my soul aches

My fam don’t celebrate American holidays in the traditional sense like giving presents or eating a turkey. The most we’ll do is go out to eat somewhere. It’s always bittersweet for me around this time. Though most have time off, my mom still works two jobs on major holidays like Christmas. Context:

and lunch conversation

———————————–

my skin’s too thin
a river within
streams push pass
protected eyelids
in isolation

fierce warrior
her frail body deteriorates
at a rapid rate
surgery on each hand
in the past year
prescription bottles cover the bedside
calcium/vitamin supplements
pills for kidney problems

she laid the foundations for me to crawl
neva stopped strugglin sacrificin fightin so i can walk upright

sole reason i stopped considerin suicide as a teen

day before her bornday
the doctor reminds her
high cholesterol
high blood pressure
and now
there’s a chance of
a stroke

12/5/08

she’s my anchor. she grounds me. she’s the only person that holds this fuckin family together. if she’s gone…fuck man. and i feelin both extremes. i’m sad that she has to cope with yet another fuckin health problem. i’m pissed this is another bullshit she has to put up with. once i dropped by her work at a Thai restaurant, she was servin some white guys and one of those muhfuckas had the nerve to put his fuckin hands on my mom’s wrist. another time she asked me to write something for her, it turned out that her fuckin boss at Denny’s yelled at her and said some shady shit in front of everyone and someone told her to file a complaint. i drove her to the hospital so i found out about it right away. and on the way home, she’s not even thinkin about herself. she’s askin what i wanna eat, what food should she make. she just keeps pushin. and i just dwell on that shit. it was in my mind the whole day. even when i babysat my niece, who’s so precious and i cherish my times with her, i melt hearin her laughter, so genuine. and i’m slowly breakin inside. i was bout to call it a night until my friend from the Bay called askin what i’m doin on a Friday night. nuthin. i tell her whats up and she was just so coooo and supportive. makin me cry and shit. remindin me not to close up and that i got support. she knows me well. i hadn’t told anyone and i wasn’t plannin on tellin her anytime soon. i apologize i can’t express how much i appreciate her and that i don’t feel like talkin about it. so i’m writin this shit down for me. to remind me, yo don’t worry bout stupid shit. learn to be present and cherish each moment. be kind to yourself. be kind to yourself. be gentle to yourself. when shit got rough, i questioned everythin. my self worth. my abilities. my friends, who the fuck are my friends? i never doubted her love. she and my dog are the only ones makin this house liveable. she’s my absolute in an uncertain world. definition of unconditional love, giving w/out expecting anythin in return. and i don’t tell her anythin. i don’t want her to worry. she knows sumthin’s up but i don’t say shit. i don’t know where to begin.

if she dies, fuck all this poetry shit. gotta survive.
today is her birthday.
12/6/08 12:10AM

nuclear family (w.i.p.)

i don’t go into detail
with friends why i don’t like UFC or violent movies
i say simply
it makes me uncomfortable
when i really mean
i don’t find enjoyment in people getting hurt

it’s 1992
we reunite as family
father mother three sons
alone in America
leaving relatives in Thailand
for a better life

i started school here in the 3rd grade
one morning
i decided i didn’t want to go to class
the chattering kept me up the previous night
as i slept in the living room
my dad took me home to the garage
punched and kicked me repeatedly
to the soundtrack of his loud cursing

some nights
i fall asleep to the sounds of my mom’s screams in agony
patriarchal fists smashed any sense of trust to maintain subservience
we never mentioned it

my brother grabbed a kitchen knife
threaten to stab my oldest brother
me, the youngest, pleaded with tears and please don’t
it happened more than once

a promise was made
to myself then
do not become like them
children of chaos and confused masculinity
all the men in my family had a temper
held it in
til they explode on loved ones

i’m not excluded
gettin into fights at school
attempts to prove
i am a fuckin man!
even before puberty

thin line (work in progress)

after hearing loved ones tell their stories
of heartbreaks/emotional and physical abuses

the old me
would wonder why’d she put herself in that situation
blame the victim

the old me
would be angry
i’d call em out/put em on blast
those speakin poetic words but don’t live them
i’d want to make em feel the same pain
with my fists
becoming no different
than the men i despise

the present me
knows there’s a thin line
between progress and regress
the old me is still here
anger is still the first instinctual emotion
it’s easy for males
the abused can quickly become the abuser

the present me
knows there’s a thin line
between a man and a boy
and many do not grow up to be a man
age is just a number/sometimes

it’s not enough to point fingers
i struggle with myself each day
these are commitments to become the best of me
i have seen and heard too much
to inflict similar pains on those closest to me
i’ve learned
we can be the cruelest to those closest to us

