You and I have now entered a new phase. I thank you for continuing our life-long journey together. The road isn’t rougher. I just created more obstacles. I apologize that I had made you upset. Anything I say would only add fuel to the fire. We’re at the point where deep conversations only hurt each other. I appreciate your honesty. Even if we’re no longer meant to be, we still have to fulfill our responsibility.

I wish I could erase all of my mistakes. I wish we could go back to the beginning. I wish I hadn’t ruined so many relationships. While it is too late to turn things around, we can move forward. I no longer deserve you. I have come to accept your coldness. I realize your emotion is no longer present. You do things because you have to, not because you want to. You’re still there for me even though your heart is no longer feeling for me.

Take all the time and space you need to heal. Even if it takes years, I am still here until you no longer want me around. When you asked why I am still here, the reason is obvious. Because I still love you. I understand love no longer has any meaning to you, but I wouldn’t be here if I were no longer in love with you. I love our kids and they will always be part of my life no matter what happens. Nothing can change that, not even you. I would never leave them because neither they nor I have that choice. I will always be their father and they will always be my children. I am still here with you because I chose to. I made my choice based on my love for you, but my choice isn’t within my control.

I used to think that we did it for the kids. Staying in a relationship because of our children is no longer an excuse. We have to make things work for them no matter what. It would probably be more challenging if we were apart, but they will be fine. Our kids are resilient and they will adapt to any environment. My decision is no longer because of the kids. I am still here because of you.

Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.

Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.

Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgiveable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes.

Raymond Carver

I don’t know how to love anyone but myself. I feel like it’s me against the world. I push everyone away. I take love for granted. Instead of doing everything I can to keep what I have, I am worrying about what I would lose. It’s my defensive move. How would I move on on my own? I no longer have my mother to return to. I no longer have my father to run to. How would I fulfill my own duty as a father? Would I just leave them like he had left me? Would I go on and start the damn cycle again? Would I ever find happiness again?

Why do I only prepare for the worse instead of trying to make things better? Why do I try to run away instead of dealing with the issues? I have too much to lose. Unlike the past, I will not get a clean cut this time. Everything would be messy. Is saving myself worth all the sacrifices? Is it worthwhile putting myself before my kids? Spending a day with them, even in the worst state of mind, made me realize what a lucky father I am and yet I am doing everything to lose that privilege.

The other night Đán asked me, “What’s wrong? You seem depressed.” I stayed silent. He went on, “You can tell me, daddy.” I was so touched that my son could see what I am going through and that he would lend me an ear. His love hit me hard. I can’t risk losing that.

I am not as tough as I wanted to be. My emotions are not as strong as I thought. I do care even when I say I don’t. I need love too and I can’t lose my loved ones. I will do everything to make things right. I apologize for my self-centered selfishness. I don’t deserve another chance and I don’t expect forgiveness. I’m so sorry, I’m so obnoxious. My only accomplice is my conscience.

Hendrik Weber, Italic—What Gives Typography Its Emphasis, (p.19):

In the meantime, typography has performed a balancing act by combining modern and traditional forms. Italics fulfil a typographic mission. They have to stand out clearly from the typeface used for the main text, without invalidating it. For this reason, italic forms today are not only dependent on the zeitgeist but in particular on their upright counterpart’s design.

He went on:

Upright and italic typefaces mutually depend on each other. Without upright typefaces, there would be no italics—and without italics, the options a designer would have when laying out a text would be rather limited. A modern typeface should have at least one italic, as a minimum. The number of italics was also connected with the increasing formal variety of upright text typefaces. This adaptive behaviour to any typeface construction testifies to italics’ quality. At the same time, it is also the reason italics are difficult to classify into a particular category or group.

A brief book exams the role of cursive in typography, provides the history of the cursive style, and explores the construction of the cursive form. The book includes lots of historical examples as well as visual illustrations of italicized letterforms. The English edition is translated by Dan Reynolds. The writing is a bit dense, but it is an informing, intriguing read for type lovers.

I finally replaced the Flying Eagle wheels (66mm/90a) with Them wheels (58mm/90a). The original wheels were badly out of shapes when I learned to do the power brakes. They were to the point where I could feel the wobbling, which made dropping in a bit scary. I took a while to do the research because I didn’t know if all the aggressive wheels were compatible. In addition, aggressive wheels were so expensive. A pack of 4 wheels cost $40. For 8 wheels, I would spend $80 and I didn’t know if the wheels would be any good. I was also contemplating on getting a new pair of aggressive skates for $150.

A few weeks ago, I found special deal on Roller Warehouse: $20 for a pack of 4 Them wheels. With free shipping, I ordered 2 packs. Replacing the wheels were easier than I had imagined. I am loving the new wheels. They are smoother. The wheels are also smaller, which made skating more stable.

With the new wheels I am holding off on buying another pair of aggressive skates unless I find a good deal. I still am loving my Flying Eagle Enkidu even though the H-block is a bit too small, which makes grinding and stalling harder. I am just going to spend more time working those skills.

Jami Attenberg writes, “To fuck was divine, but to write was eternal.” In her breathtaking memoir, Attenberg shares her remarkable journey to be a writer. Even though her first few books didn’t do so well, she didn’t give up. She reflects:

Now, nearly twenty years later, I fully understand what the words do for me: when I write, it’s a place I can go to feel safe. It has always worked that way for me, ever since I was a child. The safety of a sentence. The sensation when I push and play with the words is the most pure I will ever feel. The calm space of my mind. I curl up in it. I love when sentences nudge up against each other, when I notice a word out of order and then put it in its correct spot. I can nearly hear a click when I slot it into place. I love making a sentence more powerful, more dramatic or moving or sad. Or when I make a sentence quiet enough that I can almost hear the sound of my own breath. More than anything, I love when a sentence makes me laugh. The words light up for me on the page, showing me what to do, where they want to go. They have always been my best friends in the world. All I need is for a few of them to show up. To soothe me.

