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Katy Trail Day 4 – It’s a Zoo Out There

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“See you there!” he said, pointing at us and grinning.

“Yeah, maybe!” Wells offered. The boy ran off and we exchanged glances.

“I’m not going to that.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

We had just been invited to go to “get some bud, some beer, and light up,” by a highschool aged boy.We had actually been told earlier that marijuana and alcohol were the only things the natives did in this town, but now we had firsthand evidence. They were apparently a large enough party to warrant renting a bus.

But on a Wednesday night? Really?

It had been a strange day.

Welcome to Hermann...again.

I woke up at 5:30, eager to be off. We planned to do 60-70 miles that day, which would have been our longest day yet. Thankfully, shortly after I woke him up, Wells convinced me that it would be easier just to cut our distance in half and come in later on Thursday. It may have been a desperate ploy to get more sleep, but it was definitely a good idea.

We hung out and chatted with Bob a bit more then headed our separate ways, but not before I got his business card. We were once again headed toward Hermann, where we planned to stay.

At the Mokane trailhead, we ran into a man we know only as Kansas City, his city of origin. It was his 15th annual trip, and he was surprisingly large for a biker who moved so quickly, though he did travel significantly lighter than we did, staying at bed and breakfasts instead of camping along the way. He had a terribly bleak view of all the towns along the way: “Tebbetts kills me, I can’t stay there,” “Hartsburg is full of old people, I can’t stand it,” and the like. We would see him a few more times along the trail, one of which was at the Trailside bar and grill, which served delicious food, pie, and iced tea and lemonade on the house.

Blackberry Custard...but the Pecan Pie tasted even better than the custard looked.

Departing Rhineland, we also ran into, or rather, were followed very closely by, a man we call Creepy Jason. We had seen him briefly while leaving Rhineland, and then he caught up to us and refused to leave. He had a high pitched voice, which he used to complain about his first and second wives and recount stories that can only be described as terrifying. He came from Hermann, where we were headed, and I listened with growing concern as Wells gave away more details about who we were and where we were staying for the night. I attempted to lose him by saying we had to reseat the trailer hitch, which we did. ‘That’s good, I have to rest too,’ he said, and kept talking.

Don’t tell him anything! I mentally screamed at Wells.

Lie! Lie! Wells mentally screamed at himself. But for reasons neither of us truly understand, he resisted that voice and told Creepy Jason exactly where we would be that night and where we were going. We lost him at the McKittrick trailhead, where he headed into Hermann. After a short rest and a brief exploration of McKittrick, we followed him into Hermann, dropping the cart off at the campground we had stayed at previously.

It was a hot day. Wells gave Kansas City some Gatorade pouches to make it through his 80 miles.

Hermann is a traditionally German town, like many of the towns along the Katy Trail, but Hermann had the distinction of being an officially designated German traditional heritage town. “Can’t get more German than Hermann,” Bob had said. It even showed in the population – a noticeable percentage of the population was blond. That’s why it was shocking to find an Indian family managing a motel in the heart of town. We asked for directions to the bike shop after getting their rate for the night.

One of our bikes had been having problems with the front brake engaging too eagerly, and had nearly thrown us from the handlebars several times in the morning hours. We wrestled the thing across town, cursing it the whole way, and finally made it to the bike shop.

The owner ambled out to the bike, took a look at it, and then flipped the handlebars 360 degrees, proclaiming it fixed. Sure enough, that had been the problem – the twisting was engaging the brakes, and all we had had to do was flip the handlebars around. It had taken less than three seconds.

“So…how much do we owe you?” I asked, stupidly. He waved us off, saying it was no problem.

We decided to stay in the Indian-owned motel after learning that bed and breakfasts were twice the cost. We were foregoing the campground for running water and air-conditioning, only later realizing that we had inadvertently (and most fortunately) misinformed Creepy Jason as to our plans for the night.

We spent the rest of the day exploring Hermann, though we didn’t end up doing so with the aid of marijuana or alcohol. Thanks anyway, kid.

Wells hustling around Hermann

We finally settled on the same restaurant we had gone to just days before, Wings-A-Blazin’, which was chock full of WWII memorabilia and pro-USA, anti-Japanese sentiment. We realized that, as a German heritage town, Hermann residents must have been under pressure to be seen as patriotic and yet find a way not to refute their proud German heritage. Which explains why they had these posters proudly framed on the wall:

"JAPAN DECLARES WAR ON US" and "CONGRESS DECLARES WAR ON JAPAN, 1500 KILLED IN ATTACK ON HAWAII". I was the one with the bright idea of sitting directly underneath them.

