These letters are making your word thoughts.

Here I will publish various books essays I write for the interwebs to analyze.

Aliens

I watched part of a program on The Histoy Channel about aliens and wormholes, things most people don't think about on a daily basis for obvious reasons, and it got me thinking of how an advanced alien culture would interact with us. I quickly came to the answer that we would be exploited or avoided. We cannot effectively collaborate with bovine, but they do serve us a purpose, and that is exploitation of them so that we may eat them, or, more precisely, raise them in poor conditions, kill them "humanely," and eat them. My goodness, how ironic the word "humane" is when we're talking about aliens exploiting us. To them, we'd be bovine, such a low rung on the ladder. Since we couldn't cooperate to produce anything of significance, we would be put down under, pulling their inter-galatic carriages and feeding them. If we found alien life similar to a cow, what would we do? We wouldn't extend a hand of peace or leave them alone, at least not forever. We'd kill them, advertise the flesh as the first ever "exotic alien meat from light years away" and buy it for millions as a novelty or for research. On the flip side, I like the metaphor "We're a swamp of mosquitos." Why attempt to converse when we'll just bite you and draw a little blood, or rather send out a nuclear warhead in fear. I'd like to call this hypothesis the exploited or avoided theory. And so, if there's aliens visiting us, you better hope they're munching on broccoli.

My Second Essay for the Russian River Writing Contest:

                An alien vagabond could see the girth of the redwoods that envelope humble Guerneville; anyone could present that. What it couldn't ascertain, without proper guidance, is the essence; the very life that saturates the Russian River area. I'd be the adventurous space traveler's yellow submarine, allowing it to bypass the superficial and dive into the River's curiosities, as well as its spectacles, clarifying the blurry shadows that are the local inhabitants and their fascinating baubles. The goal would be to facilitate an enriching experience.

It's as if instead of spawning from an ocean's fish, the people of the Russian River are just that; their own sect of sapien that evolved from steelhead and rose out of the virgin water, destined to birth Guerneville. So, instead of speeding by them to Armstrong prematurely, I'd advise our visitor to savor the rainbow of characters and let the flavors of their personalities linger, as it would be vaguely regretted if it didn't. I'd showcase the identity that constructs and rides his own motorized tricycles around town &c.. "Know these people not by their names, physical structures, or material," I'd say, "as they truly deserve to be, and are, a destination themselves." I'd proffer this because not doing so would be a prodigious disservice.

Next, we'd arrive at Armstrong, where toothpicks meet behemoths. Slowly, the world would meld into a sort of fantasy forest, in which I'd suggest to our visitor to think of how the area compares. Not necessarily to other phyiscal destinations, but also emotions and ideas. "Do the redwoods inspire you?" I'd ask. "Hopefully, as that's one of the reasons I'd expose this, not just to show elderly, large trees, but magnificient symbols. The trees have acquired a sense of wisdom over the many years, yet no senility." Maybe our out-of-towner would benefit from going to this thing of mind and trees.

Lastly, I'd commandeer a hot air balloon, just for this special occasion, flying over the immaculate, snaking river, spectating the various audacious rafts and features, having the redwood trees encompass all vantage points, allowing our guest to peer down because this would let it appraise what it and its peers could possibly fancy next.

Perhaps our alien could enjoy the River's succulent fruits more thoroughly if approached in such a manner as this, which could translate to many things, including economical and creative stimulation. That is why I would show someone out of the area these places in this fashion.

 I wrote the following for the 2010 Growing Up Asian contest:

The Heart's Muse

        Life teems with advice on how to act and what to be, much of it violently colliding with opposing values. It creates tsunamis fed by the unsavory aspects of the human element, including racism, jealousy, and lack of empathy, which are nothing but paths to hatred and blinding of the heart. From birth to death we observe and try to understand it all. This isn't a matter in which you have a say, however, being comfortable with who you are and doing what you feel in your heart definitely is.

When I was quite young, I didn't decide I wanted to be an animator and film maker, my heart told me I did. I listened to it and gratifying things have followed. It is lovely to have the encumbering ideas that just float around, unable to be expressed, explode out in bounding leaps of joy soaking in the freedom. In this relatively short amount of time I've been living, it's been noticed that when you think about and act on the little hints your heart drops you, splendid things come about.

We make decisions and change every second. In geometric terms, the heart is not a cube or cylinder, but an organic shape that is never absolute, a living thing. When met with a choice, we compare everything we learned from the past to it, and then decide. Other people do the same, and we judge and set expectations for them. While doing so, it would do us good to remember that their values may not be the same.

What all verdict making can be boiled down to is the fact that everyone has a sense of right and wrong, accurate or not, which is why we should reach out to others and show them what is truly right. What is truly right is what creates happiness, love, peace, and progress. What is truly right does not discriminate gender or race. What is truly right is to be and do what you feel in your heart.

These are a couple of poems for The Robot Day 2010 Poetry Collab on Newgrounds.com: