February 8, 2016

  • The Girl of My Heart

    Dear Ashlyn,

    Do you remember me? I wonder all the time, if I still linger in your mind, somewhere beyond the confines of this world. While these words will never discover your eyes, I had to write you anyway, in case I lose my heart.

    Not a day goes by when thoughts alone don’t cross paths with the ghost of you, remnants of our secret past. You epitomise all the girls I couldn’t save, even her when I was little, and I’m so sorry that I lost you too. The anguish is much more than the agony endured, with nothing I can do. I sit in front of a virtual piece of paper and materialize imaginations that manifest into everything I own.

    On the outside, everyone thinks I have it all together, but in truth, misery refuses to leave me, no matter how hard I try. Kind of tragic, how this boy is still looking for someone to save him. However, even when making friends, they turn away with great carefulness, afraid that I might get the wrong idea. It makes me laugh with tears inside, for my heart remains elsewhere, with you.

    But I suppose it matters not, this loneliness haunting me in daydreams. You’re not here anymore and whatever is left will eventually wither to dust. I promise that unto my final breath, bittersweet anticipation will stay for me to see you in the skies. I long to smile again.

    Oh, dearest love, I don’t think this place is for hopeless romantics like me. It seems I’m here for the sole reason of suffering, but somehow, my courage contains the capacity to mend a broken heart or two. Their pain is worth the battle, but your romance is worth living and dying for.


June 2, 2013

  • A Better Introduction, Confession, & Xanga Hello

    Hi.  I’m DearRicky.  You may remember me from such Xanga posts as The Art Of Loving A Woman, Growing Up With Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, The Handjob Incident, White People Are Beautiful Too, A Response To ‘Fuck White People’, 4 Steps To Mending A Broken Heart, Girls Are Hot, Because..., Armpits: The Reason Women Don’t Need Makeup, A Love Letter To White Women, A Love Letter To Asian Women, A Xanga Interview With DearRicky, The Xanga Girl Who Saved My Life

    Okay, seriously.  You’re probably going to remember me for all my controversial postings and flame wars with certain people, and hopefully the romantic writings that have made you throw up, either orally or optically.  Now that Xanga is on the verge of shutting down, I realize I’ve never taken the time to properly introduce myself.  Whether you’re a hater or fan from past or present, I’d like to spend a few moments to show all of you who I really am.

    But first, I have a little CONFESSION to make: Xanga was in actuality a social experiment for my now-published book.

    When I first started blogging here, it was during the end of ‘04.  I wrote with no holds barred honesty and discovered my ability to make people laugh.  I even gained a bit of readership.  It was exciting, but as an amateur, reader’s block eventually got the best of me.  I restarted in ‘06 when I thought I was dying (as it turned out, I was eating too much vinegar and developed wheelchair vertigo, lol) and wrote for myself.  Yet with another near-death experience in ‘08, I knew I had to get published, so I might have immortality through words.

    By the aforementioned year, I had already written a handful of blogs.  I gained massive subscribers through friend requests and used Xanga as a way to determine if my literary style was worth the read.  Apparently, it was… and as for the controversial fun, well, that was simply to test the waters of the public, to see how far I could take things in the world of published things.

    Perhaps it was wrong and admittedly, I took things rather far, to the point where my popularity went significantly downhill, but my book became a huge success.  Self-published and as of right now, nearly 400 copies sold, I was featured in the Toronto Star, the largest newspaper in all of Canada, and even went on television.

    Xanga however, caught me off guard, and to my surprise, I made a butt load of awesome friends whom I still keep in touch with to this very day.  I don’t regret that for one second.

    As we say our goodbyes and part our ways, I’d like to say THANK YOU for all the good memories, for all the fun times we’ve had together.  No matter if Xanga is gone, you meant a lot to me, the whole gang of you, but especially that girl who saved my life.  You are my friends, whoever is reading anymore.

    So who am I really?  Obviously, my name is Ricky.  Here goes!

    Before I became a motorized madman, I started off being a running madman.  My poor grandmother used to chase my little self around the house just to feed me lunch or dinner.  I was spoiled to the brim because they never made me sit still, but they didn’t regret letting me skip the steps that I was eventually to miss.  It was a blessing in disguise.