Wells was sure it had led to strange stares, but I hadn’t noticed anything of the sort. We probably just smelled bad.

We headed back to the motel, booked a room, haggled a discount and an upgrade to two beds for free, and then went to sleep.

Tomorrow was the last leg of the journey.

Katy Trail Day 5 – The Final Sprint

Katy Trail Day 3 – Saint Turner

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I slammed the cart down underneath the gazebo, the storm outside hammering the small town of Hartsburg with unexpected ferocity. Wells opened the tent flap.

“Shit, the wheel!”

I scrambled over to look at it, and sure enough, it was completely flat. A pang of guilt hit me immediately. Perhaps I’d manhandled the contraption just a bit too hard.

“What do we do now?”

Missing a wheel

We waited out the storm and weighed our options, using the Big Muddy’s wifi to look into bike shops. The one in Hartsburg had moved to Jefferson City and did not repair leaks, in any case. But Jefferson City was our best shot, regardless. So we dragged the cart 7 miles to the North Jefferson trailhead through wet gravel. The trailhead was two miles outside of Jefferson City proper, so I volunteered to stay with the cart while Wells took the wheel into the city. It was hard and demanding (I slept on a bench) but I was up for it. Wells returned, and we were soon on our way again.

Thankfully, we had planned an easy day, so the detour didn’t affect our schedule at all. We made it to the Turner Katy Trail Shelter in Tebbetts, fully equipped with beds, air conditioning, showers, a bike shop, and a second level with a fully functional ping pong table.

Yes, we had finally found heaven.

The whole building had been owned by Mrs. Turner, who had donated it to the bikers of the Katy Trail. One of the guest book entries had her down as the patron Saint of Katy Trail, and I tended to agree.

The first order of business, of course, was to find dinner and since Jim’s Bar and Grill held unusual hours, we were forced to bike back to the grocery store in Mokane. With dinner at stake and me at the helm of the cart, it was the fastest we would go the entire trip until the very last leg of the journey. We pounded through the 6.2 miles in 30 minutes, averaging 12 miles per hour compared to the 5 or 6 we had averaged the rest of the time. We ate at Mokane and returned.

Jim's Bar and Grill in Tebbets, MO (5:27AM, Day 4)

We would later find out that we could have simply knocked on the door and gotten into Jim’s Bar and Grill, since the owner lives in the building. But that was later.

Lying on the table in front of the Katy Trail Shelter was a leathery man with long, surfer-dude sun-bleached hair and a bracelet around his ankle. We had run into him sleeping on a table before in Dutzow, but we hadn’t met him until now. We invited him into the shelter to avoid the scorching heat. When we returned from Mokane, he was inside. Bob was a brewer for Anheuser-Busch by trade, but retired and having adventures around the United States. This was his 4th time on the Katy Trail. We chatted until the sun went down.

Bob the Brewer, Me, and Wells

I passed out in the middle of updating my journal. We woke up to a fog looming over a beautiful sunrise.

Foggy morning (5:23AM Day 4)

We had planned for the next day to be the longest day yet. It would turn out to be the strangest.

By far.

Katy Trail Day 4 – It’s a Zoo Out There

Katy Trail Day 2 – Fasting

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I counted the remaining Nature Valley granola bars in my head. I could survive the day on them. But I wasn’t sure if I’d want to. After years of eating them, they’d begun to lose their appeal…after the first year.

“I feel bad for you,” Wells said.

“Why?”

“Because you’re hungry.”

I thanked him sarcastically in my mind for reminding me of my ever-present hunger and then turned back to the task on hand – getting to some food. It was Monday, May 30th, and nothing was open.

A slight problem when we had planned on living off of the local restaurants.

6:30AM, Day 2

We woke up at 6am. More accurately, we decided to start moving again at 6am, because we hadn’t really slept last night. The tent was a sauna the first half of the night and an ice box the second half of the night, 50-60 degree temperatures waking us at 3am.

“We didn’t plan for Memorial Day,” Wells said.

“Yeah. Fuck national holidays,” I grumped, “I want to eat.”

