Enlighten Me, Mr. Xie

Me: I must admit though that I am rather fond of being held.
John: Trust me, every guy has that desire to be the mountainous figure to hold a slender body.

Here's the thing.

I can't write as eloquently or as passionately as the majority of my friends who have the ability to produce the most stirring words as naturally as they take each breath. Perhaps I am not as talented, as driven, as intense, as kind, as sweet, as special in the eyes of others as my peers are. We walk the streets and the halls in a dignified manner, yet it is I who shrinks into the shadows of those above me.

Hello, world.
Mediocrity is my name.

However, you need not pity me and my lowly stature. No, dear world, you needn't frown at such a silent acceptance.

Because Mediocrity may be who I am, but I will rock it like no one else.

If only it were in me to tell you just how much the mere act of missing you breaks my heart.

Self-Abhorrent for the Sweetest of Reasons

He likes me back.

Not exactly in the mood to write an essay of immeasurable proportions to list out the reasons as to why I wish to kick myself right now. Perhaps all that matters is that I just do.

Lord, Not Again

I am very sure that this time, I will wait and let infatuation subside.

It's been one year since this feeling. It would be best if I do not tell him.

My Mind At Peace, My Heart Complete

Life is wonderful right now.

Is it all that obvious that I saw the loves of my life today?

In Hookah's Place

Blogger will have to suffice. The reasons as to why my place is not with my friends tonight (after a hearty Thanksgiving dinner) is something I'll leave for your imaginations... or the lack thereof.

As drinking becomes a recreational activity for the majority of my peers (perhaps even my own, but that's on a later note), I find the act of drunk-dialing, drunk-texting, drunk-anything, in fact, to be an entertaining complement. No, that wasn't meant to be some sarcastic comment on how I absolutely abhor alcohol (which I don't, but again... on a later note). That, ladies and gents, is an attempt at sincerity. Visualize and imprint this scene into your cerebrum.

Here you are, sitting ever so quietly in what could very well be the most comfortable sofa you have and will come across in your life. Shit, man. You aren't even one to utilize superlatives. So there, nice and snug, you sip quietly away at some warm drink--since some of you out there are obviously incredibly anal about tea and/or coffee--content with whatever Life has brought upon you thus far. Then you feel your phone vibrate in your back-left pant pocket... a feeling that is undoubtedly uncomfortable, mind you. And you hear his voice on the other line:

"Baby! I loooooooooove you, man.
Seriously. You... are awesome... and... Hm. You know, I never really
looked at the back of my palm befo--"

You hear the phone click and befriend the following dial-tone. Lovely, isn't it?

--

A minor digression from thought brings me back to Blogger with a post-Dirty-Dancing mindset.

Ah.

A Passionless Maiden No Longer

I feast, ladies and gents, at the table of Ms. Ayn Rand tonight.

For No One

From a catalog that contains a boundless number of moods, I hesitate to choose. Really, which could possibly describe "infinite," "everything," and the infamous "nothing"? So here I sit, quietly, listening to the frequencies that pulse through these sterile white earphones.

And then I hear the subtle strumming of guitar strings, reminiscent of romantic Renaissance ballads.

I'll love no one and let no one love me

Never before did the chaos within this infinity, everything(ness), and nothingness that is me subside so quickly and so peacefully. There have been moments before that mirrored this, yes... but it has been a while since I felt--no, believed--that things were at last fine.

Fate, Destiny, and all of Life's other mistresses will not and cannot bother me tonight. For tonight I sleep safely in the solace of gentle strumming and sugar-coated dreaming. It's been a while since things were beautiful.

And in the meantime i have nothing to say
I'm here in vain

Will Go on a Rampage.

I swear to all pagan gods out there that I will go apeshit if another Nicholas Sparks novel evolves into another disgustingly moving movie.

I will.

Bunkum & Balderdash, I Say!

Leave me be as I attempt to procrastinate once again.

Humans, by nature, are selfish and insatiable. And this one simple statement, as a realization, is enough to bring my sugar rush crashing down into a midnight-low of listening to saccharine ballads of Richard Marx and Phil Collins. With that, my thoughts drift to more nonsensical things.

Sex sex; sex? Sex!

[seks] n. v. adj. adv. everything is sex. There is nothing that is not sex. There was a time, as recently as the early 20th century, when sex simply denoted penetration of the Male Penis into the Female Vagina. The term quickly expanded to include other activities, like oral and anal sex. (One could have sex without producing offspring.) Sex was flexible, it accommodated more: activities between more than two people at once, between one person and him or herself, and between no people at all. It was beautiful, in a way, as all forms of physical desire and expression were allowed into sex's generous arms. Sex became a verb ("Go sex that phone for me"), an adjective ("That shirt is so sex"), and even an interrogative ("Sex?"). But at a certain point--some scholars point to the middle of the 21st century--sex had taken on too much meaning, and, hence, lost its meaning. It traced the path of so many other words in our language--computer, American, art--from Useless to Beautiful to Useless. Sex sex; sex? Sex!

--Jonathan Safran Foer
page 124 of The Future Dictionary of America

Something hilarious within a rather dull day.

Romance

Something has been tugging at my heartstrings as of late. And it absolutely does not help that I wish to listen to Disney love songs (with a few favorites from KOST 103.5) and to watch Shakespeare In Love. Pathetic, I know. But tell me, who are you to judge?

I've reached several revelations that I may have stumbled upon in the past, yet have not yet deeply considered them until now. Not until now did I just accept that there is something desirable in this thing called Love. How can one not? Looking around, watching couples exchange bodily secretions with no respect to the eyesight of an innocent passerby may make anyone who is (in)sane enough vomit. Unfortunately, it is this display of grotesquerie that common folk label "love." To make things short, this supposed "love" will end the next night once the poor girl finds the apple of her eye exchanging unmentionable fluids with another of her sex. But enough of that. What I speak of, and inevitably seek at this moment, is something that I define (with good intention) as Disney love.

Call me an idiot, call me insane, call me a child. I want that one person who seeks nothing more of me but my presence in his life. It is this realization that I try to avoid, try to hate. Growing up to abhor everything in the attempt to avoid silly views did nothing else but lead me in the opposite direction: to seek the unattainable ideal. To seek that prince.

But now I ask you to tell me what exactly is wrong with that. Perhaps I do set myself up for disappointment, having already realized that it is an unattainable ideal. Keep in mind, you speak to a realist who already pushes aside all emotion, only to realize that the lack thereof is what is making her grieve all the more. It is only her mere wish to feel some sort of passion in her life once again.

To be on a romantic rendezvous where the boy attempts to woo her with his gentlemanly manner, only to achieve his goal with his naiveté as his most charming aspect that night, is something short of very endearing. Perhaps his attempt to entice her with sweet ballads on the guitar, piano, or sax proves almost disastrous with her chuckles at his crooked jacket. Yet in the end, the sweetness of silence against his humming your favorite song while the two of you dance to a backdrop of darkness blanketed with stars is enough to stir the coldest of hearts.

Hell, the mere tabs of Endless Night and Beauty and the Beast are so damn well-formulated that tears trickle down the faces of many lonely girls out there. What more when a certain boy names a star after you? One may argue that men are just far too daft to think of things that can match the romance that is fed so early on to us of an oh-so-gentler nature. However, Landon Carter, graced to us by a certain Nicolas Sparks, was fictitiously capable enough to take Jamie Sullivan to two places at once. Sure, it may not be real, yet the existence of it in literature proves the impossibility of its impossibility.

In turn, to finally end this inane entry, there is nothing wholly wrong in wanting, in asking for that old-school type of romance.

Tell Me Why

That is all I wish to know. Why can I no longer feel as passionate as before? Why can I no longer find it in myself to care? Why can I not reach into my soul and draw out words that mirror the rawness of my being? Why?

All these questions push against my existence, forcing me to believe that without the answers to them, they remain beneath, a festering sore in my soul. And with that, I am left searching for solutions to cure me of their constant nagging. That constant need to know how to set myself free of... anything.

Yet here I am, sitting in my room with what many would like to believe to be a calm exterior. Perhaps it will be easier to believe myself "fine" and unencumbered by care. I will then be free of the "why" factor of my life. However, my very placement in this room, in this chair, desperately clawing my way out of this metaphorical stage just to know the "why" nullifies the ease of finding a solution. Ensnared by my thoughts, I continue my unfruitful search.

Here I must express my absolute anger at the idiotic suggestion of "just not caring." I don't doubt that it has worked in the past for other people, however, such is not the case here. I am not nor have I ever been those people and they have never been me. Of course it's easy to not care, but who other than a self-righteous bastard would find themselves above and beyond human care? I am certain that they are not God.

So here I continue to sit, no longer in my own room but in a wood of uncertainty and confusion. And it is there that I beseech you to tell me why.

And I'd like to bring this entry to a close with a "Happy Birthday" to my dear older brother, Kerwin. Cheers, Kuya.

What Happened?

I remember a time when there used to be such a strong urge to cut, to paste, to create.

Allow Me My Moment of Procrastination

To the right of my laptop is one of three Philosophy readings (Pascal's Wager, James' Will to Believe, and Chapter 9 "Death" in Making Sense of It All) I must obliterate before 8 o'clock Wednesday morning. Under my desk is an English notebook containing several outlines and a prompt sheet, scribbled with green ink, ready for when I undertake the task of writing my paper, due at 10:30 that same Wednesday. So as I contemplate the actions that must be carried within the next 29 hours, I type contentedly away at this blog, musing on musing about momentous activities. And yes, that clause is irritating to repeat.

