My laptop passed away last night. Its light went out as I was watching swimmers in the Paralympics on YouTube. Poor Sebastian, it won’t even turn on. It’s been 4 very long years. I’ve got most data stored on an external hard drive, and have all blog posts printed on paper. Rest in peace, deary.

A few people have asked me if I was doing okay, I must not be sounding so cheery lately. But no no, I’ve been doing well, busy for sure, but there’s nothing better than being busy doing what you love.

I’m thinking about writing a book. About a girl, and a man. Two different lives. I’ve started to jot things down, might take a few years, I don’t know, but worth a shot.

It’s a nice day out, I love the scent of cold wind on a warm day. Gonna go to band practice now, I hope we can share our music with you soon! 

It’s funny when I don’t write for a while, the amount of SPAM increases, like it knows when the waters are calm enough to penetrate.Lots going on on this end, so much that the tips of my fingers buzz with adrenaline. 2 friends have recently gotten laid off. Direct results of a fragile economy. 3 more friends are considering a change in career. 1 of them is my guitarist, who decided to take a secure road of earning more to support his wife and future family.So he said good-bye to our band and left us with a hand full of amazing songs. It’s the 3 of us now; drummer, me and a most recent guitarist. We’ve got a gig on Sept. 28th, we’re working like an engine.Santa Ponta’s Journey should be coming out… in a few months perhaps. My friend / illustrator and I have been going back and forth with AuthorHouse Publishing to get the format all correct.Before I know it’s 1:30 again, I need to get to sleep. and the thing is I don’t know end this sene..

Barack Obama spoke yesterday, he accepted his Democratic nomination for President. I listened to Hilary, Bill and Joe Biden speak the day before, it’s definitely an exciting time.

The middle and lower classes have had it’s share of neglect, I feel their emotions repressed, I think it formed a volcano. From that volcano came Barack shooting out like a star, with the cries of many people erupting like lava. “This has never been about me, it’s always been about you” he said.

In the 4 years that I have lived in America, I have encountered and lived many different spectrums of classes. On one end, I was a nanny in several 10 million dollar homes in Silicon Valley, where I played the toughest game of hide and seek. I went to pool parties of college grads with no jobs and no worries. I helped celebrate a 7th birthday with an entire basketball team hired by parents.

On the other spectrum is my CASA girl’s extended family, where I was taught the toughest Double Dutch moves in the block. Girls fought over hand-me-down clothes. The mums feared accidents, I don’t think they were insured.

Many a times I grit my teeth not being able to stand the unfairness. I complained about my medical bills to a rich dad, he didn’t want to hear it. Perhaps part of that lava is me. I came here as an immigrant in pursuit of good music. What I hear are people who cry for change.

I realize these days that truth comes out better in fiction. And truth is best when plain and undecorated.

I’m watching footage my dad took when we went to Chile and Argentina. The video’s pixilated and shakey and the sound of wind blows in the mic. I think it’s beautiful. I want to cut it a little bit, just a little bit to make it shorter, then I want to do nothing more with it and call it a film. Then we can watch it together.

“How are you? How are you Really? We’ve been trying to read between the lines of your weblog…” my god parents wrote to me. “Come on now, let’s write letters for goodness sakes” I heard them say in my head. I smelled the paper that came from England. Her hand writing hasn’t changed in twenty years. And his handwriting, I’ve never been able to read quite well. But I read it anyway. They talk about their grand daughter. They love their grand daughter, and so do I.

I’ve been thinking of doing nothing lately. Been a bit reclusive, but aggressive with band music. Paul’s eating the same soup I made for the 4th day, still he says ‘thank you’. I want to make more food for him. Paul’s been going to art classes, and coming back with sketches of naked people. We see his sketches and I get jealous when it’s a beautiful woman.

My dad’s video is still going on, on the computer. It’s really good. It’s real. I think I’m going to figure out how to put it on a DVD so we can share it.

While a mirage of the Opening Ceremony still remains unfaded, I see on a commuter’s newspaper, pictures of the Finale. It has been 17 days. Unfortunately for me, I’ve only had glimpses on a friend’s television or news articles on the Internet. Still, the passion and struggle of the players have left me an impact.  Their beauty is raw, the best a human can be.

