as i write this the little clock in the lower right-hand corner of my computer reads 10:15, and my mom is stressing me to go to sleep. "you're still on the computer, joseph, you should be resting." those are her exact words. i wouldn't misquote my own mother anyway.

i have a mother who unconditionally cares for me. ME, of all people. everyday, she hears stories about the overachieving children of friends and relatives, and then she sees me. her little boy, the boy she nurtured with fairy tales and mashed-down gerber-style filipino cuisine, but grew into this heartbreaking example of wasted youth.

the doctors told her a lot of things when i was born. first, due to my premature birth, they told her i that i had a 50/50 chance of survival. my parents were so worried that i was going to die that they immediately had me baptized in the hospital. i spent the first month of my life in the intensive care unit.

my mom massaged my hands for a whole year, because the doctors told her that i wouldn't be able to use them to grab on to stuff if she didn't. now i feel that these hands have a greater purpose; whether it be penning a career-defining work, using them to direct a body of people to create the art that i so envision, or massaging the neck of someone i care for deeply.

i think i've told this story before.

i don't think i own the english language enough to articulate this feeling. "gratitude" is the wrong word. i don't owe my mother gratitude for bearing and raising me, i owe her my life. i owe her some sort of success; something greater than a giant "thank-you;" something that explains to her that this is why you spent so much time bringing up this kid.

i don't want to prove to be the talentless hack that i fear of being so much. right now, the back of my throat itches, and my retainer is squeezing my teeth like a bear trap on a human leg. my right leg is asleep.

tomorrow i will most likely not attend school. i'm calling in sick, though i know i will regret missing a day a la escuela and the speed i will lose from missing a monday track workout. i need time to recover from this physical sickness, and perhaps a little more time to decide if this mental one is really such a big deal.

my health sucks, my country is at war, and i'm 17 years old.

if you've read all the way here, to the end, who's high and who's low?

it's time to regain my strength.

goodnight world.

xoxo joseph

p.s. adrien brody won best actor at the oscars. that's sort of cool.