With my cousin nonchalantly chatting away with her boyfriend of several hours, I find myself idle, unwilling and unable to read about what Pascal has to say regarding the existence of the omnipotent God of Christians. The subject of it is irrelevant in this context, but perhaps it would help to mention that the presence of a bright green post-it on the first page leaves me helpless and incapable of continuing on with the assignment. Ah, woe is me.

But now I am curious. Why does procrastination choose to attack at a moment when time is free and generous? Why are my work ethics and motivation inversely proportional to the hours left before my figurative academic hanging?

Blah. This must end. There are essays that need invasive analysis.

And if you did chuckle at that last sentence, do know that I appreciate your existence.

When the Thought of Arrogance Made Me Vomit

It's been a while since the mere musing regarding the male sex (or any of the three) sent me into a fit that would rival all the bottled-up vexations of teens and young adults worldwide. Now that, my friend, would be a hormone-filled scream to remember. Certainly not a pleasant one at that.

No doubt there are several people out there who shake their disheartened heads at this poor girl who understands naught of the world around her. It's quite alright. I am not one to say that my momentary indignation is completely justified. However, one question rings loudly through my mind, bothering me as I continue through my day, attempting to find solace in anything that may distract me from it. Still it finds me.

Why must there be those who believe themselves to be superior to, as it seems, everyone else?

I would spend time to ponder upon this question and its several possible answers. But... why waste my time, right?

Right.

It's times like these when I hope with all my might that there exists amongst the heavens a vengeful God.

Somebody Loves Me; This I Know

I love getting packages and letters in the mail.

That's all.

Untitled

It's 2:16am and here I am, unable to close my eyes no matter how desperately they wish and beg for rest from seeing. My legs seek leisure from standing and sitting, asking me to just lie down and sleep. My arms are tired from writing, driving, typing, and moving; they only want repose for a few hours. Yet my cruel mind, my restless mind, refuses to give my body the downtime it so desperately seeks.

I want to sleep. I need to sleep. However, at this very moment, it seems as if relief from this fast-paced world into that of tranquility and peace is the farthest from me than it has ever been.

Please... give me rest.

Karma: Out To Get Me?

Oh what a question to be asking when one is anticipating the regretful beginning of the menstrual cycle. Dear.

Being, in essence, a mere 18-year-old girl of a (variable) mild temper, I only wish to question Life and her mistress, Karma, about why both of them are out to get me. Did I really do something that horrible to feel happy despite the several, albeit minor, catastrophes happening daily (with valid evidence to back that claim up)? Such unusual up-beat behavior will not sink me lower to a state of mock-depression yet will send me into a frenzied session of fretting of hours on end. Life, Karma, will you both be all that cruel to one who knows naught of what or who she wronged?

I EVEN HAD MY PARKING PERMIT HANGING ON MY REAR-VIEW MIRROR.

I'm To Wake In 2 Hours

Trying to take in the main points made by John Taylor Gatto's lecture and article, I also ponder certain things that I recently realized.

Next to the obvious "mass schooling is something dreadful" (thanks to Gatto), I find it easier to breathe and live now that something I cannot have truly is something I absolutely cannot have. I haven't been able to smile like this in about 4 months.

All I ask is that no one apologize unnecessarily to me.

Yet I think 2 hours will be a sufficient nap for me before my first quiz. Hurrah.

I Find Solace in Isolation and Silence

It has only about a week.

The common question from acquaintances regarding my well-beings is answered with the usual Fine's and Can't Complain's. Such a question would receive a cheery answer when asked by friends.

But when my closest of friends ask such a thing, I tell them of the contradiction between Very Well and My Heart Hurts. As odd as that may be, it is the closest to the truth that anyone may ever become. So I will not lie. The last few days with freedom unquestioned feels incredibly soothing. Because of that, I answered to no one (no one that important at least, and no one answered to me. Life right here and now feels great.

However, that does not exclude me from Loneliness' clutches. Perhaps it is more so now that I am under my own direct command that she and Grief poke and mock me whenever I find the time to think of anything. And that is when I miss everyone so sorely that even one minor heartache moves me to tears.

Knowing me and my absolute abhorrence of any sort of emotional overload, I am prone to taking out rather reckless actions in order to alleviate myself of anything unnecessary. In this case, emotions. Sadly, as that might cause relief for me, it can (usually) cause commotion with people involved. Right now, I digress--I do and don't understand why people would cause such disturbances in the first place. Now back on track. And considering my latest predicament, it did everything but mitigate the trouble in my mind.

So why is it such trouble? If anyone were to ask such a question, I would point out the obvious. Is it not just incredibly annoying to feel infatuation for anyone? Yet by "infatuation," I mean more than simple interest. For the sake of this entry, I shall place this feeling a level above a simple little girl's crush since both would share the same dumb giddiness when the boy would so much as to look your direction. And this annoyed me to high heaven.

Using the information I provided, you can probably work out the logic to get to the outcome: I told him. Unfortunately, in order to protect the sacred line between confidentiality and the Internet, the details will need to be withheld. However, do know that despite his insistence that our friendship continue, I have regrettably been feeling pokes, pulls, and shoves to my almost-nonexistent heart. It may be small, but it is sensitive. Please don't get me wrong. I want nothing more from the boy than the mere acknowledgment of the fact that I did what I did. Yet, neither do I want to disregard his unyielding wishes to hang out with both my cousin and me. This dilemma calls for a rather bipolar me: incredibly happy one moment, whilst in a few minutes, I begin to find the need to be alone.

Can he not realize that as wonderful as he is, that I just do not want to be around him and be reminded of what I quickly grew tired of? Until that time, I find it only more than essential to find at least an hour to myself to recuperate from the actions and choices carried out by a heavy soul.

Well done, Life.

And it has only been about a week.

When I Knocked Out at 8pm

There are times when feeling comfortable already is one of the most enviable emotions one may have. Really, what anyone would give to have that sense of tranquility at such a time of commotion, uncertainty, and unfamiliarity. That is, unless you find it unnatural.

That is how I am.

While knowing that things are heading in a fairly steady direction as classes begin their start, that certain sensation that things are going far better than you had expect can make even the most minor of things the worst outcome. And I fear that.

But I suppose the only thing to do is to wait and see. And that is something that I really don't want to do.

I'm Free...?

Tensions arise between parent and child numerous times. Such a fact about Life holds true for the last couple of weeks that remained of my presence in my home for fifteen years. Yes, that's right: fifteen years. It was only during the last 2-3 weeks of childhood that I felt the most overcome by the love that was shown (or in some cases not shown) by the mother and father.

But it was alright. Freedom was only a few weeks away. The "Clean up your room"s, "I've only cared for you"s, "Don't you love me anymore?"s (et cetera) will soon cease at come the 3rd week of September.

So here I am, sitting quietly at my desk at 2:53 in the AM, typing away joyously due to the onset of insomnia--which couldn't have come at a worst time. And it hits me. I'm no longer typing in the dark, afraid of being caught awake and uninterested in what sleep can bring.

Never before have I felt so relieved. Never.

Okay, perhaps that may be a lie, but I must confess that this feeling is pretty much one of the greatest that I have felt in a long, long while.

--

Funny thing. I honestly meant for this entry to be one of joyous celebration of the newfound freedom that I have gained from overbearing parents. But now that I think about it...

I am lonely.

My thoughts on it?

"Damn. Trapped again."

And I'm Still A Child

Hiccups. One of those respiratory faux-pas around a dangerously superstitious adult will dictate their coy smiles to be directed at you.

"Who are you thinking about?"

Usually, such a question from such playful lips would entice either one of these answers: "Wouldn't you like to know?" or "Nobody, really." But from deep within, a sigh and a weary, empty "everybody" wish to surface.

That is all.

Words Have Never Upset Me So

... That is, until now.

Off the bat, I can't begin to explain what had happened from the hours of 1am to 6am. Truly, if I knew, I would not have fussed for 5 hours about my personal writing style.

But I suppose it all began once I clicked on the link "Publish Post." Just as my thumb struck the Touch-Pad of my laptop, my mind suddenly went blank. Such a scene would have been portrayed in a film as a sudden desertion of color from a room, with white, almost-insane walls that continue at every possible angle. This blankness, this emptiness was soon disturbed, in my mind, by a simple question that reverberated on the virgin walls: "What did I just do?"

As silly as this may sound now, that question shook my very core. It was that quake that ensued 5 long hours of self-criticism and self-loathing.

From the age of 12, I had already accepted that writing, in its essence, was indeed not for me. Analytical reading, class discussions, all of that I could handle and perhaps even enjoyed. But in-class, timed writing became my biggest academic fear. A planned, uninterrupted monologue that, at many times, contained beneath its blank ink and lined edges, my very heart with which I answered the prompt. Unless the prompt was completely muddled and thus a bullshit answer was to be had.

I suppose it wasn't until 12th grade, senior year, the year I decided to join Academic Decathlon, when the idea of timed writing didn't pose some scholastic peril. Practice was indeed necessary to settle my nerves, to get my thoughts organized, to allow my voice to flow fluidly from mind, to hand, to paper. Perhaps I had enough practice, being able to bring in medals in the Essay portion during both Regional and State competitions. But timed writing wasn't the only monster I had to face that year.

As many seniors would now, the 12th and final year of high school also brings about the dreaded College Application Period. Ugh. Even the mere words chill. And so it was, hour upon waking hour brought about essay after essay. And it was with one in particular that I felt most proud.

