one of my fav comedians along w/ Pryor, Mooney, Chappelle, Rock, and Katt Williams. a rare white comedian that talk about real shit.
on white people
“the American Dream”
Pro Life is Anti-Woman
cuteness up in here. from Kaylah’s pre-school grad. recorded by her proud dad.
i had lunch with my mom on her only day off
until today
i never understood why she rarely said no to her kids
i know it’s the wrong way to look at it
since i came to this country to work
but for a long time
i believed
i abandoned my children
now that we’re all together
i want to make it up to you guys
that’s why i give you guys everything
my children is my life
tears form in unison
i sit silent
wishing i could soothe her pain
i want to be the one to tell her
your job is done
live peacefully Ma
i got you
don’t worry bout your baby boy
instead
i sit silent
and listen
my children is my life
© pathanapong pathanadilok 2008
She graduates pre-school this week.
Kaylah: Everyone can go to my graduation except Bubba. Only daddies, mommies, grandpas, grandmas, uncles, and babies.
Me: Babies like you?
Kaylah: Noooooooooooooo! I’m not a baby. I’m a rock star.
As if on cue, she breaks into a song. I think it’s from “Hannah Montana”.
Dujiangyan, China. A town of over 600,000 people. Fu Guanyu dropped her son,Wang Zhilu, off at his grandparent’s/so she could go to work. She remembered him saying. Mom, please stay with me. Don’t go. Minutes later. The earth shook.
She rushed back home/only to find her apartment building/in ruins/like hospitals, schools, and the rest of the city. Soldiers came immediately but had no equipment. She waited with her husband, Wang Wei, for heavy machinery. They fall into each other’s arms/he tried to hold her up as she cried/his voice quivered. I need you to stay strong. I can’t lose you.
After two days. Soldiers found bodies of their loved ones in the rubble. Their son/found in his grandfather’s arms/his grandmother closely behind. She yelled. Wang! Mama is here. They hold each other as they wail in agony. Their only son would’ve turned two in two months
and i’m not ashamed to admit
i cried
for a while
after hearing about it
one tragedy
among who knows how many
death toll continues rising
the government expects as many as 50,000 people
people are still missing
about 18,000 people
And i’d write about the Burma Cyclone disaster. But the country’s military junta refuse access to journalists and limit relief efforts. Even as the Red Cross said the death toll could be as high as 128,000 people. We don’t hear about people’s stories. We won’t hear Tin Nyunt, a betel nut seller in Bogale. The only thing left is the ground. Referring to two villages near the sea, Hi Gyi and Maw Kyune. Everything else was blown away.
Amilcar Cabral told me this struggle
against our own weaknesses is the most difficult of all
truthfully
i haven’t been following the news
personal issues preoccupy my mind too often
i take my life for granted too often
it’s selfish
i write this for me
it’s almost natural to make this personal
and i want to turn away
one death feels too much for me to handle
but Grace Lee Boggs taught me to become a more human human being
in order to change/transform the world
i must change/transform myself
within these moments
i’m compelled to pray
even if it’s a rare practice for me
i pray families will be reunited
i pray each person will be found
i pray each person will have proper burial
i pray for safe spaces so everyone can grieve
on their own terms
and i don’t view them as victims
or strangers in faraway places i’ve never been to
but as survivors
whose histories are connected to mine
and their stories and names will not be forgotten
even after the media has
this is a reminder for me
i am a child of survivors
we are children of survivors
it doesn’t matter what you look like
or where you come from
when we wail
when we push our lungs to its limits
after losing loved ones
unexpectedly
we all sound the same
we’d all tell ourselves
i should’ve treated him better
i could’ve shown how much i love her
now more than ever
we need to take care of ourselves and each other
© pathanapong pathanadilok 2008
Thai folks came from all over Cali (SF, Sac) to Minnesota to Houston,Tx and beyond, to gather in downtown LA. For one reason: Asanee-Wasan. A legendary Thai rock band, been around for 20+ years. i’m talkin the Beatles-status (in terms of popularity and lasting impact). i’m familiar w/ their music but i wouldn’t call myself a fan. i knew i had to go. knowing it’d be EPIC. The Nokia Theater seats 7,100 people. i’m guessin at least 5,000 Thai folks was in the building!
the two large tv screens had song lyrics, like kareoke, for people to sing along
people reactin after hearing their song come on (almost every song)
people singin to every song.
people dancin to every song.
for two hours. it felt like i was in my motherland. it felt like home. and i remember my friend sayin “there’s nothin like speakin in my native tongue with other Taiwanese people”. at the time (bout 3 yrs ago), i didn’t quite get it. now i feel him. i even got goosebumps hearin the Thai natl anthem bein played.
it’s just a concert.
