Failure (Part 1 of 3)

In my junior year in high school, my father and I were struggling in our relationship. We fought and argued all the time. It was the last year of my 16 year stay in Indonesia. I was becoming “a man”, and part of that process involved my constant rebellion against his authority.

One night in late January of 2002, a discussion my dad and I were having turned into an argument, which then led to a fight – a fist fight. It wasn’t that the issue we were arguing over was so important that a brawl was necessary. Neither was the reason behind the fight rooted in the topic we were discussing. Rather, my father and I had long been struggling with pains both from his past and my own past with him. That night, whatever “thing” we were fighting over was enough to make all of our unresolved issues boil over. And boy did the boiling burn.

I don’t remember the physical pain from that experience as much as the verbal. I was 16, and capable of handling myself. But no warm-blooded heart, regardless of its age, could defend itself from the words exchanged. I loved my father; he loved me. And that is why the words hurt us more than any other form of violence we traded. That night, I packed my bags, and before heading out the front door, told my dad, “Tonight, you won’t see me cry. Tonight, I win.”

Two months after that incident, due to my over extended holiday on the streets, I dropped out of high school. I picked up chain smoking, drinking, fighting - my escape at the time - and a few other habits I won’t get into details about. Seven months later, after my father concluded his 16 year mission in Indonesia, I was in Tokyo redoing my junior year, trying to make the best out of the clean slate I had been given. By January of 2003, I had dropped out of high school yet again, and found myself on a plane headed back to Fukuoka where my parents lived. It was my first solo flight; I was angry, depressed, ashamed, and alone.

Mucho Trabajo!

Daikokuya, a ramen joint in Downtown LA, is one of the busiest restaurants in Little Tokyo. A week ago, I started working there as a kitchen hand, a.k.a. "dish washer" ("kitchen hand" sounds more appreciated, doesn't it?). Working with me are 3-4 other Latinos, all of whom work at a ridiculously fast pace. The language predominantly spoken in the kitchen, as you can probably guess, is Spanish. And since "no hablo español", I'm having to interpret hand gestures, eyebrow movements, and repeated phrases in Greek, I mean, Spanish that won't make sense to me the 4th time since they didn't make sense to me the 1st time.

I speak 3 languages, and I'm working on #4 - French - but none of the languages I speak seems to help me communicate with the other kitchen workers, not significantly anyway. But somehow we manage. More and more, as the hours go by, those gestures and phrases become clearer, and my work develops a flow. They teach me by example as I watch their hands wash dishes like it's nobody's business. The only problem though is that it's very much my business. In fact, that's all I did last Friday and Saturday! But tonight, after a couple of extra guys came in at 10PM to help with the work load, I was called out to the front to bus tables! Believe it or not, this was a very anticipated event for me :). If there's one part-time job I wanted to experience, it was waiting tables. Don't ask me why; I couldn't tell you myself, but it might have something to do with the fact that I've been put in the kitchen at every restaurant I've worked for!

By the end of the night, the main chef in the front kitchen was telling everybody how he thought it made no sense for me to be working in the back when "this kid speaks English and Japanese fluently." Finally! Someone sees my amazing potential as a "busboy"! It's the day I've been waiting for :). I'm not sure if the manager's gonna let me switch positions 3 days into training, but both ways, there will always be "mucho trabajo" to do. Apurate guey!

Art Walk

Every first Thursday of each month, the Downtown LA Art Walk happens. The streets are filled with musicians, artists, food vendors, drunks, and tipsies. Tonight, I was one of the many tipsies experiencing my first ever art walk. It's almost been 2 months since I moved to Downtown Los Angeles, and although I'd heard of the event, I never noticed the once or twice it's apparently happened since I've been here. In fact, my block, 5th and Spring, is sort of the center of it all. It makes me wonder whether or not I'm going deaf, a selective once-every-month-on-a-Thursday kind of deaf maybe? Without my friend Emily's invitation, my selective ignorance would probably have continued for at least another month or so. So Emily, if you're reading this, thank you. I seriously had an unbelievable blast tonight! And Pete's on 4th and Main - I was wowed! I looked "wow" up in the thesaurus, and the best synonym I found was "tickle pink". So to some it all up, I was absolutely TICKLE PINKED tonight!

