There is no moral to this story.

Once upon a time, there was a boy.

Like every person born on this earth, the boy was dealt a set of cards.

Out of all of these cards, the boy had the misfortune of drawing one of the worst: being born with a funny name.

Now, his name was not hard to pronounce. And like all names, it was his, his alone. This name, like all names, became the symbol, the emblem or his entire being. Because what is a person without a name?

A shadow.

Yet fate had decided to add insult to injury. A bucketload of shyness, a mumble, a sort of muteness in his speech, and an ethnic and cultural background which very few people understood.

So this shy, quiet child would introduce himself. And people would double take. They might make a funny face, or grimace, and then, realizing that they were being rude, politely ask, "how do you say that?" And the boy would repeat it. Many, many times.

Eventually, after many tries, he gave up. He settled for less and hoped for the best. All of his hoping, though, fell straight through. No one knew him. He was a stranger. Teachers would mangle his name, or just point and say, "you". One time, a teacher decided that it would be okay to call him by his last name, and not his first name, because it was easier. It didn't matter that the other kids in class got the dignity- no, the glory- of their first name. And what is a person without a name?

A shadow.

Then one day, things changed. Someone called him by a nickname. It was the exact same number of syllables, and almost exactly the same. Other people seemed to like it, and so he kept it. It was safe. It was familiar.

It was cool.

Suddenly, other people started to notice him. They remembered his name, or at least, his nickname. They thought it was unique and different, and they needed things which were unique and different to fulfill an empty place in their lives. For other people, it was just easier. It was convenient and memorable and it didn't make their brain hurt. They didn't have to sit down and give the boy their time and respect and allow him the dignity of being known by his full name.

The boy made a lot of friends an acquaintances, but he never made any close friends. Part of that was because he changed schools so much. Yet he couldn't help but think that maybe people respected him less. Instead of a person, he was a novelty. He became a word-of-mouth person, the kind everyone talks about and loves, but no one really knows.

There is something special about being a shadow. You can hide. It's safe and warm in its own way. Maybe it's lonely, but shadows draw out other shadows. Sometimes the boy would think about the friends he made when he still went by his real name. They were the good ones.

And it was too late when he finally realized it, realized that he made a horrible mistake in forsaking his name. Because if there's anything worse than being a shadow, it's not having one at all.

By the time he had realized this, it was too late.

There was a looming fear that, if he went back to the shadow, if he only made time for people who deserved it, then he would be just as lonely as before. He might be even worse off, now that he had tasted something better. No. He couldn't go back. He couldn't stay an unknown. He couldn't keep being a stranger. He was a person too, and just like everyone else, he needed other people.

And he would rather have everyone than no one at all.

And he would rather lose himself than be alone.

Posted by changc on January 01, 2009 6:31 PM | 0 comments | Permalink |

Thoughts on suicide prevention. (Selfish?)

(Not that I am not considering suicide.  No way in hell.  It just makes me angry when I hear about this.)

Consider this:

People say that suicide is selfish.

When you end your life, you are leaving your loved ones- friends and family- behind.  You leave them any emotional, financial, or social debt that they have to pay. 

This is one of the arguments used against people considering suicide.  There is a major flaw in this however: expecting someone to stay alive, because they have "loved ones", is just as selfish as taking one's life.  Why?

Calling someone selfish for wanting to end their life tells them several things:

1. Your problems don't matter, aren't real, or are less important than our problems.
   
2. Please stay alive so we don't get hurt.
3. I hold the moral high ground; what you are doing is wrong.

What this sounds like to them:

1. I don't care what you have to say, what you think, or how you feel. 
   
2. I only care about how I feel.
3. I am right and you cannot change my mind.

Suicide is selfish, but so is expecting that other person to stay.

When you tell someone they are selfish for considering suicide, you are marginalizing their problems, and indirectly telling them that their feelings matter less than how their actions make others feel. A person in such a state is already going to feel like they have very little respect or value for themselves.  When you take a moral high ground and blatantly tell them that they are wrong, you are removing a tiny, remaining shred of dignity that they have.  You are also hurting your relationship with the person who trusted you enough to come to you for help. 

Don't get me wrong. In such a situation, you have every right to feel an entire range of emotions- sadness, hurt, anger- but it isn't the time to express said emotions.  Doing so can jeopardize your relationship with that person, and can heavily influence the choice they make.

