how do you ask for help

i was always by myself to begin with.

you’d think i’d be used to it by now, but i’m not.

i have friends, but i still feel alone. i’m alone not because i don’t have options. i do have options. i have jace. i have anthony. and i’ve always had lo. but they’re not enough. the one thing i’ve never had was family.

i have two sisters, both with their own set of problems, so maybe that’s why i’ve gone unnoticed. my mom was never around so my dad worked two jobs all my life. my older sister was in no position to take care of us, so the responisblity fell on me. i woke up every morning and got my little sister ready. that was me. i raised her. alone.

if i ever had a problem i didn’t ask for help. that was weakness.

if i needed something, i did it on my own. alone.

nineteen years of this mind frame and no wonder i’m alone. i was built this way. its all i know. so what happens now.

how do you ask for help, when all you know is doing it yourself?

phil

hi.

my name is phil.

i like pizza. like a lot.

and my mom is not a fish, that is all.

lo

they say i’m irresponsible. that if my head wasn’t attached to my neck, that i’d lose my body before i even knew it was gone. but the funny thing is, they’re totally right. calling me irresponsible is a nice way of putting it. i’m more than irresponsible, i’m pretty dumb. i’m dumb, i’m naive, and i make mistakes. to be perfectly honest i don’t make mistakes i make bad choices, so i understand why jace will never love me. who could love a girl with all of my baggage.

i’ve had this crush on jace since our first run in with each other. it was a rainy day in southern California, as weird as that may sound, but its true. the torrential rain was hailing down on the ground and i was walking to the bus stop in my rain boots, a tank top, and some shorts. like i said, i make bad choices.

out of nowhere this strapping young gentlemen runs up from behind me, with his blue umbrella, and saves the day. the first thing i noticed was his smile, not even the sun could compete with, and when he touched my face to move my wet hair behind my ears he sent chills through my veins. i was in love and i knew he was the one.
we made it to the bus station and he gave me his umbrella, and then disappeared. i didn’t even get to ask him his name, and i thought he was gone forever, fortunately i met him again a few days later through my friend phil. there was just something about jace, that i connected with. he was unlike any of the other douches i had previously dated.

when i was twelve, i dated a guy named rocco. he had flaming red hair and had the most beautiful green eyes i’d ever come across. looking into them was like looking into the ocean. i would get lost in them for hours, but then he’d open his mouth, and everything would go to hell. i really hated his voice and we finally broke up after two tumultuous years.

when i was fourteen i dated this guy named kayne. he wasn’t my type. he was as far away from my type as could get, but he served a greater purpose. he was my catalyst for getting back at my parents. what middle America parent wouldn’t want to see their perfect little daughter with a eighteen year old six foot four black man. it was my gift to them, for all the love they showered me with as a child, and in return they kicked their little angel out. i make bad decisions, so it was to be expected.

but then anthony waltzed into my life. our relationship was…well it was complicated from the beginning. he dated my sister and i was in no way ready for another relationship, but one thing led to another and we ended up being together for three years. i don’t even know if you can call what we had a relationship. relationships involve going on dates, going to proms, red roses, boxes a chocolate, things of that nature, and we never did any of that. it was more physical than anything, all we seemed to do was fuck and then argue. argue and then fuck. and the cycle continued.

we both had our demons and together we just made them worst. under different circumstances we could have been great, but we weren’t. we were two likeminded people looking to be loved, but neither of us knew how and shit happened.

i got pregnant.

never told anthony.

and had an abortion.

now tell me. what guy could love a girl with all this baggage.

anthony

jace says i’m inconsiderate, but in reality i’m not. i’m just that one friend you have that just doesn’t give a damn what you think. i’m that friend that tells you the honest to god truth even when you don’t want to hear it. the truth hurts. i know that more than anyone. i mean, how does a seven year old child deal with the fact that his parents didn’t want him. that he was such an abomination that his parents left him in a crowded parking lot to fend for himself. maybe that’s why me and jace are so close, because of all the people i know, he’s the only one who can relate.

jace says i’m inconsiderate and i’m okay with that. jace, lo, and phil need that in their lives. they’re always running from the truth. so i make sure they hear it, even when they don’ won’t too, because if i can’t be honest with you, then how can you expect anyone else to be.