At the next stop, I pulled out a granola bar, took a long pull of  water from my Camelbak, and then ate it. Tasted just like it did five years ago. We’d stopped briefly and chatted with the proprietor of a trail side stand who informed us that our destination, Easley, was a barren wasteland. Thankfully, “hop and a skip” was never mentioned. She also mentioned a grocery store in Mokane, which we ended up eating at.

When we finally made it into Hartsburg, a town of 104 people, I had extremely low hopes of finding a place to eat. On the upside, we had finally found the gazebo that Wells had been talking about the entire trip. Hartsburg was an extremely well kept little town. There was a park for bikers to camp for free. The grill came pre-stocked with kindling and wood, and we would set up tent under the gazebo later that night. The park, nestled in the heart of town, would come to symbolize perhaps the greatest lesson that Wells and I took out of the trip. People all along the trail were always ready to help, always friendly, and always good hearted. given the chance, people are good to each other more than they are bad.

Speaking of which, the first thing we did after leaving our cart by the gazebo was to try to find some place to eat. Thankfully, the Big Muddy Tavern was open, and welcomed us with delicious food, a warm environment, and did I mention great food?

Definitely my favorite location along the trail.

Then we ran into trouble.

Katy Trail Day 3 – Saint Turner

Katy Trail Day 1 – Determination

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“Snake!”

I swung my leg over and jumped off, my bike skidding to a halt in the gravel. I spotted it as I hot-footed over, gliding away with urgent speed. I grabbed its tail before it could make it into the grass.

Then I noticed the poison glands above its jawline as it coiled to strike at my hand. So I did the first thing that came to mind.

And no, I didn’t let go.

The Katy Trail runs roughly 225 miles from St. Charles to Clinton. It is the longest continuous bike trail in the United States, having been constructed on top of old train tracks, and my friend Wells and I were going to bike the majority of it in a week.

At least, that was the plan. By the time we got our bike rentals, we were down a few days and a few hours due to scheduling problems. But we were determined. We headed out at 1:30pm on Sunday into 95 degree weather, our gear packed into a small trailer hitched to the back of my bike. We even wore helmets. That’s how determined we were to do things right.

The helmets came off in about 5 miles. But we were still determined.

The miles flew by. A quick back of the hand calculation put us at 9mph, well over the 7mph I had projected we would need to travel. We pedaled hard and switched every couple of miles. I bemoaned the lack of proper biking packs to carry our gear and the lack of proper biking gear. If we weren’t going to do this particular part right this time, I could always fix it for next time.

It was around 6:30 when we ran into a couple at a trailhead. After some smalltalk, they mentioned that our destination for the night, McKittrick, was barren of any campgrounds. We could stop at the town of Hermann, which was a hop and a skip away, but we had better get there before “bug hour,” the hour or so just before dusk when bugs swarmed the trail. We had already had a taste of the bugs on the trail, literally, so we weren’t interested in finding out what bug hour had in store for us. We thanked them and attempted to power through the last ten miles to McKittrick with our road weary bodies.

Looking back on it, that was probably a mistake. But, like the 95 degree weather, it was unavoidable. Our already tired muscles were about to be stressed even more. We were determined to make it.

We finally arrived at McKittrick and checked the map to Hermann. Everything looked fine until we noticed the words “1 Mile Omitted.” Our “hop and a skip” ended up being almost two miles uphill.

“Maybe we should think about turning back tomorrow,” Wells joked.

“Yeah!” I brightened up considerably. Hanging out for a week in St. Louis suddenly sounded like a really great time.

“Well, let’s just see how we feel tomorrow,” Wells offered.

“…okay.” I sighed. I was pretty sure I’d still be determined tomorrow.

Determined to eat real food instead of granola bars, in a place with air conditioning. I didn’t know it then, but the next day was going to disappoint.

Greatly.

Katy Trail Day 2 – Fasting

Family

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Whenever people ask how it’s been living with my cousin, I’ve found it pretty difficult to explain. I instinctively want to say, “It’s like living with family,” but I’ve found more and more over the years that family, tragically, does not mean to others what it means to me.

My earliest memories are of family. They are of kissing my newborn cousin. Running with my cousins through the halls. My uncle’s scratchy mustache. My aunts and my grandmother cooking, beautiful aromas wafting through the house. My dad coming home at 11:30 and me and my siblings staying up (so late!) to surprise him. Running underneath the tables of a restaurant during a family gathering, playing tag with my sisters and cousins, and then being carried out of a car, only semi-conscious, afterward.

