Michael Jackson

I remember the first cassette tape I ever purchased. It was Michael Jackson's Bad.

I was at some sort of bookstore in Taiwan... I was young... and I saw this tape. It had Michael Jackson in the front. And the only thing I could think of was... "man... this guy looks so cool." I had no idea why. I recall his black outfit. His large eyes.

My mom bought the tape for me and I listened to it in the car. I was hooked. This man was singing perfect melodies complete with woos and ahhs and yelps that fit perfectly in each song. His voice had so much passion and soul, I was at first confused and stunned. I never realized someone can express such deep emotions through songs and beats and rhythm. As a young child, this was like opening the door to another dimension where things that were so ridiculously beautiful... I couldn't even possess the ability to comprehend the scope of it's beauty. The thing is, I didn't even understand a lick of English. I was a Chinese boy in Taiwan, but Michael Jackson spoke to me with his melodious and passionate songs. His passionate music, addictive beats and daring rhythms captured my soul and my imagination like no other medium of entertainment ever have or ever will again.

It opened up my eyes, ears, heart, and soul to something that was so universal and so overwhelmingly powerful... that I didn't even need to know the language to understand Michael's message.

It wasn't until later on did I get to watch Michael Jackson perform on tv. I then realized... this man... is amazing. I realized that such talent... such beauty... such perfection.. in song, in dance, in performance. It can happen. It exists. Because we're all here and we all saw it.

Michael Jackson's music, his perfected dance moves, his deep passion and love for music... it had a profound effect on me as a child. I grew up idolizing the man who grew bigger than his own legend. And everytime his performance or video was on somewhere, I would stand there and watch proudly.... as if he belonged to me. I would watch... and wait for others to be impressed... and try to hide how excited and amazed I am at his performance.

When people make fun of him... I don't know what to say or do. I don't know Michael Jackson personally. I just know... his music. His dance moves. His performances. It touched me. As a child, it bedazzled me. And now as a married man... it still amazes me and brings me to my feet applauding excitedly at the tv screen. Though I wish I was watching him performing live somewhere.... even if it was pay-per-view... I could only stand there, with tears in my eyes... and applaud with the rest of the crowd... as he bows and waves to the fans... and the dvd ends.

"...Smile... when your heart is aching..."
- posted by Jack @ 10:40 PM

 
I think I've cracked open my head 3-4 times in my life as a child. My mom used to always tell me about the time when my brother tried to carry me around outside this hair salon. Apparently, he dropped me and I hit my head causing it to bleed. When it was my turn to get a haircut at this hair salon, the hair stylist suddenly gasped "oh he's bleeding!" She showed my mom.. and sure enough, my head was bleeding. I'm sure my brother got in some trouble for it... but I was too young to remember.

Another incident occurred while my mom was driving my brother and I around. Both of us sat in the back. Again, I dont remember this incident, but my mom tells me that my brother and I were fighting which made her look back and try to break us up. Next thing you know, my mom struck another vehicle and somehow, some way, I fell out of the car and hit my head.

The last and only time I remember cracking my head open... I was maybe 4 or 5 years old. It was a weekend afternoon at my neighbor's home, a floor above our home. My cousin, Celine, my brother, my neighbor's two daughters and myself were playing some sort of pretend game. For some reason, I was designated as the "bad guy." It was four older kids against me and I didnt like it one bit. It infuriated me so I ran downstairs to my home and found two empty tennis ball canisters and decided to use them as weapons against the evil doers. My mom and dad were on my bed with our new baby cousin, Gladys. My mom beckoned me to join them to take a nap, but I refused and ran back upstairs with my newly found weapons.

I jumped into the living room at my neighbor's home, ready to do battle and prove to everyone that I dont deserve to be the villain and teamed up on. Projectiles were thrown, sounds of plastic swords against my metal tennis ball container rang loudly. I fought off my foes from the left, right, from behind me... then I looked up.

My cousin Celine was on top of the sofa with a plastic toy shield in her hand. She flung the shield at me and it struck my head. I felt a slight prick of pain on my head, but I fought on bravely, thinking to myself that every hero will have to face this same kind of challenge. But... to my surprise, everyone just stopped. Everyone gathered in front of me, staring with fear and awe at my head. I asked "What? Whats going on? what're you looking at?"

Someone blurted out "who did it?" I answered "did what? did what?? what's going on?"

Finally... someone pointed to my head and said "your head..."

I touched my head and then looked at my hand.... I immediately started crying. The sight of my little hand covered with fresh blood was too overwhelming for a child my age. I felt it on my forehead... I didnt know what to do... I was covered in blood and all I could do was cry.

My neighbors' parents came out to see what the commotion was about and realized I was hurt and bleeding badly. My cousin, Celine, ran up to them and declared that she did not cause me to bleed. Everyone else then joined in with the "I didnt do it! It wasn't me!" At our age... who would want to take responsibility for almost killing someone? Ok... I was dying... but it sure looked like it.

My neighbor's father held a towel on my head for the bleeding and called my parents and off we went to the hospital. I still remember this day.. that crazy commotion so clearly....

