The Rebirth of Snow

One of my friends was sleeping in my old home in New York City. Call her Aphrodite. She was sleeping with my other friend, Aidan. She was hugging him while sleeping at first, but then she let go of him and she was sleeping on her own. Aphrodite was wearing black shorts that went up to her thighs. Based on how she lay down, she seemed vulnerable. I, unconsciously, peeked at her legs, long and slim, until I saw that her eyes were narrowly open, staring directly at me. I don't think she caught me, however.

"I'm getting up," I said.

"What time is it?" she said.

"It's 11," I told her.

Those suspicious eyes, mysterious and dark, pierced directly through mine. Any minute, I knew she would get out from the bed. But that's when I woke up. I rubbed my eyes and yawned. My roommate was gone. I looked outside and it's snowing. Sheets of white snow were blanketed across the field. I had written a birthday letter to a friend stating how there wasn't going to be anymore snow and it's over and done with. But now what is this? Rewind toward winter again. It's the rebirth of snow.

Just where could she have gone?

In the sky, crows caw.

Cigarettes are like women, illustrative

"If I'm not tall enough, how tall do you want me to be? Do you want me to tower over you or something? How in the world are you going to be able to walk with me? How are we going to kiss? That's a bunch of bullshit."

All this time Melon was staring at me rant while stirring her coffee with a spoon. She was wearing an oversized asphalt, grey sweatshirt with the word "Illustrative" running across her chest. Not sure what it meant, but it was pretty stylish. Her sweatshirt was tucked under her denim jeans.

"I think so too," she said. "But it's all a matter of tastes. Girls generally like tall guys. No doubt about it. Not like you could do anything about it."

I took a sip of my orange juice and let the taste roll around my tongue.


"To me, cigarettes are like women," my other friend said while smoking. I met him in front of the library after seeing Melon. He cut smoking by a huge number, starting from about a pack a day to two or three times a month. "You get pleasure for a limited time, and then they leave you, or you leave them. But you can never get enough of that pleasure."

"That seems more like a prostitute," I said.

He nodded. "But I think cigarettes are stupid," he said, as if he finally came to realize that it damaged your health. "Why should I be smoking this thing? Why can't I stop."

"Why can't you," I said.

"Because I'm stressed. Whenever I'm stressed I need it still. But I'm slowly getting there. Slowly. It's like diminishing marginal utility. Smoking a second time isn't always the best as the first."

To Home: Continued

The only place he could find was a gas station about a block away from where they got off. It was the only brightly lit area around them. The air was chilly, sending tree branches to swing to and fro. The rain began to abate, but the roads were still wet. Tadao reached for her hand, and they walked toward the gas station.

"Let's get something to eat," he said.

Asami let his words slip by and didn't say a word. The dim, orange street lamps spotlighted them, as the cars drove by the road, dutifully. Even though it wasn't raining, Tadao held his clear umbrella over them.

"Are you cold?" he said.

Asami shook her head, eyeing the ground the whole time. Tadao tried to walk a bit faster, but she didn't seem to follow his. Above, the thick rain clouds covered the glittering stars. A haul of wind suddenly blew right toward them. Tadao released her hand, and zipped up his jacket. But when he was about to hold her hand again, Asami refused. She pushed him when he tried to put his arm around her waist.

"What's the matter?" Tadao said.

Asami looked at him, "I don't know. I just don't want to hold your hand right now," she put on her red gloves and shoved her hands in her jacket pocket. "Let's just go to the gas station."

Whereupon Tadao could do nothing but agree. Yet he wondered why Asami didn't want to hold his hand. He thought about it. He thought about it hard, but the only thing he could think about more was the reason she wanted to get off here. Getting off at the last stop was already the first mistake to Tadao.

The wind swept, the clouds drifted, the air damp. Once they arrived at the gas station, they headed toward the store. Without a word, they looked around the place. The cashier was thumbing through the paper, seeming half-aware of the content. Tadao bought a can of beer and a pack of Mild Seven cigarettes. Asami didn't buy anything.

"You don't want anything?" he said. "How about a beer?"

She shook her head.

"We ought to have one since we came all the way here."

"I don't want to," she said.

