here & there

2010-06-06T06:44:00.000-07:00

I abso-fucking-lutely refuse to read back on my past posts. Why? Because at the moment, I want so much to burst out in laughter.

Life's fucking majestic, people.

2009-07-03T23:04:00.001-07:00

Despite the fact that I have opened up quite a bit to him, it still has not changed me all that much.

I find myself constantly attempting to push him away. But now I wonder...

For whose own good?

2009-06-23T03:19:00.001-07:00

Being in love is one of the most painful and most beautiful things to ever experience.

2009-06-21T03:50:00.001-07:00

I am the product of a time when fidelity actually meant something in relationships.

2009-05-24T05:01:00.000-07:00

What I find most interesting are the thoughts that drift through the minds of the tired and inebriated. And to be quite honest, it scares me just a little. Because not only does the alcohol inhibit your ability to think. speak, see, walk, feel properly, but it keeps you from feeling altogether happy.

Now, that makes a lot of sense, does it not? Alcohol is a depressant. And the inability to feel content is therefore further kept from you by inebriation. The paradox is, however, in the fact that people dabble in alcoholism to feel the contentedness that comes with inebriation, drunkenness, and sloven ways. And it works. Not that I speak directly from experience--second hand, if you're curious--but plenty of people, family, friends, acquaintances have succumbed to the pressures that come with the buzz of a drink. So people drink to be happy; is that not the truth? Do enlighten me if I am erred to think such things of the social, American (maybe not?) way of life.

However, in the pursuit of this so-called "happiness," people are later forced to face the discontent that plagues their present existence. So what is to be done? Surely one may follow suit of their European counterparts. However, what is to be done with the American mindset of "eat, drink, and be merry?"

People continue to confound me. People, therefore, continue to upset, bother, and unsettle me.

What is left for someone who feels like an outsider to two exclusive groups that cannot be simultaneously joined? Shall he forever feel lost?

P.S. Sobriety check-points are hilarious.

2009-05-15T15:24:00.000-07:00

"You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect - you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break - her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there."

2009-04-24T03:31:00.001-07:00

I just realize that there's absolutely nothing to do once you finish all chores, errands, and extra work that needed to be done.

... Procrastination and rushing really do make life more interesting.

2009-04-19T05:36:00.000-07:00

The clock shows 5:36. If she calculated correctly, the sun should be rising in approximately an 54 minutes. Give or take a half hour, she believes. Physically exhausted and fatigued, she planned on shutting her eyes and succumbing to sleep approximately 6 hours ago. However, thoughts being thoughts, hers drifted a particular direction towards a certain young fellow.

The clock shows 5:40. A smile creeps onto her face as she recalls being called his "love." Catching herself in mid-smile, she scowls and digs her head into her pillow.

The clock shows 6:00. Enough with this silliness.

The clock shows 6:13. Her eyes and arms feel heavy. Still, sleep eludes her. She hates herself. She hates him.

The clock shows 6:15. Her eyes close. Her breathing slows. She does not hate him...

2009-04-11T21:21:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here in the studio, supposedly working on the site plan that's been in need of work for the past three days. But to work without motivation, without passion, births a product that is halfheartedly done. And that is something that I will not and cannot tolerate myself to produce. So in hopes of shedding this apathy, I write and write, seeking my muse. How difficult is it really to place some tables, people, and trees onto a site plan that is asking to be drawn onto? When in such a tepid state of mind, I tell you, my friends, that it is excruciatingly difficult.

Hm.

What ever happened to the passion that drove every word from my lips and every expression in my eyes? What happened to the life and fire inside of me?

2009-04-07T23:07:00.000-07:00

Rethinking. Reanalyzing. Recuperating. All the "re"s in the dictionary cannot even cover the growing necessity to redo everything.

2009-03-09T15:32:00.000-07:00

It surely has been quite a while since I've felt the need to type, type, and type. Do not, in any way, mistake this hiatus as an indicator as to how content I am with my life. To be quite blunt about it, it just shows how much I am beginning to relinquish control of my life. Now I am sure that some of you will say that it is near impossible to control one's life. However, there are cases when "losing control" of one's life actually leads to sheer disaster. So please excuse me for wanting my life to remain on its certain course.

But considering my lack of outflow and retention every possible tear and yell, I have reduced myself to a rock-like state, drained (and being drained) of emotion. The need to draw, paint, sketch, write, read... is gone. With my absorption of my negative energy, my apathy gradually increases. As other people fall apart around me, crying, yelling, kicking, screaming, I remain unfeeling, providing near-hollow words of comfort that are more for my own comfort than they are my friends.

Am I cruel? Perhaps. Am I cold? Maybe. However, it truly is not my desire to be so. What I need, what I want is to become more human. What I need is to care once more.

2009-02-24T19:51:00.000-08:00

With an open blog such as this, I run the risk of certain eyes grazing over these very words. But I find this rant to be a necessary form of self-preservation.