Perhaps, I thought, I don't suck at writing all that much.

Until 1am this morning. I suppose it would be almost impossible for me to explain the fear that had struck at such a deep hour in the morning. I mean, how can I expect you, a mere reader, to understand the ongoings within my mind? So with all due respect, I must confess that I don't.

But you know what? It's ok. Because in the end, none of this really matters as I smile sheepishly amongst the warm presence of my dearest friends.

Besides, who the hell would really speak like this in common conversation? Really.

And with that, I'm ready to start the day with a nap.

Oh I Am Stubborn

Plans of self-imposed exile have gone well for the last two weeks. Thanks to that choice, I find myself happier, as if I've gone through a mini-Enlightenment without the heavy dose of Buddhism or Taoism.

But having come back from seeing my old C-team Big Brother and Sister, I sit here in the stillness and silence of my room, finding it impossible to find reasons as to why crying would be unjustified. Had it only been quiet in my room, Loneliness, mercifully, would have passed.

Still, I am strong, right? Throughout my 18 years on this Earth, there has not been a time where I actually succumbed to the Silence and Stillness of this house. Right?

I realize now that I've asked myself that question many times before. And always, my answer disappoints me. But whenever that would happen, I could always take comfort in the thought that I would be seeing Anna tomorrow, that everyone would be smiling during round of coffee. The Silence cannot bother me. And it didn't.

But now I confess that I am afraid of it. It is nothing compared to quiet moments that bring peace to a mind such as mine. The idea of tomorrow doesn't bring the routine comfort that it did back in high school. Uncertainty never terrified me more than it does now.

Questions that I've avoided before take this chance to pester me: What if I don't mean anyone like my friends? What if I find that no one I will meet shall live up to the standards that my subconscious has set? What if I feel this alone for the years to come?

Optimists frown upon this questioning and admonish me to hope. Idealists stand with them and criticize me for being as pathetic as this, assuming the worst of my college experience. Perhaps they're right, but who are they to order me out of the mindset that has defined my very being for years? Who are you to convince from my negativity?

--

I don't know. I just need another dose of familiarity before I leave this Valley. Perhaps I just need to see one more familiar face before I'm forced to gaze upon foreign ones.

Perhaps, at this precise moment, I just want to see my Brit again. It's been too long since I've last laughed along with him.

My Mother Could Very Well Have Been On LSD When She Had Me

I shall smirk throughout the duration of this entry. Perhaps a slight chuckle shall grace our presence.

Sitting in the darkness of my room, fighting off the heaviness of Sleep, I ponder (as usual) upon the many things that have recently happened in the life of a silly 18-year-old girl.

Ouch. My laptop just burned my lap. Pillow, where art thou?

I... already know that I am one of an incredibly whimsical nature. How else would I amuse myself in the early hours of the morning? And so many of my close friendships have begun with one simple statement: "Leslie, you're so weird."

I do not deny that the usual utterance of that statement from the very lips of my closest peers only brings out in me affection for the sayer. Their acceptance of that fact, their very acceptance of me being who and what I am, moves my ever-hardening cold heart.
But when strangers, people who barely know even one-fourth of my history, living less than a year of my life with me, let those words fall matter-of-factly from their lips, there is nothing else I want to do but shun almost everyone in my life. And this is something I can barely explain without people out there, people of very short tempers, getting angrier and angrier as I try my best to avoid their accusing glances.

--You know what? I don't care.

I've gone through the scrutiny of this world before and I have many people who have lived alongside me, understood me, and embraced the very core of my being. My insanity, my craziness, my utter youthfulness, whatever you want to call it; it is me. And I honestly do not see any reason why you have the right to judge and criticize me, expecting me to change just because you will me to.

Do not act as if you have me all figured out. Just because you know one complete and proven trivia about me doesn't mean you have access to change my mood and my behavior. Yes, I may have been open enough to enclose unto you information about myself that may further give reason to my present being, but only Time will provide you the right to be justifiably disappointed in me. And only until Time allows, will I listen to your childish retorts.

And that, sir, is something you need to accept. I do not and I will not submit to you nor will your frustrations faze me in the least. I am not yours to change.

So don't you dare stamp your foot at me like a child spoiled rotten to the point of forgetting respect. Not even for you will I break a promise I've made to everyone I hold dear. Not even for you.

--

After having written that, addressed to a person blinded, I only realize how many other things crossed my mind in this past hour...

I am exhausted. With everything.

Allow Me Peace

"Waking" up at 3am to take a 3:30am shower is better than many would think. For about an hour or so, the house was mine. Mother's loud breathing cannot compare to my Dad's snoring, but it was all the same; the house was mine.

For an hour, Illusion allowed me on of peace and tranquility. And the wheels started to turn.

Never did I think I would miss in-class writing assignments and the time-writing sessions everyday during Decathlon practice. All of that pressure... I fed off of it. I cannot lie--it was exhilarating.

So what do I do now?

...

This is bullshit.

The Cheez Its Are Getting To Me

So here's the thing.

I have been brought up in a household where being proud of who I was would mean placing myself above several others, making it a shame, an unforgivable flaw. Extreme humility was the key to success. Anything other than self-degradation was vanity. This was my childhood.

I don't have to explain myself any further. Those who understand, my heart goes out to you unhindered and pure. To those who don't, a smile and the hope that you never have to feel what it's like to believe yourself inadequate for Life itself.

I miss Anna with a terrible passion.
Who's going to accept my tearful 3am phone-calls?

As Childish As This May Sound

I think I've changed.
It's something frightful.

The Past Few Minutes

Again, I wake up at 4am, realizing that my nap (was supposed to wake up at 6:20pm) had been extended to become an entire night's worth of sleep.

So having these two hours to myself, I realize a couple of things.

I dislike him so much. But what gets to me is that I've never experienced such a thing before. I feel wronged to some extent by him and want some sort of compensation for the feelings I've felt for and about him. And by that, mind you, includes so many from the entire emotional spectrum: hate, pleasure, anxiety, contentment, anger as deep as a scarlet stain on white satin, a mediocre level of "like." The list continues.

Such a range of varying emotions within regarding just one person has obviously taken its toll on my health. I find myself constantly thinking of ways to spite him in order to make myself feel better. But sadly, the only way I even have the least bit of gall to do is hang out with him, clad in my best attire, and act so nonchalantly towards him in order to prove the point that I am, in fact, better off without him. Which I am. I think.

However, this all goes against the pacifistic side of the situation. All I honestly want to do is get over this lingering angst I have towards him in order to just get on with this thing called Life. Friendship or no, I don't care. I just want this internal battle within me gone. How I treat him, how I think about it, it all doesn't matter to me as long as I get this resolved. And I'm not necessarily sure how.

I have gotten progressively better in my vengeful feelings. Perhaps I'm on the right track and such feelings are natural. Right? Not right? Meh.

Eff this again.

Because of my Weakness (A Regretful Goodbye)

During the past few days, many childhood rooms have been swept clean, furniture all packed, clothes all sorted, gadgets neatly placed in cardboard. During the past few days, many friends have been boxing up the majority of their lives, getting ready to settle down in, for some, entirely new environments. As they packed, some found themselves longing to avoid such a task, mostly because it was physically exhausting, others found it emotionally and mentally draining. But almost all of them, in varying manners, are dealing with the inevitability of the word "goodbye."

As I go on through my day, I see many old and past friends voicing their anxieties of leaving the homes they knew since early childhood. At the same time, I see many new friends awaiting that flight or paying for that rental car to get out of this dreary old valley in order to start over, to make use of a blank slate in order to create new identities. Yet however different these two general reactions may be, they do not erase the hidden pang of each heart as the hours, minutes, and seconds tick by, bringing the moment when they realize that they may never see their friends again.

Of course, there are many who object to such an inevitability, wishing to fight the bitch called Fate. And consequently, there are those who choose to leave an image of what they believe is dignity, assuring misty-eyed friends that eternity is theirs and in their friendships. And I'm sure you wonder what my point is in all of this.

To be quite honest, I don't know where I stand on saying "goodbye." It's as if there are two opposing sides of me, one of them wishing that time could stand still in order to hold onto her friends, her youth for just a little longer. The other, and I'm not surprised, wishes she could care more but finds it impossible to find the will to do so and, in turn, attempts face and becomes numb, almost apathetic. As both of these girls exist within me, many would assume that the easiest way to deal is to just choose a side. But for the few who truly know my ways, choosing hasn't been the easiest action to carry out as well as saying "goodbye." So in my indecisiveness, I'm left to continue my pondering from the sidelines, in isolation as my friends continue to live and deal with what must be done: growing up.

So as party after party, dinner after dinner, all in remembrance of what used to be and will continue to be, I continue to pass, still wishing I had enough courage as those close to me to bear the difficult burden of becoming an adult. Opposite ends of me tug at my heartstrings, not wanting to be weak and fear the possibility of loosing those who I hold dear but also not wanting to let them know how much they've meant to me over the past years.

Now, this is not meant to be some lament regarding how pathetic I am in self-induced isolation. This is merely meant to explain (to myself as I type out letter after letter) why I do these things that I know I will regret in the near future. This is a self-examination, so I needn't hear your criticisms regarding such childish behavior. And that, in some way, is part of point.

I fear growing up. I want to stay an innocent child with those around me staying close in case either one of us falls. I want to believe that life is possible with the help of my parents. I want to believe in fairy tales. I want to stay young. And having such an immature mindset during a time when one (a late-bloomer I suppose) takes a step to growing up, I become stubborn, less flexible to life's twists and turns.

