Scooters. Trees.

Swish. Swish. Swish. I tackled the ride down the line, then I made a loop to go back. Back and forth, every night I would do this seemingly repetitive and meaningless act. Despite the perception, this was my way of meditating, my way of thinking.

I used to ride my scooter when I had many thoughts on my mind. I used to ride the scooter when I was depressed, downtrodden, angry, pensive. My neighbors probably thought me an eccentric girl. The girl who would ride the scooter back and forth on a rectangular piece of cement I call my yard. So then I decided to ride at night. Riding around around my neighborhood was unacceptable to my ama.


Sometimes, I would grab a chair, pulling it as close to my tree as possible, and I would lean back in my chair, look up at the sky, and thank God for giving me a yard. I would thank God for giving me a tree. I thanked God for giving me a strong mom. I thanked God for Tweety - my bird. I thanked God for giving me lemons. I thanked God that despite all the trouble brewing inside my head I had relatively peace in me too.

I was sixteen.

It's a bit troubling for me to talk about religion - even just talking about it a little bit. I am not a practicing Christian or Catholic, but I was. I know that ultimately I do believe in God. I have seen that I simply cannot be true to myself if I were to become an atheist and deny God. To me it seems that He is the only person that holds me accountable for all my failures and successes - no one else quite cares the same way. When my mother was lost in her own world, and so was the rest of my family, I had to fend for myself. But I wanted to feel like someone cared for me too. So then, there was God. I don't know how to explain, or if I can, but I know he was there for me, when not even my mom, brother, family, or friends were there, which happened various times growing up.

However, I do not believe that things happen because God made them so, no. I know I have control of what happens to me in life.

I am the driver of my car.

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So the night sinks to darkness, and I want to wake up. But today my eyes are heavy with sleep, and I have to wake early to meet the sunrise face, hoping it was night greeting me to the start of day.

Cat Power.

Welcome to the All-American City!

Placentia, tucked right under the chin of the 57 freeway, carries one of the best ice parlors I know of around town - and yes, I don't really know of many.

I paced myself to the parlor's entrance, taking in everything the so-called All American city could offer. In the distance I could only see a sign for Carne Asada on sale for 2.99, and the freeway jammed with cars all along its line - it was getting dark.

Inside, the fan whirled to a constant beat, and the dim place reminded me of Long Beachesque places. The two guys seemed to be around my age, blasting the music of All-American Rejects and classic rock. Their eyes were a bit familiar, I could tell that they probably did not venture too much out of town.

I handed him a a dollar with thirty five cents and bought myself a massive ice-cream with cone about the length of my arm. The seats were a bit worn of faded blue. The workers there were really nice, and they even turned on the lights for me as I plopped on a seat, taking out Sartre to read - the reading bogged my mind for a bit, since I was helping a student of mine understand it, I had to understand it first.

As i licked the last drops of delicious ice cream from the cone, I stood up to go. I smiled a quick thanks to him and hurried to my car, I had spent more time inside than I had intended. Yet, the only thing waiting for me was more traffic. Some of the ice cream around, reading and relaxing a bit before the drive, helped me prepare to face the monster ahead of me: traffic.