I saw him today. Or at least, my mind made me believe that I saw him today. And my heart began to race.

2009-02-17T02:31:00.000-08:00

So I tried. I tried it all again, I mean. The acceptance of vulnerability of being alone. And to be honest, I haven't a clue as to where that took me. Surely it was a roller-coaster of sorts. As to how intense it was, I haven't a clue either. This entire situation I find myself in left me, shall we say, empty.

Yes, it is about a boy. A man? A boy? He is whatever he wishes himself to be. However, I find it tragic that he, as bright and as lively as he is, already closed himself off from the uncertainties that the future may hold. This may be my naivete speaking, but is it really all that possible to allow full control of the mind over the heart? If so, is it fair? Is it natural? Whatever your answers may be, because I am in no mood to enter what will be a full-blown debate. A hollow debate that will prove to be, let me tell you.

Whatever sort of nonsense I am making right now... I shall finish on a light note. I am not hurt.

...

And knowing me, my "light note" is known to be relatively "dark and depressing" for others.

So, here I am, empty.

2009-01-17T04:00:00.000-08:00

Finding out that someone loves and cares for you more than you ever will for them seems to only result in terrible heartbreak.

2009-01-09T01:42:00.000-08:00

I'm aware that I speak incessantly on the topics I hate... so here's another one.

I despise reading back on certain entries that confirm how silly I really am.

2009-01-07T16:52:00.001-08:00

I find it hilarious that what I fear the most about going home is running into some not-so-much-my-acquaintances sort of girls from high school. After eavesdropping--I had no choice on that matter--for 5 minutes, I learned the following:

Their goals seem to be to talk about their embarrassingly inebriated moments at last night's party and to point out other girls' imperfections.

Apparently, *Cheryl's boots were "like totally cute" almost to the point where *Britney "sorta wants to, like, kill [her] for them."

Fortunately enough, I find my headphones right after that, and drown out their nasal squawking with some Ella Fitzgerald.

Cheers to the Granada Hills Charter High School Class of '07.

*Names have been changed not for the other parties' privacy, but for my own peace of mind.

2009-01-04T02:16:00.000-08:00

Is it okay to be just a little jealous of the people who had an amazing 2008? I can surely say that it was not all that bad, of course... but what to do when I cannot remember the good times?

Oh, what to do?

2008-12-25T05:19:00.000-08:00

It baffles me how oddly my mind works. There are days, months ago, when I could not go an hour without rambling about everything and nothing. Here I am, months later, with almost nothing to say. How can I possibly go from overwhelmingly large amounts of inner dialogue to absolutely nothing at all?

I'm able to find minimal solace in my current state. Although it's a tad refreshing to not feel, think, ponder anything for hours on end after spending eleven months questioning everyone and everything, I worry that perhaps my heart's just a shriveled, dried-up mess. My care and passion for that and those in my life extinguished. Terrifying to believe that I've fallen into complete and utter apathy.

So now I ask you this, oh great world. If you believe yourself to be as great for holding the pleasures of the human race so simply in the palm of your hand, why can I not find the peace that I so pondered on and hoped for those eleven months when I had a heart? Don't give me your narcotics. Don't give me your liquor. Give me my peace.

... And maybe a martini.

2008-12-13T19:05:00.000-08:00

Whatever happened to old-fashioned romance? You know, the sort that's seen in aged, dog-eared, sepia-toned photographs, and when fairy tales and stories played a larger role in a little girl's life instead of Miley Cyrus' latest escapade.

Can we not whip out the gowns, dresses, and class? Iron out age-old gentlemanly etiquette and intricacies and prepare them for the night. For goodness sake, what happened to when knees would buckle at the slightest glance?

And it is not weakness. It is not hopelessness. It's expecting more from reality, expecting what we deserve.

Cold medicine and Disney songs

2008-12-12T01:03:00.000-08:00

Listening to the Disney songs for half an hour straight, I realize something: I haven't felt this way in almost a year. At peace with almost every element in my life, including the negative. Some may argue that it is actually post-finals (or in my case, post-ENV101) syndrome, in some ways, it goes a lot deeper, and a lot farther back than finals. I cannot exactly pinpoint where, but... I may say this with all honesty: I am happy.

2008-11-10T23:44:00.000-08:00

Not to sound incredibly juvenile, but I am exhibiting the common signs of grieving. I sleep as often as I can, and eat too much or not at all.

... And yet his redolent fragrance still lingers.

2008-10-27T16:20:00.001-07:00

Perhaps it hasn't been that long ago, but it feels like ages since I sat back and watched the night sky.

2008-10-26T01:35:00.001-07:00

I confess to not being myself lately.

2008-10-20T20:55:00.001-07:00

How selfish and wrong is it to feel heart-broken when the other just manages to change completely without you?