Then, as we grew up, we cousins figured out how to buy candy for each other. Remarkable how money worked to share joy! And then we grew into our other shared passions – pogs, Pokemon, and videogames. We held sleepovers as much as possible when we discovered how the phone worked. My aunt’s house is the first number I memorized, and it’s still in my muscle memory. In this day and age, where cell phones dial for us, I still remember most of my cousins’ house numbers.

To me, it’s simple. Family, and I mean my extended family as well, means tranquility. Peace. That is our shared story. I can always tell my family the complete truth. I hold no ill will toward any of my family, and none, I hope, hold any toward me. I have been amazingly lucky and blessed.

I recently graduated. It’s a turning point, I suppose. But I have such a strong sense of peace from the idea of returning home that I feel relief and joy rather than fear, as so many graduates do.

So when people ask me how it’s been living with my cousin, Kevin, I respond, “It’s like living with family.” And I know that I need to explain that, but I don’t. There’s too much to explain. Too many funny stories, too many family camping trips, too many proud moments.

Thank you. You are my family. You made me who I am. You inspire me to be someone better.

And sometimes you forget and leave me in gas stations, but that’s alright.

It builds character.

Do the Impossible

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On Saturday, I walked across a stage and was presented with a certificate. And so, after a long, tumultuous journey, I graduated from the University of Illinois with a Bachelor’s degree in East Asian Languages and Culture.

My GPA is terrible. My major is irrelevant to my interests. I pissed off countless professors, organizations, and administrators. But I wouldn’t change a thing. Personally, I’ve had a rich and rewarding five years, full of friends who have taught me more than a college class ever did.

But if I’ve learned one thing during college, I’ve learned that life is exactly what you make of it. So how do we make the most of this tenuous existence, this brief mortal coil? I can’t say the exact right answer for you, but…

Here’s what I did, and what I’m still doing.

  1. Do everything.
  2. Do the impossible.
  3. Nothing is impossible.

I’m SURE you’ve heard the advice that you should do what motivates you, do what you like, and to follow your passions. That’s true…if you know what you like. If you don’t know what you like, that advice is pretty useless.

1) Do Everything

You don’t know what you want? That’s fine. Doing everything you can possibly think of should help you figure yourself out. Study abroad in Zimbabwe. Help feed the homeless. Tutor a child. Tutor an adult. Pancake club? Alright. Hang gliding? Skydiving? Bungee jumping? Great. Public speaking? Wonderful.

Try it and move on if it doesn’t work out for you.  Keep an open mind, but when it starts to feel shitty, move on to the next thing. There is SO MUCH to experience in this world, there’s no point in getting dragged into something you don’t want.

And when you find something you do want to do, you can always pursue it. You can always come back for it, to explore as deeply as you could wish for.

2) Do the Impossible

You know that thing you’ve always wanted to do, or try, or be world-class at? Or that personality trait that you’ve always admired in the person you look up to? Or an impossible dream of yours?

Remember your dreams. Make a list. Then title it “To-Do”.

It is impossible to jump into the air, spin like crazy, and land safely. It is impossible to silence people in an entire building with just your voice. It is impossible to learn fifteen dances in four weeks and then perform them.

It is impossible to write a novel in a month. It is impossible to walk from Urbana to Chicago in 36 hours. It is impossible to live out of your car for an entire semester.

3) Nothing is Impossible

Those are all examples of things I have done. I better than succeeded for some, I outright failed others, but overall, I learned more than I could have ever hoped.

When you set yourself to achieve something impossible, your heart races when you think about it. You get up to pace around the room.  You think about what you’ve done to prepare, and even then, you feel like you’re not ready.

And you’re not.

But that’s okay.

You will fail. It is not, in and of itself, something to celebrate, but if you truly challenge yourself, it is inevitable. Failure is only another word for not having succeeded yet. Babies fail  at our day to day activities constantly. We celebrate when they say a single word, take a single step, and then before you know it, they’re speaking in full sentences and running headlong into the future. Celebrate small successes, because they will build.

Learning from those failures, meanwhile, is something to truly celebrate. Sure, I didn’t walk all the way to Chicago. Was it the heat? Was it the time constraints? Physical preparation? For 6 years, I failed to complete National Novel Writing Month. I ran out of ideas. I didn’t give it enough of my day. I limited myself too much. Perhaps most traumatically of all, in another time and age, I failed in my role as Executive Chair of MAASUand resigned. I learned not to do what I don’t believe in. I learned not to take responsibility without accountability. I learned, much later, that the pain of failure is only a tenth of the pain of believing that you are a failure. But learn, I did.