but it means a lot to me. i used to HATE thai food. seriously. sushi was my fav food. i didn’t know at the time that it was rooted in self-hatred. like how i was ashamed to say my birth name aloud, even in the rare times where people’d ask how to pronounce it. so it was always Mike(y). i assimilated. i have always been the only Thai person in my circles, in classes, in clubs etc. don’t get it twisted, i know i’m blessed to be around other Asian folks…but it ain’t the same. to be in a room filled with some 5,000+ Thai folks in AMERIKA was incredible. it was people of all ages. my mom works in a Thai restaurant and she said hella folks gettin off work early or missin work entirely.
there are folks like my mom that have lived here for 20+ years but will never call Amerika home. and for two hrs they felt like they belong, it felt natural. they weren’t strugglin w/ a second language or servin racist pricks. they can just celebrate. singin and dancin to songs they’ve known since they were growin up. peep it, a love song about finding that special person and tellin em that s/he’s the last person that you’ll love (foreva eva type love)
[vimeo= http://www.vimeo.com/1174395]
i swear almost everyone had smiles on their faces the entire night. i know i did.
and it was great seein my mom enjoy herself. she was wavin this glow stick thing the whole night.
i’m more conscious and appreciative of the times i spend with her.
this is an old blog from a yr ago.
Da Poetry Lounge is the most popular spoken word venue in LA, 9 yrs strong. here’s an idea.
folks be chillin on stage, leaning against walls, and all that. we get there at 8:30, show starts 8:45, and there’s a lonnnnnnnnng line that stretches til the end of the block. by the time we get through the door, all the seats are taken and half the stage is filled up.
it just so happens my mama knows both Shihan and Poetri (co-hosts, both of Def Poetry fame). They used to eat at Denny’s every Tuesdays after their show. They like her so much that they’d ask her to be their waitress every time she’s there. we get seatings on the balcony. tiiiiiiight. and of course the list is filled up, they also had some special slam promoting “facebook diaries.” good thing there’s the 2nd half of the show and Shihan got me on the list, it was guaranteed when I told him it’ll be the first time she’s hearing the poem for her.
so i get on the mic at around 11:30pm i think. probly half of the folks left during break.
i read from the page even though i have it memorized. i wrote it in 2006 and i’ve performed it many times but i knew it was gonna be emotional. and i usually don’t get nervous anymore before i spit. this was different though. i get on the mic, point at her direction “this is for my mom, it’s the first time she’s hearing this.” everyone claps. i smiled, “surprise!” then do my thang.
by the time i was done, folks stood up, looked at her, clapping. it was beautiful. i could just feel so much love in the room. it’s like everyone understood this is an amazing and strong women and her stories aren’t told. this is why i write. i dunno how else to describe it, i write poetry but i’m not good w/ metaphors…not yet at least.
i walk back to my seat and she’s sobbing. she wipes her tears. i wanna tell her not to wipe it cuz if you do you’re telling your body to stop crying. so when tears fall, just let it. this is not the time. instead i put my arm around her, said “i love you” in Thai and we held each other for awhile. it was getting late so we left early (almost midnight!). Shihan was on the mic booing folks that were leaving but when he saw us, “now i can’t booo Nong.” Poetri even came up to her and showed love.
she was embarassed and said i shouldn’t have mentioned Denny’s by name. she doesn’t even wanna go back. riiiiiiiiiight. but i know she will be there again to support her youngest. frickin amazing night. i wrote the poem over a yr ago and wanted to share w/ her at the “right” time. by “right” i mean w/ lots of folks in the audience so she can see how it impacts others too. worth the wait fasho.
on the drive home, i learned that she got As in classes related to speech or public speaking back in Thailand. whoa. i def. get it from her. she agreed and takes the credit. go head ma you deserve it 
and my goal remains: to love everyone the way she loves me. she embodies unconditional love. i’m fortunate to simply bear witness to such grace and beauty. and yup she’s mos def proud.