And I'm sorry for being just a child. I'm sorry for wanting, in some way, to avoid the sufferings that adulthood comes with. I'm sorry for wanting to stop Time and, consequently, pause Life. I'm sorry being afraid of getting scratches and bruises here and there on this metaphorical road. I'm sorry for... just being afraid and weak. I'm sorry for everything.

But alas, I've realized a few more of my weaknesses. I've acknowledged my fears and, subconsciously, wish to overcome them. I understand that help, no matter how much I want it, will not be guaranteed. I understand that a "goodbye" here and there will not damage the truest of bonds. And with my understandings worded out for you to read, I stand face-to-face before my very fear.

Here I am... growing up before your eyes.

Feeling Elated in the Early Hours of the Morning

Thinking that my previous sleeping habit (sleep at 5a, wake at 3p) would ready me for a normal night routine in Italy. Unfortunately, I didn't take into account the gruesomely long hours of the flight to France--OK, I lie. The hours weren't all too long, but the sitting for 10 hours straight does take its toll on your buttock(s). And due to that, sleeping isn't all too comfortable, especially if you were blessed enough to sit behind a family who just LOVES to "lean back" (hah) and venture off on bathroom excursions so often that you feel tempted to recommend seeing a doctor for bladder problems. Whew.
So sleep was something that caught up with us in the land of the ancients. Lovely, really.

Luckily at 6am this morning (I had already been awake for 2 hours), someone calls the house regarding a little lost child (aka my luggage). Now, I cannot even begin to describe the happiness I felt as I undid the zipper (Lordy, this sounds awkward) to check on my little treasures, little pleasures. Kudos to anyone who catches the song alluded to.

But during the early hours of the morning I realized how nice and peaceful it is to, in some way, have the house to myself. Obviously, it's now impossible to find alone time in the late hours of night since everyone seems to enjoy staying up. But as I sat on the chase at 4am, taking in the still, silent atmosphere and lounging in the remaining hints of sleep within my system, I was happy. In previous times, such a feeling would be accompanied with waking up semi-late to an empty house, with the sun's rays elegantly falling upon your covers, gently fighting the curtain's waning resistance. But that was when I was 10. Sadly, I now wake up too late to enjoy such a simple joy.

Now, I must find a way to sleep early in order to wake up early enough to catch the 4th hour. Or, the most common way, stay awake and pull an all-nighter for old times' sake. --

Eff this. I'm taking a shower.

A Few Realizations Here & There

As some would know, a couple of my friends and I just returned from our recent excursion to the Italian Peninsula. And, of course, I wasn't surprised when the very first question asked was the ever-predictable: "How was your trip?"

Now, it is, with no doubt, a logical question. But if you consider who you are asking, be it Farfetch'd, Vulpix, or me, it would also be unreasonable of you to expect such a generic, one-word answer. That's all.

Great. I realize that I seemed awfully angry up there. Oh well. Do note that I'm not actually angry. It was only meant to be a matter of "fact." Hm. You know what? Let's remove those quotation marks. It is a matter of fact. :)

I forget what else I wanted to type down. It had something to do with life. Hah. Another vague topic. My apologies. Vagueness seems to have become all too easy for me. Why? That's not for me to answer or for you to assume. Actually, I take that back. Assume all you want. It shall be none other's fault but your's if you then proven to be a nitwit. Ack. I promise that the harshness will stop. Soon. Sort of.

Anyway, I've noticed that it has also become increasingly easier for me to isolate myself from others, most especially the closest of friends. It can either be of personal choice or not, but when I find myself silent for a short period of time (and by short, I mean 4 days being the absolute shortest), I also find myself even more distant from those I supposedly love. The reasons behind this are still not known. Please. It's not as if I enjoy analyzing my weaknesses.

...

I lied. I think I actually do enjoy doing that. Perhaps it should be rethought about and added to my list of favorite past-times. Sad, no? Personally, I find it rather amusing. And sad. Okay, no not really. I just find it amusing.

:)

What I've Learned From My Parents Part 2

2. Trust in the goodness of people. Not. Not unless they're not Filipino.

So... all those lectures against my pessimism have been for shit. "Leslie, why are you so negative?" Because I don't like people."That's not good, Leslie." OK, I'm sorry.

What I've Learned From My Parents Part 1

Living in such a loving house and being the daughter of two respected Filipinos, I've come to realize at this very moment two very important lessons.

1. Hypocrisy is publicly looked down upon, but privately practiced. Note: Do not forget to deny and fight any form of accusation. Being in an Asian (or to some of you who might make a fit, Pacific Islander) home in America automatically places me, along with many Asian-Americans, in a very awkward situation. Being the child of such traditional parents puts me in a submissiveness-mandatory position where all they say is Truth. I suppose you can compare it to the Universe and the parents being an omnipotent Being. Not only that, being the youngest, and a GIRL no less, places me in a position far lower than that of my older brother. At the moment, it would take much too much effort than I'm willing to give to explain, so some/all valid arguments will be withheld. But to explain the awkward situation, being forced to submit the Whole of my Being to the Familial Structure built long ago at the a day and age when open-mindedness and free speech are so highly advocated, one such as myself cannot help but be a little confused. So taking into account my status, calling out the parental units on such wrongdoings committed by said party is, according to traditional regulations, not allowed. And thus, I am in the wrong. For what? For knowing what it universally and humanely correct and calling out my parents, my Superiors, on their misdeeds.

So what is Hypocrisy in this household? I don't exactly know anymore. Apparently, my parents have been teaching me the wrong things if I'm actually saying that such a thing is--gasp--bad. But of course my parents wouldn't put themselves in a hypocritical situation, because, you know, they're parents--they know everything. Right? Human flaws? Pish posh. What are those to them? Nothing.

I'll merely learn from example, Mom and Dad. Be racist in public? Judge people by appearances? I DARE NOT! Because that's wrong, right? Right. But--gasp--, that person isn't Filipino. I'm not to trust them, right? That person appears to be some type of party-goer; ehp, can't talk to them, now can I?

What can I say? I'm so proud of my parents.

A Foreign Rant after A Familiar Praise

To keep this simple and short so as not to diminish its ultimate significance: I didn't need a debut when I have friends and family like those I have now.

PERO.

Ano ba'ng problema niya? Bakit hindi siya tumawag sa akin kagabe regarding yo'n dinner natin? Para sa birthday ko, naman, diba?

Siya nga nag tanong sa akin kung pwede payagin ng parents ko na mag dinner kaming dalawa. Alam ko na dapat ko'ng intindihin siya kasi mero'on siya'ng trabaho. I understand that. Pero, wala ba siya'ng decency na tawagin niya lang ako para mag paalam sa akin?

Hindi ko alam ngayon. Gusto ko tawagin siya pero mero'on instances na busy siya. Alam ko; naintindihan ko. So naghihintay nalang ako para siya tumawag sa akin kung mero'on horas. EH, ANO?

Wala.

And there you have it, folks. My ultimate Filipino side, complete with Manila-vocab. Disgusting.

Certain Notes to Certain People Part I

I miss you terribly. This is for you.

This is probably going to be the most pathetic and for that reason (though it's not the only one), you must be the first. Yes, you were one of my boys, but I guess many say that you were more. And I don't disagree.

I cannot say the word "love" in this description for it will forever mar that word... but I did adore you like no other. You were like the others, and yet you still chose to stick around with my insanity. For while, I thought I had infected you with my craziness. It took me 2 months to realize that you were, in fact, crazy to begin with. But my admiration for you only grew.

And it remains to this day... and I confess that you are one of those people who leave such an impressionable mark on someone like me that it becomes hard to forget. Being one of the coolest kids I've ever met, you truly deserved more than what your heart gave you. But life is life, and it eventually ends. I'll visit you again on the 16th of February with the red dress. Together, we will mock the day set aside for lovers.

That is what I wrote for you one day, one of the many I find myself thinking about the past and the possible future. Against your spoken wishes, I thought of the what-ifs and at some point, I remember crying. For what I don't recall. But what, or who, I do recall is you. I confess that there are times when random thoughts of pies or muffins just drift to you. C'mon, you're a difficult person to forget easily, even at all. MANY girls would attest to that (me for different reasons... I hope).

I know that it would be impossible for you to get a hold of whatever goes on in what I'm typing right now, but as you did know, it helps to be an idiot sometimes and talk about your feelings. Right? Right.

But I really do miss you. Sorely. And I also confess that I feel bad at times when I laugh alongside someone else since there is a good chance that that someone else would still have been you. No worries, my thoughts of you won't continue to linger in my mind forever... but shall exist for said amount of time.

You made me promise you many things, one of them being that I would not stop myself from being happy no matter what. So trust me, I'm working on it.

P.S. That turned out quite sappy, which surely would make you scold me in a mild manner. All I have to say to that is this: That's for making me touch a tarantula.

A Letter to Someone

Dear Person,

I know that reaching out to you, whoever you are, in the form of a blog entry is demeaning and downright pathetic. But there's that sense of openness I can maintain without the pressure of concentrated anonymity. I don't know. Perhaps this is the way I can reach out to the void... in the form of my personifying that void, half-hoping (as I have taught myself to do throughout my almost 18 years) that it, he, she will respond.

I don't know where to begin talking about myself, whatever self there is to be had within me.

You know what? I don't know.
But... that's alright. I'm fine with that.

