The Invisible Eye: Portraying the Hidden Ubiquitous Face

Western beauty standards have taught Asians that they are ugly. Their lack of representation in the media has taught Asians that they cannot be heroes, they are rarely main characters in movies. When Hollywood takes stories from Asia, or real-life stories with Asian main characters, they thrust these Asian characters on the side as minor characters and replace them with white ones. We make up the largest population of people on the planet. 

But looking at the TV, books, movies, newspapers, magazines, and comic books, you would never guess it. We are nowhere within those pages. You will have to scour the internet to find us. They have hidden us well. They have even caused us to hide ourselves.

Who am I? I am less beautiful than Caucasians because my eyes are small and narrow. My hair is only born one color: dark brown, so dark it appears black. It is the opposite of the ideal feminine blonde. (Blondes have the most fun you know.) My nose is big. My body is short. My breasts are small. My eyes are only made one color: brown.

But these are all mistakes. With hard, diligent work, time, effort, and money, they can be fixed. Dyed hair, highlights, thick eyeliner, layers upon layers of mascara, fake eyelashes, colored eye contacts, contacts that make your eyes look bigger, eyelid tape. With the right amount of self-hatred and betrayal of everything that defines who I naturally am, I can be loved. I can be adored. I can even be told that I am “beautiful”.

But no matter how much money I spend on cosmetics, on hair dyes and perms, even on plastic surgery, I can never love who I truly am. I will never be told that I am beautiful. 

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(And they all tell us every day: it’s okay.
Being Asian can be fixed.)

The Simpleton's Routine [Final Draft]

Let me know which one you guys like better. <3

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You know he does not care;

quite honestly, you do not  care either.

It is merely a ritual you attend to every Wednesday afternoon at three,

Your mind accompanying his, two pleasant companions on a familiar journey, perhaps to a different continent.

There none of this exists and there is only white, which you grope at curiously with your fingers.

In truth, the gross graphic detail of your tea party bores him spectacularly;

Meaningless strings of words, of nothing, to fill nothing.

But it’s better than the painful long silences that so often clog up the gaps in both of your conversations

(the nervous holes shaking until you both freeze in your  skins).

So while your mouth flaps seemingly obliviously in the breeze,

He paces around heavily, in his mind, observing another world that’s he located far too many times before.

Even you can see the foam bubbles exploding from his mind;

Stumble-stuttering as they escape from holes in his skull with some difficulty,

The images run blankly through his head, 

black-and-white film that dully graces the flat landscape, the washing-machine interior of his brain.

You imagine bacteria; worms where his thoughts have begun to decay, being uselessly tossed aside,

perhaps added with some salt in case you want to save them for later.

You’ll return to the pile every once in a while to peruse them;

discard the ones that have grown unbearable to look at (or, indeed, even touch without rubber gloves).

But you can’t pretend to see colors where there isn’t anything;

He can’t either, however much he would like to.

(But he does not speak of it,

and neither do you.)

Instead you sit, and he smiles,

and together you observe the hollow shape of your brains,

the silence that cowers beneath the constant clamor of your voice--

the pleasant emptiness, the stringing hum of words that run effortlessly through your tongue

straight through his ears; neurotically, with plastered twin anxious grins all the while,

secretly fingering the strings and passing them between the two of you nervously with shaking fingers.

A pleasant chat over tea every Wednesday afternoon.

(in-prog) you become a virus when you die, didn't you know

You see them you stretch your hands back--
Fucked into your skin like nails on a corkboard are
every word you’ve ever typed
tattooed and resplendent,
staring back at you with faint ghosts of the keystrokes still imprinted on your fingertips.

Pretty soon the concrete rain will start to dissolve into your skin
And the plastic keyboard will eat your brain
starting at your fingertips
making its way down to your toes
until you melt into the screen

(You’ll become a virus when you die
Didn’t you know?)

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Still unfinished...this one is from all the way back in January ;o
(Where does the time go?)

RADWIMPS - Order Made (Made to Order)

One of the best songs I know.

By the j-indie band RADWIMPS.

I'm sure I was probably asked

Before I was born, by someone from somewhere

"I will make it so you can see

Either the past or the future, so

Which do you want?"

Boys in Anime/Manga That I Would Approve of My Friends Dating

Most bishies in anime are assholes with over 9000 lbs of emotional baggage that I would never want my friend to date.

