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| One Year I miss him.
I think this, above all else, is what's most
important. I have a never ending list in my head of all the things that I miss
about Jackie Lam, who left us one year ago today. As everyone who loved him
knows, it was a year ago that our friend passed away doing what he loved.
By most measures, 365 days would seem like a long time. But
as I look back at the year that followed receiving the tragic news about
Jackie, I see little difference in myself.
Sure, I'm another year older, another year wiser, as the popular
expression goes, but I sure don't see it. A whole year of thinking has yet to
produce enough to justify why something like this happened.
If anything, the one thing that helped have things make more
sense came from the television show Six Feet Under. Following the death of her
father, Claire asks her brother, “Why do people have to die?”
“To make life important,” Nate replies. By this measure,
Jackie Lam lead a remarkably important life. He exemplifies like no one else I
have ever known what it means to live life like there is no tomorrow.
***
Things are getting harder to remember. The details,
specifically. This has been very difficult to admit to myself.
I don't want to forget.
I don't want to move on.
Even without every single detail in place, I still can
recall so many great times. Still, I feel some of the memories slipping away.
It’s sad and painful, but also impossible to prevent. If only I could remember
more, I tell myself. If only I could relive the magic one last time.
There was still so much to say. It seems the only time we
truly remember to be grateful to others is when tragedy strikes. This is when
we are reminded just how unpredictable life truly is. In the days following
September 11th, flags flew on every street from coast to coast. Now, just five
years later, you'd be hard pressed to find a flag on any building not run by
the government. It's just part of the grieving process I guess. In order to
move on, we try to return to our normal routines. As a result, trying to
express our gratitude to those we care about gets pushed to the back of our
minds, only to be summoned once tragedy strikes again.
I'd like to take the chance to thank each and every single
person in my life before I return to neglecting to let you know. It’s often
hard to find the chance to say all the things we want to. But, even though I
may not say it as much as I should, thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thanks for
making this journey known as life worthwhile.
***
Jackie, I miss you more than I could ever have fathomed. The
more I think about you this weekend, the harder it is to realize that I still haven’t
woken up from this terrible nightmare that turned out to be true. As I go back
and see all the wonderful things people have said and all the lives you
touched, I can't help but take solace in the fact that you were so important to
so many people.
One year ago, I distinctly remember being slumped over in my
chair at my desk crying harder than I had ever cried before. The type of crying
where your stomach hurts. The type of crying where your heart and soul ache.
The type of crying that you never forget. Recalling how shaky and numb it felt
to know that I would never get to hang out with you again. Even thinking about
it now makes me tear up and gives me chills.
I remember the night where we got in a car accident. David
and I were in the front with you and Mona in the back. And the first thing you
did was turn to Mona and ask if she was ok. That's how selfless you were. That's
how caring you were. Always putting others before yourself. I still strive to
be more like you. I need to be more like you.
Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if you were still
here. I know it's morbid and wrong, but I can't help but think how things would
be different. How I still would be able to experience your wild hair, shining
smile, and infectious laughter. How I still would be able to let you drive. How
we would still wind up at 7-11 during those endless summer nights.
Please forgive me for making this so fractured. There is
just so much I want to say, and I don't know how to do it. Every time I think
of one thing, my mind moves to yet another. All I know is that you taught me
that life is so quick and so wonderful and that you have to make the best of it
while you can. Sadly, I sometimes forget this. But whenever I am reminded of
you, I remember, even if it's just for a fleeting moment, how important life
is.
Because I still can't (nor will probably ever) find the
words to tell you how much you mean to me, I offer this from the Strokes:
"I remember when you came
You taught me how to sing
Now, it seems so far away...
I will not go to sleep
I will train my eyes to see...
I know you're waiting for me
On the other side"
And whatever or wherever the other side may be, I simply
cannot wait. | | |
| Five Years Later Ever since I was young, I have always wanted to go
up next
to a skyscraper, lie down on the sidewalk, and just gaze up, as if the
massive
building in front of me was some sort of ramp to the heavens. I'm not
quite sure why this was
something that I always wanted to do. My earliest recollection of this
was
when I was young and wanted my dad to one night take me to downtown
L.A. just so I could go to the sidewalk near Library Tower (L.A.’s
tallest building)
and simply lay there with no one else around. I soon realized that this
wasn't
a very feasible notion, so I simply put it out of my mind. It was not
until
tonight, September 11th, 2006, the fifth anniversary of the
destruction of the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, that I would have
that dream come true.
