baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- On Buying Toys and Finding Family In Neighboring Cities I suspect that melancholy and artistic expression share a close bond in this cluttered mind of mine. Because, sounds and melodies are raining on me like never before-soaking me with a burst of creativity that is as welcome as it is annoying: Welcome because I love being creative-and Annoying because the lifestyle I've embraced defeats the very creativity I treasure. And now, I find myself wishing more than ever that I had the courage to give up my generous paycheck and the more-than comfortable lifestyle it affords me in place of a simpler, happier, more creative day to day. But, it's not easy being idealistic. Idealism (my vision of idealism anyway) takes money. Girl-Unit retreats into a world of greenery and shrubs when she grows weary of the world-I retreat into a 24-track digital domain filled with guitars, cords, microphones and drum machines. My tastes tend to run expensive when it comes to stocking my personal toybox. From the newest version of Pro Tools, to the external firewire hard drive I HAD to have, to the nylon-string beauty I custom ordered a month ago-I am a living, breathing testimonial to gear-addiction. Even if one does consider the General Crap that surrounds my general vicinity, It's easy to see that I've gone a little overboard in my little toy hunt. We all have our own personal version of solace-and mine takes a hefty credit limit. _____________________________________________ OK. Now that I've exposed myself to be a money-grubbing, materialistic bastard-let me retrace my brush strokes and paint myself as "The Confused Young Artist As An Asian Man." I've learned a lot about my mom in the past two weeks. I've been allowed to peek at family details that were previously off-limits. And, perhaps, Mom is more real to me now more than ever. For example, every Christmas, Mom always asked for nothing more than money. If you bought her a present-she'd return it and get, in her own words, "what she really wanted." This little trait has been a thorn in my side for years-but it's something I've been forced to accept. Every Christmas, for the as long as I can remember (and any other holiday where a present is typically offered), I've given her money. Now I've found out that the money goes back home to her family-her sisters who are very poor and sickly-a family that I rarely heard about previously for reasons only Mom knows. For some reason, Mom has entrusted me with this secret account, a huge stash of cash hidden inside the proverbial mattress, and now I'm the one who must deal with these long-lost family members of mine. I also now know that I had two brothers who died shortly after birth. And, somewhere in Los Angeles, two half-sisters of mine quietly go on about their lives. I can't imagine how I lived to be 33 so damn ignorant of my family history. Someday, I plan on meeting these sisters of mine. I have a lot of questions. I bet they do too. 7:17 p.m. - 2001-10-02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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