Confusion

There are questions people ask themselves on a daily basis, seeking with hopeful eyes the answers that do not wish to be uncovered. It is because of life's elusive answers (if they exist at all), that confusion is born within the hearts of many children, adolescents, idiots, and adults.

So many of us find ourselves in that rut many times in our lives, wondering if it is ever possible to be retrieved from such a problematic (or so some of us see the situation as) condition. Some may never even bother to search for a solution, finding it easier to just follow easily the twists and turns that life decides to take. On the opposite of that certain spectrum, there are those who will, for the rest of their days, find it abhorrent to be the mindless swine following something so unpredictable.

Where is the confusion there? Those two groups seem completely content to me, firmly believing in their own respective philosophies on how to handle the bitch called Life.
We forget a third group; a group most general and perhaps both small and extensive, depending on a countless number of factors. It is within this third group that bewilderment may thrive.

Within this third group (and I refuse to apologize for "grouping" teenage rebels who will be so awfully irate at the freedom I chose to take in such an action), the incredible ease at which the first group's Taoist ways carry out their lives will be enticing beyond all reason; and so, the attempt to do such a thing begins as certain individuals attempt to just live. That is, until an ill-starred happening poses a threat to the flow that, at one point, looked too smooth and effortless to be true. What then?

They are angered, of course. And thus, the dogma of the second extremist group invades the hearts of those in-between, making them go against the beliefs that they at first wished to hold true to. I cannot find it in my heart to curse at them under my breath. Anyone attempting to both enjoy and fight life would naturally find themselves in a state of perplexity and frustration most unfortunate.

How can you not? You wish to enjoy the existence you hold, following Life wherever it may lead, until it reaches certain points where things just do not seem appropriate. Did you deserve that at all? Why you? Why him? Why her? Why? Why? Why?

And so you begin to question. The questions continue to accumulate in your mind until one thought shines brightest amongst the throng of others: It is not fair.

Yet however true that statement may be, there are those in that group that is both massive and minuscule who will confront that thought several times in their lives, wondering who in their right state of mind would choose such a truth for both the good, the evil, and the real.

A Moment I'll Always Enjoy

Spending the whole day somewhere that mandates taking the freeway away from home with friends and/or family members...

At night, on the way back home, everyone's exhausted. People whisper private conversations around the car while some make do without a bed and pillow.

Soft musical notes slip from the speakers, lifting the awkward gravity of the silence without wholly removing its pleasant being.

Sitting in the passenger's seat with my head against the window, quietly allowing my thoughts drift here and there, exploring the universe. Words refuse to exit my lips while my ears willingly invite the quiet purring of the engine and outside air whizzing past. I patiently wait for the driver to say something while also hoping that he, too, enjoys the peace that has fallen upon the vehicle.

Mutual acknowledgment of each other's presence needn't be spoken. That is simply understood. And accepted.

He is happy.
I am happy.

And on continues the ride home from what will be remembered as a wonderful day.

---

I shall, for the entirety of my life, enjoy these moments during which the feeling of invincibility and vulnerability exist simultaneously in my body, mind, and soul.

How I No Longer Seek The Pleasure of Your Company

Within the last three months, one could say that many things have happened. The range of emotions covered in that time could describe the majority of the emotional spectrum.

Did a surge of happiness make me feel so elated to the point of no-return to reality?
Perhaps not, but a bystander may point out that I have been pretty damn happy.

Did there seem to be absolutely no point to life and thus make death a much more practical road to travel on?
Goodness, yes.

But because of all of that, I question the trust-- or "trust"-- entrusted to every person whose existence I hold dear to me. Friends, parents, other family members, it's almost confusing how things have turned out.

No, I am not lost but merely pensive as to what all of this will lead to. Will my parents and I still be in good terms with one other? Will I begin to talk about worthwhile things with people from church? Will my friends ever come back? Who are my friends? Questions like that force themselves into my mind everyday now. And as they continue their invasion and give birth to paranoia (Oh why must that harlot exist in the folds of my mind!), my stubbornness grows as well.

I haven't done anything wrong except for that one thing, is what I want to tell them. But being the youngest in such a patriarchal family deems my opinion to be the least important. My only hope right now is that I don't remain in this protective bubble of childhood for the rest of my life. Why can't they realize that?

My thoughts are jumbled and I am too apathetic at the moment to organize them. My apologies.

Random Musings of a Teacher's Assistant

I really don't know what to say. That is the basic summary of the course my life has now taken.

Things are well while the rest could be improved on. But do not misunderstand, I don't wish to complain. My contentment in the mediocrity of school and everything before the ultimate summer vacation is, hopefully, normal. Hopefully.

Again, I find myself apathetic towards everything and everyone, not giving one shred of care for anything. And I'm happy that with that. But sadly, this cannot continue for this will bring my downfall once again. I don't want to find myself calling that damned suicide hotline, sending emails to the Samaritans, and typing up sob stories of my "oh-so-pathetic" life. I don't want to articulate the feeling of loss in both my heart and in my hands. I don't want to be sad and brood about it. I don't want pity.

So I'm happy in this indifference that doesn't seem bent out to consume my life. In this absence of major emotion, I have the chance to view things in a much more rational manner, finding myself basking in the glory of not-worrying. And that, my friend, is something seemingly rare in high school.

But high school's about to end, and things are pretty much peachy-keen. Hopefully this continues...

--

... But I really wouldn't mind if another something really wonderful happens.

Yes, I'm happy with him.

So... Good Times.

Things have mellowed since yesterday. Apologies for my behavior.

I give you this lovely song in return for your patience:
Please Mr. Postman by The Beatles.

So Tell Me, What is Friendship?

And so she begins with another teenage rant concerning the faults of society and those around her. Really, will she ever grow up? Nope. I refuse.

Being the absolute sloth that I am, I began thinking about certain people and how my feelings for them have changed over time. Unfortunately, I couldn't help but notice that I grew sadder and sadder as the seconds continued to tick away. Not only did the distance between certain people and me grow, but the "strong links" that supposedly kept us together seemed to have worn thin with time.

I have pondered upon my friendships with people from high school and have expressed lonely thoughts about it and voiced my worries of certain things not lasting. Being me, I even attempted to suppress the thoughts because, hey, like I should care at this point in time, right? Wrong. People, friends, say and claim to keep in touch, to always be friends but really, what do those words mean? Now that I think about it, those words are only said when people are still in close proximity with each other. Not until their friendships and connections are strained are those words put to the test. In the certain cases I've pondered on, those words seem like nothing now.

Will we really still be friends when we all leave? You say I love you now and that We'll keep in touch but... even in the few weeks we haven't spoken, things have already been thinning our amity.

So I question the value of friendships. I question the meaning of certain adorations exchanged amongst peers. Are you really going to stick to that? Or do you plan on telling me that you'll miss me now and forget about me when we grow up?

Deep down, these thoughts only deepen my cynicism in that now it includes people close to my heart. No matter how much I wish that some will stay in my life, I've come to accept the inevitable: out of all the people I've known throughout high school, I'll probably only continue speaking to one. It's not out of personal choice. I no longer see the point in trying.

I fear for my generation.

So I Thought About School...

This is Laura.

3 weeks of work left to be done.
3 weeks of honest-to-Bob procrastination.
3 weeks of secrets.
3 weeks of not caring.
3 weeks of ignoring the fact that I won't be seeing a lot of these people again.
3 weeks of wandering around, soaking in the essence of high-school.

3 weeks before I miss it.
3 weeks before I tell her.
3 weeks before I tell him.
3 weeks before I tell them.
3 weeks before I care.
3 weeks before I enjoy.

3 weeks before freedom embraces me.

So I wanted to be young again...

I began playing with the thought of a Nintendo DS and three games:

1. Pokemon (Diamond or Pearl)
2. Mario Kart
3. Big Brain Academy

... I'm too simple.

So I looked around me...

... And I noticed how everyone at church fit into the ideal image of a large, wholesome (in the lovely Christian sense) family.

And where was I? Within this so-called family, I would be considered the dark, sulky daughter even (dare I say it?) the rebel? As odd as it may be, it is there that I feel most uncomfortable. Now this is where the misunderstandings begin.

Of course I don't mean that the services make me uncomfortable. However, after that, when socializing is supposed to take place, I find myself displeased with my current surroundings. There is nothing that I hold against my fellow church-goers nor is there anything I particularly dislike about them.

There just exists within me this natural tendency to just shy away from their [not-so-surprisingly large] groups. No, I don't care where the latest clubs are. No, I don't care what what's-her-face with whatever-his-name-is. And no, I just don't want to be sucked into a world that to me, seems so... fake.

Having been raised in a religious family, I have come to embrace the central belief system. And to be honest, it never got me into trouble. If anything, it kept me from the worst. Yet whatever happened to those lessons that were taught to us? No prying? Then why do you care if those two are going out?

Let's face it. We're all practically living double lives. But what I find borderline hilarious is the absolute denial that everyone lives in. Of course we do things that the others would frown upon. Of course. But why the lies? Why the deceit?

Yes, I admit it. I do lead a double life. No, neither of them is fake for they both happen to be pieces of my core. I respect rectitude; I respect fun. I have no problem admitting to someone that I have indeed done things that I regret...

... but please. Don't create a mental picture of me in your mind without fully comprehending who I am. Sure, I may be the quiet girl once in a while, but silence does not rule every waking moment of my life. This is nonsense I refuse to uphold.

I am Leslie. And I am flawed.

Again with this Tiring Process.

Truly, the morning is the perfect setting for a 17-year-old to brood about the past events that have occurred in her last 17 years of life. Perhaps not even of life.