2008-10-15T02:07:00.000-07:00

In my attempts to shove goal after goal into my future, I take the occasional side-glance at my present. I see the smiles I'm missing out on, the laughs I suppress, the tears I hold back, the charged words of anger I replay over and over in my mind. For a split second or two, yes, I feel that slight tinge of remorse. I let go ever-so-slightly to the reigns of my diligence. The corners of my mouth begin to twitch upward in anticipation for the joy that will follow. And then I look again at the failing future. My heart hardens and my passion cools.

*This is overly exaggerated, mind you. Those who know me understand that I laugh and smile every chance I get...

**That previous sentence is also an exaggeration. The truth, I suppose, is in the middle somewhere, just waiting for the invention of words that will someday capture it.

2008-10-09T14:25:00.001-07:00

This quarter looks promising for several facets of (my) Life. Considering the fact that I will no longer be required to take any English Literature classes, I've undertaken the task of studying Mythological and Biblical Literature.

Simultaneously.

2008-09-25T06:16:00.000-07:00

I never imagined my first night back (and, of course, my first day of school) to feel like this. Calm, normal... not even remotely exciting. Some boxes still linger in the corner of my room; they haven't moved since the first day I dropped them there two months ago, eager to get the move over with. My suitcase is still packed with clothes since I was far too lazy to unpack last night. Lazy? Was that really the reason? Or am I merely hindering myself from feeling wholly welcome in this room? This house? This area?

Perhaps I want a continual reminder of how this place, no matter how much I may wish it to be, will never feel like home.

2008-09-22T01:49:00.000-07:00

There is that certain time of the night when everyone else in the house is in the middle of dreaming, granting me a certain calmness that just cannot exist with the sun. At this time, I am at my most natural, allowing my mind to take me here and there. No need to worry about who will see me doing this, being that. And for company during such a wonderful point in my night, I prefer to have no one other than Ella Fitzgerald.

2008-09-21T17:18:00.000-07:00

This particular emotion seems to be a crossbreed between heartsickness and anxiousness. I neither lost anything worth caring for nor is there any true, imminent danger in my future. That I know of.

Still...

It is not an alien feeling for surely millions upon millions of people have felt it before at one or several points in their lives. It exists in stories, books, films, and dreams. I cannot say what it is because I confess that it is not a familiar feeling. But something about it just makes me feel like a sixteen-year-old again.

2008-09-21T05:13:00.001-07:00

Stephenie Meyer is, despite her success, no J.K. Rowling. I shall leave the issue at that.

2008-09-20T22:43:00.000-07:00

She drags her graphite across the off-white sheet, creating a winding gray line across that textured surface. Perhaps this is a start of another successful piece, she hoped. If not, at least she'd created another channel for her creative emotional outburst for that night. Another line parallel to the last one. One etched after another for shade. And so the lines continued to fall upon the page. With them, all the words he uninhibitedly hurled at her that night fell away.

Now, she steals glances down at her iPod in hopes of choosing the perfect playlist for this long drive home. The Republic Tigers? Whitest Boy Alive? Some '90s love songs? Anything will do in order to drown out the sound of passing cars, distracting her from revisiting the past few hours. Not knowing her fault, she endured another night of his severe and uncivil manner. And so she accelerates, taking herself and her thoughts into the dark blue night on a winding gray road across that earthen surface.

2008-09-19T14:26:00.001-07:00

So I am now a proud* owner of a 2-month-old Golden Retriever puppy named Tobias "Tobey" Cayton.

*The adjective "proud," as seen above, can be replaced with one of the following: excited, joyful, ecstatic, abso-fucking-lutely terrified of not being completely capable of taking care of another life, anxious, etc.

Is this what motherhood feels like? Because it is just downright frightening.

2008-09-13T02:24:00.000-07:00

My eyes burn and my joints ache. My muscles scream with every twitch my tired brain directs. I am exhausted. And here is why.

I have foolish questions for all the fools alive out there. And I am a silly nineteen year-old to hope for answers. But without your answers, dear fools, I will end up being a silly eighty year-old still asking foolish questions, seeking solutions.

What I want to know is this: Is it possible to lose part of your soul? What does it feel like? And how can you find that missing part again?

I don't know if "missing" and "lost" are even the right words to use. Still, it's better to lose part of one's soul than to have it die. In both cases, however, you are incomplete. You are left empty. How could that possibly feel like? It seems like quite the tragic case, but to be left empty, you cannot exactly bring yourself to care. Yes, it seems like a wretched situation to be in.

Is this where I find myself now? I haven't looked at my sketchbooks in months; I haven't written anything of merit (if I ever have). I want to. Oh, how I want to. But it is just not there. It is not there to help me finger through pages of old sketchbooks, to run my eyes over the assorted colors of pencils and paints, to lift my pen and bring it closer to the page. I want to. I want to.

But I just do not care. Not enough. Not at all.

So please, dear fools, help me. I beg of you.

...

2008-09-04T03:36:00.001-07:00

I've been hungry.