When you are trying to talk someone out of suicide, it only makes sense that you want to try to get them to open up and talk about their problems.  There are a few rules which need to be followed, despite how you feel at the moment, and despite any moral or religious obligations you have.  It's about THEM, not YOU. 

These rules are:

1. Ask questions.  You are there to listen, not to tell them what to think or how to feel.  Sometimes, you can get a lot of information simply by repeating what they said in the form of a question (so he doesn't like you?).
   
2. Avoid polarizing statements. Moral, religious (you'll go to hell), and reactionary/accusatory (I don't care/you're wrong) statements will only serve to close off the other person.  People have different views on all of these things, and guilting them for choosing something "bad" will only make it harder to talk to them.
   
3. Don't keep secrets.  When was the last time you actually kept a secret for a friend, and it worked? It is better in the long run to prevent any injury and  be honest, and tell your friend that you can't keep their secret.
   
4. The choice is theirs. People don't respond well to direct commands unless they have a want or need (think of the last time your parents told you to do something).  You can suggest possible choices, but you can't make them do it. 

In the end, what it all comes down to is respect.  Respect for others, respect for our feelings, and respect for life.

That person on the other end of the line, they matter.

That person is human, just like you.  Just like you, they are capable of feeling pain, joy, and extreme stress and sorrow.  Just because their problems may seem insignificant or immature to you doesn't mean it isn't important to them.

That person trusted you enough to ask for help.  For all you know, you could be that person's last hope.  Most importantly,

It's about THEM, not YOU.

Finally, I'd like to invoke an old internet meme, in response to any of the arguments that might result from this post.

 

Posted by changc on December 24, 2008 3:06 AM | 0 comments | Permalink |

Under Construction

I know that this violates Ben Barden's "10 Signs Your Blog Sucks", but I want to apologize for my absence.

I haven't made a real blog update in ages, and unfortunately I won't for another few days.  Why?  Because I'm upgrading this site and rebuiilding it from the ground up! Don't worry, it shouldn't be too long.  I've got plenty of time this break.

Just a warning in case you're wondering why this page looks a little crazy in the next few days.

Posted by changc on December 22, 2008 4:47 PM | 2 comments | Permalink |

Under the Blacklight

On friday, I came back from Berea after surviving my first semester of college.  I spent the night at a friend's house.  We caught up on things, and then...she told me that a few weeks ago, she found out she had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer.  It was caught mid-stage, not too late, but it could have been found earlier.  The doctors have given her a 50% chance of survival.

Names have been removed for the sake of privacy.

--

for my twin

Friday night, your place
we invade your roommate’s room
when we walk in we glow
bathed in blacklight showers. We
steal the bed bought by her sugardaddy. The

last time I saw you, there was a hill
I gave you my socks because it was cold
and I thought I’d never see you again. We
play catch-up, it’s all the same
your ex-R____’s still an asshole
your parents are finally gonna split
and every day, I think of dying. Lying

here in the dark, there’s
washed-out jizz on my pants,
from my dirty habits—we didn’t have sex—
but I’ve always wanted to kiss you, and
I slip off my jeans, and
you slip off yours, and
there are Killers coming out the speakers. I’ve
never felt this naked before, our
unmentionables glowing, red and blue.

I still don’t know what it means
to glow under the blacklight in a stranger’s home
on the first night back from college. My first night
home. Maybe I don’t have a home. I’m still
thinking these blue thoughts when you tell me,

it’s a story:

One day
I wasn’t feeling well, and
A___ drove me to the hospital, and

you went into a seizure on the floor of
the Range Rover A___’s dad—
who raped her when she was younger—
bought her, because things are better now
and A___ isn’t angry anymore, and
A____ didn’t know what to do so she left you there
and she ran for help in the cold, and
the doctors took you out and
they stuck you in a machine, soaked body,
one-third the radiation
of a Hiroshima bomb. That’s

when they said you were dying,
malignant cancer of the life source
deep down, where other boys have been
but they were too fucked up on drugs to stay. Deep down,
places I’ve thought of going, but then I stop myself
and I wonder what you thought when
the blood and piss ran down your thighs. It’s

the flip of the coin, you see,
this blacklight occurrence, my indecision,
just kiss her, I say

and they caught it
mid-stage, a fifty-fifty split
that’s what the doctors say, at least.
No more cigarettes, no more vodka nights.
Maybe this is payback for
beating the shit out of that girl and
leaving her in the woods.  Maybe
it’s the water you drank from
the lake by your parents’ house. Maybe
it’s not praying enough, and you need it,
now more than ever.  And

here, under the blacklight, the speakers sing
this is the world that we live in…
I still want to kiss you, more now than ever before
and I wonder what it would be like
to kiss someone dying.