Tadao paid, and glanced at the clock behind the cashier. It had just struck eleven in the evening. Outside, he pursed the cigarette between his lips and lit it with his lighter. He puffed a few times, and drew out a stream of smoke as it billowed in the air and disappeared. He cracked open the beer and sipped it.

"Sure you don't want some?" he asked.

"I don't," she said.

A long lull fell between them, as they listened to the trees in the distance moving from the wind. No cars were at the gas station at this hour. Asami's face was blank, as she seemed to be staring at nothing, thinking about nothing. Her eyes were just there, two pair of brown eyes attached to her pale, white complexion.

Photo by Min Wu, Flickr

"Let's go home then," he said.

But seconds after he said so, he caught his eye on a small little restaurant by the corner of the road. Indeed it was a restaurant, as the three orange lanterns hung by the roof were dimly lit. Tadao walked toward the door, and looked at Asami.

"I will go in first," he said. "Wait here and I'll see if they're still open."

He gave the umbrella to Asami, as she patiently waited there without a word.

"We ought to take a rest here," he said. "I'm beat."

There was a long lull. "Then let's go here."

Tadao crushed his cigarette with the sole of his foot, slid the door open, and went inside. All this time, Asami stood outside with two hands on the umbrella, looking through the door. The glow of the white restaurant sign, mingled with the orange lantern reflected her pale face. Her hair, graceful even on this rainy, damp day, fell straight down. A slight breeze hit her, and then it slowly waned. A leaf fluttered in the sky and flew away somewhere far away in the distance. The door slid open and it was Tadao.

"We can come in," he said. "They close in thirty minutes."

Whereupon Asami closed the umbrella and head inside. Immediately there was a waft of ramen noodles and shoyu. Two or three salarymen were sitting at the bar, both seeming to be regulars, talking leisurely to the head chef. Tadao and Asami took off their jackets and sat by the counter. He glanced at the menu and decided on a beer with nuts. Asami didn't get anything, as the mood didn't seem to strike for her. They didn't talk for a long while. Her hair covered the side of her face, but she seemed to be looking down. All the while Tadao took his time to glance around his surroundings. Fresh sashimi and fish were lined up by the counter, and behind the chef was a collection of Japanese sake. Tadao wanted a bottle, but for some reason, he skipped it for the night.

Asami didn't move an inch. Tadao placed his hand on her back.

"Asami," he said. "Asami, are you okay?"

Before he knew it, a teardrop fell on her napkin. Tadao pulled her hair aside so he could see her face. Never did he know that she was crying.

"Tadao," she rasped.

"What is it?"

She sighed, looking at Tadao's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I'm a fool.. a fool for bringing us all the way here."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Most people make mistakes."

"No, but I forced you. We didn't need to be here. We could've been home. We could've had dinner together at home. You know what I mean, Tadao? I wasted our time."

Tadao put his arm around her. "I'm never wasting any time when I'm with you. We just somehow winded up here, but who cares? We're in no rush. Now let's relax, shall we?"

"Tadao."

"What."

"Can you forgive me?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I? You just wanted to not get off and go home so early, no? I know how you feel."

"I didn't want to get off," she said. "I don't know why. Something told me that I couldn't get off where we usually got off. Don't you ever get that feeling? When you sometimes want to go beyond where you're used to? Explore places?"

"I do," he said. "You want to go on an adventure?"

She nodded. "But that was enough for me. Let's go home."

"Okay," he said. "But let me relax first. Will you let me do so?"

"Yes."

His beer didn't come yet, nor did his nuts. One customer left the bar, leaving only one other customer remaining. Tadao sipped his water, and all he could do at the time was stare at the head chef cleaning the dishes. He thought about finishing the letter, but he could not bring himself to write. With his arm around her, Asami seemed to be sleeping. But he could not tell. He could not tell at all.

Sometimes I want to live alone in privacy. In this place, everyone knows everyone. If I go out with a girl, for instance, everyone would know, and spread word. I'm the type who doesn't want to admit that I am, If I was. Sometimes I want to make new friends, and go somewhere else and start fresh. It's a huge college, but at the same time it isn't. I guess that's what happens when you become a senior.