When facing the impossible, failure is almost overwhelmingly the outcome unless you try harder than you ever have before. Train harder, run longer than you ever have for that marathon. Plan obsessively for hours to figure out how you’re going to put that performance together in three days. Seek out pivotal people who have been in your shoes, people who have started that business, reinvented that industry, changed the world. It’s the passion of panicking, and it’s incredibly powerful.

When you finally manage to do what you once thought was impossible, it’s like being given the keys to the world. Anything is possible. You’ll see that it always was, but you never imagined or never believed in your own potential.  You’ll curse the time you wasted and promise never to misapply yourself again.  You probably will, but that’s another story. After doing the impossible, you’re euphoric and triumphant and you have every right to be.

Do the Impossible. Redefine it. And remember, you measure your own success.

"There are no limits. There are plateaus, but you must not stay there, you must go beyond them. If it kills you, it kills you. A man must constantly exceed his level."

College: A synopsis

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Synopsis

Year 1:

  • Our intrepid hero discovers that he’s not going to college.
  • I make plans
  • I go to CLC, commuting half an hour to school every day.
  • Initially, I plan on doing preveterinary. I take the required classes.
  • Zoology is fucking awesome. Unfortunately, there are dissections during lunch, and I am a hungry Chinese boy. Tantalizing animal bodies in front of me.
  • I ace the first test in biology. This sets high expectations for me in the class, especially since I talk to the professor, a veterinarian, about becoming a vet.
  • Both semesters, I fail to sign up for chemistry in time. I hate chemistry.
  • I tentatively join the Asian Student Alliance at CLC. I am walking by and I see the sign. Someone welcomes me in. Thai is the president at the time. He is charismatic and well dressed. Kind of looks like a Hong Kong gangster.
  • There is a free food event for ASA. My allegiance is solidified.
  • I meet Doug, Shelah, and many others.
  • By the second semester, I begin to investigate how I can become more active in student life. This means wandering into offices and asking about stuff and looking up all of the clubs, which, conveniently enough, are all listed on a single pamphlet.
  • I am taking Japanese and Chinese. I would take Korean as well, but as it so happens, CLC does not offer Korean. I am shooting for “Asian.” Why not embody what it means to be Asian, right? So I take classes on Asia and I study the languages available to me.
  • Chinese is great with Professor Liu. The two semesters I take Chinese with Professor Liu, I make lasting friends and we even have a final exam at Professor Liu’s house, with a 10 course meal prepared by himself and his wife. With the famed noodle machine. I also learn Chinese the best in this class.
  • By 2nd semester, I switch to Economics as a major because I’m fairly sure I never want to take chemistry.
  • I take classes over the summer. Do I? I think…yes. That is the year I take a Dance class and singing lessons as general requirements. Thankfully, Transfer.org did not steer me wrong.
  • I am also involved with Stevenson stuff. My ex and I start going out as a direct result of her asking me to come back for World’s Fair.

Year 2:

  • I start off Fall as a Economics major. I am taking 21 credit hours to graduate a semester early.
  • Joined Program Board as an Intern and helped put together events. Met a lot of friends.
  • I write for the CLC Chronicle as well, where I meet Rose, Ruth, and that other guy whose name I keep forgetting.
  • I am elected President of Asian Student Alliance pretty much because people expected me to stand up and be voted upon and I’m looking into MAASU, the Midwest Asian American Students Union. As President, I start a $500 scholarship at CLC. We fund raise using fried rice. We also join MAASU for a three year membership. I am elected to MAASU as a secretary or something. That’s how I started in ASA too. Also start a multicultural soccer tournament. With trophies and shit.
  • I apply to UIC for Business entrepreneurship and UIUC for East Asian Languages and Cultures. Honestly, I should have set my sights higher at UIUC, because it was fairly easy to transfer in. I could have gone for business or something more meaningful from the get go – but that was what I was doing for funsies at CLC, taking Asian classes. I ended up getting into both of them.
  • I visit UIUC a lot to see my girlfriend.
  • Our relationship is probably at its best long distance. Although she talks about guys. I assume this is to make me jealous.