2008-07-08T00:35:00.001-07:00

I like to reminisce.

Life's Sense of Humor

2008-06-04T01:42:00.000-07:00

Just when I believed that I finally owned Life, Life turns around to slap me once again.

Things were in order. I filed all important documents to their respective offices. Homework burned away like fuel. Running errands was the easiest. Gas prices were .1 levels below atrocious. Choir practices were wonderfully short. Vicodin is no longer that difficult to swallow (kidding--kidding about the Vicodin, I mean). I was in control.

And now? My abstract paper, I just learned, is due today. Shall we weigh the severity between the two givens? Abstract paper. Due today.

Abstract paper. Due today.
Abstract paper. Due today.
Abstract paper. Due today...

... Life hits like a girl.

So tell me, what kinds of girls do you know?

Because I am who I am

2008-06-02T00:28:00.000-07:00

They make me laugh. I mean the trees.

2008-06-01T21:11:00.000-07:00

There is something I miss in the way sun and the breeze work so perfectly together to create the ultimate day for walking, relaxing, reading, and laughing. The mild whispering of the wind along with the familiar but infrequent purring of engines going past made enough noise to negate the stifling silence of being alone. Still, there was always someone who existed on the other side of a phone call, of a text message, of a dream.

There is something I miss in the way my phone would ring in the evening, bearing my best friend's excited voice. The words "Hey, what are you doing?" translated smoothly and effortlessly to "Meet us here, we'll be waiting."Driving alone, singing, was merely the beginning to a night of embraces, smiles, chatter, and joy that will forever engrave memories into my heart.

There is something I miss in her smile, in his voice, in their eyes, in her embrace, in their presence, in his touch.

Appease me, Life. You owe me.

Because my class is at 11:45

2008-05-30T00:34:00.000-07:00

I like confessions. However flawed my reasoning was to justify looking at some of the saddest, most pathetic ones, reading some of them lifts my spirits. Perhaps not, but I do find myself smiling at some of them. That must count for something.

Such was the case today, when my eyes settled over a certain confession written by a boy. It sounded all too familiar, it was typed in a matter that was all too familiar. So I held my breath as I read it over. And then it hit me.

It's not him. It couldn't possibly be him. Now, I am merely just another face in the crowd of people who deserve nothing else but apathy. After realizing that, my smile faded and I was (and am) left to face reality. How long will I be able to keep up the smile that withers the very instant no one is there to see that bitterly synthetic expression?

2008-05-28T01:37:00.000-07:00

Masakit pa rin ang puso ko.

2008-05-25T23:47:00.000-07:00

I need an anchor.

Recuperation

2008-05-20T01:33:00.000-07:00

As John said, we clean, we cut our hair, and we smile.

We smile until we, ourselves, believe that sorry gesture of facial muscles.

Sex & The City

2008-05-17T04:46:00.000-07:00

Have been watching. Will be watching.

"Don't you want to stand still with me?"

Hang On Little Tomato

2008-05-15T02:59:00.000-07:00

by Pink Martini

The sun has left and forgotten me
It's dark, I cannot see
Why does this rain pour down
I'm gonna drown
In a sea
Of deep confusion

Somebody told me, I don't know who
Whenever you are sad and blue
And you're feelin' all alone and left behind
Just take a look inside and you will find

You gotta hold on, hold on through the night
Hang on, things will be all right
Even when it's dark
And not a bit of sparkling
Sing-song sunshine from above
Spreading rays of sunny love

Just hang on, hang on to the vine
Stay on, soon you'll be divine
If you start to cry, look up to the sky
Something's coming up ahead
To turn your tears to dew instead

And so I hold on to his advice
When change is hard and not so nice
You listen to your heart the whole night through
Your sunny someday will come one day soon to you

Foreign, ballads, and lounge jazz are my consolation at the moment.

2008-05-13T12:16:00.000-07:00

"Leslie, have you registered?"
"No, not yet."
"It's not too late."

On a superficial level, such questions have been asked of everyone. Everyone has their busy schedule; everyone has their own life. Failings in any one of these matters will bring one down slightly, and almost insignificantly, on the grander scale of things.

"Leslie, have you thought about it?"
"No, not yet."
"It's not too late."

Thoughts are incredibly necessary on certain matters. Usually are of the utmost importance. Failure to do so may harm one greatly in the future.

"Leslie, have you looked at the stars?"
"No, not yet."
"It's not too late."

Admiration of beauty--something overlooked and rarely done on a mental, emotional, and spiritual level. Some would say that the urgency to do so does not exist; thus, aforementioned admiration may be forgone to more "pressing matters." But what they don't realize is that that continuous failure to appreciate the tree that gives you shade or the stars and moon that light your night will eventually leave you dead and withered inside.

"Leslie, have you fixed it?"
"No, not yet."
"It's not too late."