    Quite often, I was taken to the park in the afternoon where I was free to roam around.  No one knew why I would fall every now and then, but bloody knees could never get the best of me.  I was unafraid because I understood that no matter how much I stumbled and how many times I might hurt myself, someone would always be there to pick me right back up.

    If you were wondering how I knew this so early, well, I would definitely have to give credit to my dear, sweet mother.  All you need is to imagine a tiny 5’4” Chinese lady carrying an almost nine pound baby, and who knows how much amniotic fluid… yeah, that would be yours truly!  Only, she loved me anyway, despite causing her to have a Caesarean section.  Oops?

    Mother was nothing but joyful when I finally popped out, since I almost crippled the woman while she was preggers.  On the day of my grand entrance, Mom stayed at St. Teresa’s Hospital in Hong Kong.  Yet when a nurse unexpectedly asked Dad to sign some papers, he violently opposed the idea of cutting his wife open.  After they explained how much pain I was causing her with my melon head and that she just wanted me out… TADA!!!

    Since then, I’ve had a fascination towards the female gender.  Mother said that as a tiny little baby, I used to smile at all the pretty nurses whenever they gave me shots.  It scared their skirts off!  I guess I never believed much in cooties as I saw something beautiful in girls that I couldn’t let go of…

    I remember back in kindergarten, I started flirting with little darlings, only to have the lovely young teacher make me stay after class.  I can’t blame her for wanting to play with me and pinch my tender cheeks though.  I was freakishly adorable after all.

    My journey began as a fantastic tale of love, comedy, and sacrifice.  Though I scared my family half to death being the biggest baby bump ever, eating all their food, they continued loving me no matter what.  Honestly, how could I not be hopeful, grateful, and cheerful?

    Sooner than later, I was diagnosed with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy at the tender age of seven, and despite all those tests, the only thing I cared about was the ice cream my parents had promised following the muscle biopsy at Sick Kids.  I was never afraid.

    Although somewhere inside, I knew something was wrong, I was ready for the future to come because while Grandpa always taught me to say “thank you”, “you’re welcome”, and please, he also taught me that the world owed me nothing.  My physical limitations don’t give me an excuse to give in and give up.  They give me the motivation to work harder.  Gratitude is the key.

    Who am I really?  I’m glad and I’m sad and I’m mad and I’m bad.  I’m stubborn and ridiculous and my humour is insane.  I’m mysterious and eccentric and annoying and outspoken.  I don’t compromise with anything because I’m not a one-dimensional person.  I’m hopelessly, helplessly, recklessly… ME.

    You’re also talking to one of the oldest living men with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy at 32 years old.  I don’t consider myself an inspiration, neither a hero nor role model.  I’m only here to encourage others to inspire themselves so they might become their own heroes.

    And words?  Words are funny little things.  They’re an assembly of squiggles and lines that formulate random thoughts and ideas.  I write because there’s too much to say.

    By the way, Xanga isn’t dead yet.  Let’s start blogging again, baby… for old time’s sake! happyhappysilly

    DearRicky, out.

July 9, 2012

  • Returning to Romance

    While I write a great deal on romance, the truth is, I don’t know much of anything about loving a girl. I’m only hoping for someone to love me so I might learn to make her smile.

    Though, I’ve pondered much in this lonely mind, and if I had the chance for some final words before dying, I’d say to the men: “A woman’s heart is the most beautiful thing, more precious than all the stars of every galaxy combined.  Her hopeful thoughts remind us there are some colours in the world that evil can neither touch nor destroy, for her innocence is the eloquence that makes our surroundings come to life.  Remember to take her hand once in a while, and look into her eyes and dream into her everything.  Whisper in her ear and wish upon her heart that she’ll never lose her sense of wonder, the delightful part that makes her elegant in every way.  And tell her she’s not the girl of your dreams, but that she’s her, and it’s all she’ll ever need to be for your privilege of discovering who she is.”

April 17, 2012

  • DearRicky's TV Debut!!!

    Hey everyone!

    So… my TV debut on Fairchild Television’s ‘Leisure Talk’ is OFFICIALLY ONLINE, with English subtitles!!!  I spent the past week writing them just for all you awesome people, so please enjoy!!!  In the 34-minute interview, I talk about my book, women, Duchenne advocacy, chicken wings, and much, much more!!!  And my amazing mom was there as well!!!  RICKY IS ON TV, haha!!! :D :D :D

    Part 1

    Part 2

    Part 3

January 22, 2012


    Today (well, technically yesterday) marks the day that I was featured in the Toronto Star, the largest newspaper in all of Canada!!!  It's one of the greatest days of my entire life.  I started off blogging here, wrote a book, and now this.  Wow, I just wanted to take the time to thank all you Xangans who have been with me from the beginning especially, for your continued support.  Whether you love or hate me, THANK YOU, regardless...