~UIUC~

  • I transfer to UIUC as an EALC major. I rationalize this as being because the name is better than UIC, but in reality it’s because my girlfriend and tons of my friends go to UIUC. The student life is more active as well, which is a legitimate reason to go.
  • In my first semester, I segue quickly into investigation. I meet advisors, poke into buildings and talk to administrative people.
  • I live in Townsend, second floor, with a Korean roommate named Dae Hoon.
  • I have a revelation that is remarkably prescient.
  • My girlfriend convinces me to try to rush for a business fraternity. I fail to get in. They fail to realize my brilliance and are rejected from my life.
  • I am pretty set on not getting involved in clubs and whatnot. My gf does the opposite. I just chillax.
  • I do fashion show for the first time as a result of my gf. It is fun.
  • I take two influential classes: PHYS 211 and EALC 398/ANTH 499. Anthropology makes me want to switch out of EALC as fast as possible, while Physics makes me consider Electrical Engineering, Math, or Physics. As it is, I’m trying to switch into Economics.
  • My Econ test goes bad and I drop econ. I am used to CLC style tests which are conducted during normal class time, so I find out about an Econ mid term a week after it happens.
  • I register for ECE 110 for next semester and decide to challenge myself to the hardest major on campus.
  • I get on Dean’s List for Spring ’08.
  • Summer of 08, I think we go to California. Yes. My brother got married and we were in town for a cousin’s wedding as well. No classes.

Year 3

  • Now I live in Wardall with a Taiwanese roommate named Penn.
  • ECE 110 is challenging. Let’s be honest. The reason I breezed through it without doing too much work is because of two flukes – my teammates were awesome (shout outs, Tee!) and we got a digital board for our car.
  • PHYS 212 is also challenging, but it’s a lot of fun as well. Meanwhile, I continue to take EALC classes, aiming, I assume now, for a minor.
  • Relationship begins degrading.
  • On the upside, my grades are probably the best in the hard sciences that they have ever been!
  • Switched into ECE during Spring semester
  • Broke up with my gf. Mentally unstable for a variety of reasons, this chief amongst them. Stress in ECE 190 mounts. BIOE 406 and EALC 484 keep my afloat in terms of grades. 484, Buddhist Meditations with Alexander Mayer, also keeps me afloat mentally/spiritually.
  • I finish the semester completely broken. 2 A’s, 2 B’s, one C+. I am put on probation.
  • I spend the summer back home, recovering. Reading. Academic development <<< Personal Development. I start with The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. Then I mistakenly pick up Seth Godin books instead of David Sedaris. I think they are the same people. Seth gets me into a business groove. I begin reading voraciously.
  • I begin writing again.
  • I dance in the AAA Fashion Show. I accidentally join all the scenes. This proves to me definitively that I suck at dancing.
  • I join the VSA Family Day scene, following a girl I have a crush on. This brings me into contact with Don Mach, who, by way of his dances, convinces me that maybe I should look into this dance thing.

Year 4

  • I half-heartedly attempt ECE again, but I decide that it’s not for me. The semester is mostly spent relaxing. Except for November.
  • In November, I write my first completed NaNo.
    “You will win this challenge, and then you will move onto the next challenge, and you will fail many, many times, if past history is any indicator, but then you will succeed. This month, you rewrite the endings to all your stories.”
  • I unofficially quit school. I have checked out.
  • Tricking club on quad day. It was a beautiful bit of improvised advertisement with Anthony Wang.
  • As for tricking practice sessions, I declare simply that I will be practicing Fridays at 7, fuck everyone else’s schedule, and if you want to practice with me, then so be it.
  • Switched out of ECE, back into EALC.
  • Was totally a hippie. But like I said, I’d checked out. Took a bunch of classes for EALC. I essentially blew everything off, though.
  • Second semester, started hanging out with Don more as a person instead of a dance instructor. We’re kind of in the same boat – EALC majors just wanting to get out.
  • Summer is fucking awesome. Besides being fucking depressing. But other than that, seriously start work on businesses and whatnot.
  • Living in an apartment is good and bad. Having my own room is great. Having to do chores and cook is not that great.

Year 5

  • Almost part time. Completely checked out.
  • I live in a car.
  • Car is awesome. Cold is terrible. Chiropractor is necessary for extended stays in Corolla.
  • Passed classes with D’s. Failed one.
  • Part time (1 class). Chinese. I really hope I pass. But even so, I’m done with this game.
  • Living in an apartment with my cousin is the best.

I left out a lot of details, but…those are just details.

My First Car

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My first car was an aged Mitsubishi Galant. It was a hand-me-down from a friend who was moving away. I was at a community college and needed a cheap ride.