Low Vibes Are Good Vibes

Last December, I bought a second hand Fender American Standard Precision Bass from a friend at Musicians Institute for $800. Actually, I was only just able to pay him a couple weeks ago. He had loaned it to me for a couple months and let me pretend that it was mine lol. Now it IS mine, and I'll starve and go homeless before I sell it! Considering the like-new condition that the bass was in (less than a year since first purchased), I think I landed an awesome deal - check link for MSRP (Am I bragging? YOU BET!).

Since finals were coming up when I first bought the bass, I wasn't able to really spend time playing it, but now that... well actually, finals are coming up again lol, but somehow I'm playing it more often! You know how your room gets real clean for some reason right before finals? Yeah, it's called procrastination on crack :). I guess playing the bass everyday recently is an extension of that to a certain degree. Nonetheless, I'm having a blast.

It's a joke among musicians that the term "musician" doesn't exactly apply to singers. There are "singers", and then there are "musicians". Of course, I have to disagree (to save my breed's tail and my own). But to be completely honest, I will admit to having a very limited platform on which I can apply all my musical knowledge, that is if I limit myself to only singing. Yes I sing, and in my own humble opinion, I'm not too shabby ;), but it's another thing entirely to be able to play multiple notes on an instrument and have a chord come to life before your eyes and ears without having to arpeggiate it with your voice. I guess that's what Keyboard Proficiency III was for! The bass isn't exactly a chordal instrument, but it helps nonetheless. I to II7 to V7 to VImi to IV to bVI7 to V7 to I... believe it or not, I can hear it all come together on the bass. It's wonderfully eye opening, for the ears that is ;).

When I hold my bass, I feel like I'm inside the music. I haven't played a single tune on it, nor have I officially practiced even an hour on it, but it feels so right just noodling on it for hours! I'm falling for it's full bodied beauty. I wanna connect with it, learn it, love it, hate it, fight it, master it, and fall for it all over again.

Click on any of the following links to hear some of the best - Jaco Pastorius, Victor Wooten, Marcus Miller

Number One

"Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

"O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen."

- Saint Francis of Assisi

Back in January of this year, I decided to make 2010 a year in which I would work on me. As selfish as that may sound, I am confident that the one who is needing the most reflection, reform, and growth in my life is, as Michael Jackson's '88 smash single so eloquently put it, "The Man in the Mirror".

I want to explore what it means to grow, not just through and with the times, but consciously and deliberately. I want to admit and accept my flaws, search for truth, and gain wisdom and direction through the experiences everyday life blesses me with. Of course, none of us are islands; we can't live to our fullest with the belief that we can encompass greatness all on our own. If we think we have, can, or will, then we are only fooling ourselves, and there is nothing particularly great about being a fool :). Still, there is so much we can and must do on our own. With that said, I want to make clear that by "greatness" I don't mean "glory". Greatness is the harmonious alignment of our purpose and our potential, which I believe are both gifts from God. Glory is merely the by-product of that harmony. In the same way that good penmanship - a by-product of handwritten poetry - is not the goal of poetry itself, glory - a by-product of a united purpose and potential - is not the goal of allowing harmony to define our lives. Yet, a great common tendency is to focus on the by-product or payoff of our actions, rather than the discovering and unwrapping of our dreams. Athough I yield to that tendency more often than I'd like to admit, my belief is that there's a greater purpose for my life than the pursuit of glory.

Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, "A right delayed is a right denied." The "right"s keep coming, and I keep delaying/denying. I think it's time for me to kick that habit and get in the mode of making things right. I want to paint a beautiful picture on the canvas of my life. and as I learn how to do that, I hope to share my colors with you.

"For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life."