    For the scanned version of my cover story in the FRONT PAGE of the Living section, please click on the picture below to enlarge remember to zoom in).  The online version is here: LINK

    My website: http://www.rickytsang.ca/


    Yours, Ricky

December 14, 2011

  • My Music: PUBLISHED!!!

    It really is exciting how my music is finally published, after more than six years since I wrote the first song.  I think it has been long overdue!

    But I never was much of a virtuoso… okay, I actually failed music class during my elementary years.  However, a challenge is a challenge, and songs were an upgrade to poetry at the time of transitioning to writing articles.  It was incredibly difficult coming up with a tune, but I somehow managed to fumble my way towards composing something with lyrics and a melody.  I hummed it to my sister and suddenly, overcame the impossible, ending up with two numbers.

    Obviously, I can’t sing being on a ventilator, but here are videos, recorded on October 29, 2011 at Phase One Studios, of my sister with her beautiful voice and brother-in-law playing masterfully on the grand piano.  I hope you’ll enjoy my attempt at making music!

    Dreaming Into You: I composed this one on January 29, 2005.  It’s about missing someone; someone who can’t exist, and the journey of letting go.

    All I See Is You: This is the first song I had ever composed, on May 13, 2004.  It’s about the three physical extensions that lead to a woman’s heart; her eyes, smile, and touch.

September 20, 2011

  • DearRicky’s Book Signing Event, Thank You Xanga!!!

    As some of you may already know, I had a book signing event at the local Chapters, the largest book store chain in Canada, for Ridiculous: The Mindful Nonsense of Ricky’s Brain.  It was a GREAT success!

    With only five remaining that I gave to the store to continue to sell… I SOLD OUT WITH 60 BOOKS IN TWO HOURS!!!  The general manager e-mailed me with the exact number yesterday and it was record breaking, wow.

    Dear Xanga friends,

    I haven’t forgotten you.  I never will.  Whether you’re still a supporter or fan of mine, or even a now-hater (hehe), it doesn’t really matter.  I couldn’t have done it without any of you awesome people throughout my years here.

    I started off blogging and ended up with a 422 page book.

    From the bottom of my heart, from the shit-stirring, penis talking, barf-bag vomit inducing hopeless romantic, hilarious jerk-face, racist asshole cripple, I just wanted to say…




    For more information on my new book, please visit: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B005CRRSP6

August 31, 2011

  • Hot Girl Alert: The Adventures Of My Broken Heart

    Five weeks ago, I was discharged from the hospital.  I almost died… again.  I think I should just stop taking leaks at four o’clock in the morning.  I felt my heart accelerating to hot girl alert, and it was especially alarming because when I looked around, there weren’t any hot girls in sight.  I was pissed that I pumped with no reward, so immediately called nursie to see what was wrong.

    Hoping she’d give me a reason for laughter by listening to the right side of my chest again, she instead placed her ear on my left nipple as I sighed with disappointment.  I realized it was serious when she told me of its severity, though I had doubts when my blanket was also flush with inmate orange.  She confirmed that I should book an appointment with the cardiologist.

    After her shift was over, I felt the acceleration worsening and immediately called upstairs to my parents.  It was getting to the point where my entire body was freezing cold, while I shivered so much that I could hardly pucker up for that cute paramedic honey.  While dad was calling 911 and mom continued dressing me, I complained that I didn’t want to wear my favourite sports jacket, in case they had to cut it open.  I said to father in my final words, “Don’t… give… my books… away… for free!!!”

    It was only when the paramedics arrived that I realized I wasn’t dying.  They were all men!  Without glasses, I tried squinting to determine if the person at the door was a girl, but alas, another disappointment.  I wasn’t necessarily afraid of dying.  I just didn’t want to run over the bucket because I still had so much to do, like begetting five hundred babies, for example.

    As they took me to the ambulance via a stretcher, I felt my butt going numb from the hardness.  I was in an awkward position, mainly because of the stainless steel rods in my back from a spinal fusion surgery years ago.  There was an angled gap underneath me for an animal community to reside, and the rain didn’t help.  I of course, had to pick the stormy day!