Anywhere but China, Second Layer, Dark Shadow Child

She fixed me yakisoba—fried noodles topped with onions and sliced sausages which took about only twenty minutes. Along with that, we had ourselves umeshu from glasses that she had bought from Japan. Easy-listening music was flowing from her speakers. The rocking chairs outside her terrace occasionally swung to and fro from the wind, silently. The air was cloudy, the sun covered from the grey clouds. Her full-size bed was made perfectly, folded neatly. Staked neatly above her bed were a collection of books in Chinese, English, and Japanese, ranging from paragliding to a book about honorific Japanese. Her clothes were all neatly hung on her clothing rack. Throughout the entire time, we spoke in Japanese. She sat on the heater with her legs tucked by her chest, hugging with her the paragliding book. She was wearing loose-fitting shorts, and socks that went up to her knees, and a light grey jacket. Her graceful black hair was let loose.

I had some of her tea, and listened to the soothing music. Nobody else was home. 

"It's a nice place you got here," I said. "Quiet and peaceful. Spacious room, bed, and free."

She nodded, "But I sometimes get lonely by myself. Sometimes I wish I could go back to the dorms."

"Your cooking is a hundred times better than dining hall food."

She smiled into the window as her skin glowed from the outside light. "But there's nothing much to do in this neighborhood. When you're at the dorms, you live right next to a lot of people. You can meet a lot of new friends. You don't get that here."

I nodded, and took another sip of the tea. I munched on a shortbread cookie she had prepared on the table. 

"I really want to go paragliding," she said, flipping through the book. "Seems so fun. I practiced a few times when I was abroad." 

"But it seems scary, no?"

"Not at all. It's so fun," she walked toward her pictures that were pinned on the wall. The wood flooring creaked from her footsteps. They were pictures of her abroad in Japan and Yellowstone National Park with her friends. 

"I got to have so much fun there," she said. "Over here there's really not much to do. Not enough clubs. I want to go back. Anywhere but China."

"Anywhere but China," I repeated her words.

"Have you been there?"

"I haven't," I began to peel a clementine. 

"You shouldn't go there," she said, staring outside the window as if she was gazing at her reflection in a pond. "The air isn't splendid. Not the best place to be."

"I'd take your word for it," I said. "But say, your Japanese is really good so I think you'd be better off in Japan."

"I think I'll go back there," she nodded. "That's where I'd like to go. There's nothing to do here. I'd prefer Japan over America."

Popping a clementine slice one after the other in my mouth, I continued to listen to her soothing playlist. A jazz mix, akin to Norah Jones. The type of music you could easily sleep in. Our two coats were on the bed, and I thought about sleeping. 

"Sean," she said. "Tell me, what time do you usually get up?" she asked me, as if she had read my mind. 

I thought about it for a while. "It varies from time to time, but I'd say around 10:30."

"10:30," she said, nodding while flipping through the paragliding book. She seemed to be engrossed by the pictures. Most of them were sweeping views of Japan from a paraglider's point of view. "Then you don't need to nap."

"I nap a lot."

"You know, they say it's ideal to nap everyday for about thirty minutes. If you sleep more than that, you'd start to get headaches. It's like the stages of eating food. Do you know it? How it's better for your body to eat desserts last and everything?"

"I don't," I said. 

"I have a lot of time so I read about it," she laughed.

A brief lull fell upon us. I began to peel the rind of another clementine. I couldn't peel it smoothly because of my recently cut nails. On the table by the side was her clementine rind, which was adroitly opened all in one peel. The song switched to a jazzy vocal version of "It Had to Be You." She walked toward her tier shelf by her bed, and brought something to me. It was an unsolved Rubik's cube. 

"Can you do it?"

I was able to solve this thing in a minute, and even remembered how to solve a four-by-four back in high school, but I couldn't for the life of me remember right now. 

"Not anymore," I laughed. I eventually solved the first layer, but everything after that I couldn't solve. 

"I only could solve up to the second layer," she said. "But wow, you still remember!"

"Of course."

She glanced at the cube, looking at all six sides, then, as if content with solving the first two layers, placed it back on her shelf and sat back down on the radiator. 

"You should come here," she said. "A cold draft comes from the window but the radiator is warm."

Whereupon I sat by her, and indeed, there was a slight breeze seeping in from the window. 

"Sean," she said. "Do you like ghost stories?"

"Ghost stories?"

"Yeah," she said. "Do you have any experiences? I like talking about them. I mean, I get scared when I talk about it during the night but it's still light out so it's okay," she laughed. "Plus, I'm not alone so it's alright."