*****
It isn't your typical outing with friends when you suggest
going to the memorial for one of the most devastating events in American
history, five years to the day it happened. However, feeling some sort of duty
as students in New York City, there was simply no way we could not go to Ground Zero tonight. We
emerged from the subway station just as the sun had finished its descent behind
the mammoth buildings of lower Manhattan. We were greeted by swarms of people,
all here together, but not for the same reason. Some were simply walking back
from the local bars after a long day at the office, anxious to jump on the
train back to their apartment, frustrated with all the human traffic clogging
the sidewalks. Some were tourists, camcorders out, trying to capture every
single square inch that they found interesting. Others were simply there to
bring a flower or some other memento to commemorate the life of a loved one
lost that tragic day, half a decade ago.
The mood tonight is nearly impossible to capture in words. Crowds of people
gathered around several different groups, each vying for everyone's attention.
I walked by two men, peacefully arguing over parts of the conspiracy theory.
This was next to a large crowd surrounding a man there who was there dedicated
to exposing "the truth" to 9/11. Across
from him was another man with handing out flyers, trying to start the heathens
gathered around him on the path to salvation through the Lord Jesus Christ.
However, a block down from this madness, something truly
memorable was happening. A group of three people took turns reading from a gigantic
book filled with the names, pictures, and short bios of every single person killed at the
World Trade Center that day. People huddled close as the speakers tried to compete with
the subway screeches rising from the grates they stood on and the obnoxious
taxis whizzing by, determined to find their next fare. Yes, it was business as
usual in New York City. Almost.
While many were somber, it was hard to understand the
behavior of some people. Some walked by on their cell phones, others
pounding
away at their Blackberries, even more with their iPod's earbuds
blocking out
the ambience that surrounded them. As I slowly made my way through the
crowd, I
saw an incredible amount of varying emotions. As one wide-eyed teen
made his
way around the site with his camcorder, trying to take it all in and
capture it
on film, he was soon scolded by a passerby. "That's great. I have
people taking pictures of my friends' fucking gravesite. Hey! I knew
people who
died there," the man called as he walked by, his girlfriend quickly
silencing him for the
sake of the children surrounding them. Right after, I saw two men in
business
suits walk by, talking and laughing, as if today were any normal day.
Then, my eyes
met with another lad no older than me. His eyes were bloodshot, as he
had
obviously been crying just a matter of moments before I saw him. I soon
realized that this youth could have lost someone—his mother, father,
aunt,
uncle, relative, family friend—just as easily as the angry man who had
just passed. And
it was then that I began to piece together how powerful this all was.
As
someone living in New York just five years after this tragic event, and
a couple of miles from the site, I still cannot begin to comprehend the
grief, pain,
and strength of the people here who awoke that clear Tuesday morning
without
the slightest clue how drastically their lives would change. I couldn't
help
but be sickened by the sea of cell phones out in front of me, snapping
as many
pictures of this site as possible. Especially because I had no problem
almost
being one of these voyeurs just moments earlier.
To be fair, I have never taken a
picture of Ground Zero
itself. Tonight, when I whipped out my cell phone, it was only to take
pictures
of the primary reason I made my way down to financial district
tonight—the two beams of
light representing the twin towers. I had only seen these lights once
before,
and that was exactly a year ago, on the much less publicized fourth
anniversary. However, I only saw those lights from the comfort of my
dorm, not
quite ready to make the journey to see 16 acres of emptiness. However,
when we
arrived tonight, the lights were on, but not at Ground Zero. Because
construction at Ground Zero on the WTC memorial and Freedom Tower is
already
underway, the lights had been moved a few blocks downtown. I decided
that I had
to make the journey, even though I was now solo (everything had just
been too much for my other friends). I began to wander down that way,
my
only directions simply staring up. Soon I found the source of the
lights; the top of a gigantic parking garage.
