An Explanation

I actually haven’t fallen off the face of the Earth – I’ve just moved to the other side of it, again. It’s a journey that probably started back in September of 2016, when JC and I decided to come back here. At that time we had been staying with our parents for over a year, and things actually weren’t so great. You can see it in my posts from the time, from hinting that I was realizing how much our parents fucked us up to how I tried to convince myself that things were good. There was even a list of things that I missed from Hong Kong.

The first time around in Hong Kong we still thought of our parents’ places as home, and kept things there. But this time would be different. Having been at home for a year, I realized how tethered we still were to our parents, how we weren’t really as independent as we thought. No, if we were to leave this time, I would not use my mom’s house as a storage unit. I would take care of all my shit, whether that meant taking it with me or getting rid of it. From the past year of museum posts and magazine scans, you can see what I decided.

If I had the money, and the means to make that money, I would stay in the Bay Area. Even as we were selling our things and packing our suitcases I told JC that Hong Kong actually isn’t so great, we already gave it a go, and we came back to the USA. But where would we stay in the Bay Area? We tried looking for a place to live in early 2016. I actually had a job with decent hours and pay. But it was a shit life, a draining life. Work all day doing something you don’t like, ride in a stinky train before and after, and repeat daily. Hong Kong would be the same, but at least the train wouldn’t be stinky. I wouldn’t have to worry about my surroundings all the time. But I’d still have to deal with the shitty parts of living here. In the end, given a bunch of shitty choices, we picked the least stinky one.

So this is where we are now, more than 6 months back in Hong Kong. Despite now being independent, we’re still not as happy as we’d like to be. Adulting is fucking hard, and the more you live and experience, the more it seems like it’s all bullshit. JC is working and dealing with office politics, and I am not, a repeat of early 2014. As I posted back then, I still got nothin’, no motivation to work, no hunger for money, no plans for the future. I still just want to play basketball and video games, read books, and drink Scotch. We can’t exclusively do those things because we don’t have money, but if we commit ourselves to earning money, then we won’t have time to do those things. What a vicious turn of events.

I often think of things to post here, about life and our current situation, and the future. And yet, when the time comes, it seems difficult to organize all my thoughts. We’re not quite 40 yet, but life seems tiring. Is this all there is? What’s the meaning? Is there even supposed to be a meaning? Why does it seem like most people are deceiving themselves? Or are we the ones deceiving ourselves?

I’m looking for a job now, so I won’t post this just yet, because despite my angst, I understand how the world works. Just more bullshit, right? For the record, I started this entry in January, and today is April 11. Let’s see what the actual date will be when I finally post…

There Are Times

MGH Disk 1 of 2, Street Fighter 2 Turbo for the Super Famicom
MGH Disk 1 of 2, Street Fighter 2 Turbo for the Super Famicom

There are times when I am reminded of something I once had, and I feel sad.

There are times when looking at something triggers a memory of an object I once had, an object that I purposefully disowned. I ask myself whether it was really necessary. I wanted to be an adult, to stand on my own two feet, to not become attached to material possessions. Even had I not desired so, I would not have the physical space to hold all my seemingly precious objects that I only think about and cherish when an associated memory brings them back into the forefront.

Tonight I randomly decided to look at one of the manuals from the SNES mini, the one for SF2 Turbo, and I thought of the generic Capcom stick at my mother’s house and how it no longer has an SNES to connect to, and how even if I did I no longer have the game copier or the floppy disks to load the game from. Those are painful thoughts for me. From the time I acquired those possessions to last year when I disowned them, I knew that if I ever had any desire at all to experience the originals, I could. But now, no matter what, regardless of whether I go back to my old room, it’s impossible.

It’s like with my dead cousins, there’s no way back to those times, and no way forward to reminisce about those times. It’s all only inside my head, and maybe my heart, and that’s the reality of life and its fleeting nature.