but here’s the thing. every time i ride a bus with my friends we play a game of spot the fag. i’ve never won once. hell, no one has ever won, but jace. he’s some kind of freak when it comes to spotting homosexuals, but i could win. i could win on any given Sunday, but i choose not to. i choose to keep quiet and to be considerate. because i am the greatest friend in the world, and if i have to be inconsiderate to be that, then so be it.

i know jace is gay. i’ve known for a while. i may look stupid, but trust me. i’m not. i’m glad people think i’m stupid though. i thrive on that it. they underestimate me and that’s the advantage i have. i’m not stupid, i’m not inconsiderate, and i know my best friend is gay, but guess what. i could give a flying fuck, cause jace is jace.
i just wished he would just tell me. but why would he. i’m just some inconsiderate fuck.

break the cycle

every time me and my friends ride a bus we play a game. see we don’t have jobs so it’s the cheapest entertainment we can afford. its called spot the fag, and the rules are pretty simple. see a fag, point them out. the more masculine the more points they’re worth, the more flamboyant then the lower the score. its pretty simple, and straight to the point, and i’ve never lost a game the last three years. the only problem is, i’m kinda a fag.

but not really. see i’ve never dated a guy before, never had the urge to either. i’ve never found a guy attractive on an emotional level. it’s always “he could get it” or “damn, i bet he’d look good bent over moanin my name” or “i wonder if he’s packing” i’ve never had a moment where i was like “i wonder if he’d make a great boyfriend.” i haven’t had one of those moments. i’m waiting, but i don’t think it will ever happen.

things are different with girls though. some would say i’m a sucka for love, and i’d agree. i let my relationships define who i am, and i fall hard. fast and hard. there’s just something about a girl that makes me want to give away my love. i mean i’ve had sex with one or two girls, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if i never had any more male on female action. i guess i’m weird like that, or maybe just way too complicated. i should be less complicated, but its hard out here for a pimp.

every time me and my friends ride a bus we play a game of spot the fag and i never lose. maybe it’s this whole “gaydar” thing, but i don’t think it is. if there’s really a “gaydar” then logic says there should be some sort of “straightdar” and i’ve never heard about it. i think the reason i win every time is because i notice things that most people don’t.

i’ve been a professional people watcher since the age of seven. we all have our weird quirks. we all have our tale tell signs of secrets we don’t want the world to know, and i just happen to be able to spot these signs in most people. take this red headed guy sitting behind me. he has a nice physique, so that explains why his shirt is one size too small. his voice fits his six foot two frame, so that doesn’t help us either, but his face. his face is awkward looking. there’s something off about his face and its not his chiseled jaw line. its his eyebrows. they’re too perfect, they’re too stiff, they’re not natural, and they’re fuckin arched.

dun, dun, dunnn.


now i’m all for the mani/pedi of the modern day metrosexual and new millennium man, but getting your eyebrows arched is still pretty gay. so i point him out to my friends, score seventy five points, and win the game. i win the game again, but i can’t help but to find the irony in it all.
the game is called spot the fag. i’m a fag. and i’m the biggest score of them all. all my friends have to do is look to the left, to the left and yell out jace yang, and they would win. they would win the game, get a free bus trip to wherever they’d like, and i would finally be out of my straight gay closet. but they never do. so i stay inside my crowded closet full of skeletons, and hide from reality.

i’m jace yang.

i’m nineteen years old and i’m stuck in a never ending cycle.

this is my life.

i need to break the cycle.

jace

every time i ride a bus me and my friends play a game. see we don’t have jobs, because we’re not “qualified,” but how qualified do you really have to be to work at a fast food restaurant. i understand why THEY aren’t qualified: anthony is inconsiderate, lo is irresponsible, phil is well, he’s phil, dirty, rude, and an all around ass, but i’m not like them.

i’m considerate. i really am. every time i cross a street and a car just happens to be turning in that direction and starts to honk their horn, because i’m not moving fast enough, i don’t immediately reach into my pocket, take out one of my many x-acto knives, and flatten their tires. no, i don’t do that, because that’s something anthony would do. i instead, stop what i’m doing, take a moment to consider my actions, and then i have a fit of road rage, and then continue crossing the street. i consider their feelings and then i go with my gut reaction which usually involves screaming and a few flicks of the middle finger, but i do consider their feelings. because i am considerate.