Thoughts come and go, just like friends, just like Summer's greenery. Such is the state-of-mind of this certain little girl. And quite honestly, she believes she can do well without such arbitrariness ruling every waking moment of her life. Of course, it is that very randomness that, she feels, defines her, molds her. But at such an ungodly hour, even sleep cannot tempt her from the musings that come and go like Mother Nature's love.

Ponder, desire, hope, fuss, relax. Repeat.

Should I act on it?
Will he continue? Will I?
Is she peeved with me? But for what?
Will I see them again? Do I want to?
How much time do I have? What exactly is time?
Who are they really? Should I even care now?
What am I doing? What are they all doing?
What do I want? What do they want?
What does he want?
I hope it's me.

... But why?

Ponder, desire, hope, fuss, relax. Repeat.

The Asian Film Festival...

The film my cousin and I saw was American Pastime regarding the life of a certain family, namely a certain character and his family, in a Japanese internee-camp.

Truly, the cinematography was quite pleasing. The plot was acceptable and in itself was lovely. The characters were very memorable. And never before was I this captured by a mostly Asian cast.

Of course there were films such as Memoirs of a Geisha and Letters from Iwo Jima, but to be honest, the first didn't suit and tastes and the latter I haven't had a chance to see. So to be able to see this film (a candidate in the running for an award at the Festival), it was remarkably great. So as to not hide anything else, the director, a friendly guy in (I believe) his mid-30s was there to allow for a more personal touch to the film.

Not only that... but two of the actors were there as well. Yeeahh...


Other than the film, it was nice to have spent this time with my cousin who I rarely see because of school. Sadly, she was not the only person to whom my thoughts drifted to.

Damn him.

No Particular Subject

I think I'm happy...

Yeah, I'm pretty happy when I think about it.

So I begin my Apology...

It's common knowledge that I've thrown a countless number of "I'm sorry"s around and quite a few people have grown tired of hearing those words from my lips. Apologizing for such a crime would only defeat this purpose... and perhaps ruin what I'm attempting to fix.

I love you.

Really, I do. And from the nethermost region of my heart and soul, I promise that I do not wish to hurt you. Nothing I have ever done or said was meant to cause you pain or anger you. C'mon, you're name has practically embedded itself into my subconscious vocabulary after all these months.

You of all people should know that the last thing I would ever want is to feel any type of tension between the both of us. You held out your hand to mine and I to yours. That's something that I would never betray in this vast, and seemingly lonely, journey called life.

Before this gets too overdone, I just want to let you know that I am sincere in what I've said so far in my attempt to swallow my pride, accept my shame, and see you once again.

So El Camino won Nationals...

Congratulations to the team, I guess. They were worthy opponents.

And so ends my due respect. I hope they would understand the bitter feelings felt/expressed by a team such as mine.

No regrets, I remember telling myself as I watched my team fall apart on the 18th of March. Thinking about that day, I recall the taste of the my tears and the stains of the tears of my teammates on my shoulder. That day will forever remain bittersweet.

So this is for my team...

We really have had an amazing year. We laughed together. We cried together. We're pretty much there for each other now.
And my mind is quite incapable of forming coherent thoughts at the moment so I'll just get straight to the point.

My love goes out to my team, my family. Thank you.

So I tried to be Human again...

Last night, I made my attempt to embrace the flaws and the emotions that define the humanity within each and every person. The results of this large leap are yet to be determined. But my dreams tell me that I should be quite close to being disgustingly human that I should be crying any second now...

... and so it begins.

But you know what? Whatever.

I'm dancing in September.

So I got advice from a Sex-Crazed Guru

Oh, I lie not. For sure Lena Chen has made her mark on the internet world with her sensual and peculiarly personal entries regarding her sex life. And no, I didn't find any sexual inspiration from her. Thankyouverymuch.

I guess what I've taken from her is not exactly advice, but a smirk at how even she, the most sensually-fulfilled on the Harvard campus, feels the same disillusionment that seems to chronic to me now. In creating a post, it only seems natural to spill and reveal the ever darkening abyss that has replaced what little emotional care I've had. I've only recently read hers. From that...

I refuse to let this damned thing become the impetus for pity on my being. As lovely as care seems, it is pity and worry that I refuse to acknowledge. Really, now... I feel inferior enough already. Your sympathetic advice sometimes becomes all too overwhelming. Still, I extend hand in deep, deep gratitude. What saddens me about this though is that such a blog will not allow me great freedom. Sure, freedom of thought and speech... but there is still an audience, a reader, out there who must be addressed, who must seemingly be appeased.

Life is not so bad. Such a statement goes against the very core of my being. However. Pessimism is an extremely unhealthy way to continue living my life. I prefer reality, of course, but Hope is not so much a monster as I had imagined. That bitch actually saves me a tad from complete and utter apathy. And as many friends would know, from apathy, I fall into despair.

So you know what? I don't know... and so what if I don't know.

Life is not so bad.

NOTE: This will not put an end to the occasional bitch sessions that this little girl is prone to undertake.

I just realized...

... that I have a very bad habit of pushing people away.

It saddens me.--

I've just been thinking about certain things and (I'm quite sure that this has been established) the future really likes to be a bitch. Pondering about the course of my summer, it dawned on me how lonely it could possibly be.

Practically everyone is going to be gone. The loves of my life are all heading off with their own plans. The Deca kids, no doubt, have their own. And I just realized how empty my summer life will be.

Here's the last year of one of the worst phases of my life. I'm going to miss it terribly; I'm going to miss the people terribly. So why not go all out, right?

Right. But tell me this, how is that possible when everyone's gone? How am I to hold my own? Continuing conversations with friends? I hope you know how difficult that is. There are always claims of how people will keep in touch and what not... but really. Who's willing to do so?

I don't know anymore. This is much too much pessimism for me.

I'll have fun. Right?

So I felt like Writing...

April 26, 2007 5:51p

As I sit here in a remotely quiet corner of Starbucks, I've been given the incredibly lovely chance to think. Before I begin on my thoughts, I have to confess that I really enjoy having these chances to myself... even amongst people, strangers. Going home, I'm surrounded by pressure and absolute loneliness [in the form of four walls], leaving me in complete desolation, away from people and myself. Being around friends, however wonderful they are, I'm forced to always speak with them, a feat I find impossible or at least, quite difficult. I am a naturally quiet girl. It is quite incredible to have amazing friends who deal with the silence that I bear.

But here I am, amongst strange people, enjoying my very existence. The music, beautifully soft, allowed the fuel of caffeine to, ironically, sink comfortably into my very center. I am mellow. I have the chance to ponder; I love this moment. I am my element.

Yet my thoughts, however tranquil my body lies, sent pangs of sadness through my. What of my heart? Its existence is still quite questionable. But thoughts of him continue to haunt me. No, not Greg. A wonderful boy such as he can only bring me happiness. No, not Greg.

The other boy. The one who I've mentioned before, in quite an angry tone. The one whose being angered me completely. But despite those feelings, his kindness and patience toward me cannot be ignored. Yes, his intentions are questionable, but his actions are not. If you really couldn't tell, it's bugging me...

Of course, I'm still unsure of my opinion of him; they cannot be bad for the aforementioned qualities, but some hint of doubt render them as not wholly good. He is, after all, a fickle and utterly superficial guy, one of the worst I've ever met. Yet again... he's been kind.

Whatever.--

I confess that I've been extremely detached from people lately. The reasons for being aloof are still unknown, but they remain irrelevant. Ironically, such detachment has allowed me to be more friendly with more people. Blah.

My care cup is empty once again.

By the way, Al and I have really gotten into the whole "Trapped" and "Crimson Room" phase again. Fuuuuuun.

An Excerpt from Her Mind at 6:48a

When she first told me of his fanciful thoughts concerning me, I dismissed them wholly. Then, not only did I dislike his being, he and his opinions of me or of anyone meant zilch to me. By offending the loves of my life, he had offended me. And those are two things I let no one get away with. My feelings toward him were of negative apathy: a complete insult to his existence.

The second time he saw me with my love, he supposedly took fancy. Or so she told me. Again, I attempted to dismiss the thought from my mind since, of course, I felt disturbed. Not only had he just broke down the barrier and hatred that once allowed me to ignore him when I passed, but created a sort of obligatory kindness from me to him. No, it wasn't necessarily pity. Pity is something that no one should receive since it is one of the greatest slights one may incur, a feeling of inferiority. I attempted to be kind, but at first, it only meant an cessation to my evil thoughts of his demise. Hah, I'm kidding. Somewhat. Things went alright.

The third time, she burst out laughing when she told me of his infatuation. I felt something inside me die... out of pity. Not only was he clueless of how much I had loathed him, but of how bothersome I find his character. The complete opposite of what I subconsciously expect from a guy friend. He was loud, obnoxious, and extremely shallow beyond my belief. Because of this, my friends took great delight in his seemingly futile attempts to capture my attention. My main goal was to try and get on with life without letting him get in the way.

Little did I know that he has told her many things. To this day, I remain confused.

Now the tables have turned. I am the one who just can't stop thinking such thoughts of both infatuation AND dislike. Shame, isn't it? I may have taken a liking to a type of guy who will by no doubt break my heart.

Simply an Update

Prom was fun. I was crazy. Who wasn't?

... now I'm empty once again. To Jo of the Samaritans, please do your job and save me.

I was being evil at 1:51a

Prom's tonight. 'Nough said.

c[_]

How evil would it be if I confess that I've been wishing that little Zutton down there (the animated doll) would just starve and die?