I stood looking at the lights and saw what seemed to be trash or
debris, fluttering
around in the tall columns of light. I soon realized that these were,
actually birds, circling around and thrusting themselves back and forth
between the two
towers as if they were a gold medal gymnast, swinging effortlessly from
pole to
pole. I stood on the ground gazing up until I was informed by a
passerby that the top
was open to the public. I raced to the elevator and waited until the
rickety
ol' thing shuttled a car stuffed to the brim with people to the 7th floor. Once
there, I was taken aback by how amazing it all was. There were only about 15
people up there on the roof taking advantage of this rare occurrence. However,
I wasn't going to complain. Tonight was my chance to make my dream come true.
I found the perfect spot and lay down. I lay there, gazing
up as those two beams provided a nearly indescribable sight. They
stretched on for what seemed like an eternity, reaching up towards and
eventually meeting the cosmos. Thrusting onward and upward--forever grounded in
Manhattan, but with no bounds once they shot up in the sky. And for one
moment, a single instant, I swore I had been transported to the plaza that once
stood between the twin towers. I
had
fulfilled my dream, but in a far grander sense than I had even imagined
when I was younger. Because today I didn't just look up at one
skyscraper. I looked up at
two. And unlike the glass and steel structures that typically fill the
world today, these
towers had no end. They truly were two first-class pathways to the
heavens.
 | | |
| Glorious Nostalgia After failing to follow up on the promise in my previous entry, as well
as speaking with my legions of fans (i.e. the Assmen), I have decided
to continue my series of posting passages from my college essays. This
one comes from my 10-page analyisis of Hiroshi Sugimoto, a modern
photographer whose work is more easily classified as art rather than
documentation.
Warmth is an appropriate term to
describe the feeling of viewing his work. No, wait. Nostalgic. There. That one
is even better. The more of his work I see, the more and more it feels like his
work was created to recapture something that is difficult to articulate. The
old glory and grandeur of the classic American movie palace comes back to life in
his “Theaters” series. The glowing screens and stunning architecture, captured
in pure symmetric brilliance harken back to the wonder of those bygone days
that my grandparents have told me about for so many years. These movie palaces
have their silver screens shining, and their surroundings are grand; there was
just as much work crafting the theatre as there is in crafting a film. No two
theatres were the same—each had a distinct style and setting. However, these
theatres are now empty. The one-screen movie palaces have been swapped for the
“fit as many as humanly possible” style that now characterize today’s massive
14 screen-plus megaplexes. Quantity ultimately prevailed over quality, and now
one theatre in the Loews at Times Square is no different then the one across
the street at the AMC. However, despite this mass production and conformity,
Sugimoto’s photos of the theatres allow us to see world that once was, yet will
always be in the minds of those who can’t help but long for the world they once
knew. The movie palaces are glorious, and they glow with the pride of knowing
how important their role once was.
| | |
| One WordSo, in my boredom/attempt to avoid work, I decided to see how much I
have written at NYU since September. It turns out that so far, just on
final drafts, I have written a total of 105 pages thus far, with
another 23 in the next two weeks. So, rather than only have my teachers
read these papers, I thought I would post a few clips over the next few
days. They will just be short excerpts that I thought were semi-decent.
The first comes from my essay last semester on New York City. Here is
the conclusion:
My
friend asked
me to sum up New York in one word. After the traditional long pause,
the only
word I could summon from my limited vocabulary was "contradiction." And
what a
wonderful contradiction it is. "Tons of people always seem to be taking
a nap
in the city that never sleeps," I explain, citing my lazy college
friends as
the evidence. It’s my lame way to avoid going deeper and to try and
convey the incredible paradox that is New York City. However, it really
does seem
that many people are napping. The people who dash across the park to
their meeting,
missing "The Beatles" sing-a-long under Washington Square Arch. The
commuters rushing to
their train, never stopping to look at the constellations on the
ceiling of
Grand Central. Those who pound away on their Blackberry on the train
while the
weird college kids at the back of the train stupidly try to ballroom
dance. And
we dance. We waltz the night away, unsure of which stop we’ll get off.
All we
know is that whichever stop we choose, it won’t be our final
destination. The
city just has this way of drawing us somewhere new, but always
familiar. I just
hope I won’t become jaded, and nap through all the possibilities. | | |
| Civil Disunion It’s hard to accept what we don’t understand. Denial and
frustration often abound when we learn about something that we are not familiar
with. Perhaps it is just human nature to reject what we are not used to.
