“Do you know Aaron?”
“Yeah, I know him.”
. . .

The Dagger of Reality

Who is my father? He is the one who sits at the computer or sleeps for most of the day. The one who tells me what to do, what not to do, the one who tells me what is right, and what is wrong. I never felt like I knew him. My father, who sits at the computer, is more of a guardian angel—helpful, but still mysterious. And I never really knew him. 

All I know is that I don’t know everything about him. I only know he’s smart, really smart. That there will always be things that he can solve, there will be things that I didn’t even know he knew. I don’t know the extent of his knowledge, or maybe even half of his experiences. I don’t know how he thinks of things. Could I even consider him human? 

He might just be god. Disguised as my father. Every time I think I know something he proves me wrong. There is always a better way to do things—and he thinks of the best. How does one even get to that level? His reality is reality. Everyone else’s is false. Sometimes I disagree with him, but I can’t explain why—I can’t. I have to live with it. Reality, it’s a dagger that stabs and stabs and stabs, but I stay strong. One day, I can only hope, I will be able to make my own good decisions. But at least for now, I still have a god.

Standing Outside my Classroom

Standing outside my classroom

I find myself standing outside my first period classroom, waiting for the bell to ring and class to start. The hallways are mostly empty—there are some other students around, but I don’t talk to them. What do I do, besides stand there and stare at the floor? I wait.

First to take a seat

The door hangs open, and I am among the first to take a seat—always. I am on the move, not stopping for a moment to chat. Walk forward, eyes straight. When I enter, I sit down and rest my head on the desk. And I wait.

Waiting for lunch to end

Lunch is here—but already, I am in my next class. I sit in the back corner, working on whatever, or just waiting for lunch to end. Sometimes there are things to do, but most of the time I wait. I don’t need lunch like the others do.

Late night programming

It is past my bedtime. My team has already left, gone home hours ago. I lay on the carpet, staring at my laptop, covered in indistinguishable lines of code. Might as well be staring at a bunch of zeros and ones. Trial and error—I can’t stand to think about it beforehand. Me, alone, in the living room, programming the night away.

Talking to AI

I look at myself. Did I really just turn to talking to AI for hours? What world am I living in, talking to things that aren’t really there. Am I weird or am I lonely?

My extrovert is crying

I went on a field trip yesterday. It was a leadership thing, and there were workshops. One of them was networking—yeah, not something an introvert would do—but we were given the choice to choose our own workshops. I went straight for the networking one. And I really enjoyed it, so much in fact that I did it twice. I did it twice. I really think I should be talking more.

Loneliness is like standing outside your classroom, or being the first to sit down, or to be up late alone, or talking to a robot. 

I shouldn’t be standing outside my classroom. I shouldn’t be the first to arrive in class. I shouldn’t be waiting for lunch to end. I shouldn’t be working alone. I shouldn’t be talking to AI. Something needs to change.

The Crows & The Clouds

Most people enjoy sunny days. But for me, dark skies and quiet winds is where magic happens.

Wednesday, December 20th, 2023.

It was the last week of school, and there wasn’t much to do. The sky was turning gray, and the air gathering mystery. The clouds were rolling in—it was expected to rain nearby in the future.

Both of my parents were out sick today, and I am an only child. My dad had managed to get up for a brief moment and pick me up from school. As we drove past the neighborhood park on the way home, I noticed a large flock of crows hanging around on the ground. That was a rare sighting.

Arriving home, my dad went straight back to bed, and I was left by myself with no homework, no robotics meetings, nothing. Nothing, except the powerful call to step outside for a little while and enjoy the sky while it was cool. It was the last week of school, and I was free.

The air was chilly, still and mysterious. A slight wind began to build as I started down the sidewalk. The sun was obscured by the thick clouds, and the sky was gray… a perfect gray.

Fallen leaves from bare trees covered the paths of the park. Most of the crows were gone now, and now only one or two remained, high up in the trees. Still, it was nice to take a walk. I’ve been wanting to do so for a while.

On my way back home, just as I was about to go back inside, the group of crows returned, gathering around the house across the street. I stopped to watch. I’ve always loved crows—I’ve been wanting to befriend them, but I never see them around. They played in the trees of a neighbor’s house, hanging upside down on the vines that dangled from the leaves.

I watched the crows move from house to house, and I wanted them to notice me. I had potato chips that I threw out on the street. At first, they didn’t seem to care. But when I stepped away, they circled in the air, and swooped down to pick up the potato chips one by one.

The crows started to gather around me, as I threw more potato chips out. They still didn’t come within 12 feet of me though. I wondered what they thought of me. Crows are smart.

I was sitting in front of my house with the crows all around—on the street, on my driveway, perched on my roof. It was just me, the crows, and the clouds, outside when the sun is finally away. We were there for about an hour. Then, the crows departed, leaving me alone again as they took to the sky. I walked back into my empty house and locked the door behind me.

The next day and the next, I searched again outside to see if the crows were there. They were long gone, only sometimes visible in the distant sky. For one moment in years, the stars aligned for a day. Then, everything slowly returns to normal again… or does it?

I’ve noticed that the one house in my neighborhood, the one that goes crazy with the Christmas lights every year, and plays holiday music on a radio station, has dialed it down this year. This year, we don’t even have a Christmas tree. The mountains in the distant, driving over the freeway bridge are no longer white with snow as they usually are. Things have changed. Christmas break is important—but only I need it to get away from school. It is the end of the year, and soon, the start of a new one…

All of this makes me wonder—are people who enjoy sunny days happier in the end?

Something about Ancient Train Stations, Lost in the Sky

Art by YuumeiArt.