There are a few prize guys, though. Here's the list of those I approve. xD 

- Kazehaya (Kimi ni Todoke) 

- Ryuu (Kimi ni Todoke)

- Sano (Hana-Kimi)

- ...Akito? (Kodocha) Maybe.

- Watanuki (xxxHolic) Kind of dweeby, but a nice guy. 

- boy from Family Complex (youngest bro)

- Nobu (Nana)

- ...I want to say Zero (Vampire Knight), but he's kind of fucked up. But he's such a great guy and would love her so much! T^T

- Naruto 

- Rock Lee

- Shikamaru

- ...Chouji (fat but a good guy.)

- Kiba (Maybe. If he treats you like he'd treat Hinata xD)

-  Daigo (Sand Chronicles)

- Hyoue (Her Majesty's Dog)

- Syaoran (post-Sakurified ver.) 

- Sorata (x/1999) 

Who would you add to the list? <3

The Simpleton’s Routine

The grossly graphic detail of your tea party bores him spectacularly

But it’s better than the painful long silences that so often get stuck between the gaps in your teeth,

clogging up the gaps in your conversation like nervous holes.

So he paces around heavily, in his mind, observing another world

While your mouth flaps seemingly obliviously in the breeze.  

You know he does not care;

quite honestly, you do not  care either.

It is merely a ritual you attend to every Wednesday afternoon at three,

Your mind accompanying his, two pleasant companions on a familiar journey, perhaps to a different continent.

There none of this exists and there is only white, which you grope at curiously with your fingers.

Meaningless strings of words, of nothing to fill the silence.

You can see the images running blankly through his head,  

Black-and-white film dully gracing the flat landscape, the washing-machine interior of his brain.

Even you can see the foam bubbles exploding from his mind, escaping from the holes of his skull with some difficulty. 

You imagine bacteria, worms where his thoughts have begun to decay, being uselessly tossed aside, perhaps added with some salt in case you want to save them for later.

You don’t pretend to see colors where there isn’t anything;

You’ll return to the pile every once in a while to peruse them; discard the ones that've become too painful to look at.

He does not speak of it,

And neither do you.

The pleasant emptiness, the humming of words, runs effortlessly through your tongue and through his ears.

A balm that blocks out the deafening silence threatening to spill out heavy through the window.

Instead you sit, and he smiles, and together you silently observe the hollow shape of your brains,

The silence that cowers beneath the clamor of your voice

While you finger the delicate puppet strings between you nervously, neurotically, plastered twin anxious grins;

A pleasant chat with tea every Wednesday afternoon.

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Another poem from my Creative Writing class last year. <3

The Ghost Patient (Vampire Knight fanfic)

Disclaimer: Vampire Knight, Zero, and Yuuki all belong to Matsuri Hino, not me. If Zero and Yuuki belonged to me, they would already be officially canon, and Vampire Knight would have to become an M-rated manga. xD  Graphic does not belong to me either.

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Her skin had grown paler since the last time he saw her. He could barely see her amongst the sheets. The faint moonlight that managed to squeeze past the curtains was darker than she was, more tangible, and he wished he could touch her. Wished he could help her somehow.

"She won't move," the maid whispered behind him; she turned away before he could meet her gaze and pretended to attend to the pile of sheets, daily laundry for the ghost patient.

In the tomb-like room, there was no space for breathing. It was static and suffocating, a thick black mass of dust settled into a neat, complacent pile, content to wait for another century.

Tangling with the sheets. She was skeletal and so far gone he could barely tell she was there among them; a faint outline of the vibrant creature he'd once known.

He turned away as well, lowering his gaze to the floor, respect for the dead; not for the bastardly king but for his faint queen that had died somewhere amongst the sheets and the months since her capturer had gone.

Zero would never be a savior.

He pressed a knee against the bed and watched her through his bangs, a quiet contemplative expression on his face. Just watching, waiting. He stayed there for days. The maids didn't bother him; left a bottle of pills at the door with a glass of water, changed every six hours.

They remained untouched.

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Yuuki stared vacantly at the wall across from her. Her eyes echoed her feelings, revealing a reflection of a girl she barely knew; faded and tired and dead. A stringy mass hung limply over her shoulders, tangling with the sheets; her skin was paler than the moonlight that cut past the curtains into the dusty tomb-like room, static air breathing nothing for no one.

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A/N: I'm super nice and friendly and I love hearing from you guys, so please drop a line and tell me what you think! :D