In addition to writing, Attenberg reveals personal and intimate details of her life. I appreciate her honesty on friendships, relationships, and self-consciousness. I have to quote the following section in full to remind myself that no one is perfect:

I thought I would be happy by now. I am, for periods of time. I don’t know why I think I deserve to be happy. I’ve done so many things wrong in my life. I’ve lied to protect myself, or for my own benefit. I’ve been mean, said mean things, hurt people’s feelings, and felt justified doing it if I felt they hurt me first. I’ve been selfish, emotionally, physically. I’ve taken what I’ve wanted without asking for it. I’ve been grabby. I’ve taken the last bite. I’ve committed crimes, minor ones, and I suppose it depends on how you feel about the laws of the society anyway, but nonetheless I’ve done these things, knowingly. Stolen things, broken things, vandalized. Consumed illicit substances on both a regular and irregular basis circa 1990 to 2004, and also sometimes still during Carnival season. I’ve cried to get out of a situation. I’ve been grouchy. I’ve yelled at people, lost my temper. I’ve been unfair. I’ve had bad days and taken it out on people, strangers, and loved ones alike. One is no worse than the other. No one deserves any one else’s bad day. I’ve judged people silently and out loud. I’ve taken things in bad faith. I’ve been jealous. I’ve blamed a lot of it on drugs and alcohol, but that’s not an excuse. I have to own up to my faults.

Why do I deserve anything good at all? Is this a question I should even be asking? Why do I deserve happiness? I don’t—not more than anyone else, anyway.

But still, I want it.

I’m a better person now. I’ve grown up, I’ve wizened, I’ve matured. It is time for me to behave well. I still have to live with my guilt for the rest of my life, but the rest of my life is a long time, and I can use what’s left wisely. It is important to me to be of service to my community as best I can.

This doesn’t mean I am perfect now. I will never be perfect. This doesn’t mean I won’t still get things wrong. I have acquired too many scars to be fully healed. I have broken so many bad habits but not all of them. Even the experience of writing a book is just making one mistake after another until you’re not anymore. Every day we sit down to work we swim in a sea of our own fuck-ups. On the shore is one good sentence.

But it does mean I am trying, that I have to try every single day. I am obligated by my beliefs and the lessons I have learned to wake up and consistently try to be a good person. Even if it is not inherent within me, it doesn’t matter. I can still try. And there is no guarantee of happiness to come from this. I don’t have any control over that. I only have control of what kind of person I can be in this world.

I admire this memoir. It’s an invigorating read.

How do you become an out-law?

When you’re no longer an in-law.

This morning, I tried jumping into the quarter pipe, fell down, and hit my head on the metal ramp. Fortunately I had my helmet on. I still felt the impact. I left the skate park and sat on the bench to make sure I could drive home. I took off my helmet and realized I lost my glasses. I looked everywhere, but couldn’t find it. I can’t recall what I did with it.

I had been rollerblading almost everyday for about half an hour. I used the quarter pipe the most to pump forward and backward. I also got a hang of the 180 turns on the pipe. I learn how to stall as well as how to grind. I still have a long way to go, but I am taking my time and being more cautious. I just want to use aggressive skating as a form of exercise.

I haven’t set my foot in the ice rink for a long time. I need to pick up figure skating again. Once the summer is over, I hope that public sessions at the ice rink near my workplace will change so that I can take my lunch break and hit the rink.

I can’t wait for the winter to ski again. I bought a used snowboard. I might give snowboarding another try. It looked fun, but I couldn’t get a hang of it. We’ll see.

Friday was my remote working day; therefore, I took Xuân and Vương to Jolly Yolly Kids Indoor Playground near our house. I wanted them to run around the playground instead of sitting still in front of their screens at home. They loved this “beautiful playground,” as they referred to it, and it had decent Wi-Fi for me to do my work.

We were there for about two hours when Xuân came up to tell me, “Someone just bit me.” He showed me his back and I saw teeth marks. I asked him if he was OK and if he could point out to me who bit him. Both Xuân and Vương pointed to a boy in an orange shirt. He was a big boy, but probably was a bit younger than Xuân. I asked around to find out who was the parent of the kid. I finally approached a man who was gluing to his phone. I asked, “Is he your son?” When he replied yes, I followed up, “Did you know that he bit my son?” He replied, “Yes, I am so sorry. I told him to apologize.” I said, “Why did he bite my son? Was there a conflict?” He responded, “No, he wanted the balloon and he shouldn’t have bitten.” Then he turned to his son, “Preston, say sorry.” His son said nothing. He went on, “If you don’t say sorry, you will get time out.” The kid ran off and continued to play. I turned to the father, “I guess that didn’t do it. You better make sure he doesn’t bite my son again.”

I took my kids away and I told Xuân, “Thank you for telling me what happened. What that kid did was wrong. He should have said sorry to you. I am going to make sure that he won’t do it again.” Instead of getting back to work, I had to watch them play until closing time.

The father didn’t even come to me to tell me about the incident. I had to approach him about it. The kid didn’t even get a fucking time out. He kept on playing like nothing happened and the father went back to his phone. That was some shitting-ass parenting.