let’s go on adventures
use imagination to lead us
dress drown in loose clothing/comfortable shoes
we moving
like lips in the car around town/windows down
rejoicing voices aloud off-key to slow jams and silly songs
we free here
people will stare/forget em/they fail to keep playing
so let it rain
we’ll dance in the streets
to the rhythm of skipping beating hearts
fill lungs with triumphant laughter/return suppressed pain to the universe
at Zuma beach we’ll search for buried treasures/create their own legends together
or hike on the hills/leave joint foot imprints on O’Melveny
or head to the mountains at Reseda point/
the smog smother bright stars/we’ll witness an ocean of city lights
tonight we drive down Sunset Blvd
pass hipsters in Hollywood
pass giant houses in gated neighborhoods
after a while we reach Santa Monica beach with smiles aligned
avoid the blinding light pier rides
instead of consuming/we creating/we connecting with each other
with the earth
besides your golden glow light the darkness
and nature makes the best attractions
toes sunken in sand as it was meant to be
we converse on childhood cartoons and existential philosophy
admire warriors like Richard Aoki/Nellie Wong
while I reminisce on becoming a power ranger
at first glance/I might have found balance
there’s much more intimate details to explore
leave inhibition masks at the door
we building basis for our future home
here
through dialog
we time travelin back to innocent days
with wisdom from burned marks/scarred heart
this connection is new
I’ll treat it as such
this feels like first crush
adrenaline rush/first touch
of another’s hand
understand we fragile
after words defeat tomorrows’ happy ending fable
sorrowful tears can drown this desert of lost angels
I’ve seen too many give up on what they deserve
lies reverb in emotional adolescent ears for years
unknowingly hand power to what will destroy us/the surface tempts us
we grown now
trained trusting muscle
found strength in struggle/beauty in tragedy
I am not falling but moving steadily readily
with wide eyes/open palms/calm heart
surviving droughts of romance
and I couldn’t ask for more
here at your side
in front of moving tides
for now
nothing else exists but this
and i realize the meaning of being
truly alive
© pathanapong pathanadilok 2008
this is the most difficult poem i’ve written. often times when i write about personal stories, it’s in the past. this one was still going on at the time i wrote it. i omitted a lot of other fucked up situations cuz it ain’t about portraying my brother as a jerk. though i admit the poem initially started out filled with anger and contempt. i don’t think it’s constructive to simply hold up a mirror in what went down/what still goes on. it’s vital to project something better, even if i don’t fully believe it yet. as they say, the first step to better times is to imagine them.
———————————-
1.
we be bonded by blood
but I am not like you
you 1st born celebrated in Chinese culture
I, 3rd and last, assumed to be gay since women raised me
you collect men’s magazines
obsess with MTV Cribs lifestyle
I strive for simplicity
concern with only the necessary
you, the reason I still quiver
a little
at yells
at door slams
as tears slowly drip down my cheeks
before it even reach the ground
you looked into my watery eyes and said
“REAL MEN DON’T CRY!”
you saw me cry and said
“REAL MEN DON’T CRY!”
as a kid, you convinced me
thought I had to
stop feeling to survive
cease being human to get by
vowed to never show weakness in front of you
held it in after beatings and chokings
head to the bathroom
sat in the corner
face down
touching these knees
cried til it hurts to breathe
it’s almost natural
close up
shrivel into a protective shell
which is really
a cell
yearning for connection
yet not allowing it to happen
walking a thin line about to break
between letting love in and playing it safe
between freeing my soul and being in control
escaping reality
at the cost of my humanity
remnants of that defense mechanism remain
now I honor this pain
2.
I’m blinded by my own reflection
you trigger my teen years
suicidal thoughts familiar unlike family dinners
isolation more real than having two brothers
then I recall you reaching out
telling me you’re there for me
you regressed
you claim it’s Ma’s duty
paying off five figure loan you took for culinary arts school without telling her
you fantasize about the fabulous life of rich and famous
as our family struggles in real life
nearly 30 yet a scared child
caught in consumer culture
make useless attempts to fill the void inside
formed from childhood wounds
I know you’re hurting
you disguise screams of agony with anger
appear tough when I’ve seen you cry at night
call it what it is
fear
fear of being weak
fear that you aren’t where you wanna be
you envy acquaintances with more zeros in bank accounts
it seems you forgot weeping like losing a limb
as Ma followed Pa to America
you didn’t want more toys
you wanted her to stay
now you claim a Mercedes will make you happy
even after Ma had surgery on both hands
I don’t know the depths of your pain
I can’t simply ask
threat of violence silence conversations
and I can’t save you
no one can save you
truth is
you don’t need saving
and time doesn’t heal all scars
we must put in work
let go of blame
reframe manhood conceptions
we be connected to a higher power along with every being since the beginning
even when it doesn’t feel like it
your feelings are all valid
sometimes our thoughts lie to us
we must break self-destructive habits
expand beyond right/wrong
practice appropriate actions
tears are clear signs of spiritual growth
I hope
you shed old tradition
break open to boundlessness within
see beauty in your own reflection
we only victims if we let our circumstances win
your resurrection awaits
it begins with knowing your worth
and loving yourself first
we don’t have to choose between
weak/nerdy or hyper-masculinity
we be bruised broken and beautiful
we be Asian men
3.
all is forgiven
4.
this never was about you
this is a healing process
this ain’t poetry
it’s a written commitment
for that abused child in me to be present with everything I’m feeling
within a system that devalues being human
much is left unsaid
much is left ungrieved
I believe in our power to heal ourselves
I hold you in my heart as we part
move
shift
change
I got work to do
© pathanapong pathanadilok 2008