However, as our society continues to try and progress, we have become a more
accepting nation. Or, at least the laws that govern us have. I mean, less than
50 years ago black Americans couldn’t use the same drinking fountain. Sure,
it’s a point we continue to harp on, but it’s for good reason. The fact that we
tried to separate people on the basis of something they could not control (in
this case, the color of their skin) seems like a pretty wild idea. I just guess
acceptance and tolerance don’t come natural to us. It’s pretty obvious, but
it’s another thing that is hard to come to terms with.
Gay marriage is an issue that has received a lot of
attention lately. Well, actually, it was a more prominent issue last year when
the President said he wanted to create a constitutional amendment that would
ban gay marriage. Yes, that is correct; the President came out and supported what
would be the first constitution amendment that would take away rights from
people, and the first amendment to discriminate. Talk about moving forward.
I find it hard for myself to think in those terms (they
shouldn’t be able to get married). However, I do realize that many people think
that way. Take my family, for example. Both my parents and grandparents have
said to me directly that gay marriage is wrong. Last week my dad said that he
didn’t think that Brokeback Mountain should win the Oscar because cowboys
should not be represented in that way. By that, he meant that cowboys shouldn’t
be gay. How can I argue with him—when what he calls his fundamental values
don’t allow him to accept others? Judging others, ignoring the problem, and
segregating are just so much easier than acceptance. People we don’t understand
are referred to as 'them,' effectively separating them from 'us.' Because only
judging and discriminating will earn you a spot with the 'us.'
How will allowing homosexuals to get married infringe on the
marriages of heterosexuals? Is the only thing that’s holding straight marriages
together the exclusion of gays?
Because I can’t state it much better, here is the twisted
logic that many opponents of gay marriage seem to believe, taken from the
satirical list 10 Reasons Why Gay
Marriage is Wrong. "Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since
straight parents only raise straight children." I personally don’t see the
logic when people who are against gay marriage say that somehow having two parents
of the same sex will mess up their children. Today, many children live with
divorced parents or single parents. The logic that a child cannot succeed
without a male and female role model is ludicrous. Because, *gasp*, even those
who are raised by a heterosexual couple can be gay.
As long as we are on the topic of being gay, there seems to
be this social taboo of "turning out" gay. As if it just sort of happened. They
somehow "turned out that way." As if homosexuals would willingly subject
themselves to a lifetime of ridicule and discrimination for the fun of it.
Marriage. There was once a time when it was, in fact,
illegal to marry someone of another race. Yes, it is pretty shocking to learn
that marriage is not what it once used to be. Women are no longer property,
blacks are now allowed to marry whites, and divorce has become legal. Oh my,
what horrible changes have come about over the years.
Some think that because gay couples cannot produce children,
they don’t need to be married. Well, infertile couples and older couples really
don’t need to be officially married either, I guess.
Religion also plays a large factor in many peoples’
opposition to gay marriage. Alas, even I have become tired of reminding myself
that there was some clause or something in one of those old unimportant
documents that called for the separation of church and state. And, if I’m not
mistaken, aren’t complete atheists allowed to marry? Boy, I guess religion
really is instrumental in marriage.
To stop being so sarcastic and to return to my more serious
tone, I guess the problem with this nation can really be summed up with what
happened at the Oscars last week. Did Brokeback Mountain deserve to win the
Academy Award? Not in my opinion. But neither did Crash for that matter.
However, after weeks and weeks of gay cowboy jokes and montages satirizing
Brokeback, it really lost any serious weight that it had once carried. "Haha.
Look at the gay cowboys." It’s easy to joke about things that make us
uncomfortable.
People have said this last week, "maybe our country just
wasn’t ready for the gay cowboy movie to win." It seems like a horrible thing
to say, but then again, my dad could be their shining example. And here came
Crash. A movie with all the issues right at surface level. Everything packaged
neatly together at the end. And since we’ve already dealt with racial issues in
this country time and time again, it wasn’t really anything new to Americans. The
movie that basically said "Hey, we have problems, but if we really, really try hard,
we can all just get along" won. And the movie with all those gay cowboys that
this country "just wasn’t ready for," because we can’t understand 'them,' lost.
I just wish I knew when were all going to get together to
try and understand each other, so we can finally all just get along. But until
then, we can all just stay in ignorant bliss, and make sure we keep 'them' (the
minority we just can’t understand) down.
Just how history likes it.
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