I Read the Letter

I've known this letter existed since I was seven. I know that there are four copies of it: one for me and each of my brothers. I may have read it when I was seven -- I don't remember. A few months after it happened, I suppose the letters were put aside and they eventually went into storage. I mostly forgot about them. Everyone did until a few months ago when my younger brother asked to see his copy of the letter. My mother went digging through our storage unit and eventually found them. They were printed on legal paper and rolled up into little cylinders. Mine was to be mailed to me.

I guess you could call it a suicide note, though it doesn't seem fitting. Is there another word for this sort of thing?

It came to me in a little manilla envelope with other random items from my mom including credit card applications she thought I might be interested in. I set the other items aside, sat on the couch and unrolled the paper. It had been typed and it was addressed to me, though I knew that my brothers' notes all said the same thing.

Then I read it. I read the strange letter from my deceased father.

There was no mention of me. There was no mention of him. Or anyone else for that matter. It was full of his views on the world. As if all he wanted a piece of his brain immortalized for his children to experience after his death. Perhaps he wanted us to get a glimpse of what kind of man he was, since we barely knew him. I guess that makes sense. He was known for his mind. He was a mentally disturbed genius. One of the great pioneers in the world of computer networking. Someone wrote a wikipedia article on him.

What struck me most about the letter, what seemed to smack my face as I read the words was the date at the bottom.

November 1995.

1995?

My dad took his life in August of 1996. He'd been planning it at least since November of 1995? I hate you, 1995 and I hate that I know when this letter was written.

I guess I was upset that he didn't say "I love you" anywhere in it. But, I suppose the fact that this letter exists means that he did... and does. And I do feel like I've crawled into Stryker's head and received a semblance of what it must have been like to know him like others did. Everyone called him Stryker.

Anatomy of a Breakup

A few years ago I went to a series of small plays produced by the New Play Project. One of them was called Anatomy of a Breakup. I, Asia (like the continent), have officially been broken up with. Having been through this experience, I now understand so many more songs, poems and movies about people going through breakups. The secret is it's not very fun, but the Supremes already knew that.

However, I feel older and wiser now that I'm on the other side (or ALMOST on the other side). I feel like one day, when my daughters are having relationship problems, I can say that I went through the same thing and I didn't take any crap. I can tell them I'm glad I had a broken heart because it's important to have one. I can tell them that I cried at embarrassing decibels until I realized that life could go on without him in it. Though their schedules feel suddenly empty and their hands suddenly colder, the world doesn't stop spinning and there are a lot of people that love and support them. I can tell them that even though it doesn't feel like it right now, you will feel better tomorrow and the next day after that. Sleep well little girls across the world, your broken heart will mend. It will.

Why I Blog

So I've decided to blog. I've also decided not to tell anyone about it. We'll see if anyone stumbles on it by accident.
For a really long time I didn't understand the concept of a blog - why would anyone want a public diary? I've since realized that blogs have so many more uses than that. Having said that, I think this blog will most likely just be full of my thoughts that you may or may not find interesting. I'm fully aware that blogging can be extremely self-indulgent, much like Why I Went to the Woods by Thoreau or pretty much anything Woody Allen and the things I say will likely have no use to you, but I am operating on the small hope that someone out there, every now and then, will care about what I have to say. I think that's the power of the blog. I'll try to figure out something cool to post like a mystery story or my opinions on movies or something, but for now this is all I've got :-). Thanks for reading.

Like the Continent

“Like the country?” Yes, dear friends, this is the response I hear most often when I tell people my name. This is discouraging because not only is Asia not a country, it is the biggest not-a-country landmass in the world. It almost makes me agree with Miss South Carolina that Americans need more maps. I tell these “Asia is a country” believers that it is, in fact, a continent. They then laugh at their mistake and I wait patiently for us to move onto another subject.
Some other, more informed people say “Like the continent?”, though this question isn’t as fun, nor is my response to them.
I once got a “Like the band?” and that was exciting because yes, there is a fantastically awful 80’s band called Asia and yes, my name is spelled and pronounced the same way. I bought their CD once so I wouldn’t be found ignorant of all things Asia, but found them to be similar to, but not as good as Kansas. Kansas, by the way, is a state.
I’ve had Asian people think I was messing with them and American people say “But seriously, what’s your name?” People ask if I’ve ever been to Asia, if I was born in Asia, or super awkwardly – if I was conceived in Asia. I will have you know that the one time I did go to Asia, no one commented on my name. At least not that I understood.
Some people just say “That’s pretty,” which I appreciate, and some people don’t comment at all, bless their hearts.
I’ve had many encounters with people regarding my name: misspellings, mispronunciations (a substitute physics teacher once called me Isaiah) and a great variety of jokes. Or rather 200 versions of the same joke. It restores my faith in humanity that calling me Africa hasn’t lost its charm and that Asia Minor is still referenced by today’s youth. I’m used to these jokes and have learned to let them roll off my back like water on a duck. I really like the duck analogy and using it reminds me of a time my brother acted it out to demonstrate the value of the principle. Speaking of which, my brothers have way cooler names than I do, but for the sake of narcissism I won’t mention them at this time.