across the vast ocean and saying with child joy, “that’s where china is!” and to realize with awe that grandpa and grandma ju sailed across these murky waves to just get to the west. and to silently smile as you realize that china is your home too.

i’m torn between three places.

from my hometown where i’ve made more memories than i could count.

from san jose where i’ve never felt more whole.

from china, where somewhere among the large population, are relatives that i’ll never meet but cultures that are just as much mine as they are theirs.

i suppose it’s a bit weird to miss somewhere you’ve never been, huh?

i’m scared for the day when they’ll no longer have a reason to take me to san jose.

grandma ju doesn’t even live in her home anymore.

[narcissustears14-blog]

Alice felt goosebumps prickle up her skin as the clock ticked. She felt her throat close up as her heart pounded in her head. She saw the man standing at the bedroom door. Her breathing hitched. He was dressed in a black suit as he faced the door, leaving only his back visual.

Tick.

Alice took a shaky, choked breath.

Tock.

She let out a wet and rough exhale.

The man turned. Alice wanted to run, run, run(!) but she stayed frozen to the ground. Clutching her locket and hearing her pulse throb. The room was dark but Alice could see the man perfectly.

His paper white skin devoid of an ounce of melanin. His dark brown eyes that seemed nearly black. A pointed nose and thin lips. The man tilted his head. Alice felt like she couldn’t breathe. The man walked forward.

Alice’s brain screamed but all she could do is bring a hand up to her mouth as she let out a wet cough-sob-scream.

Instead of the man coming close to close no not now please stop i want home- he walked through the floor. Well, it was more of a descent down a staircase. He walked cleanly through the ground. Seemingly walking down a staircase. He looked straight into Alice’s eyes as he continued downwards.

An almost challenge, request, question. The forefront blank gaze felt as though it hid the backdrop of mischief and curiosity. 

Come child, what wonders has this world been hiding?

Alice felt her heart, breathing, and internal monologue slow.

Tick, tock.

The white man in the dark suit was gone. Seemingly disappearing down into the ground. Alice’s grip on her locket loosened. Her curiosity edged up to the center of her thoughts.

Come where?

She moved forwards cautiously. She picked up a pen off her nightstand and tossed it where the man descended. She watched as it fell through without so much of a ripple. Her curiosity piqued. She circled the area, stopping at what she hoped was the beginning.

Come?

She took a step forward, gasping as she watched her foot disappear and felt a step. She let out a hysteric grin. 

Come.

She took another step. And another. And another. Her grin only grew.

Coming.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

And Alice disappeared down the steps.

[narcissustears14-blog]

Silky

An expensive corner bath slowly and quietly filled up. The soft sound of the water pouring into the tub filled the large empty room. The pristine white marble glistened. The only color in the room was a spilt bottle of pink liquid on the bathtub rim trickling into the water.

The water which reached a third of the bathtubs capacity was now dappled with pink foam.

The water continued filling the bathtub.

It was silent except for the soft classical music quietly playing. It became less calming when you learnt there wasn't anything in the room the sound could be coming from.

The water filled another third of the tub.

The pink foam grew thicker and slowly layered over more of the water.

The music grew a tab bit louder.

The pearl white walls and tiles shined like they were brand new.

You realize there isn’t a door.

You realize that nobody has ever been in here before.

Suddenly that spa trip seemed less relaxing. Suddenly the smile the spa assistant that assigned you this room wore seemed more predatory.

The surface of the water was completely covered in thick layers of pink foam.

The bathtub is overflowing.

The room is large and empty.

The room feels smaller.

Classical music grows louder. The water spilling onto the floor with pink foam seems more cunning than water should.

It doesn’t spill. It slides. And it grows.

The faucet suddenly becomes louder.

The classical music feels more lulling than relaxing. It grows louder.

The water is filling up the room slowly.

There isn’t a door.

[narcissustears14-blog]

August 22nd

August 22nd, the day my present was introduced to my future. The day that consumed the remains of my body. The gust of wind that extinguished my already flickering light. The day that I died.

I was aware that my death was approaching. When one thinks that their pain cannot grow to be more unbearable, fate likes to laugh at them. Fate is a sadistic force, but it is not merciless. For if it was, I’d be with you still.

The coughing fits, that drew blood more often than not, grew frequent. The ache in my lungs never ceased once the date gazed upon July 30th. My voice didn’t sound like my own, growing hoarse and dry.

Everything hurt.

When my breathing became more laborious and painful, I considered the fact that my legacy would be no more than disease.

I wasn’t fond of that thought.

You sat in my barren hospital room often. Our voices used to fill the room with amusement. The air had our hopeful, yet false promises that this would end. Pretty lies of returning home. 

After our talks were interrupted with violent coughing fits, the room gained a silence neither of us were fond of. Now you just held my hand.

It made my hopeless consciousness drift back to better times. The times you held onto my hand, narrowly dodging fellow pedestrians on the streets. Where the cold gnawed at your fingertips and dusted your face with a rosy tint.

The ways you would simply vibrate with excitement and hastily push pretty gift boxes into my arms. 

I’m envious of the past, where I would be strolling alongside you, hands intertwined. When I would see different sceneries, instead of the blank white walls. I wanted my last breaths to be in our home. Where I could bask in the memories of us, of you.

I desired nothing more than to die in the place I never felt more joyful. These white walls just radiated pain.

Knowing that I was not the first, nor will I be the last, person to die here didn’t make it easier.

If I could beg for your forgiveness, I would. You held a heart of gold in your chest. Tears would drip down your cheeks for someone you didn’t know. I know that your heart cracked a bit more with every second you watched me hurt.

Nothing fills me with regret like knowing I hurt you. The regret that I was the cause of your late night tears. Although, the words that I breathed to you with my final breaths were no regret of mine.

A voice that was once my own whispered,

“I love you.”

Nothing was more true.