The man biking on the freeway.

There are many moments in my life that I do not recap. I suppose it's because there are so many moments that my brain can hardly recount them all at once. To recount them all at once would be insanity or maybe even sanity. Maybe that's what they mean when they say, "I saw my life flash before my eyes."

I forgot that I saw a man biking on a freeway - consumed by other pertinent matters such as hunger I forgot about him. For some reason when I think about it, I think of Fight Club. How things are so disturbingly refreshing. The man biking on a freeway stopping traffic. What the fuck? When I drive things look all the same. I think that's why people yell and fight and cuss and become demons when they drive. It's because we're all bored. The lines, the cement, the lines again, the occasional red lights, the occasional car crash, the occasional pretend race with the person next to you. Driving can be fucking boring.

One day, as I was driving on the 10, I saw a man on his bicycle. He had tattoos, which I suppose in my parent's words would make him a "bad" person. He was riding a black low rider/beach cruiser of some sorts. He seemed happy. I think everyone around him was just in shock. I'm not sure how he got on the freeway or how he ended up there. Maybe he woke up and was like, "I'm going to ride on the fucking freeway today." Maybe he woke up and thought he had nothing to lose. Maybe he had a bad night or maybe a great night. Maybe he woke up and felt like it was a regular boring day and felt the urgency to make it irregular. He wasn't just riding on the side of the freeway, he was zipping across lanes. It was nuts - at the same time I saw him smile and he was happy and that is what I remember vividly. How free he must of felt, how on the edge he must of been, how I don't give a fuck he must of thought. This was but a few seconds. Just as quickly as he caught my attention, I went back to focusing on the road, the lines, the cement, the lines again, the occasional red lights, the occasional car crash, the occasional pretend race with the person next to me and I forget about the man biking on the freeway.

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Your dad has been listening to this album over and over and over again. Your dad and your brother are very similar.
What do you mean?
When they like something they listen to it over and over again.
I do the same thing. I do the same thing too.

Thursday Thoughts: Keep your light, keep your own.

I like being breathless because the moment when you get to breath - it feels really good.

I like being uncomfortable because the moment you feel comfortable - it feels really good.

I like losing things because the moment you find it or it comes back to you - it feels really good.

I often say that I hate waiting, but it teaches you patience, hardens you and it teaches you not to rely on someone, and not to have expectations for them to fulfill you.

Get up yourself.

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Ride that bike up a steep hill when others walk because you want to be badass.

The sun beats - the river sounds -  let clarity hit you in a way caffeine does.

The breeze slips through humidity to say hi to you. 

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My heart is really full. I feel that it is full. There is no question there. Other people don't have full hearts and I can feel it. They are sadly empty or in search of things to fill what to them is empty. Cities, places, people, music, art, curiosity, patterns, laughter and experiences fill mine because I let it. I rarely let other things fill it. 

Take it as you will.

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I can't let that external gratification define the worth of what I'm doing" - Chris Chu, Pop ETC.

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From one of my favorite authors of all time - Bill Bryson taken from his autobiography "The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid" (Funny how I have so much in common with this white male from Iowa)

"Thanks to such investigations and the abundance of time that made them possible, I knew more things in the first ten years of my life than I believe I have known at any time since. I knew everything there was to know about our house for a start. I knew what was written on the undersides of tables and what the view was like from the tops of bookcases and wardrobes. I knew what was to be found at the back of every closet, which beds had the most dust balls beneath them, which ceilings had the most interesting stains, where exactly the patterns in wallpaper repeated. I knew how to cross every room in the house without touching the floor, where my father kept his spare change and how much you could safely take without his noticing (one seventh of the quarters, one fifth of the nickels and dimes, as many of the pennies as you could carry). I knew how to relax in an armchair in more than one hundred positions and on the floor in approximately seventy-five more. I knew what the world looked like when viewed through a Jell-O lens. I knew how things tasted - damp wash clothes, pencil ferrules, coins and buttons, and almost anything made of plastic that was smaller than, say, a clock radio, mucus of every variety of course - in a way that I have more or less forgotten now."

Read because reading in essence is a revolutionary act in itself. My ability to read and comprehend the English langauge is transformative. I can fucking read things about the Midwest and can some how relate to it. I have the ability to share what the human condition is. I have the ability to connect across cultures because I understand English and because I can speak two other languages. It's a magical thing you see, to connect across cultures. Read because reading is a fucking revolutionary act. It's sad to see that no one really reads any more. How it fills me. Much of the world cannot read. But words, words make emotions tangible. The written word is even more tangible, transferable, and lasting.

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And there starts my Thursday. Excuse my contradictions.

They found my jacket, holy jesus.

I hate losing things because I value the things I have. When I lost my teddy bear companion of 16 years I was devastated. His name was Cubie, he was small, a bit round, white and had a crooked face. I loved him. Somehow I was playing with him and he fell out of my car at one point. I still believe him to be in the mountains of Berkeley somewhere.

Recently I lost my 2 dollar jacket that I bargained from this little hole in the wall place from the markets of Long Xuyen. You know how water gushes from a water fall? Well imagine something like that, but replace the water with jackets. She caught my attention as I was wandering around the markets exploring. To my delight, I was there because my Vietnamese tutor was telling me there was a lady that sold used purses. There's a certain word for it in Vietnamese but I forgot it. The word sounds like A.I.D.S. in Vietnamese. Go figure. Anywho, she motioned me to come over since she saw my fascination with her little set up she had. Waterfall of jackets. I don't think many local folk in Long Xuyen like to buy used jackets. It was her lucky day.

