this is for all the late bloomers

i put some zeppelin on last night while getting ready to meet a friend for drinks and had a flashback memory.

i’m maybe 14 or 15, chatting on aol with a boy i met in a chat room — one of the few ways i could connect with the world at large those days…the world outside my sheltered chinese household.

the boy i was chatting with loved zeppelin, therefore i loved this boy.  i was eager to indulge in my newly purchased classic rock selects from columbia house.  he told me his favorite song was the rain song.  i hadn’t listened to that one yet, so i scrambled to play it in my cd player, and shit…it was sooooo good.

i talked to him as if it was my longtime favorite.  as if i was cool enough to have discovered it through my ex hippie parents or some uber hip older sibling.  i was trying to claw my way into a different reality.  a different culture.  a counterculture.  something different.  anything different.  something that represented freedom.  something that represented expression.

i fantasized about having parents that played the beatles for me when i was small.  i pretended that i had grown up air guitaring to hendrix, singing joplin’s lyrics, or losing my mind to the grateful dead.  instead i bought them all for a penny, but only if i promised to purchase four more cds at full price.

i scavenged whatever information i could from Dazed and Confused, from my friends and their parents, from books, magazines, old yearbooks, thrift stores.  anything.  in college i faked what i could about the extent of my musical knowledge.  the who?  oh… The Who… erm, yeah…love em.  i listened faithfully to classic rock stations.  i watched documentaries about haight ashbury.  i saw phish.  i dropped acid.

i am a late bloomer.  it’s nobody’s fault.

now here i am, having started a career in the arts “late.”  shhhhhhhhhhit.

my birthday is approaching.  sometimes i trick myself into thinking that time is my enemy — that it’s something that could run out on me if i don’t hurry the fuck up.  here i am, looking like a baby, but knowing the truth and wondering if that will sabotage me.  aye.  in reality these thoughts are what sabotage.

all i can do is push harder and be as authentic as possible.  be true to myself.  love myself.  and never give up.

these days i truly appreciate the depth my upbringing gave me.  i am who i am because of my struggles.  i love that i come from another culture.  i love that i had something to fight for.

i am eternally grateful for all the opportunities that have come my way.  they are truly gifts.  i am so blessed.

to all you other late bloomers out there:  never give up.

never ever ever give up.

from my shoot this summer with lee clower