I didn't have any. I crossed my legs, in wonder. 

"Not really," I said.

"Well you're boring."

"I sometimes felt some spirit looming over me," I said. "But I never could tell. It's usually the wind, or just in my dreams." 

She nodded. "For me, I know the father of my host family when I was in Japan had an experience. He ran some business, and he wasn't really making decent money. But one night, he saw in his tatami room some dark shadow child, or, what seemed like a child. Since that occurrence, he began to earn more and more, for some strange reason. Weird, isn't it?"

"Weird. Scary, but a good kind of ghost."

She nodded, grabbing another one of her books from a pile stacked along her radiator. "My other Chinese friend could predict whether someone is gonna call someone. She's oftentimes right." 

"Wow," I said, finishing up the clementine. "She's psychic then."

"Could be," she stared out the window, seeming this time to follow the movement of a branch on a tree.

I sat back down on the chair by the table, and thought about her for a second. I took a moment to glance at her from the full-size mirror in front of me. There she was on the radiator, looking out the window with her book flapped open by her lap. What an easy, peaceful, life, I thought. Everyday she'd sit on the radiator and read through countless books while listening to jazz, alone. Out of her entire suitemates, it seemed like she had the best room. Everything here was neatly organized. Her desk consisted of a miniature humidifier and pencils that were all sharpened. The longer I stayed in her room, the more I began to feel how disorganized my life was. Everything was properly placed where it should be, and nothing was out of order. 

"Sean," she said, pointing behind me."Where have you gone in the US?"

I looked behind me and it was an atlas map of the United States. 

"I've traveled to LA, San Francisco, Boston, Orlando, and Honolulu. Canada for a few hours, and Dallas for a few minutes."

She laughed. "I've only gone to Boston, Seattle, and Yellowstone National Park."

"Seattle seems nice," I said.

"It is," she said. "Everyone seems to sleep early and get up early there." 

I imagined myself going there, taking a gander at the official Starbuck's and having myself a nice cup of coffee while gazing at the sea. Maybe even catch a Mariners game at Safeco. 

She was flipping through something on her phone. The music continued. Her suitemates didn't seem to come back any soon. If I stayed here, nothing would probably change. She'd probably stay there on the radiator, until dusk, until nightfall, until the stars glittered and the moon shined, until the branches from the trees camouflaged into the demure and plain darkness. Then she'd probably cook dinner, wash the dishes, read again over calming music, and sleep. Rinse and repeat. There was no television so she didn't watch anything. It was a calm afternoon, the calmest I've felt in months. I munched on another cracker, glanced at our two coats again, closed my eyes, and dreamed. 

What got me the most was when he took down the polaroid.


I don't know if it's just me, but I don't like reading memoirs or nonfiction work so much. At the risk of sounding selfish, I don't really care about other people's lives so much. Sure, everyone has intriguing and unique stories, but honestly I'd rather read fiction. I guess I enjoy the thrill of the story in fiction, and the illusion that the story is not true; I enjoy the feeling of wanting the story to be true. That's the whole reason I read books: to escape from the banal reality.

Recently, I've taken up bowling. It's one of my past times, and it's a way to reduce stress for me. Last time, I reached 140, sweeping all of my friends. I want to go now, but the weather is extremely freezing. We reached the single digits, and subzero temperatures in the night. So here I am stuck at the dorm studying.

What an uneventful Valentine's Day.

Dreams and Memory

That moment when someone recognizes you, but you have no idea where you met them. The person's face is familiar—really, really familiar, but you cannot remember their name.

"Hi, Sean!"

"Hey, uhh."


In fact I had a dream one night.

There was a woman, and I met her somewhere at a party. She had long, brown hair, and had on light makeup. She wore jeans and a light olive green blazer and a necklace. We subsequently went out to the movies and we shared a couple kisses. She was magical. But then she left, out of nowhere, and I forgot everything. I even didn't catch her name. I never saw her again. Just like that, she was lost in the crowd.

But people who appear in your dreams loosely resembles someone in real life, whether it be a stranger or a friend.

My work is accumulating, my roommate is broke (literally with only 5$ in his pocket), the campus center doesn't even exist at this point, and I'm sleepy. Fortunately, the weather is springlike.