I forget your name,

But your hair looks nice today -

Just thought you should know.

Justifying my choice of favorite color during a long bus ride home today

I think my favorite color is green
because green is never bad.
Green means go. Or safe. Or eco-friendly.

Because when I think of green,
I’m laying down
in a great big field of tall grass -
You know, the kind of grass
that molds itself into a bed around you
when you lay in it - the kind
you see in cute cartoon movies.

Or, I picture a big, BIG bamboo grove
that just goes up, up, up.

A Moment of Irrational Anger

If the guy sitting next to me on this flight
doesn’t stop tapping his pen
on his stupid sudoku notepad,
I’m going to smash the window,
grab the pen, chuck it out,
and watch it fall
thousands and thousands
and thousands of miles
until it hits the ground
and shatters
into a million
tiny
pieces.

The McDonald’s Dollar Menu: A Love Story

It was a love I took for granted –
I naïvely thought our bond was unbreakable,
Eternal.

I looked at her today
And realized I no longer loved her,
She had changed too much –
McChickens were a dollar eighty-five.
Perhaps I’ve changed too.

Eighty-five cents might seem like
A tiny, miniscule difference.
Perhaps, an onlooker might say,
If our love were true,
We would not only conquer this change,
But even learn to embrace it.

But in the end,
True love is all about the little things.

It was a tearful break-up,
Sadder because no one was to blame.
We were simply victims of inevitable change.

We vowed to stay friends,
Both knowing things would never be the same.

I thought of simpler times –
Scrounging for cup holder change
During 5 AM drive-throughs –
And wished for just a moment
That we were still young and in love.

Sundays

Sometimes, I’ll go outside
All by myself to sit down
On a random patch of grass
And just watch people pass.

I like to make up stories
About their lives, thinking
Of their hobbies and how
They enjoy their spare time.

Today, I saw an old couple
Strolling past, hand in hand,
Him in a gray coat and hat,
Her in a bright yellow jacket.

Words weren’t necessary.
They smiled and silently
Thought the same thought:
We should take more walks.

I decided that she
Teaches history in college
And that he
Makes amazing lasagna.

Hey Grandpa,

It’s cold in Rochester today. It snowed a bit last night. I love when there’s a layer of pure snow in the morning - something about it gives me hope for the day to come.

I’m missing you today. Do you remember when you took Vincent and me to Tiananmen Square to fly kites? We were yelling and laughing so loudly that everyone turned to watch us. There was even somebody who took his camera out and started taking pictures of us. I remember thinking at the time that no picture could ever capture what I felt during that moment.

All I have of you are these brief, fleeting memories: sitting on your lap, playing Gameboy Pokemon in Japanese while you faithfully translated every scrolling line of text; sitting by the piano after dinner while you played and sang at the top of your lungs; waking up to see you outside raking leaves, always in the same gray hat; wrestling you to the ground during snowball fights.

I remember the last time we saw each other. We were leaving your apartment in Beijing to go to the airport. The taxi had come to pick us up, and you and Grandma were crying. I guess you both knew this might be the last time we would see each other. I was too young to know or think about anything like that - I only remember being excited to finally be going home to America. I wonder what I would have done if I had known at the time. I guess it would have been harder to watch and wave at you guys as we drove away.

Mommy tells me about you all the time. She always says I remind her so much of you. I’m an English major, you know. She says you would be so proud of that, since you were a literature professor. She tells me stories about your students running up to you in the streets to pay their respects; about how at your funeral, hundreds upon hundreds of your former students came from all around the world to say goodbye.

Sometimes, I want so badly to see you one more time and just talk to you. I’m not a man yet, but I’m trying. I hope I’m becoming someone you can be proud of - someone you want to brag about to all your friends while exchanging stories about grandchildren. I wonder if you know that I’m thinking about being a teacher too. Or that every time I see a professor jump up and down in class, or break out in song, or cajole students into hysterical laughter, I think of you.

I’m just writing this letter to let you know that I’m doing fine. Jiujiu, Jiuma, and Satsuki visited America this year for the first time in a couple of years. Jiujiu told me he was so surprised by how much I was like you. He and Mom both say I’m always happy, whatever that means. I guess you were too. I think about you a lot - I think we would have made a hell of a team. I hope everything is going great for you too. All of us miss you and Grandma a lot. Someday, we’ll be together again. Until then, I’ll hold these brief, fleeting memories close to my heart, always trying to make you proud.

Love,

Jason

The Police Chief

The shuttle comes every fifteen minutes,
But it came early today.
The driver picked up a carefully wrapped red box
And walked down the aisle of his bus
With a smile, extended hand and heavy accent –
“Does anybody want some chocolate?”

I took one just to be polite.
I’m not normally in the mood for chocolate,
But it was delicious.
He said he got them from a tiny European Bazaar
Just off Mt. Hope.
He gave me turn-by-turn directions,
“Just in case you ever want to go,” he said.

I felt an irrational desire to shake his hand.
He traced alphabet letters with a pointed finger,
Spelling his name out for me with careful enunciation.
“S – A – E – D,” as he gripped my hand,
“Pronounced Say-ed.”

Hours later, when I got back on the shuttle,
He was still driving – I guess his shift hadn’t ended yet.
He was early again.
I noticed the corner of the same, red box poking
Out of his miniature personal trash bin.
I asked if he had given out all his chocolate.
He laughed and said yes,
Then started to tell me about his hometown.

I couldn’t really figure out everything he was saying.
He had an accent – maybe Polish, or Ukrainian;
Something Eastern European, if I had to guess.
He told me that in his hometown, everybody knew everybody.
(“Not like here,” he said, “where neighbors are strangers.”)
Adults used to carry chocolates in coat pockets,
Pressing them into palms of their favorite kids
As they passed each other in the streets.
He told me how back home, he was a police chief.

We talked the whole way back –
There were long periods of time where I would smile and nod,
even though I couldn’t completely decipher his awkward cadence.
But this wasn’t the I don’t really care what you’re saying,
I’ll just nod and smile type nodding.
I heard him and understood him without words,
Nodded because he was genuine –
Because I meant it too.

He eventually shrugged and said with a sad smile,
“Times are always changing.
Times change so fast.”
But for a moment, he was police chief again
In the streets of Lublin,
Or maybe Odessa,
Fumbling chocolates out of his pockets,
Just like old times.