Reparations can be done either physically, mentally, emotionally, and/or spiritually. Just like the previous case, it is sometimes overlooked despite its looming importance in our lives. But personally, I would like to believe that it will never be too late.

Happiness Is Not a Warm Gun

2008-05-12T17:08:00.000-07:00

23 February 2007
Enough is Enough

People really do have some nerve these days.

Seriously, now. I am NOT anyone's doormat. I dare you to step on me.

And don't you dare cry when you foot gets bitten off.

I found that while I was browsing/reading old entries of mine from late '06 to early '07. How wonderful were the days when Deca, school, and friends were the only things that worried me. Halfway done with 2008, I can honestly and whole-heartedly say that I remember happier times.

Oh Joy for Another Paradox

2008-05-12T01:55:00.000-07:00

It is 2 hours and 7 minutes past midnight, and I type aimlessly away at my laptop, hoping to find some visual solace from traffic and lifeless buildings. I am, if you will, looking for my inner peace. From what could I possibly want peace from? Can not even one person agree that "everything" is enough to suffice for an answer? Thank you.

Certainly there are practical ways to mentally, emotionally, and spiritually remove one's self from the hectic hustle-and-bustle of modern society. But what I seek is the freshness of virgin air (or what could be the least polluted), bright sun (or un-American cloudiness), and Nature's song (or, again, I will settle for anything not-so-American). I basically want to fly from this mainland for something new despite the obvious and ever-so-celebrated diversity of the American scenery.

I don't want the sunset-draped beaches of the Western American Coastline. I don't want the rolling hills or the endless valleys offered by the Midwest. I don't want quaint Eastern life nor the bright-city lights that drape the North-East. I don't want the national forests (at least for right now). I don't want... home.

I want the tribal hospitalities of Pacific-Island nations (Hawaii is the closest I may tolerate, but only to enjoy family property on the island of Kauai). I want the fresh coconut juice and the papaya that tastes sweeter when picked straight from the tree by my own hands. I want to walk the road of the European country-side and perhaps even sample the historic cobblestones of ancient cities. I want to listen to the ocean with waves either violently crashing amongst the rocks and cliffs or peacefully grazing the sand.

But in order to get that piece of foreign relaxation (even sans the luxury), I must give up my momentous peace that I was graciously allowed by lying in bed 2 hours and 25 minutes past midnight.

These are my little treasures.

KOST or Icky Thump

2008-05-11T02:10:00.000-07:00

It's not a drink that I need. I remember full well that I've described several of my favorite moments. And I am in desperate need of one of those.

More specifically, I need the freeway instance with a few select people. May 16th marks the day two of them will be back. Perhaps then, things will settle; I will find peace.

I Still Cannot Sleep

2008-05-11T01:46:00.001-07:00

Is it wrong to say that I think I need one drink right now?

When I Cannot Sleep

2008-05-09T03:03:00.000-07:00

There are tales and tales of mysterious doors that yield to well-hidden keys. Surely, then, there is at least one tale of the opposite occurrence. An adventure, in turn, ensues for that single solution: that one door, that one key. What then if only the knowledge of both door and key exist, leaving but two solutions to be sought?

What awaits behind both door and key that is worth the trouble of a search? Can anyone tell me that?

EDIT: Spoke to John. Somewhat comforted. Somewhat not.

Grouphug.us

2008-05-02T14:40:00.001-07:00

I read this one incredibly personal confession addressed to a specific woman. Not gonna lie, I bawled oceans (a symptom of the menstrual cycle, I'm sure).

Dear D.L.N.*,

I still love you. You’ve broke[n] my heart twice now and I still love you. I flew across the country to be with you for one night and you shut me down, just like you did when I came to Israel for you only a few years before.

How do I know I still love you? Because even after suffering without you for six years, after being acquainted with so many other women, you are still without peer in my heart. Because I am more intimately acquainted with your flaws than anyone else. When you shut me out of your life for three years, you didn’t need to tell me you didn’t know how to deal with what you were feeling. I had to carry that pain in my breast for three years. Through every night when I couldn’t sleep because all I could manage to do was cry, I still loved you.

Through every hard moment when I needed someone to be there for me and there was no one, I still loved you.

Through every beautiful place I’ve seen since then that was tainted by not being able to share it with you, I still loved you.

Through every time I wanted to reach out to someone and tell them I love them, I still loved you.

Through every time I woke up alone with that quick, loathsome sting of the heart upon realizing you weren’t there, I still loved you.

Every day, for the past six years, from the moment I was first aware of your existence, till now, I still loved you.

And yet, you have the audacity, the sheer gall to say that we can’t be together because I’m not mature enough for you? Wasn’t my intelligence and maturity for my age [the things that] attract[ed] you to me in the first place? Didn’t one of your ex-boyfriends used to send you pictures of his turds to marvel over with him? I’ve been waiting six years for you, and you couldn’t even give me one fucking night when I flew 3,000 miles to be with you? I didn’t want to have sex with you, and yet, that’s all you could see in me when I was with you. And so what if I did want to have sex with you? For the last six years, I have waited for you, not so much as looking upon another woman. I view my virginity as a beautiful gift to give to you, something I can give that you can never return, and that I can only give to one person on this earth, and I wanted to give it to you. I wanted you to teach me how to be a real man, in more ways than just the crude and obvious.