12/14/2008
12/15/2008 Chungyen Chang

Posted by changc on December 15, 2008 5:25 PM | 1 comment | Permalink |

Here's a story...

November 23rd 2005
December 7th 2005

I've told this story too many times, so I'll keep it short.

Three years ago, after a ton of shit which would take way too long to go into, I attempted suicide by overdose.  I survived and now I am here.

This happened twice, on the above two dates. 

Yesterday was the three-year anniversary of my being alive.  Three years and a day ago, I woke up in bed after swallowing a fatal dose of antidepressants and sedatives.  Three years and a day ago, I had a reason to believe in God.

Three years later, I'm in college.  College, when a few years ago, I didn't even think that I would have made it through high school.  And every day, there are struggles, but every day, I get a little better.

But sometimes, it's hard to do this alone.  And I know that I can't keep keeping the way I feel inside.  I am tired of hiding this secret inside of me.

So I am sharing my secret with you.  I am asking for your help and your support and most importantly, your faith in me. 

I want you to help me celebrate life.

Posted by changc on December 08, 2008 11:26 PM | 3 comments | Permalink |

celery-stick goddess

This is part of a series of poems I have been working on, all centering around a character, "Alice".  It's going to sound pretentious, but Alice is also part of myself.

As I write these poems, a distinct plot and character has begun to emerge from my words.  Many of the poems are written at the moment, without any editing.  This is one of the better attempts so far.  The best stuff gets written in the middle of a term paper.


"Alice" (21)

Celery-stick goddess
writes term papers by day
fights vampires by night.
She doesn't ermember why,
and the celery gives her gas, but
that's okay because
all the memories are bad stiches
stapled down, grafted on by badgirls
in tight skirts and mountaintop heels. One
day she'll invent a windex, a cure-all spray
to blast them all away, only smudges
on oaken furniture, fingerprints
on glass. There was a dream once
of girls under, falling through,
falling into glass. All her, and
in that dream, she bled ochre
stained piss on her wedding gown
and the room smelled like celery.

12/2/2008 Chungyen Chang

Posted by changc on December 02, 2008 2:15 AM | 1 comment | Permalink |

three years later

Do you like this better with or without the last stanza?

What does this mean to you?

I: Procreation

Someone woke up
and they said
“Well, shit.” And
lovers made friction bombs,
the cold ones, like ice cream
and it was cherry chocolate
vanilla broke the blood barrier
between the brain and “psychosocial health”
became an island in that sea of pretty faces

II: Old Wine

I was watching when she killed you
swallowed hardened, crystal droplets
fifty years old, fermented in war
just like mama did you


III: Curiosity

It was difficult to distinguish
the difference between
blood and the concept of sexual vampires
there were nights when you
woke in cold porridge, like ice cream
and it was oreo cookie dirt
caught in the cracks of your fingernails and
you didn’t know why you couldn’t
“Stop crying, please”


IV: Exploration

Times like that, you’d remember
the boy with the pearl eyes
and the way he split open
at the edge of the sky, like a firework
and suddenly, you knew who it was
who had left all those pretty words in your mailbox,
and then
you were there too, kissing him
and your lips plumped with copper
when he split his head on the horizon.


V: Nowhere

Someone woke up,
and they said
“What is this?”
dropped out their blue homes and squirted, squinted
cream eyes at setting sun
there was a tree on the hill, and it shivered
you don’t remember which
of the birds fell and broke their beaks
and suddenly no one cared about their
Facebook notifications


VI: Reflection

It was like ice cream
the way it clumped in your hands
melted, cold and savory
and no one said a word.

…


VII: After

There are nights when I wake
and I'm cold and I can't wrap
my frigid arms around myself
and when the sun is dead
my hands are grey-peaked temples
to never
in the morning, I disappear

11/24/2008 Chungyen Chang

Posted by changc on November 24, 2008 10:59 PM | 1 comment | Permalink |