"It doesn't really help that you

can never say what you're looking for."

I now write here: www.xanga.com/abreakwithcircumstance.

What can I say? I like xanga's blogrings too much.

"There's something in the air in Hollywood.

I tried to leave it but I never could."

I’ve been a bit of a loner since the sixth grade. Before then, in elementary school, I had a large group of friends. Of course, it was easier to have friends back then, considering that one spent the entire day with the same group of kids. I not only had a considerable large group of friends, I was actually the leader of the group. I was the one who organized games during recess, decided who played on what team, decided whether to let girls play with us, and if so, which ones.

But when I reached the sixth grade, my skills as group leader and as an outgoing person disappeared. I partly blame it on the fact that starting in sixth grade, I was thrown into honor courses, courses that none of my friends from elementary school were slated to take. All my peers in these courses knew each other because they all came from Santiago Elementary School – the lucrative and high-ranking school in the nice part of Santa Ana. I, on the other hand, went to Lowell Elementary School where most of the students’ first language was not English and most of our parents were immigrants. While I still managed to make a handful of close friends in sixth grade, everything spiraled downward by seventh grade. I became even more sheepish, inhibited, and afraid of speaking in front of the class. I reflected the same characteristics at home with my family. In my efforts to not show to the world I was gay, I was simultaneously suppressing my entire self and who I was as a person. As a result, I have little confidence and self-assurance.

I don’t believe I’ve gotten over it yet. I wasn’t close to any one person in high school, nor do I speak now with anyone from those years. At USC I could count the number of friends I had with one hand. But while the number was short, they at least were in fact good friends. Jeremy, my closest friend at the time, actually came out to visit me last week. He and Patrick were in Boston for a few days and it was nice to spend time with friends of my own and enjoy each other’s company. I have to admit, I was a bit said when they left.

I’m now going through a melancholic state of longing for my pseudo West Hollywood lifestyle. A part of me regrets giving up the nice apartment in Brentwood just minutes from the beach that I shared with Dan, my decent Nissan Altima, going out for drinks at The Abbey and getting VIP access to Heaven, the upstairs lounge at TigerHeat (probably the most popular gay bar and gay club in the West Coast, respectively).

It’s not that I don’t have any friends here in Boston. In fact, this past Saturday Jonny decided to throw a surprise party for me. A large group of our friends came over to celebrate. If you look at my facebook profile, you will find ten birthday messages all from Boston friends. The problem is that I feel that without Jonny, I wouldn’t have those friends. In fact, without Jonny all I would have in Boston would be a lease agreement and a less than challenging job.

Life is and should be about more than just those two things.

"Critics at their worse could

never criticize the way that you do."

I heard a story just recently about a Christian congregation in Kansas that goes to strangers’ funerals to express their heartfelt words toward grieving families. This congregation is headed by a man, I believe his name is Fred Phelps, who is very educated – he has a degree in Law – and who claims he is very much in touch with Christian values and with the teachings of Jesus Christ.

This inspired group of religious people made itself known back in the early 1990s when they would make their presence heard and felt at funerals of people who died from AIDS. While the families mourned the loss of their loved ones from a strange virus that doctors had no idea how to treat or even what it was, this group of devout Christians was there.

Now that modern science has helped stifle the number of AIDS deaths in the country, the congregation has recently taken to attending the funerals of dead soldiers whose lifeless bodies have only just arrived hours before from a heated war zone in a strange country. Once again, this congregation is there at the exact moment when the families of the dead soldiers who gave up their lives to serve their country are in utter grief.

The message the group sends to the grieving families is very distinct. In fact, it is so unique that the group has gotten quit a bit of publicity in the media. The messages they yell to the families are as loud and clear as the writing on the placards and signs they hold:

“God hates your tears”
“Thank God for AIDS”
“Thank God for dead soldiers”
“Fags die – God laughs”
“Thank God for IEDs”

Of course, when the story got to this part, I refused to believe it. I mean, we’re talking about Christians here, not godless barbarians or uncivilized folk. We’re talking about people who follow the teachings of a man who said messages like “Love thy neighbor as thyself” and “Whomever is free of sin, let him throw the first stone.”

The story was so ridiculous, I couldn't help but laugh. Christians saying that God laughs when someone dies and that we should thank him for explosives? Please! I'm sure the real ending just got lost as the story was transferred from person to person.

"Fred Phelps and his congregation consoled and offered the hope of life to the families in mourning."

I'm sure this is how the story is really supposed to end. After all, isn't this what Jesus Christ himself would have done?

"I grow old... I grow old...

I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled."

It's almost frightening how quickly time leaves our days behind. I was pushed into this world exactly twenty-three years ago today in Orange County, California. By some mix of interesting events, I currently find myself in Boston, Massachusetts, almost three thousand miles from home.

My close friends would claim I made the dramatic move for the sake of love. My family would reckon I moved for academic purposes. I say I did it for both reasons. But I only say this to myself and to those in my life who really know me. In other words, my family knows nothing about the role love has played in my life up until this point, both the lack of it and my delving into it.

If I had the ability to give the world a bit of my twenty-three year old wisdom, it would be that we complicate our lives much more than they really are. If people were less afraid of being honest with each other, if they were more accepting and respectful of others, it would be possible to create a society that no longer barred people from living easy and fulfilling lives.

We need to learn that life isn't really complicated - society only makes it so. As members of that very society, we all have the power to change those complications. Maybe in such a society would I be able to glue the two fragments of my life together. I can already hear my mother saying, "That's right. He moved to Boston for the sake of love and for academic purposes."

What a refreshing change that would be.