And now I’m stuck. How can I even have sex with anyone else when I love you so much? Why would I want to share that gift with someone who I don’t feel this way towards? I’ve never even kissed a girl, and you couldn’t even give me that. How can I even date another girl when I know I’ll never be able to care for her even remotely as much as I care for you?

How dare you portray yourself as some sort of arbiter of empathy, some sort of force for justice in this world, when someone who cares for you so deeply was so hastily and carelessly cast aside because you couldn’t put up with my being a little nervous around you for an hour. Not to mention an hour that was borne from months and months of romantic build up, of promises of romance and adventure galore.

Do you know what a poison it is to promise to a man that he’ll be able to hold you, to kiss you, to whisper sweet nothings, to take you on grand adventures, to do these things for the very first time, and then renege at the peak of his excitement to be with you? Let alone twice!

And yet, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t the man you needed to me. I’m sorry I let you down. And I’m ashamed at myself, because even with all my hate for you, I know I’d still do absolutely anything for you. I know my love for you is as strong as it ever was. And it’s the absolute most elaborate, intricate, excruciating torture to know that a woman of your sheer perfection and class exists, and is capable of loving me (as she has twice prior), and refuses to give me one more chance when I have been so steadfastly dedicated to her.

And in the most bizarre of ways, I thank you. The first time you hurt me, anyways, as bad as it was, was a learning experience. I learned more through that than I could’ve through any amount of schooling or time or work anywhere else. You taught me maturity. You taught me patience. You taught me how to deal with heartache. You taught me wisdom. But most importantly, you taught me how to forgive. I only wish you would learn how to, too.

- S

*Name changed for privacy purposes.

2008-04-29T11:48:00.001-07:00

Alright. Let's get this over with.

Before many of you rise up in indignation at my juvenile frustration with the trivialities of my(our) daily life, I politely and respectfully beseech you to shut it. Because while there are those of my kin who are suffering under poverty, disease, and corruption back in the Philippines (a fact that even a simpleton cannot deny), it does not mean that I possess the same mental and emotional stamina to be as spirited as them in all my daily mundaneness. I may be significantly weaker than my impoverished counterparts.

Breezing through several psychological and anthropological aspects, surely it cannot be denied that when roles are switched and I am placed in a tropical shack whilst those under financial distress are put in a situation of being stable in all aspects of living... reactions may seem to vary but are, in fact, similar in the sense that they are "trivial" (a description that I'm beginning to find rather irritating) and evoke reactions that stem from exasperation with the dull. If one observes the "normal" toils of the average young adult belonging to the middle class, what does one see (listed in no specific order):

1. The urge to branch out and explore either mentally, emotionally, sexually, geographically, financially, etc. The idea of expanding horizons still remains. And how does this come about?

2. BOREDOM. Now that's not to say that absolutely everyone becomes bored with everything that they do; but I will be bold enough to call you a liar and a bigot if you claim to have never once felt an overwhelming sense of ennui in any particular moment in your life. But for this rant's sake, I do limit the criticism to those who tire of everyday routine or those who seek excitement and spontaneity (woo for you!). So if you believe yourself to be completely content with your mediocre life, then good for you.

3. And since I just happen to love being vague, the third category will include all problems that you, surely a person of the middle class (higher, lower, doesn't matter), face. Now what could that possibly be, you ask? For starters, one could never be without too much money to pay off several things like your car, the ever-expensive gas that goes into that car, your college education, your clothes that make you look oh-so-chic, the food that you crave at ungodly hours of the day, little luxuries that are subjective to an individual (personally, I enjoy notebook, journals, and sketchbooks), etc. But not only is that one problem. Looking at the social aspects of our insignificant little lives, there always exists tiny problems within relationships between even the best of friends, disgustingly sweet lovers, the most darling pair of mother and daughter, and so on and so forth. Going into the work-/academic-related problems is just asking for a brain aneurysm due to the recollection I will have to undergo in order to create an impassioned point.

It is pretty obvious to almost everyone that there are worse things going on in the world. However, bringing up that point as an argument against someone who chooses to complain will do virtually no good. One chooses to utilize that argument to make the aforementioned complainer to stop. Surely, then, the brute ends his tirade, much to your and everyone else's relief, but it does not erase the tiresome burden of the problems he spoke of.

I do not mean to belittle the "worse things" that are going on in this world right now. If anything, I confess to several times during which I wish for the whine-y fellow to shove it because of complaints of, let's say, "not being able to pay off the two Beamers [he] bought his twin daughters for their sixteenth birthday" (true story, by the way). In no way can a mere observer experience the pain of war, famine, and plague. In no way can a mere reader of newspapers feel the anger and the hate of those who suffer under inflicted political, social, and emotional pain.