i’m also responsible. i’m the oldest of seven kids. technically i’m not, but i feel like i’m the oldest. i pick up brothers from school, i take brothers to all their sports practices, i remember to give brothers medicine, and i even forge signatures on report cards for brothers because i am the responsible one in the family, and they say i’m not “qualified.”

but most importantly i am not phil. i’m fuckin jace. jace moutherfuckin yang. i’m the complete opposite of phil. phil is an ass. i’m not. phil is rude. i’m not. phil is dirty. and i’m a pretty clean cut guy, plus i’m considerate and i’m responsible and i have work experience. how the hell am i not “qualified.”

i worked at a fast food chain for two years of my life, and yes i may have locked a manager in a freezer, but you had to have been there to understand the situation. she was old and she was senile. and the entire day she was complaining about how hot she was. so i did what any responsible, considerate, not phil eighteen year old boy would do. i suggested she go have a seat in the freezer for a few minutes so she could cool down.

is it my fault i accidentally locked the door while she was in there. i mean, i eventually remembered she was in the freezer and ran with the quickest pace to let her out, and she didn’t die. she just cried a lot. her tears were like diamonds; frozen liquid tears. i must say they were the most beautiful tears i’ve ever seen, but that didn’t last too long. she called the store manager and i was fired on the spot. since then i’ve been “unqualified” for any job i applied for. aint that some shit.

you be izzie, i'll be kerev

kerev says:

the only reason i''m doing this, is because i probably wouldn't be able to say it to you. one look. one word. and everything i say i'm going to do i can't do it, because all i want to do is see you smile. this isn't about my feelings for you, because as i tell you i care for you. i probably care too much for you. i don't want to admit to you, let alone myself the fact that you really are my number one. sucks to be epic, eh, but what are you gonna do.

this isn't about how i feel about you, or how i felt. i mean you say you want cock, nd i showed you mine god knows how many times and you turned me down each time. do you know what that does to  man. low self-esteem ^_^. this is more on the fact that you've grown so much since we first talked and you've outgrowned me. i'm still pretty much that same inebriated J. only difference is i added a last name.

like you've said a million times over, HE inspired you. he gave you something to believe in. he made you want to live again. he's a GOD to you, and how do you compete with a god......you don't. you just die. and maybe thats why i'm at this point, because there's noway i can compete with that. maybe i'm ust mad because i wasn't what he is to you now. that all the time we had together i wasn't able to give you a reason to want to feel. to want to live. i wasn't able to give you that spark.

i kinda feel useless. i don't want to be that guy to always talk you off the edge. the guy you come to when you're feeling parnoid. that guy an be anyone, and hopefully soon you won't need that guy.

remember this, its important

i have two brothers. not three.

and remember this, its probably the most important thing i've ever told you

Pretend you are collecting baseball cards(because i collect baseball cards, just so you know). Pretend you are holding the rarest baseball card EVER MADE. You are the only person in the whole world who has this card. This card is worth MILLIONS. Then one day, the Topps Baseball Card Manufacture decides to give EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD THAT SAME CARD.

Your card isn't worth millions anymore.

This card has the world's attention.

The world's attention.

I am sharing this with the world.

You should be happy, but you aren't. You would be pissed off too, right?

But you're selfish.

Share.

 

and maybe thats my problem. i don't want to share. when i first met you you were this little old blogger pretending to be asian. you had me fooled for a while, then i discovered your myspace. and now you've blossomed(i used blossomed cause it describes how gay you are, no matter what moms says) into this epic blogger. way more epic then me. and you're basically the next coming of mirrorboy. cept older, still whiny but more creative, and the internet trolls aren't you own personal army of darkness. 

and maybe i'm jealous because i have to share you with the world, when i'm use to having you to myself. i don't want to share you with all these people who know nothing about you. who figure they have you figured out, but don't realise that when they think that they really have no clue who you are. maybe i don't even know you. maybe i;m just being possessive. but what i do know is, i'm J, j.hubbard to mark. i'm a lowly star. they're the universe. you can find another star. i can't find another you. but you can find another me. just speak to the next black guy you meet. he could be me.

love you kid. see you in a year.

currently listening to Ave Adore by the Smashing Pumpkins

not fighting anymore

he wins. i concede. bring on the drinks.

now i need to clean and finish some homework. school is going better than it was the first few weeks. i think i'll be back in georgia in a week or two but i hope not. my blog turns one on the 17th. i gotta figure out what i wanna do with this place because as of now, its been kind of dead. so i'll figure something out.