My mom and dad rushed out of the house with whatever they had on and brought me to the nearest doctor. My mom was wearing her pajamas... basically just a shirt and shorts. My dad, however... he was only in his boxer shorts and nothing else. We first stopped at this small clinic... My dad placed me on top of a few parked motorcycles while my mom checked if the doctor was in. Unfortunately, they were closed... I dont know why, but I was suddenly overcome with fear.... for one of the only times I can remember as a child, I told my dad I was afraid. I needed reassurance that everything will be OK. I needed reassurance that I was not going to die from this injury. I needed some comfort..... Seeing how panic-stricken my mom and dad were... I was more scared than I cared to admit at the time.

Finally, my mom and dad brought me to another hospital... the doctor gave me a few stitches... and then I was fine.

I waited in the lobby area with my dad as my mom paid for the visit. My dad... still in his boxers... sat next to me... I never thanked them for what happened... and I never appologized to my parents for the state of panic and worry I put them in. As silly and laughable as it may have been to see my dad running around on the streets of Taiwan in his boxer shorts carrying me in his arms... I've never felt more blessed to have parents like them.

I didn't understand the love a parent can have for their children back then... I couldn't really process that as a child. But looking back now... I am so blessed to have witnessed the raw emotions and love a parent has for their children. The road they're willing to take... the choices they're willing to make... the sacrafices... the time... the money.. the blood, the tears... There is just simply no love like the love a parent has for their kids.
- posted by Jack @ 1:13 PM

 
I remember playing with all my Japanese imported toys in Taiwan. My brother and I never left our house to play with the other kids on the block. We would always spend the afternoon at home playing with our toys... coming up with games or just watching videos.

But I remember looking over the balcony and seeing all the neighborhood kids playing on the street. It seemed like so much fun. I'm not sure what games they played... or how a broom stick or a washboard became some imaginary weapon they would fight over... but I remember longing to be a part of their games sometimes.

I recall one particular day in which I decided I was going to try to join them. So I grabbed a bag of chips and a very small toy sword and went downstairs. I hid the toy sword in my bag of chips and went downstairs to attempt join the neighborhood kids' games. When i got down to the street... all I could do was stand there and watch while eating my chips... and keeping an eye on my toy sword hidden in my bag of chips... just in case I was attacked and had to defend myself of course.

But i never got to meet them really... I never knew their names... I never knew where they all lived exactly...

When my family and i packed up all our belongings and immigrated to the U.S... my mom brought a big box of our old toys to the kids. I remember them crowding around the box, somewhat shy and taken back at all the nice toys that are being given away for free... I noticed that they couldnt take their eyes off of the box and its contents. I dont know why... but even at that young age, i felt ... sad .... that they would be happy with my old toys... ANd i think for the first time.. i realized... there's just so much I should appreciate in my life.

- posted by Jack @ 1:15 PM

 
One night on what us Chinese refer to as "Moon Day", my dad decided to take my brother and I up to the roof of our apartment building to look at the moon. This was very exciting... because of all the chinese fables and stories about this lady named "rabbit" who was forever trappped on the moon. ANd she gets to visit her lover like, once a year or something... not sure how the story goes anymore. But anyways, not sure if it is my mistakened childhood memories... but somehow, the moon lady being named "rabbit" gave me the notion that there was also this rabbit on the moon who made these soft chewy treats you only eat on moon day. And of course, this chewy treat making rabbit had his own story too... just not sure what it is.
So my dad took me and my brother up to the roof that night with his army binoculars. And we pointed it at the moon... and we looked. When it finally got to my turn, i peered into those lenses... right at the ridiculously huge and round moon in the sky, and i swear... I saw this huge giant rabbit in there. "In there?" you ask? yes... in there. IN the moon! Not only was the rabbit not the cute little rabbit i had imagined that made chewy tastey treats and used a large wooden hammer to beat the sweet dough... but, the rabbit was HUGE. Or the moon was too small! I mean, we got this huge rabbit... just chillin' inside this moon which was like a container or an large egg-shaped bed, he was just laying back.. and yes, i saw him move. I really did. He was sleeping... i saw him kind of stir... And i felt like if i kept looking, he would notice me.. and he would wake up.. and that'd be no good... so i stopped staring... and thats where my memory ends.

Wait.... i remember something else. I remember telling my brother and my dad that i see the large rabbit...But the thing is.. I was kind of sad and disappointed. Because that moon, was way too small for that huge ass rabbit to live in comfortably.
- posted by Jack @ 12:27 AM

 
You know what's weird? I can't seem to remember how or when my family and I sat at the dinner table for dinner. I know we did... I know we sat together at the table in Taiwan and had dinner together every night. But not a single instance stands out in my memory.... nothing I can recall. I dont even remember which seat I sat in or what time we usually had dinner...or what I usually had to drink.
The only dinner I do remember is with my grandmother and my aunt. My brother was there also... but my mom was at the hospital with my grandma ... my beloved ah-ma. I remember that day... so clearly. My aunt and my grandmother was over... middle of the afternoon and i'm playing with my toys. The phone rang, and my mom went to pick up. But no one answered on the other end... My mom stood at the phone, with a concerned look on her face. At the same time... a feeling of dread and discomfort came over the whole room. I felt my mom's feeling of desparation and fear. I myself... became a lil afraid. The phone rang again a few seconds later... and my mom immediately picked up. For some reason, we all kind of knew what it was about. Next thing i know, my mom rushed out of the house... to the hospital... where my Ah-ma was at.