But I do not ask for much--not money, not love, not even hate. I only ask for the smallest amount of patience towards a lowly 18-year-old girl and her entrance into a hypocritical reality with no expectations of being able to talk to anyone.

2008-04-29T01:09:00.000-07:00

Conversation with John. He said something rather interesting and there exists a minute possibility that it could be true.

I certainly hope not.

2008-04-27T21:39:00.001-07:00

Seeing as to how computer IM lingo has invaded the realities of speech, here I go:

LOL.

2008-04-26T08:11:00.000-07:00

As pessimistic my views are regarding the world and everyone residing within, I have hope for my cousin.

It's Okay.

2008-04-22T03:50:00.000-07:00

"My ex-boyfriend calls me a lot more frequently than your boyfriend calls you."

"How long has it been since he told you that he loved you?"

"Hm. A lot less enthused about talking to you, I see..."

"Your particular flame seems to be dying down."

"New phase of your life. New phase in his life. New people. You know the drill."

It's all okay, right? He's just been busy is all...

2008-04-22T01:35:00.001-07:00

By gawd, let me be unreasonable.

Right now, I just cannot accept the inevitability of human flaws. Allow me to be unreasonable and attempt to attain perfection. I know it will only disappoint me, but let me be disappointed. I'm already disappointed anyway, so what's one more added to my list of infinite letdowns?

So let me also be jealous right now. If he, at any moment, favors her manner, her behavior, her eyes, her gestures, her being over me... then I will make sure I have no regrets in the future.

Is it normal?

2008-04-16T04:01:00.000-07:00

I hope that I have not grown far too attached to you, but I do confess that having gotten to know you, to love you, has spoiled me to the extent of having been [probably] too lucky to have found you.

There are days when work, friends, family, even our own bodies, keep us from talking and even seeing each other. It is no exaggeration when I say that I feel only contempt for those days despite the many justifiable reasons behind our absence from each others' lives. Is it normal that not being able to speak to you--and I mean actually speak to you--saddens me?

Browsing around GroupHug.us, I came across this confession:

"i cant last a day without talking to you… i feel so empty if i dont hear from you.. is this normal?"

I read it three times. First, it was in curiosity as to why it seemed to stand out from all other confessions. Then again, feeling it tug at my heartstrings. And finally, in disbelief as to how such a confession matched my own. And it's true. I cannot, for the life of me, last a day without talking to you; it really does leave me empty. It was concise; it was accurate. It was true. But for some strange, unknown reason, I just cannot bring myself to tell you that.

Wow. I'm in love with you.

Aloha Oe: I Remember You

2008-04-14T04:06:00.000-07:00

Aloha ʻoe, aloha ʻoe

I thought of you today as I walked around the brightly lit city at night. That is your favorite scene, no? I do remember.

...I'm sorry that I said nothing on the 16th of February this year. My silence, consequentially, seemed only to emphasize your two-year absence from your friends, family, and me. Two years. It has been two years and still you have the ability to move me to tears.

E ke onaona noho i ka lipo

Your departure was too soon, they say. And it's true.
You were such a good person, they say. I believed it, too. You were the only one who found that claim unjustified and false.

Still you found it in your heart to gently sing this song to me every time we said good-bye. Oh your heart, one of the gentlest and most fragile one I know of.

One fond embrace

I confess that there are times during which I regret not having been better to you. But knowing you, you would frown at the mere thought of my feeling guilty. "You have nothing to feel guilty about," you would say, smiling at my innocent show of shame. It's that familiar smile that torments me inside since I know all too well that you would mean that with all of your damned heart.

A hoʻi aʻe au

I'm happy now. Surely you'd be delighted to know that he is just as kindhearted as you.

Yes, I am happy now.

Until we meet again.

I'll always remember you, M. Analei.

--

It is true that he would softly sing this song--specifically, the chorus--to me before he and I parted ways. "Farewell to you, farewell to you / The charming one who dwells in the shaded bowers / One fond embrace / 'Ere I depart / Until we meet again." It is about time that I sing it back to him as I take the final step to reconcile my feelings after the passing of my first love.

2008-03-21T23:55:00.000-07:00

I'm pacing around my room right now, hoping to receive any sign, any word from him. Angry, bitter, sad, upset, joyful, solemn.

Just to know he's okay.

Nuovo Cinema Paradiso

2008-03-15T20:33:00.000-07:00

Having posted the Amélie clip up, I've received something lovely in return from a fellow Decathlete and friend.

And I must confess that I find the ending rather charming with a touch of nostalgia provided by the music composed by Ennio Morricone. All of this while I attempt to finish my final paper for my World Literature class. But as I try to concentrate on the concepts of identity, independence, and ever changing gender roles, my thoughts drift back to the moving harmony of piano, violin, clarinet, and flute. With that, mental images form into the montage of old Hollywood romances. So I recall the recurring actions and ask myself this: What is in a kiss?

