Polock — Fireworks
… hah. Just kidding.
Do you know what the weather is in Tahiti right now? 86 degrees. Let me say it again, just in case you didn’t catch it the first time: eighty-friggin-six-friggin-degrees. I wish I were lying to you.
If things went according to plan, I would be boarding a plane to LA at approximately 4, then boarding another soon after, straight to 8-friggin-6-friggin-degrees. But Mum has this absurd notion (she’s really silly sometimes, but it’s cute in small doses) that traveling with people that you like holds certain implications. Like traveling leads to holding hands which leads to … sex. Moreover, the warm Tahiti sun is the only driving in the world that will surely coerce you into choosing hedonistic pleasures over your good ol’ Christian values.
Like I had ‘em in the first place. Just kidding.
Also, do me a favor and read this next sentence in the most Asian accent you can think of:
And most importantly, you will dishonor your family.
I know, right? You probably got to the word “sex” and stopped in complete and utter disbelief at the thought of my mum vocalizing such a term. How does sweet, innocent ol’ Mum even know what sex is? I know it’s hard for you guys to understand, but sex doesn’t exist in Oriental cultures. It just doesn’t; how we have procreated for the past few centuries is still a mystery to me. We don’t even have a word for it in Asian. And at nineteen, I am still very much convinced that I came from a stork, but am too afraid to ask because I’m sure that too has got to be a taboo.
So while I ponder my existence (e.g., y’know, where did I come from?, why am I so small in this really big world?, the usual) here in home sweet San Jose and take Jered to the airport to fly off to eighty-friggin-six-friggin-degree weather, I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving.
Love you all, I’m thankful for your presence in my life.
P.S. If you’re wondering why I just didn’t tell my mother I was going on a week-long retreat to find myself (through all conceivable hedonistic pleasures, duh), I don’t think telling her that saving orphans from Satan would fly for an entire week. They would have the sense to see the light (read: God) after day three, right? Hang loose, guys.
P.P.S. In other news, the best texts in my life up to date are (1) “when are you coming home?”, in which I reply, “soon”, and am actually excited to come home to a warm bed and body (and bagels in the morning while I study …. I’m set for life), and (2) “My stupid iPhone keeps autocorrecting the word ‘cunt’”, which probably sounds a lot more politically incorrect out of context (as in: it sounded much funnier at the time).
One two three four five
We are young and proud
Sitting on the edge of the world
Seein’ the fireworks