My two dollar jacket that I bargained for. It was navy blue and had white trees on it. I assumed it was from Dalat and it was my favorite and I knew instantly I wanted it.

I lost it on a recent trip to Berkeley after trying on clothes.

Today I got a phone call from Jeremy's in Berkeley that they found my jacket! I had desperately returned to them twice trying to find it. I searched the entire store. Apparently they had returned it to the warehouse to get it ticketed and somehow they put two and two together that the sad Asian girl who came into their store twice to find her jacket may also be missing this mysterious tag less navy blue jacket with white trees at its pockets.

I've never heard you sound so excited before Kim. My coworker said.
Yeah I get attached to things.


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Metric Metric Metric! Texting with my show buddy partner in crime whose currently in Baltimore. We sound like squeamish girl teenagers in our recollections of our favorite lyrics, lines and sounds.  This is what it's all about folks. This.

Life's really fun for me right now. June is a good month. I have nothing to lose. I turn 25 at the end of this month and present contentment never felt so good.

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Let's feed your soul shall we?

Lately I've been telling people that I have nothing to lose and it goes something like this:

Crazy...Blah blah blah I'm confused blah blah blah...
Yeah?
But I have nothing to lose.

Totoro!!!!! Because I can.

I'm not sure why, but I've never felt this more strongly than ever. I suppose it's my recent close observations of old people that heightens this feeling for me. Shit...I'm not going to look or feel like this forever. Perhaps it's my childhood slipping from me. To feel your childhood slip away is disheartening. Have you ever felt that? Ever felt sad that your imagination can no longer run, your feelings can no longer be sporadic, to blame things for your naiveness?

I like combining things. I like connecting past things with the present and making them feel like one.

Before I felt like I had a lot to lose. I have a reputation. I have my dignity. I have myself. I'm fucking stubborn. As a kid I learned very early that I was not to be embarrassed. As a child I hardened myself. I protected myself and uphold this, unfortunately I didn't give myself a chance to make mistakes and be messy. I was messy a few times, I hated it, and retreated thinking that the messy was the only side of me people would see. The Ugly. The Messy. The Goodness.

Only the fool looks at the finger that points at the sky. 

Somewhere over the freeways.

It's been interesting to see my blog posts surface into real words that I utter to someone. Perhaps I am spilling my heart out in real life. I have no idea what I'm doing and I sort of like it.

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Have no expectations and it will all fall into place land somewhere eventually.

Fuck it.

Call me whatever you want. Call me naive, stupid, silly, immature, a child, a dreamer, an idealist, whatever. Fuck it.

Simple. 


You know that scene in Garden State where the three of them scream into a canyon of black abyss? I really need that right now.

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Bó tay with myself right now. I feel really dumb and I really don't give a fuck anymore.

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It has occurred to me that people don't know what my blog title means. What does that mean Kim? heartbeat yellows is two fold. It represents southern california, L.A. the current physical locality I am in. I run many many many yellows. It's something I do or see almost every day. It's normal. Yet, when I run yellows my heart skips a beat because I am unsure if at that moment will the light turn red or will a car hit me. I describe that feeling as heartbeat yellows.

The second is that I am tired of giving a fuck about what people think of me. I'm tired of being scared. This is a constant battle I have with myself, especially in new places (and will continue to), yet it's nice to put it in words. It helps serve as a reminder to me to run yellows and not look back with regret. I'm not getting any younger.

So strange, so uncomfortable.

More flowers.

I have to admit - I'm at a strange and curious crossroads in my life. I am unsure and I'm just okay. Battles with myself are wearing me down a bit and I'm losing more sleep than expected. I mean I can claim I feel normal, I look normal, but damn transitions and changes are tough on me, tougher than expected.

The battle that I speak of is the battle to stay true to myself. To let my goodness shine, to allow it to surface at its fullest capacity.

It will feel good when the challenge is overcome, but fuck when will that moment be?

Someone the other day told me it's almost been a year since I've returned. Oh jesus it has.

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How exhausted I feel. Be present.

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My uncles and aunts like to give me talks. They love giving me advice. I love listening and talking to them so I don't mind. I know it makes them feel good. One uncle in particular prefaces his talks with me with "I'm not lecturing you" although it's always a lecture. Although I may make faces and resist, I enjoy his talks. "It's because I care," he says in frustration.

My mom has 2 sisters and 4 brothers. I like to think that as the first grandchild I felt all of their love. They all loved me. They all carried me and played with me. It was a time when our family was naive, many members still single, still going through high school first loves, still beginning their life in the land of opportunity. They all loved me. They all tell me "we all used to carry you and care for you" I can only imagine it. In that little white house in the ethnoburb of Monterey Park when we were under one roof - the love that was contained - it's inside me and still is.

I can say that my love is contained in seams. You don't know this unless you are in a house of seamstresses, but clothing and materials come in these large cardboard boxes. If you fold the boxes correctly they make great desks for the materials and pieces of clothing. The go green movement should be a movement of necessity. Basically my family has been "going green" since 1980 (bitches). Anyways, one time I sat on the box since I though it was strong and I fell through into them. The laughter of Vietnamese women in my family was booming. I felt embarrassed but imagine their laughter with me if you will. It was authentic, a moment that cannot be replicated because I am no longer that little person that can fall through boxes.

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The goodness of a person is always there. Sometimes I get consumed by other things but the goodness is what I want to bring to the surface.

You made my house a home.

My obsession with Alabama Shakes heightens with each listen.

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The sun sets pink.