Regrets at 1:14p

Right now, I'm trying my best to not regret the past four years at Granada.

Some may say that High School was the best time of my life. I, along with a few others, would like to contest that thought. But as I think about it, there are a lot of things that I could've done to make these years bearable.

Instead of the oh-so-nonchalant girl I am now, I probably could have cared a bit more about meeting new people and talking to those who sat around me. Instead of being that "Odd, Quiet Girl," I could've just been that "Odd Girl." It may not be much of an improvement, but it really is better than nothing.

Ah. I better stop this post now before I make your eyes cry in the horror of my language and diction.

Apologies. The English literacy and beauty does not come so easily to me as it does with others. Nothing does.

Drunken Slurs at 12:55a, not really.

Eh. 75-minute periods tomorrow are not something I look forward to, especially when tomorrow is a 1,3,5 day.

No first, TA for third, and AP prep for fifth.

I... am sad. So sad.

At 11:06a, I sent my Letter to the Man across the Sea

Open. That's one word I absolutely can no longer stand. You were one of my Five.

I hope things are going along well with your plans, for you are and always have been an ambitious boy, so restless, so unafraid. But because of that, you remained one the Five, ever dear and ever loved.

Last year, what I had not expected was this. I was happy but that was taken away, quite cruelly, in fact. But Four of you were there. But then it was You and I left on this desolate continent while Three had to be contented with the Sweet Sun of Italia and the Old Culture of the British Isles. Little did I know that you were going to join them.

No, I do not hate you. Quite contrary, actually. I had promised never again because of him, for you and others know how much he had meant. But I am young and fickle, and you had grown on me. You still are. And now I despise the word open. It only leaves a dry, dead husk of what was once something I contented myself with, comforted myself with.

You know I'm impatient, so hurry and succeed. I'm waiting.

--

And that's enough of that. That, I confess, was something I'm not entirely used to. Why? Because I'm an angry little girl who seeks nothing more in life but simplicity and happiness. No more complications please. Just bring him home.

At 9:52p, She Wondered...

... why did you silly little creatures follow me here?

Is it not enough that you've invaded my life? Now you invade my mind.

Help! Help! I'm Being Repressed!

I found my new Happy movie.

A Heavy Burden at 7:10p

Are you alright? You seem pretty quiet. What's the matter?

Silence. The absence of words and, through its connotation, the absence of thought and heart. My lack of diction at certain points in the day do not fall under the latter. In reality, it is actually the latter that causes my silence and the actual lack of care.

No dangerous thought plagues my mind and my heart is not yet succumbing to any sadness that many speak of. Random musings, as you should know, merely occupy that general area.

Sadly, I would've expected many to understand that I'm not a speaker in any sense of the title. I do not enjoy speaking as much as I do observing. Of course, there once existed a deep fear of the very act; verbal humiliation seems quite unbearable at times. But due to recent events, that fear may be suppressed. But just because I think and have opinions does not mean that I enjoy constant communication of them. Nor does it mean that I am without.

My silence has a purpose most of the time. I wish to get lost in my own thoughts and for a moment leave the reality in which I exist. Reasons behind this retreat may vary, sadness being only something minor. Being only 17, I can easily get bored, can I not? Can't I just muse around what-ifs and exist in the very microcosm that is my mind for only a second?

When these moments do occur, it's quite pointless to articulate them to ears that have been deafened by their own voice or loud music (not at all surprising; good job, guys). Aren't you tired as well? What is relaxation to you? Careful, careful. What are these words to people who won't listen?

So, no. I'm not sad (usually). I'm merely tired of the common and seek repose.

After all, I don't really care about the latest "it" couple on the campus. Scusi.

Late And Early at 2:07a

My alarm will ring at around 3:45a, which is only a little over an hour from now.

As much as I'd tried to go to sleep, I began to ponder upon the choices ahead of me, the choices that will very much affect the future I am to live. Why would I, Leslie, start to think of such things instead of saying "Fuck it"? The answer is quite simple. Someone told me.

Questions have always pervaded my mind and the answers always unattainable. The reasons for both never dawned on me despite my want to know them, to know everything. Thus, I began to seek the answers from others. I wanted to know. And this curiosity, as many would attest, is the demise of many. The idea that there are different types of knowledge is common from the classic intellectual curiosity so praised by the intelligentsia to the gossip so sought after by the common-folk. The information I wanted is nestled in the middle of these two extremes, fitting in no category.

Where exactly can "everything" go under? I wanted to explore life, to know what was ahead, the significance of history, just everything. By that vague term, I do not mean that my want is to be a genius or the center of the latest chatter. It was to know life, to understand it, and to understand what it was like to actually undertake it.

And this goal was not to be achieved and my curiosity left dissatisfied had thoughts of death and pain continued. Admittedly though, such thoughts are very hard to remove from one's psyche once they have entered. It may always, though unproven, remain rampant in the person's mind. But that is something that she must deal with the rest of her life. That is something I must deal with for the rest of mine. Instead of choosing the ultimate cessation of pain (the "relief" granted by the lack of the ability to feel it via death; ironic, is it not?), it only seems wise to consider all other options out there.

Though from my standpoint they may not seem favorable, there always seems to be way to climb out of the shadows. And now I'm beginning to sound like an idealist and foolish optimist. THAT is something I've always wanted to avoid. But despite my want to remain a realist (or hell, even a pessimist), I won't deny that the realization of other choices available for me will help in the future.

Moping about the what-ifs, and the coulda-woulda-shouldas will not get anyone anywhere. A common tale relayed by the ever-hopefuls and romantics (yet paraphrased in my normal harsh tone), it may prove beneficial to all despite the sugar-coated phrases surrounding it.

And with that, I really need to get some sleep. Buona notte.


Another Day In Paradise
©2007 ~Vladm

Musings at 11:24p

To be quite honest, I'm currently at a loss for words.

If you ever see me in the halls, forgive me for my silence.

I've nothing to say anymore. Sad.

Eh. Whatever.

Attempt at a Rebuttal

After having read Michelle's silly note concerning the amount of delusion one can get from video games, I decided that it would be quite fun to try and contest that.

Little did I know what I was getting myself into.

Rummaging through my closet (and a few dust bunnies that have settled in the undisturbed areas), I find the box that contained a lot of childhood memories, bittersweet or just bitter. And I found it. I found my weapon against Pug, Poonie, Poon-face, HP Poopie-face, Poopie-face, or Michelle: my old pal, N64.

I plug that baby up to my TV and am ready to show that that old demon no longer holds control over me. Now, before you get your undies all tied up, I know that Michelle mentioned specifically "children". Just to let you know, I have the mind of a 5-year-old. Why else would I be using this time to type about video games? I could be out saving the world, people. But no, I choose to... anyway.

Not exactly sure of the games that once kept my interest for more than 5 hours, I grab the one closest to the top of the pile: Diddy Kong Racing. The gear's ready, controller in hand (the clear purple one, because I'm pretty G), and I turn it on.

Wow.

Technology and graphics sure have come a looong way. Not only was the quality quite horrible, but the ultimate complexities were quite lost on me after having witnessed many video game sessions played out by my nephew on his latest goods. This game truly did belong in the '90s.

But as I bore with it, my purpose to prove Michelle wrong was lost amidst the sharply-angular characters. Yes, they may have their rough edges, but... they were completely adorable-- except for that crocodile/alligator. I wonder why "Crunk" keeps popping up as his name. Hm. But if memory serves me, my favorite then (and now) is Conker, that feisty little fox. In his white little car or his white plane, he never ceases to bring out the inner elementary-schooler within me.

And so it was off to races. I fell deeper and deeper, fully and subconsciously embracing the inner-child. It was fun.

And so, Michelle, I tip my hat to you. Although I don't think any of that MJ requires some sense of clear-mindedness, I give you this...

Drugs and apparently video games get people high.

Hockey at 1:00p with Eu and Al

Unfortunately, I am not as "manly" as I had once hoped to be. Instead of shedding this fragile facade, going to a hockey game only embedded the cosmopolitan way-of-life into my mind. Up until my exit from the car and was set in a backdrop of more than 700 Kings' fans, I had felt quite comfortable in being my quiet self.

Of course, one would expect me to feel quite detached from a game of padded men, sticks in hand, chasing a small disc of rubber (Oh, man; I hope many of you caught that). But not until I began to feed off of the energy and the, excuse me, testosterone-driven tension did I begin to take actual interest in anything.

Little did I know what was in store. Now, to get this cleared up, the teams that were playing (LA Kings v. Phoenix Coyotes) were in no way spectacular.

There were four fights in all. The first was quite uncalled for, two men just grabbing at each others' jerseys, wishing to take out the other in one blow. The response to that was quite enormous if I do say so myself (and what in hell do I know?). But as the fights and game continued to progress, the intensity seemed to have increased as well. By the third fight, I wanted to see as much of that violence as humanly possible.

All in all, 300 and this latest game made me want to do only one thing: to fight, and to do so like a man.

But to end on a lighter and, daringly, more feminine note:



I really don't think there's much I can say about Michael Cammalleri.

She Breaks My Heart

After reading the most recent of Anna's post, I only felt it right to post one in return.

Really, I've never met anyone kinder than she. You may see me proclaim that I have no best friends, that every single one, I hold dear. Yet I must mention that this is partly a lie. Yes, I hold my friendships close, but there are those who have touched this cold heart of mine and warmed my soul. And Anna mother-fucking Castro, you are one of them.

