lmao nvm I just brushed my teeth. meanwhile I reached the first stage of kensho. thank you all for helping me continue this journey to enlightenment. good night.

I haven’t brushed my teeth in two weeks this is the greatest sin. fuck theft or adultery or murder. we all know once u hit two weeks without brushing ur teeth there is no turning back.

too lazy to brush my teeth whatecer good night ill probably go to hell now

very excited for summer. I want this summer to be very perfect and it is a very big issue of mine because I have never had a good summer. and last summer was horrible the worst summer I have ever had in my life, spending  a fourth of it in a hospital was not what I wanted. I want to be very happy this summer surrounded by good vibes. this summer will come really slow in terms of Alaska, we would usually have green grass and greening trees by now but it’s been snowing lightly still and hopefully last weekend’s snowfall was the last, the trees are still bare and the grass is still yellow. I want to see life

things to do this summer

  • visit John/love him/hug him/kiss him/touch him/feel him
  • plant flowers in garden, give them love and care and water and lots of warmth
  • move fish into bigger tank, buy more fish
  • paint
  • paint pictures of flowers and trees and people, paint so much that I start bleeding paint out of my eyes and paint that and paint everything around me, cleanse myself w paint
  • exercise
  • run 20 miles every week, run through the park behind my house, run w john, run on treadmills, run through the hillside, run by the horse stable, smell horse manure and keep running, run past flowers and hills and run forever
  • read books! so many books to read
  • love a lot
  • meditate
  • go hiking and camping and go visit places
  • get my license!
  • love a lot

My biology teacher is South African and I love her she is probably the best science teacher I have had but I’ve heard several kids in my class, mostly white girls who are failing the class, talk abt how they cannot take the class seriously because of my teacher’s accent
and I’m just like really?? I am so tired of people shunning others who do not speak english the way they do, and the fact that they are blaming the teacher’s accent for why they can’t focus in class lmao fuck you. my family members have to go through this everyday, they are immigrants from asia and have not had their entire life to adjust into the english language in order to avoid getting mocked by white people who think accents are funny :) fuck you

I had a dream I was married to John and we had a cute boy baby and we were living in Korea and were on the beach when I saw this group of white dudes in mario costumes filming a video. and they said they wanted to borrow my baby for the video and I said okay but baby only peed everywhere but I was very happy at baby and kissed him a lot and let him pee into the ocean

I don’t like white ppl because they think a cup of rice is only one serving that’s like 1/8 of a serving

In sixth grade Mrs. Walker
slapped the back of my head
and made me stand in the corner
for not knowing the difference
between persimmon and precision.
How to choose

persimmons. This is precision.
Ripe ones are soft and brown-spotted.
Sniff the bottoms. The sweet one
will be fragrant. How to eat:
put the knife away, lay down newspaper.
Peel the skin tenderly, not to tear the meat.
Chew the skin, suck it,
and swallow. Now, eat
the meat of the fruit,
so sweet,
all of it, to the heart.

Donna undresses, her stomach is white.
In the yard, dewy and shivering
with crickets, we lie naked,
face-up, face-down.
I teach her Chinese.
Crickets: chiu chiu. Dew: I’ve forgotten.
Naked: I’ve forgotten.
Ni, wo: you and me.
I part her legs,
remember to tell her
she is beautiful as the moon.

Other words
that got me into trouble were
fight and fright, wren and yarn.
Fight was what I did when I was frightened,
Fright was what I felt when I was fighting.
Wrens are small, plain birds,
yarn is what one knits with.
Wrens are soft as yarn.
My mother made birds out of yarn.
I loved to watch her tie the stuff;
a bird, a rabbit, a wee man.

Mrs. Walker brought a persimmon to class
and cut it up
so everyone could taste
a Chinese apple. Knowing
it wasn’t ripe or sweet, I didn’t eat
but watched the other faces.

My mother said every persimmon has a sun
inside, something golden, glowing,
warm as my face.

Once, in the cellar, I found two wrapped in newspaper,
forgotten and not yet ripe.
I took them and set both on my bedroom windowsill,
where each morning a cardinal
sang, The sun, the sun.

Finally understanding
he was going blind,
my father sat up all one night
waiting for a song, a ghost.
I gave him the persimmons,
swelled, heavy as sadness,
and sweet as love.

This year, in the muddy lighting
of my parents’ cellar, I rummage, looking
for something I lost.
My father sits on the tired, wooden stairs,
black cane between his knees,
hand over hand, gripping the handle.
He’s so happy that I’ve come home.
I ask how his eyes are, a stupid question.
All gone, he answers.

Under some blankets, I find a box.
Inside the box I find three scrolls.
I sit beside him and untie
three paintings by my father:
Hibiscus leaf and a white flower.
Two cats preening.
Two persimmons, so full they want to drop from the cloth.

He raises both hands to touch the cloth,
asks, Which is this?

This is persimmons, Father.

Oh, the feel of the wolftail on the silk,
the strength, the tense
precision in the wrist.
I painted them hundreds of times
eyes closed. These I painted blind.
Some things never leave a person:
scent of the hair of one you love,
the texture of persimmons,
in your palm, the ripe weight.

Li-Young Lee, “Persimmons” (via calypsoed)

(via angryasiangirlsunited)