    The ride was a bumpy one, but at least I got a bunch of free supplies.  Mom went along, while dad got the rest of my things for the hospital stay.  It was probably already six o’clock once I was delivered.  I remained in the hallway for a period of time, and what did you expect?  I was promoting my book to the paramedic.  I was moved to a temporary room afterwards, where I waited an hour for a bed in emergency.  I of course, had to pick Monday, the day of drunken weekend douche bags!

    Rewind to an hour ago.

    Inside the temporary room, my arms were going super numb and I had to be cushioned all over the place.  I eventually consumed all their blankets and bed sheets.  During that time, mom called dad to remind him to bring my glasses and books to sell.  I was potentially dying, but still a businessman.  Then my blood was drawn from the foot because my arms couldn’t stretch properly.  It reminded me of a certain woman at the healthcare centre who did the same and told mother and I that she had a foot fetish, on an annual basis.

    When another paramedic took over… need I even explain what I did?  He (yes, another dude) was surprised that I spent a little over five years writing a four hundred plus page book and wanted a copy, and all I wanted was to go home and press the upload button for my official website!  And when dad arrived, he forgot my books!

    Before getting a bed, I was probed like a human guinea pig to see if anything was wrong, except, they only checked my heart when the palpitations were gone.  I definitely wanted to force myself to get anxious and induce an attack, but was afraid to provoke number two since I took a laxative the night prior.  Rice is binding, okay?

    Getting transferred to emergency was easier than I thought.  It was only several feet away.  I was asked a bunch of questions and tested some more until the doctor came in, basically informing me of even more tests that were coming.  I wasn’t nervous or anything.  I just had to go poo.

    While being monitored, nothing extraordinary was detected, even when I had palpitations that came occasionally.  The numbers never changed when it felt like my heart was beating too rapidly, or skipped a beat, so I figured it was probably anxiety.  However, the doctor deemed it necessary for me to remain in the hospital for a couple nights, over at the Intensive Care Unit.

    Both my nurse from that day and sister (from about an hour away) came to visit me, which was rather moving, but still I had to poo!  So during the wait for a bed in the ICU, I was transferred to my commode and lo, the toilet seat aligned exactly with the bottom of the “privacy” curtains.

    “Great, just great… now my entire dongle is on public display… for all medical professionals, visitors, and that bat-shit crazy woman next door!!!”

    Obviously, after emptying out, I had to replenish myself.  I only had an Ensure, juice, and water since the early morn, and it was almost eight o’clock in the evening already.

    Returning to my wheelchair was an even greater feat considering that it was too much of a hassle to get my pants back on.  I was afraid of getting poked in the ass by the armrest stump, but sat on a blue sheet resembling that of a, sigh… diaper.  When I tried engulfing that sandwich from the cafeteria for rich people, another nurse came in to take me.  My stomach was stark raving hungry as she wheeled me upstairs, and after the elevator ride, we followed the giant red dots on the floor.

    “Is that blood?!” I asked.

    It was then that time suddenly froze when I caught a glimpse of heaven in the form of an angelic silhouette behind the frosted glass window.  I almost had a heart attack when the doors were opened and was in the land of sugar and spice and everything nice.  Intensive Care was intense.

    The kindest eyes and smiles filled the air as irregular heartbeats didn’t seem abnormal anymore.  I was like a groundhog that just ate a leaf of lettuce sprayed with a cayenne pepper solution.

    She looked into my eyes and I gazed deep into hers.  We had a connection, while I had a tingling sensation, but realized it was just the cool saline she was injecting in my veins.  Damn it.  Then I almost fainted, but realized I needed food, so finally started my nine o’clock feast.  I was racing time with each and every bite as one of my parents had to return home while the other stayed behind.  I don’t think I’ve ever finished drinking a litre of water in only five minutes.

    After freshening up, the hospital redeemed itself when the launch sequence for hot girl alert was finally initiated.  Two young nurses entered my room and all the wires and junk were about to pop off.  Somehow, they managed to get me up in the air via the ceiling lift amid the forest of tangled circuitry.  I felt a cool summer breeze, but immediately remembered something in horror.  I had no pants!