The deed says he sold it to me for $1, but he also bought me fried icecream at a Mexican restaurant to the tune of $4. That he essentially paid me to take his car probably should have been a warning sign.

I drove it home and discovered that it sounded like a 100HP Magic Bullet when I started the engine, it leaked oil constantly, and I could see the asphalt through the gearshift box. I was sure that it would explode into a ball of fire upon hitting 60mph, so I never took it on the highway.

But despite having to buy oil along with my gasoline, despite sliding into snowbanks on treads that weren’t worth replacing, and despite being absolutely sure I was going to die in it, I grew to love my Shitsubishi as it shuttled me through college.

My dad drove it once. “Too dangerous,” he said. So we donated it.

We murdered someone that day.

Life is Full

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     I guess a quick recap of my life so far would not be out of order.

     Running continues to be a boon in my life. Not so much running, as the excuse to get together with some buddies and chat while crunching miles. I’ll admit, I’m a social runner.

     Tricking is becoming a really big part of my week. With open gym available 4 days out of the week, conditioning Tuesdays, and open session on Fridays, there’s a lot of shit that I could be busy with. Not to mention trying to get the club to a point where I’m not afraid it will implode like ASA. Okay, ASA didn’t implode, but I don’t recognize it anymore.

     Dance remains as fickle as ever. But I think we’re drawing closer, she and I, in her own distant way.

     Working at the dining hall has taught me so many things. But chief among them is that, I don’t need to care about the job to work there, just the people. I LOVE my dining hall buddies!

     In the process of breaking my no-employment rule. I just suck and have not gotten around to it. I have very little time. The time usage transition will probably be very rough and I’ll need some solitude in order to get everything straight before I go for employment.

     I think I’m beginning to feel where I want to improve myself and where I’d be happy to let other people help me. I want to keep improving at dance, singing, spoken word, and being a better friend/person. Finding awesome people. What else? Writing. I’m on the fence about writing code, but I’ll probably go for it. In fact, I will. And let’s see…math up to DiffEQ and Linear Algebra. Other than that…I’m not entirely sure.

     People are always worth it. Taking more chances. Vulnerability. Courage. Stories.

     That’s my life.

Daniel Wrong

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     A couple of nights ago, my little sister and I were talking about middle school. As it so happens, middle school, specifically fourth grade in my case, was perhaps the most defining year of my life.

     My middle school, Daniel Wright, featured public humiliations by teachers, emotional abuse, betrayal by the people who were ostensibly there for our betterment. They even turned my own parents against us, so that the hell didn’t end once I got off of the bus. So I stayed home as much as possible. Played sick. I learned to hate everyone. I learned to disengage. I learned that trusting authority meant that authority could hurt you.

     Little did I know that my sister was going through a very similar experience at the same time, at the same school. We were almost unconscious of each other, I think because we were both very young and very focused on our own pain. Side by side, and both unknowingly going through the same things. But where my response was a middle finger to the sky, to anyone ontop, to God Himself, my sister’s response was probably a bit more constructive. Where I withdrew into myself and developed a deep rebellious streak, she became spiteful. She resolved to prove that, despite her teachers telling her she would amount to nothing, she would become successful instead. With the help of her relationship with God, she worked through it.

     I discovered only a core of Self, fueled by fury and hatred. But where do we stand today? My sister is a highly motivated and successful president of a club at UIC, a good student, and a devoted Christian. She has an ability to rally people. She has held a job for years and was offered a full time position there recently. I, on the other hand, have never held a job for longer than a year, if we’re being generous, and the number of organizations I’ve quit is about equivalent to the number of organizations I’ve joined.

     That’s one side of the coin. The other side is that I am dependent on no one for a sense of security. I am beholden to nobody except myself. If I fail, it’s because I set the bar myself. If I succeed, it’s solely because of myself. I could be a janitor and be happy, because I’d be doing my own thing. In many cases, I am interested in what I can do by myself, skillsets that I can improve on my own.

     But I’m beginning to think I’ve taken that “flip the bird” mentality as far as I can go and still be satisfied. Yes, it’s good that I am happy with who I am. But in order to develop further, I need to care about other people more.

     I was going to write “I need to care about other peoples’ opinions more,” but that’s farther than I’m willing to go right now.

Peace,
Brian Kung

PS, I’m no longer living in my car. Apartment living, woo!