Why Do We Grow Apart From Our Families?

"Screw you, dad! I'm gonna sniff coke whether you like it or not!"

I have always been baffled by people who hate their families. People
who openly discuss their hatred towards relatives, siblings and parents
were categorized (in my mind) as poor souls in need of a warm hug
while discreetly being handed a pamphlet on “How To Love Your
Family: Even If You Don’t.” In Asian culture, you sorta have to tuck
that underneath your crying pillow while you vacuum those angry
tears right back up your slanted eyes. So why, for the life of god,
Buddha, or spaghetti monster, do we grow apart from our family?

For most of us growing up, our family is a collection of personalities
that we carry with us. Our nagging mother, our neglectful father, the
teasing brother, and the distant sister. This all-day breakfast club of
humans, linked only through DNA and a rooftop, are forced to endure
each others bullshittery as you fight and clash your silly little lives
together.When you think about it, it’s quite an astounding miracle to
see so many families close together despite their crater-sized differences.
But what happens when we grow up?

As we get older, the lines become thinner, and the personalities replace
the titles. In other words, our annoying mother slowing becomes the
annoying woman, and the neglectful father transforms into the neglectful
asshole. We start to see them not as blood related family members, but as
people. Our minds start to separate the two and we start telling ourselves
“wow… I actually dislike this person for who they really are.” Before, you
had no choice. You lived with all of them your entire life but now that you
have a piece of independence, you can choose who surround yourself
with – not them.

In case you’re wondering, this isn’t really happening to me – not really.
Yes, the lines are getting smaller and smaller each day, and the
personalities have resurfaced like a washed up corpse upon the beach, but
it’s not as bad as I depicted. However, I do feel a shift in my emotions.
Before, I always told myself that I could never move away from California,
let alone the bay area. But now? Now I see myself living freely and happily
in the bustle and haze of New York, or even in a cozy apartment in Japan
as I eat warm Ramen and drink hot tea with my lovely girlfriend (hopefully
fiancee by then.)

Maybe this is just a trait of age, or perhaps I’m becoming a bigger and
bigger asshole. Either way, the concrete pavement that I’m jogging over
is slowing starting to erode, and I’m in dire need of some change. Perhaps
I’ll take that trip to New York, or possibly (and more realistically) my
lovely San Francisco. Whether it happens now or it happens later, I feel
the inevitable steam rolling its way and I can hear that train a’ comin’.
The only thing left to do is cherish the time I have in this city, hug it out,
and open up that little pamphlet of mine.

It Is Way Too Early For This: I Am NOT A Morning Person

There are two types of working people on this earth: the early-to-risers that zap to the beat of their alarm clock,
and the nocturnal zombies that horde through mazes of internet at night. I am, as with most of the men in my age
group who have access to Call of Duty and XBOX Live, the latter. I am the one who you see posting status
updates at 3:00 A.M in the morning while the foggy glaze over my eyeballs swirls and swirls. However, I’ve
been living a double life for the past month.

I recently sold my car some time ago and to make a very long story short, I am now on-call to help taxi my
oldest sister to work on weekday mornings at 7am. Let me get this straight: though some of you might
consider 7am the hour to be jettin’ out the front door, I see it as the hour to be flying through a mega mall
with a laser beam attached to my biceps while floating hamsters throw rainbow tacos at me. In other words,
I am passed out and lost in another cooky dream.

But not today my friends. Today, I slugged out of bed like a wounded Bubba Gump as I threw on a robe and
looked out the cold and dreary apartment complex.

Who the hell is up at this obscene hour? What tormented soul puts themselves through this crap? I understand
that some individuals must wake up at this time for their job, which I totally understand, but my confusion is
with people who choose to wake up early, as if the freshest and most fragrant part of human life must be picked
clean in the wee hours of 5 a.m.

I‘ve never been drunk thus I’ve never driven while inebriated, but I can imagine that driving while
half-awake is just the same. I loop in and out of consciousness as the swaying of my car rocks me like a baby.
Then there are those momentary dips of darkness where you crawl under a bridge and pop comes the light.
“Solar Flare!”

After I drop off my sister, I take a mental conquest to truly figure out: who gets up at this hour, and why? The
world is perfectly fine in about four more hours! Come back to bed, broski! Snuggle snuggle my little cholo! The
bed is cozy and here, we only sleep on the cool side of the pillow. So lay back, relax, and let the dreams of flying
and lasers begin!

Realistically speaking, I know that some individuals just prefer that time of day. The world can’t function without
these lose– caring and dedicated folks. I mean, who else is gonna pour that cup of coffee at the diner? Denny’s
hasbrowns don’t make themselves ya know! The world needs you early wakers, and they also need us wonderful
night owls. But on the question of “Who is up at this hour?” I found my answer driving up beside me – literally.

In comes Mr. Rich-Asian-Guy driving a $130,000 Black Audi R8.

Whatever… I don’t even like driving fast! :)

We Survived The 2012 Apocalypse! + The NEW New Years Resolutions!

For as long as I’ve lived, I’ve always been quite the skeptic. Santa Claus? No way. Ghosts? Can’t happen. Spirits
and the after life? I doubt it. Yet for some reason, I always found the concept of the Apocalypse to be quite
intriguing and to some degree, believable. Now hold on a second Mr. Hawking, before you strike out my last
sentence with that piece of virtual chalk, I would like us to enter a world where we believe that the Apocalypse
was actually an imminent truth. Let us slip into a cozy and transport our minds to a time where the world would
actually end on a specific date and time.

Think about it for a minute. If the world were to end at a set time, how would the human race react? Would we all
sit around a garbage can fire, hold hands and cry? What would we do? Who would we hold during those final
moments of existence? A speech teacher once told me that during the attack on 9/11, the civilians who were in the
Twin Towers were faced with two options: die in a slow, giant burning ember, or fall through the sky like a comet.
Sadly, many did choose to jump out. But you know what the interesting thing was? My professor said that when
people were jumping out windows, they looked for the nearest person, held their hand, and jumped together.

Sometimes I think of the rapture because it puts my life into perspective. It forces me to ask myself “if I knew
the world would end, what would matter to me during that last breath of oxygen?” Once you get in that trance
of “wow… what if the world really DID end?” you start to remove all of the tedious things you think you care about.
Stuff like laptops, Call of Duty points, Fendi handbags, and college degrees. Remove them all, keep cutting, and
what do you get?

Clarity.

When you reduce the pot of problems and needs in your life, you’re left with a stock of few things: loved ones,
happiness, and self-fulfillment. That’s really it. Take this bit of info and really apply it to this new year. Stop
creating retarded New Years resolutions which are too often based on your desire to look like a Bowflex
commercial model, and make a meaningful resolution this year.

Hooray for surviving another Apocalypse! Quick, queue the random dancing black man who I saw at Costco!