Turns out.... my ah-ma saw an old friend... and got excited, started yelling and chatting her up. The excitement made her blood pressure rise, and the tumor in her brain exploded... she passed out in the lobby of her apartment building. The whoel day... my brother and I waited... waited for news... waited for my mom to return... waited....
That night, i dont remember who made dinner... But I ate without my parents at the table. My grandmother sat next to me... telling me that my ah-ma will always love me... that she will visit me when i'm asleep and gentely stroke my hair. I kept silent... half wanting it to be so... half dreading a visit from my ah-ma in the middle of the night....

That night, my mother came back late.... My brother and I agreed not to mention anything about ah-ma or death, or old.. or anything relating to that matter.... afraid to make our mom more upset. SHe came in to our room... and sat down next to me on my bed. She told us... "ah-ma passed away... " .... I didn't know what to do... we had an idea of whats going on, but when faced with the reality of the situation.. i felt lost. As a young child of 5 or 6.. .I didnt know how to deal with death. Seeing the sadness in my mother's eyes... hearing her voice quiver ... i broke into tears.... i cried... for the tragedy... for my first experience with pain and sadness...

Throughout my life.... the only person that cherished us and loved us... and even spoiled us like such... was my Ah-ma. I didn't understand her love at the time... I couldn't appreciate it at the time. I didnt cherish it.... and i was the biggest fool in the world. I can't blame myself all too much due to how young I was... But how I miss her now. I want to know her. I want to get to know her again... I want to make her proud... show her all that I've accomplished... .and thank her for being in my life.


- posted by Jack @ 1:20 PM

 
I can still remember my green bunkbed so clearly... Every night going to bed, I would stare out the door to my room. And through the screen door, I would see the picture of my grandfather. Under the dim lighting in the middle of the night, I was often freaked out by the picture. Or even the image of the dark living room. I always imagined how scared I would get if at any moment, a ghostly figure would walk across my door way in the middle of the night. Or even having the picture of my grandfather wink at me.... I dont know why we didn't close the door to our room. Maybe because all we had was a screen door. Damn, I should've slept the other way.

I distinctly remember a particular dream I had as a child. It took place in our home in Taiwan. There was a ghost/monster thing, all white and soft of rectangular shaped. For some odd reason, he was just kind of dancing or whatever in our bathroom. While my brother and my father were not afraid of this monster in the bathroom, I was deathly afraid. So afraid in fact, that I couldn't go into the bathroom to pee. So i had to hold it... and it was not pleasant. Then both my brother and my father proceeded to show me that there's nothing to be afraid of and went to use the bathroom with the monster standing next to them. This whole time, i was hiding under our couch... Not sure how i fit under there, but i did. That dream stayed with me... all these years... clear as day.


- posted by Jack @ 12:51 PM

 
My First Home

I lived in an apartment complex outside of Taipei in Taiwan. If I remember correctly, it was on the third floor. We had a small balcony facing the street... and the ony view was the building across from us, and maybe the neighborhood kids playing in the street below. Our street was a narrow one-way street filled with huge apartment buildings. The buildings were of all different colrs, sizes and styles. Like they were just jumbled together and built during different times. They weren't pretty at all, but dirty, messy and every balcony or window was different with its own shade of dirt, grease, clothes hanging, barred windows and sounds.

Each apartment had it's own sounds as well. Whether it's kids playing, crying or getting a beat down from their parents or siblings. Or even dogs, cats, adults yelling and music playing. Everything was loud and full of life.

But my house... my house was my safe haven. I never went outside to play with the kids on the street. I never joined in on their games, yet I would watch them from above... playing with their sticks and stones or even some broken toys. I was lucky... spoiled even... and thus began the development of my reclusive nature.

My home had three bedrooms, one bath and one kitchen. I slept on the bottom bunk of a bunk bed I shared with my older brother. We had everything we needed and almost everything we wanted.

- posted by Jack @ 12:37 PM

 
I'm not sure where to start or what to start with. But I wanted to tell the story of my life. It may not be as interesting as other people's life stories. It may not be as adventerous, exciting, sad, or complicated. It may not be filled with danger and life changing, traumatic experiences, but it's my life.... and every life is a story.

I'm not exactly sure what my earliest memory was. I do remember waking up one morning and finding myself inside a cage. For some reason, I didn't think I belonged in that cage. I saw my brother on my parents' bed beside me. And from behind those bars, I looked out to him... wondering, why am I in here and you out there? where's mom and dad? how long will I be locked in here? My brother just rolled around on the bed looking at me, telling me Mom and Dad will be home soon. But why should I believe him? I'm locked in a cage! A few minutes later... Mom and Dad came home... and the whole world was right again.
- posted by Jack @ 11:21 AM