Good night, Moon.

I. 1:54 AM.

I received a copy of my birth certificate in the mail a few days ago. Have you ever looked at yours? I actually got choked up. Twenty-five years ago, my parents claimed me. They said, "Yes, she belongs to us," and signed their lives away. My dad was 25, my mom, 19. My eyes traced and retraced her signature, lingering over the neat, vertical loops and the carefully calculated slant. How could she have known it was going to be hard? I don't want to continue writing about this because then I'll never go to sleep. I'll revisit this soon.

II.
I was born at 8:27 PM. There's an old wives tale that basically equates one's affinity for day or night with time of birth. If it's true, it explains why I have always loved staying up late. I did my best writing between 2 AM and 4 AM with a cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and nothing but the stars to keep me company. That was all it took to clear my mind. I would stand on my second-story balcony, unhinge my brain, and scatter the dust, ash, and noise into the blue-blackness of the night. Three years later, I've kicked the tobacco habit, I drink coffee in the morning like everyone else, and try to sleep at a decent hour every night. I feel so grown up. I wish I could feel grown up--be grown up--without sacrificing my nights. I miss standing on the balcony and listening to the world sleep. I miss sitting on the balcony smoking a cigarette in my underwear, brainstorming for my next writing assignment. I miss San Diego night skies the most, especially the 3 AM sky. It's a breathtaking sight--black velvet peppered with white-hot stars, and if you look closely and if the time is right, you can see Mars.

I found my best friend, my "husband of the future" while looking for Mars and other red things. It was an assignment from our Writing and Culture class. Do you know how difficult it is looking for red things at night? We walked around our neighborhood and searched for exciting red things; I was hoping for a little blood (at least dried blood) but didn't have any luck that night. I wanted to have the coolest "red" piece to share in class. We didn't see too many red things that were extraordinary. Red curbs, a dying balloon in his neighbor's living room, brake lights, his roommate's t-shirt, and the fuzzy red flowers growing on the tree across the street; they looked brown in the street light but I knew they were red, so I jotted them down anyway. The best part of that assignment was getting to hang out with Mike. I remember sitting on a cold, hard curb beneath a brilliant 3 AM sky talking about life, smoking cigarettes, and looking for Mars. I remember thinking a few things:

1. I hope I stay friends with him forever.
2. I can't believe we're friends because he's effortlessly cool while I don't even make an effort to regularly shave my armpits, which makes me uncool.
3. I am BUTT TIRED because it's 6:15 in the morning but I don't want to be the one to say good night because he might realize I'm not very cool, and then he won't want to hang out with me anymore.

III. 2:48 AM

I am finally ready to go to bed.