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mikenguyenbyu
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Name: Mike
Location: Provo, Utah, United States
Birthday: 12/30/1983
Gender: Male
Interests: Music, movies, driving nowhere for extended periods of time while listening to my iPod, spending money I don't have but pretend that I do have, going to school or maybe not, I lied, I like to lie, hanging out with friends, racial slurs, rice, the use of chopsticks for things other than eating, volleyball, uno de muerte, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Mormons for California, University of California at Provo, nostalgia, air conditioning set below 60 degrees, Houston, Honda Odysseys, bonfires (recent convert to the art of bonfiring), cooking, collecting DVDs, Harry Potter, the Death of Dumbledore, the One Ring..., eating at TUCANOS, owning all the BYU Singers and Mens' Chorus CDs, Anne with an E, Dr. Pepper, 4th Ward, singing bass, procrastination, boba, BYU Academic Probation Loopholes, the art of people watching and so forth...
Expertise: Setting the volleyball (sort of), making movies (sort of), playing Super Smash Bros. 64 (sort of), speaking Vietnamese (sort of), living life (sort of), being Mormon (sort of), being a returned Vietnamese speaking missionary from the Great Texas Houston South Mission (sort of), psychology (sort of), and getting in trouble academically with BYU (definetly)...and here's a quote I can't get enough of: "You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? That idea of home is gone. Maybe that's all family really is: a group of people who miss the same imaginary place." --Zach Braff, Garden State
Occupation: Student
Message: message meEmail: email me
AIM:  mikenguyenbyu
MSN: mikenguyenbyu@hotmail.com
Member Since:
8/24/2005
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| Hello my friends,
Things have changed and I am now done with Xanga.
I am going to move to a new blog site.
It's time.
Please message me if you would like the link to my new blog.
Your friend,
Mike
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Juno quips that in 30 year-odd weeks we could just pretend like her pregnant situation never happened.
I wish that life were like that.
There are these cross country runners that run (what else do cross country runners do?) throughout the film and I'm grabbing metaphors left and right and yeah, time moves on, there are constants, staples of this so-called life and yeah, everything just goes and goes.
Even if there are momentary lapse of hardships.
And I can either go hide in the corner or I can fumble for some sort of hold and pull through.
Sorry. I'm being vague.
Now would be a good time for my faulty tear ducts to be in operation because no amount of heavy volleyball can fix how hard it is right now and I hate when people talk about how hard something is because that's what people without perspective say.
Well...more volleyball playing doesn't hurt.
I think I might try getting on a bus and staying on it for like a bazillion hours and write stuff down. The idea seems like it would be a solution for some odd reason.
I'm thinking about keeping a real, physical journal. I have kept some kind of journal-type thing since September of '99.
There's a different kind of feel when you read something you wrote. It's like pure crack...in nostalgia form. And I miss being able to write down exactly how I feel or exactly what is going on in my life and what is going through my mind. This blog might be a casualty of the change.
Plus I bought my favorite felt-tip pens: the Ghostwriter kind. They actually come in multiple colors and they don't bleed through the paper. My life pretty much is complete with this set of pens.
So begins my mission to find the perfect journal (it has to be perfect...any composition will not do), hop on a bus for a couple hundred hours, and write and blare my new playlist on my iPod that is supposed to be life affirming because that is what I named it and figure "it" out.
Or not and decide that the public transportation system has no answers which means I need to find a new idol.
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Even though the First Presidency has been reorganized and so forth, I still miss him. I thought it was weird to name the building after him while he was still alive. If there is a curse, I'm pissed. Also, Elaine Michaelis is in danger because there is a volleyball court named after her too. Maybe it has to be a building. Anyway, I played on that court that the BYU volleyball games take place on. It feels a lot smaller than when you are watching matches.
I made a new verb last night: Michael Moore, as in to Michael Moore something which is to mean to expose via media in a manner that is shocking, controversial, liberal, and/or slanderish. The sentence was..."We should Michael Moore the landlords in Provo." It was amazing.
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|  She's laughing...not crying. I can't imagine a world without laughter. It would be a whole lot more quiet and sad. I am thankful for my friends who laugh so easily. It makes my life a lot less serious and that's a lot in my book.
Laughter...a gift from God.
These next couple of weeks are going to be rough. Those of the praying persuasion, please pray for me. If anything else, laugh with me.
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| I've always loved her poems. I wonder if people reading them back then get the same feeling I get when I read them now. My favorite Dickinson poem is "hope is the thing with feathers" (followed by "I never saw a moor" as a close second).
The lines, "I've heard it in the chillest land, and on the strangest sea..." spoke out to my mind today as I finished up my Nachos Bell Grande from Taco Bell and thought of hope the bird. It is so easy to lose yourself in despair. I consider myself a pro. If it were a sport, I would be an Olympic gold medalist and then have my medal stripped away for doping and get banned from the sport for life.
When you're so lost in despair, hope comes at you from places you never thought possible, from unfamiliar places and it warms your soul that is freezing in that Arctic tundra and it become a lighthouse beam that cuts through the fog as you are making your way to safe harbors.
And there's nothing you can do but sit there with your jaw dropped and feel taken by the overwhelming generosity and charity and love that Hope can bring.
I eventually take the $100 bill and wish he knew how much it truly meant because a moment like this just redefined a man who stumbled more often than not.
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