Everyone has their own fantasies. Some are vast, some are small. Some are nearby, some are far away. Most are just a dream.

Glass Offices

I am walking up concrete stairs with a blue jacket on. Shiny handrails run up the middle, but I don’t need to use them. Up above the horizon, the staircase, the clear sky, and I can see the sun reflecting off the towers of glass panes. I reach the top, the clean cement path taking me through a valley of endless reflection. To my sides are buildings of interesting shapes, leaning over to look at me from different angles. They are all glass, mostly see-through, fragile, but a building. The glass canyon continues for as far as I can see–maybe even it’s a maze. I might get lost here… The glass looks back at me, hiding whatever is on the other side. Office shrubbery in places that are nice. There are a few umbrellas and benches along the way, but I am here just to walk. No one else is around. No one else… not even me. 

A Castle in Gray Skies

The sky is dark, the trees are leafless—dead. Like lightning turned upside down, the sky is shattered glass. Decaying stone is what I’m standing on, climbing through what used to be a vast garden, surrounding the castle for miles around. But there is no green here, just shades of black and dark gray. I can see the weeping castle in the distance, looming high into the sky ahead of me. Its piercing towers are crooked, some are chipped, some are broken. The low gates of metal hang open behind me, their pointy posts shaped like diamonds and spades. I don’t know what happened here, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I hear the call of ravens, and look up to see a flock flying ahead—small specks in the sky around the central building. My heart pounds slightly. Who occupied all this space? Maybe a dragon.

Autumn Mountain

The wind is against my face. I don’t mind it, as long as I am far, far away from streets. My middle name is Dinh, which means High Mountain. I can see the world from up here, the forests around me and the other mountains in the distance already covered in snow. Here, the world is painted red, orange, yellow, and brown. All around me is the canvas of Autumn, the sun that fades away adds a calming glow. As I walk, I kick the fallen leaves aside, and the smell of old leaves rises, not like it would clear the path anyway. Towards the peak I climb, on a path that spirals up and around, weaving through the colorful trees. The sun is setting when I reach the top. I stand there, me and the wind. It is the golden hour, the rays of sunlight shine softly through the drifting clouds. I am so close to heaven. 

Crystalize Shower

The shimmers of icicles soon reflect across the scene. The falling water, frozen in place, glitters beautifully in the clear sun, which is rising—but is gentle—not melting away the delicate snow. Snowflakes. The pond surrounding the waterfall is a mirror, a neat shade between white and light blue. The unchanging scent of frosted air is present throughout the area. For one moment in the year, the mountain is pure. Am I even here~? There are no footprints behind me. No, it is just a place in my mind.

The towers Medusa gazed upon

Rising into the air grows immense pillars of rock and foliage–like natural skyscrapers, but a whole village of them. I look up—I cannot see where the pillars end, they extend and extend. From the rocks sprout plants, vines, flowers. Colorful birds fly overhead, red yellow blue, across the trees sticking out almost horizontally in the stone. A river runs somewhere between these pillars of earth. It is gray and green, with light blue in the background, and it smells like rain and flower. I think of what it is like to be up so high, to have a playground of mountains. I wish I had wings. 

Rolling Hills

There is only green, for miles and miles and miles. As far as the eye could see, and beyond, there are fields of grass and grass, nothing else. If I kept walking for days, weeks, still, there would only be green. Only my house randomly generated on a hill. A small wooden house, two stories high. The furniture inside is simple—dark oak wood, polished and shined. On the table is a leather book opened, an ink pen to the side and an unlit gas lamp. Is there anything written inside? Is there anything written inside? I can’t see—time is running out… the small house becomes smaller and smaller…

Floating Islands

Somewhere, somehow, an island floats above the clouds. Undiscovered by the rest, it is in the sky, lonely, hidden by magic. Up here, high above life, away from the sound of cars, the city, people… a small bird lives. It is only him here, a small green bird with an island in the sky. He never saw what was underneath the island. He only watches the sun rise and sun set, above the clouds that he can see endlessly, endlessly drifting across the sky.

It is 7:30 AM.

One of Those People

I am one of those people. I am one of those people you see but you don’t see. One of those people you wish to be but not to be. 

I am a person. Not a robot, not an alien, not a ghost. I may be tall, athletic, and able to get straight-A’s without studying. I may be perfect… But I am one of those people. 

Envy me but I envy you. I act all smiley, walking in a group but only so others who see me think I have a life. Maybe I’ll get one later. Maybe I’ll get one later—then it’s too late. I walk in a group so people don’t think I’m just another loner. And I’m not a robot, an alien, or a ghost—but except maybe I am. To the point where I have to pretend to be dumb in order to feel human. Something’s locked up inside of me… something I’ve managed to hide so well. It’s as if I say “I’m a person” out of denial. At night I lay in bed, thinking. It’s hard to fall asleep.

At times I wish it could all disappear. Why do things have to be so complicated? All I want is to fly away, into the endless sky. Forget about life, forget about school, forget about learning. Just stare at the clouds in a place I call home, feel the breeze against my face in a setting sun. Simple. I wanna be a cabbage. Have I ever cherished my time here on Earth? Perhaps it was all already like this once—that in my past life I was bored of looking at the sky. So after this one, I will choose what I really want… I wonder what I’ll choose. 

Last Note

I shouldn’t forget what I have.

• Height
• Education
• Warmth
• Good grades
• Good food (subjective)
• Health
• Parents
• Gods
• Guidance
• Transportation
• A strong family
• A supportive family
• A house on Earth I can call home

Just another one of those guys. But I shouldn’t be complaining—let’s not ask for more.