“Usain Bolt of Jamaica celebrates as he crosses the finish line to win the men’s 100m in a world record of 9.69 seconds. He collected his second gold on August 20 in 200m, becoming the first man since Carl Lewis in 1984 to win an Olympic sprint double.”

“Gold medallist Matthias Steiner of Germany poses with a picture of his late wife Susann during the medal ceremony for the men’s +105kg weightlifting”.

“Hwang Jiman and Lee Jaejin of South Korea celebrate their victory over Jonas Rasmussen and Lars Paaske of Denmark in the men’s doubles badminton bronze medal match.” (photos from FT.com)

I look forward to watching captured moments tonight. Paralympics is next, starting September 6th. (Official website)

I crash landed on an emotional roller coaster one day in the summer of 2000. Mum found me in my bed with a shaved head. She shrieked, closed the door and slowly opened it again. “Are you awake?” she asked.

After a few days my hair felt like the soft side of Velcro. The oily skin on my head also had a reptilian stickiness.

I brought with me 2 photos of such times:

(haha, i look like my brother)

Sometimes words mean too much. Like unintended cannon balls.

We’ve been searching for band mates via Internet postings, emailing back and forth with potential candidates. Some people prefer email over phone, say they’re less shy and more direct on email. Well, in this one chain of emails we discussed about bands, discussed it some more, my band mates didn’t think him suitable and so I told him sorry, and somehow I ended up being accused of manipulating his soul.

Kotodama  means ‘word-spirit’. It’s a belief that words contain within itself an energy particular to that word.

The danger of emails is that it’s easy to be direct, and in passion we write exactly how we feel, shaping emotion into words, regurgitating them into sentences without looking back, not thinking how, before clicking that send button, the receiver can take it any which way he/she feels, and can go back to those words framed so neatly in emails, at any time. Email fights are the nastiest I’ve encountered.

We should keep in mind the power of words before hastily clicking that send button.

Back from Japan already, but there’s so much more magic to share, so let’s pretend we’re still there.

Mother found paradise an hour away from home. 

We swam in water we could drink from. 

 We gave peace signs under the sun.

And found solace in the sound of a clear water fall.

If Japan had Monsoon rain, that’s what we experienced on our way up the mountain. My brother Geoffrey had summoned two dozen people to hike Mt. Fuji. 4 families and a few friends strode by equipped in mountain gear, while my boyfriend and I relinquished our only t-shirts to the pounding rain, protecting our camera bag with a flimsy sheet of plastic. When we arrived at the cabin, a girl with her 3 acquaintances took a picture, of our drenched, comic carelessness.

Geoffrey and George moments before the rain.

Something about the Sunrise here, it’s no ordinary sunrise, they even have a different name for it, “coming of the grand light”. We woke in time to witness this coming, the rain had ceased during the night and the early morning was still moist. Halfway up the mountain from the cabin we could see the clouds below us, and through the clouds glimmered a city ready to be awakened. We bowed our heads to the rising sun and headed for the top.

Lisa had left earlier in the night with another group, following a different herd in the dark. Only after leaving the cabin did she realize they were not us. She had come to join our party, not particularly all the way from America, rather a happenstance blog reader who is studying in Japan. She ended up marching the entire mountain top by the time we were ready to take our next steps. Luckily we met and shared some giddy moments on the steep hills.

Going down the volcanic rubbles was harder on the knees. Paul took a shortcut down a slippery slope, his legs went faster down the mountain than his body could hold, and when he hit that big rock and his legs sprung over his head, our herd of mountaineers gasped in synchrony. Nobody saw his body behind that rock for a moment, then he popped up and started to run again, this time to a flat spot. His scars and many bruises followed him all the way down the mountain, but when we reached a hot tub at the foot of Mt. Fuji, all he could think of was the beautiful scenery we saw at the top.

Forgot about the humidity. The past 5 days has been saturated with more events than a Japanese Summer can hold. Let me accompany some snippets of experiences with photos.

Real fork. Plastic knife! At an airport in Texas.

Happiness all around, a lady with a “very good” sign.

3 children and a nanny.

Kindness and convenience; bag hanger and attached table. 

My friend since Kindergarten, and her baby.

Two stories I’d like to introduce in detail, but tomorrow….