    And so I prayed that the ICU babes wouldn’t look up because a) there was an expedition underneath involving my bare buttocks, and b) the stupid blue sheet was stuck between my sweaty ass cheeks!  Face-palm much?

    The moon eventually returned to orbit when I was transferred back to bed.  My aunt did the physiotherapy while mom was cleaning up, and we all waited for dad to return from home and take over because it was more trouble to teach the staff my ridiculous routine.  However this time, he remembered to bring my books and I was like Donald Trump, only with hair that I voluntarily buzzed away.

    I suppose hot girl alert truly became a reality when the palpitations came back.  Ha, she even had to tranquilize me in the middle of the night with all that excitement!

    I awoke to yet another reincarnation of the foot fetish woman, starving.  I couldn’t have breakfast without the risk of choking to death and the starvation continued while lunch was also on hold.  There were so many appointments that required me to stay in bed.  I had an empty stomach until four o’clock in the afternoon, but ended up stuffing myself silly with a pair of meals, along with the dinner in the middle of my anti-fast.  I was eating for more than two hours straight.  I never had hospital food that good.

    Of course, I had to be tranquilized again on the second night, but fortunately, was approved for a discharge the next morning.  The cardiologist said that although the numbers showed nothing, my heart was still weak resulting from the effects of Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, but I was already told that in 2003.

    Strangely enough, while I was given a truckload of new medications, they never prescribed the tranquilizers that took away the irregular heartbeats.  I went home nervous as junk without the drugs, taking Gravol instead as a temporary measure against potential palpitations.  Yet when I finally got my precious pills, I didn’t even need them.

    Then I had aspiration pneumonia after choking on a piece of broccoli that was the size of a thumb, my reward for eating vegetables.  I swear the narcotics are for my family.

    But last week, I sold a whopping TWENTY-ONE books and yesterday, returned home from two stores and both agreed to help me sell Ridiculous: The Mindful Nonsense of Ricky’s Brain.  Did I mention that one of them is Chapters, the largest book store chain in Canada?!  A book “signing” event has been arranged for next month, while the local newspaper will probably be involved.

    I think I need another Ativan…

August 17, 2011

August 9, 2011

  • My New Book: RIDICULOUS!!! (DearRicky On Video)

    Of course, some of you might have wondered, What the hell happened to DearRicky?  One guy even started rumours that I was dead… but no, I’m still alive and wheelin’ all right!

    The main reason for my absence (sort of) was because I had to finish writing my first ever book, Ridiculous: The Mindful Nonsense of Ricky’s Brain.  I’ve actually been writing this 422-pager for over five years and now I’m a published author!

    Ridiculous: The Mindful Nonsense of Ricky’s Brain is a raw and unadulterated anthology of the human mind, packaged in a chaotic mix of romance and comedy at its finest.  Told with brutal honesty and heartfelt emotion, Ricky’s uncompromising style of redefining the infinite facets of life promises to keep readers on the edge of their seats.

    Turning the pages through this incredible journey of everything, you’ll find both fictional (short) and real-life stories, along with a collection of love letters, and not to mention tragedy, self-help, philosophies, and much, much more.  Feelings are bound to be stirred.”

    Click to enlarge.

    My book is available for purchase through Amazon for the United States and international buyers.  I hope you guys will support me and get a copy.  Just click on the button below, then “See all buying options” on the right and you’re set.  Amazon will do the rest because shipments are fulfilled through their warehouses.

    ** Please remember that for every book sold, a dollar of the proceeds will be donated to the White Ribbon Campaign in an effort to end violence against women from across the world.  It isn’t much, but it’s all I can do. (:

    For more information, please visit my official website:


    Don’t forget to join my discussion forums!

    Canadians will need to purchase through PayPal via my official website because Amazon Fulfillment doesn’t ship books to Canada as of right now.  E-books are also available from there.

    The Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/RidiculousTheBook -- LIKE?

    I’m also on YouTube!!!

    Please check out my book, and get your copy of Ridiculous: The Mindful Nonsense of Ricky’s Brain.  I could only write it with one hand because of my physical limitations: Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, so I’m really proud of my work.

    I hope you enjoy reading this “AUTOBRAINOGRAPHY” as much as I enjoyed writing it.  Let me know what you think, and I can’t wait to hear from you!

    And please help me spread the word.  Please also send a rec to your friends and subscribers.
    Remember to add me on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/DearRicky