You Make Me Laugh

In a thank-you card that Robin sent me, for my birthday gift to her, a colorful bracelet, only her type can pull off as wearing, she said: This friendship meant so much to me. You always make me laugh.

That sentence fills my heart with tendenness and a little proud, like I am being minted, as a good comdian.

Robin is leaving in a week to start her three-country journalist study for the next 2 years. She left an advertising account job that she hated. We (I) drank heartily when she resigned-one glass of wine will kill her.

I said: glad you are out. Wish I am too.

She has made me laugh, we were girls in pain, but we were also funny and smart. We do not have same taste in guys--inspite that there is no proof for that, since we never did a test and I do like her current boyfriend, obtained in the total Harry Met Sally fashion, but we made each other laugh.

From persepctive of laughing matters, besides all the heart to heart that turned the teary me into smily faces, she introduced me to the hilarious film Euro trip, good Soccer writting, and Flights of Conchords, Brett and Jamine, who are simply brillant. I suscribed to HBO because I enjoyed them so much. They are the best since the British version of Offices.

In one of the recent conversations, in light of her going to Denmark in a week, we talked about the Danish men and Swendish men.

I mentioned that it seems to me, for no particular reason, that Swendish guys have good ass. But they are never my type anyway, being blonde mostly. I said my cultural background used to make me blush in admitting this, but I do kinda of need the man to have a good ass to turn me on, like I realize that is the third thing I check on a man nowadays, after his eyes, his hands and there, his ass, followed by sense of humor and heart of gold, opacity gold.

I think I have acquired a pretty crude taste for staying in this country for too long. Americans have corrupted me.

I said I used to think I have been in love with D becuase of his long eyelashes, those like Dick Dive, but then I realize I really miss the his ass among other parts, as well.

The almight funny Robin gave me this in response: i don't have time to critique asses....just looking for one who isn't an ass.

I laughed for a good 2 minutes.

Laugh is the best remedy to kill pain, no?

When my father had a stroke in 2002, I flied back home for a month. All we did in the time we spent in his room in the hospital, was trying to make him and my mom laugh, laugh as if were having the best time in the world.

I used to make D laugh too, and D made me. But our each respective unhappiness and anxiety caught up with us, with me, I lost my cool and my wit for sometime, I lost my ability to make him laugh, the moment when he most needed it.

All I could have done is to make him, as his friends had been trying to make him, like I have made mine friends when they feel like crying, to laugh.

But I was not able to. I was sad and weak, I did not have the strength that I have now, it takes growth and growing pain to be able to make people you care really laugh.

D is still making people laugh. He is performing as a comedian, I came to know through some search. I read about that he even dropped his pants--a hilarious show, must be. I am pround of him and his ass. I wish I could be there, but I will applaud at a distance just as well.

In the last year or so, days of my own self reflections, of withstanding the pain and lonliness for misshing D, I have become closer to some fantastic people like Robin and Mylene and more, and to myself. I make them laugh, I also am able to laugh at myself, it goes hand in hand.

You could not make others laugh, if you are not first of all, able to laugh at yourself, your mistake, you pettiness sometime, your screw up, your obessession, and your ultimate strive to be better, simple and real.

In the first time D and I went out, I said to him, in my best witty moments, don't make me laugh, that will make me getting old quicker for all the winkles I will get from laughing so hard. He said, no, you got it all wrong.

I was deadly wrong, of course, I would have all the winkles on my face, for a hearty moment to laugh together with my beloved friends, with D, with my parents and sisters, with all those I have cared for and have enjoyed.

A smiling face, with even a heartache, is still the most beautiful scenery in the world, arguably second only to a sexy man's ass, on my humble list of favorite things in life.

Genuine Red

The color of the above Kinomo, is what Japanese called: genuine red.

My last name means red, in Chinese, this is my year to wear lot of red. So there goes, my color.

Color of passion, of genuine, truly, non compromisingly, obssessively red.

Read Me In Berlin

"I am in Europe right now, give me the URL of your blog again."

This is a friend who lives in Beijing. Blogspot is still not accessible there sometime.

I did not think of catching him on always have to ask for it again.

"Where are you"?

"Berlin. "

Sometime, I think, blog makes my friends able to enjoy the company of my feelings or thoughts at time and mood that they most feel like, or when they miss my presence.

And besides my trying to stay inspired, passionate or funny while working like a honey bee, and lonely for still missing someone, besides me trying to write words that mean something, anything, besides my freinds reading these words, enjoying them, hopefully, this online intimacy is pretty drama free and non-obligatory.

I stay silent for months or weeks. I read those blogs I enjoy or about people I miss, without commenting, yet, if they want to know, they know I am there, in their orbit of readers. We are part of each other's life, in a subtle and small way.

I don't track my readership, like some of my freinds track whether their new date is reading their blog. I am not the myspace generation either. I just hope those I care still read my words, as they come into existence, and smile, albeit remain silent.

I like it when my friend is so eager to read about what I write, or about me, as if he is hungry for something. It is a compliment.

For that reason, I forgive him for forgetting the url, just simply ask me again, maybe the latter is better.

Just simply ask me, letting me know that this means something to you, and this can be forgotten when you don't want to read it.

You know they are out there, in this multiple parallel universe of ours, you know silence might not mean distance or empitness. You know keeping someone in your heart is also a good way to love.

"I am the slave of your silence". I once wrote such words to the man I love.

Gradually, I came to know, through living in truth, silence, immensed with thought or longing, could be meaninful and rich.

But for real beauty and content of silence, go to this post of Heaven Tree, now.

So those of you who are out there, read me, some time, while I write, sometime, in our shared silence.

And then we know, we can be close without seeing or touching.