It's nice to see the season changing again. Every time the season changes, I experience nostalgia. I usually have images of my childhood from my elementary school years. For example, when fall comes, I remember elementary school starting up again. I always go back there I think because those were my good years. That was back when I was able to laugh. That was back when I felt free and unburdened. I don't think that I'm done with my childhood yet. I think it ended too abruptly. The responsibilities of adulthood came on a little too fast. Things became serious. Something inside of me broke.

I don't laugh much anymore.

I have this theory about psychosis. People disconnect themselves from reality because they are unable to handle its pressures. Their minds are weak. Their minds give up too easily. They may be okay as a child, but as the realities of life set in, they close up their minds to them.

I had this friend in high school, my best friend. He had quirks. Kids are cruel towards, and un-accepting of, those who are different. Academically, he was fine. Socially, he was not. After we graduated from high school, I went off to UCLA, and he to UCR. Soon after though, my friend would drop out of college and stay at home with his parents. He could not find a job - or he didn't want to. His father came to me and begged me to encourage him. He said, "I'm afraid that he will not be able to concentrate on the job. I don't know what will become of him. Please encourage him." And of course I tried my best to. His brother moved out of the house and started his own life. His sister moved to Austria and started her life there. She's married now. I've lost touch with my friend. I had called his house one day and his mother told me, "He doesn't live at home any more. He doesn't want you to know about the place where he is at right now." And that was it.

I didn't have a good time in college. During my first quarter at UCLA I got news that a female friend of mine from high school was kidnapped, sexually abused and murdered. Her body was found in the desert by a highway. This was the fall of 1995. She was the sweetest girl that I had ever met. I was devastated that something like this could happen to someone like her and was unable to concentrate on my studies for a time.

During my first quarter at UCLA I was put on academic probation and forced to take tutoring. I still have nightmares in which I am not able to answer the questions on my final exam and, as a result, fail to graduate from college. I wake up from these dreams greatly relieved that I have already graduated.

UCLA was tough for me. I didn't enjoy it at all. All I did was study and yet still did not receive good grades. I'm not sure that I was UCLA material. I remember an assembly in which they assured all students that we really did belong at UCLA, because Admissions "don't make mistakes." I'm not so sure about that. I'm still trying to prove to myself to this day that I am UCLA material.

After giving up on medical school, I went straight into work, not knowing where to go from there. Nine years later, I'm still in that same job.

I befriended this co-worker during my first four years there. He had his quirks. While he had been paranoid about the rest of his co-workers, he had found himself able to confide in me. He was under a lot of pressure to succeed. He told me that it was up to him to support his family of father, mother and sister. His mother and father had retired. His sister was still in school. He had worked his way up to the supervisory level but I found out later that he did not go about his job in a healthy manner. The work that his subordinates had already done he, not trusting in their work, would do over for them, often staying at work until four in the morning, and of course keeping this a secret from all of us, I had later found out from his sister. When they had installed the video cameras at work for security reasons, he started telling me that the government was using those cameras to spy on him. He asked me if the others at work had been saying things about him behind his back and I told him truthfully that I didn't think so. He brought it up to management and the investigation into the matter turned out negative. He was subsequently asked to take a leave of absence. Later, he would be asked to take a leave of absence again, during which his family sought medical help for him. Not able to get his act together, he was asked to resign. After he resigned, he asked me to take him to church, which I did. Then he told me, "God, or the Devil, has been giving me messages. I have been noticing all these signs. Why am I being tortured?" He and his sister had an argument over his refusal to take his medication, after which he got a hold of the keys to his car and disappeared for the night. His sister called me up to ask if I knew his whereabouts, which I did not. The following morning, his sister called me up to report that he had gotten into a car accident and had passed away. There was no one else involved in the accident. He had somehow gotten his car to go over the railing and off the bridge.

At his funeral was the first time I had ever given a eulogy. I was his closest friend when he died. It was the first time I had ever seen an open casket. When I was carrying it with five other guys, I almost dropped it, it was so heavy. I often think about how bad that would have been. He was in his mid-30s. This was 2004.

His sister had feelings of guilt. His parents probably have feelings of guilt. And I have feelings of guilt. Oh, I should have done this. I should have done that. I should not have given him any ideas by driving so aggressively like I usually do.

Nowadays, I stay away from those kinds of people. I don't in any way want to have any responsibility for their actions. I am not able to help them. I'm not a therapist and will no longer try to be one.

I don't laugh much anymore. I just want to turn back the clock and re-live my childhood.

In his early thirties, Qian was quiet as a shadow. He avoided eye contact, and rarely spoke or expressed his opinion. "Live quietly with your tail between your legs, that's the only way to avoid trouble," his father was supposed to have told him as he lay dying from a knife stab, the result of faction fighting in the factory at the height of the Cultural Revolution. Following his father's lesson, Qian had diminished into an unnoticeable person.¹

1. Lijia Zhang, "Socialism is Great!" (New York: Atlas & Co., 2008),  p.78.