we deserve nothing less
than to be treated with respect
and love

© pathanapong pathanadilok 2008

human condition

there is no them
our struggles are different
the journey is the same

Sunday afternoon

first poem in 5 months…

——————————–

my mom comes home from her shift at Denny’s
she’s surprised my brother is not laying on the sofa watching tv
she’s gotten used to seeing her 28 year old son in that position
his door is lock
she knocks
why is the door locked?
she yells
the door opens
she smells the stench of alcohol
his face is bright red
eyes barely open
she grabs the jack daniel bottle from his hand
walks out hurriedly and emptied it into the kitchen sink
complainin aloud the entire time
what is wrong with you?
all you do is smoke and drink at home
why don’t you think about how hard i have to work?
wait til i die
and then we’ll see what happens

we’re all in this together

Ma had surgery twice in two months at the close of 07.  one for each hand.  no insurance so she goes to this hospital where ucla med students play doctor on poor people.  the first time went well.  but they fucked up the second time.  first they couldn’t find her vein and was pokin all over the place.  they didn’t do a good job w/ surgery neither, there’s a big ass bump on her hand, look all swollen and everythin.

she complains bout it but ends it w/ “at least they get to practice”.

she accepts it and keeps it movin.  fo real though, she’s the fiercest warrior i know.  the only thing she complains about is not being able to work and calculates the amount of money she’s not makin.  it’s crazy how she’s almost robotic in work ethics yet still able to show so much love.  unconditionally.

main reason she had to get surgery cuz her body’s deterioratin.  after 2 decades of carrying trays and shit, it caught up to her.  she broke her wrist a yr or two ago and still kept workin, thinkin it’s not a big deal and it’ll heal itself.  after 2 decades, America is not home for her.  she longs to retire in Thailand.

my cuz recently came from Thailand and lives w/ the fam now.  she’s a masseuse.  two hands ain’t enough to count the number of times she was expected to give sexual services.  she’s traumatized and disgusted by that shit.

hearing shit like “you’re a Thai girl, that’s what you do”.

and this is comin from men in every color.  she once told me that life’s too hard sometimes and she wouldn’t wanna live pass 50.  she turns 29 this yr.

a loved one once told me when she was visitin Thailand, a white guy groped her cuz he thinks he’s entitled to it.

in typical male fashion, my immediate reaction to all these stories is anger.  it’s a vicious cycle.  Sonia Sanchez said it best,

“what i have stumbled on in this country is a battle for us all to be human”.

it’s a fuckin battle to be human ya’ll.  all these isms (capitalism, sexism, etc), all interconnect in a giant fucked up web that serve to deprive our humanity, the way we perceive ourselves and others.  which is why some men claimin they’re down for the revolution but don’t ever question their own sexist/homophobic tendencies.  which is why some women believe sex can be power when they’re simply adopting the oppressive status quo values.  again, vicious cycle.

a loved one came to the realization that he’s never gonna go to a strip club. apparently the pool hall was next to a strip club (it was a sketchy area…). women who worked nxt door would come in and hang out at the bar in the pool hall.

at one point an older guy asked a young lady, “so are you happy with your life?”
she said, “yea…i am”.
she inhales her cig then turned her head towards the direction where my friend was.
they stared at each other for a brief moment.
according to him, they both shared a sad look in their eyes. from that brief moment, he saw her humanity.

as men we’re conditioned to be one dimension cartoon characters: drink/fight/fuck/consume/conquer-repeat.  it bleeds into every aspect of our lives, even our language is oppressive (?: how many people actually question the meaning behind the B word).  but we are human first and foremost.  and in this context, part of being human is reppin yo culture.  again from Sonia,

“when you begin a journey of identity for liberation, you find yourself and others who have been vanished too or who have hidden their eyes from themselves”.

we are essentially the same yet our differences make us beautiful.  and we are born ready.  it’s just modern society is set up to profit from our misery and suffering.  this shit’s set up to divide us, to blind us from seein that everythin is connected and everythin affects us.  everythin affects us.  iraq war ain’t endin anytime soon cuz muhfuckas makin too much bank to let it end.  US dollar is weak.  economy’s fucked.  global climate crisis.  genocides. list goes on.

even still.

i hope.  i continue dreamin of better worlds.  i still believe in collective action.  cynicism is bein complicit w/ the system.  so it’s important to find reasons to celebrate.  there’s always reasons to celebrate as long as you’re alive.  this poetry is secondary at this point.  gots to put in work first.  and it’s gonna take more than a new regime to change shit but hey it’s sumthin.  like every other person, i don’t got my shit together.  i have visions of how it could be.  and i’ve seen beauty in many others to let the ugliness of a few get to me.  it’s important that i always remember the past.  remember to laugh.  make every word count like it’s my last.  and mos def keep dancin.  it’s all a struggle but it’s all part of the process.  i do know this: i wanna love others the way my parents love me.  unconditionally.

until i get my words/thoughts together into a neat artist statement i just wanna echo Sonia Sanchez one mo time:

“one of my missions as a writer/educator has been to eradicate/erase the aura of the educated class while cherishing the creative power of learning…one of my missions has been to celebrate the red black gums, corn cob smoking, nodding, staring people who were never considered poetic but we gave them life, form, and beauty”

we’re all in this together.

lunch conversation

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

survivors

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

adventures

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

manhood

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, 3^rd 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