It will be easier to direct this one to you, since it would be easier to type down the truth. In all of our talks, early in the morning or in the deep night, you always bring me the comfort that you claim I give to you. You tell people of my qualities that I still believe I do not possess, but because of you, I'm beginning to believe you, little by little. But what you may not know is that all of this is because of you and your help.

Walking into our homeroom during that freshman-year, I heard you amongst the 29 other voices that echoed in Ms. Ballas' room before the announcements began. You stood out and you were unafraid. That, I admired about you and kept to myself, just taking in my surroundings as a frightened mouse of a 1st-year. But in my silence and isolation, you spoke to me and, hell, even lent me your book. I thought I've never met a kinder person.

From The Da Vinci Code stemmed our friendship.

I mustn't keep this long, but I just want you to know that everything I've admired about you is true. You've been there when My Boys began to dwindle in number. You even made up for the testosterone at times (you and I, both).

And you're right. It will take much more than a few damn states to keep us apart. A whole fucking lot more.

Coddamnit, Anna. You make me cry, my Banana Hammock.

J-6 fo' life.

Emails: Part 1

I don't exactly know where to begin. The day was actually quite short due to the fact that I've confined myself to my room for most of the day.

I'm happy to report that The Samaritans do answer the emails of those in need. Here is my first email to them.

April 5
To: Jo from The Samaritans
Hi.

I don't exactly know how to start this off or what exactly I should say. I don't even know what I'm feeling right now. But I trust that whoever is on the other side of this email will read what I have to type out.

There aren't many details I will or can relate to you. I've been alive for 17 years and for those years, I've never once thought of myself as unfortunate. Not once did any thought of dissatisfaction with my life enter my mind or soul. But feelings of hate have. Of course, not to anyone outside of this husk I call my body, just myself.

I know, I know. There should be nothing people hate about themselves, dislike, perhaps. But hate? No. So I've heard from countless people about others or themselves. But no matter what they say, such words do not stop emotions.

I'm content to say that I'm happy to have grown up with the childhood that has formed the person I am now. I'm also glad to say that I have wonderful friends of outstanding performance and charm. But all of this cannot stop my self-isolation.

I can uncover no reason as to why I feel the way I do sometimes. Whenever I'm light in spirit, I find myself wanting to experience apathy once again, to feel indifferent, to be empty. By not being happy, one mustn't have to deal with the disappointment of that fleeting happiness. Such is the way I've lived for the last 5 years. Failure after a heart-felt attempt presented itself as a crushing fear to me. I didn't want that. So what else was there to do but give up at the beginning? At least then, I knew I would fail.

With all of my heart, I wish I could say that that has worked. Of course, I've had small moments of happiness with friends. Yet knowing that my full potential is not being used only deepened that pit of sadness within me. I don't think I've mentioned this pit yet. For years, I've been contemplating my being, why I am who I am. I've discovered that, or actually, I've been led (by myself) to believe that I have good reason to think that nothing of mine was ever good enough, and because of that, there is no point. Hope, now, seems like a pathetic thing when in a sentimental mood. Only then do I full comprehend the meaning of Pandora's box. After hearing that story when I was 4, I first thought that Hope was a good thing. It wasn't until I started to slip that Hope turned into a monster.

The details of my life will be kept back from this email since the addition of them will further lengthen this. And I truly don't want to bother you with them. On the website, it was stated that someone was willing to "listen" to whatever I had to say... and to be honest, I really don't know what to say... so I'm typing down what I have so far...

Thoughts of suicide existed in my mind ever since I was 11. Being the quiet girl, I was picked on in middle school. Once in high school, it became my goal to change that. As the years progressed, I have climbed out somewhat from my little cave and greeted the outside world. But I confess that that cave's purpose (for isolation) became ever useful as I continued my high school life. I should have stated before that my emotions (and/or lack thereof) are ever contradictory. When I'm happy or sad, I wish to be indifferent. When I'm indifferent, I wish to feel. But when that indifference begins to yield to my wishes, I usually slip into grief. This, I cannot explain and because of that, I'm beginning to wonder if it is cause by some imbalance. I just don't know anymore.

Currently, I've just begun my fall into sadness and quite honestly, I don't believe I've ever felt like this before. It's different, and I find it quite fearful. My self-esteem seemed unaffected till now, my self-confidence is there when I'm in front of people. But behind closed doors and in the shadows of my mind, I feel an overwhelming urge to just sit down, think and try to not feel lonely. I'm afraid of other people and yet being isolated from those I care about is a saddening idea. As you would expect, thoughts about college haven't helped. Only recently have thoughts of self-inadequacy persisted. And I'm afraid that this time, I may not be strong enough to push such negative, lonely thoughts aside and be happy.

I don't want to keep you from the other emails that many others are sending so it would be best if I bring this email to a close. I'm just a person who wishes to find my own way to my own peace of mind. I just want to be fixed and I want to know that there are others out there who believe that I can be fixed.

Thank you.

I know it's too much to ask of you to not judge me. But for the sake of whatever lingering optimism there is in my mind; Please, do not judge me.

Self-Reprimand

Oh, Leslie. Why must you think such silly little thoughts?

Because I like BBQ Chicken. :)

EDIT: Isn't it quite amusing how one day I'm at some point in my life where only eating ice cream will suffice and one day, I just wish to kick ass?

Apparently, that seems to be the case this week. What a pleasant way to spend a period of relaxation: the oscillation between happiness and sadness. But again, whatever. (If this cruel cycle continues, I'll be back with those morbid notions at my heel).

Thoughts at 2:46a

Still getting the hang of it.

Funny how I went to bed at 11:30pm with hopes that I would be able to fall asleep. Little did I know that I would spend about 2 more hours thinking about several things from what I've spoken about earlier, what I've told people, and The Office.

I wish I could reiterate the musings that floated in and out of my mind, but sadly, that would take too long. Besides, some of them I feel too personal. Just to note, ever notice how I attempt to steer clear of any mention of my personal life? If memory serves, I know I've written on my views on things such as love and what-not, but I don't recall ever having written any of that pertaining to myself.

If you were wondering, yes, that was one of my many reflections this morning. I wish to avoid writing about topics that were covered by entries below this (most especially the those regarding my emotional state-of-being). There's not particular reason behind that choice; I just feel as if the right people have made their voices heard on the matter and I appreciate fully what they've told me. Cheers to you all.

Oh! I'm curious to know if anyone caught the new episode of The Office. Ah! It aired yesterday at 8p and I missed it. Hint: Spoilers will be greatly appreciated and loved.

And I think I change my mind. Here are a few things that floated in and out of the little void in my head:

1. Boys are funny creatures.
3. Girls are funny creatures.
4. I missed #2 (This one just hit me right now).
5. It's quite late, I better get to bed. That would be a lot easier now that I'm fairly tired.
6. Greg.
7. Need. A. Tailor.
8. What am I actually going to do with the rest of my life?
9. I don't think suicides an option...
10. I hope I hear back from those at the Samaritans Organization.

And with that, a second "Cheers" to end this damned thing. Cheers.

Trial A.

I tried.

jo@samaritans.org

We'll see.

Thoughts at 11:42p

After thinking about what happened this morning and actually trying out that helpline, I realized how truly sad I am.

Before you continue reading any further, I just want to let you know that I am by no means complaining about my state of life right now. Everything I have, everything I am I can be content with. Just believe it or not, grief can hit anyone at any time.

I've mentioned before the feelings of indifference (hah, paradox) that I've felt, and to some extent, they persist now. Except now, that lethargy has been injected with thoughts, memories, and heartaches. Such a mixture can only prove sorrowful to its carrier. As I sit here typing this entry, I attempt to recall actual good memories: smiling with friends, laughing with my family, proving myself wrong on my self-deficiencies, not worrying about trivial things, etc.

And I remember them. I remember the faces of my past, the hands that have molded who I am today. But now, all I can think of is how I have failed them.

I first spoke of strength that I recently discovered, and I do believe that such exists within my soul, somewhere. But this feeling of heavy emptiness, burdensome nothing has swallowed me during a time when such strength was not called upon, when I felt even more distant from my friends, my family, myself, and from God.

This sadness, caused by my stupid self-isolation, is putting up a hard fight. How many years of therapy are being undone every second I think of Matt's face? How many months of self-strengthening are being undone every moment I lose hope? How many seconds with those I love in vain every time I collapse into myself?

I know what you're thinking, You hypocrite. You claimed to be a new person; you claimed rebirth! I can do nothing but nod my head in agreement and with a heavy heart. Yes, I have made such claims, and with all truthfulness. But you forget who I am. Despite all those changes, I'm still just a 17-year-old trying to find her own peace of mind.

I know how I should be as I continue this metaphorical journey affectionately referred to as "life". I just want to know that I'm not the only one left who believes that I can do it.

Trial

1-800-SUICIDE

I apologize for the lack of any real post. I'm working on it. I promise.

What the Hell?

Anna, THIS is what I do at 1 in the morning.

Lord help you, love. I am in love with you, woman.

Just A Silent Wish

May I be happy now?

Eh.

Jordana's party was fun.

I wish I had friends like she does.

Oh My Cod

Ok. I promise that it isn't as corny as the music and preview makes it look. Quite the opposite, actually.

Anyway, can't wait. <Insert excited facial expression here>.

In The Groove Again

I can't explain how amazing it feels to finally be back in the game and on Photoshop. I haven't been able to create something that simple in more than 13 months for more than one reason.

One step at a time. Time to whip out the lovely ol' Canon 350d.