2008-03-15T01:02:00.000-07:00

I will confess that this scene never ceases to make me melt like the damned girl I am.

Coddamn Insecurities

2008-03-14T03:43:00.000-07:00

The title explains it all.

I was fine. I just hope I've accumulated enough confidence to realize that he does, in fact, love me for who I am.

... I hope who I am is enough for him. Enough for me.

2008-03-10T00:45:00.000-07:00

I've been lacking in titles lately. I don't know why.

Onto my main reason.

There exists this sinking feeling within me that prods at my mind and my heartstrings: we rarely speak as we used to.

2008-03-03T22:43:00.001-08:00

I called a friend selfish for certain reasons.

What I don't want to realize is that I am selfish, too.

2008-02-26T11:01:00.001-08:00

I remember a time when I rarely ever let my hair flow down my back so freely, let alone half up. It was from about 3rd grade to 9th grade. My hair always needed to by tied back.

I don't exactly remember why that was or how it changed. It just was a simple recollection of how I managed to change in appearance from childhood to whatever stage of life I'm in right now.

It makes me wonder as to how such a change came about. Am I more comfortable with myself? What happened to me? And why can I not remember?

2008-02-26T02:28:00.000-08:00

Why am I who I am?
Why do I do what I do?

Why did I say what I said?

And with the Green Fairy, I realize...

2008-02-23T22:13:00.000-08:00

... the silliness with which I wrote the last entry.

I must say that I reach dangerously low points of emotion when lacking human contact. My roommate's jests were enough to pick me right back up.

But for how long?

I Bring Only Sadness Upon Myself

2008-02-23T21:13:00.000-08:00

"You really are a hard one to impress."

Is that all too true? Certainly, I would hope not; I merely seek one thing of the boy: that he prove me wrong about the universal thought of males. For you see, being a realist, I held an almost lowly regard for all and refused, absolutely refused, to let my kneed buckle at the slightest glance.

In the recent past, I'm glad to say that I have not been broken by the selfish, lascivious ways of the majority of men. Until I, as I would like to believe, met one who has proven me wrong. Kind, gentle, compassionate, with an edginess that fortifies his self, what more can I ask of a gentleman?

Nothing, right?

This is where my cousin's statement mentioned at the beginning comes into play. Surely his gallant manner should be enough to dissuade me from self-imposed homosexuality. I believed it so. Until my one question is his simple answer illuminated one obvious factor that I chose to ignore: he's a guy. Of course, he is a much better one that most, making realize that there are those who are essentially better than the dumb majority.

And what kills me is the following statement that my inner self found it troublesome to mention: but he has not proven you wrong about the nature of men. As I've said before, he's a guy.

And I realize the reality of it all; nothing can be done to change the natural state of masculinity. Nothing I can do, that is. No amount of complaining, no amount of tears at night will change that one aspect that makes men men. Why is it then so impossible for me to just accept it? To just, basically, lower my standards in order to include at least one male into consideration instead of leaving myself in complete emotional and physical celibacy?

I don't know. Perhaps this will all blow over with a good night's rest and some soul-numbing alcohol.

One of Those Days

2008-02-23T14:44:00.000-08:00

Having risen with less than 2 hours of sleep in each eye, it's only logical to assume that I would embrace my bed after my return from choir practice.

That's exactly what I did. Well-rested now, I'm far too late to begin any large activity and am left with the option of mere exploration. And that, really doesn't sound bad.

On days when I'm alone and half-unwillingly to see friendly faces, I feel at the most ease and the most natural. No obligations to anyone save a phone call or two when necessary. My time is my own. My world is my own. Some would argue that this sense of freedom I feel is wholly deceiving, asking me to ponder upon the metaphysical state of Freedom and Truth, and what they really are.

But in whatever honesty I can conjure up at this moment, I can say that right now, I can give a rat's ass about such things. Surely I worry enough about such questions during the week. Right now, let Apathy be my mistress and let us be.

Let Me Be at Peace for Once, California

2008-02-21T12:45:00.001-08:00

'Tis a cruel, cruel cycle. Being a freshman, logically, I begin with only a meager amount of units due to the, well, lack of "experience." Illogically enough, that is my punishment.

The CSU system, lovely as it is and perhaps not the only one, deems it appropriate to give priority registration to those with higher unit count and/or unbelievably&disgustingly high amounts of school spirit. I suppose it's fair to give such a right to those in need to graduate and to get the hell out of college already, but due to such an inefficient amount of resources, there's nothing to be done to destroy a rather disastrous cycle.

Following the above logic, this would mean that underclassmen such as myself are left with later, far later, registration dates. As time progresses after the first day of registration, lower-division classes--high in demand, you see--metaphorically fly off the shelves in order to satiate last minute GE requirements for the older, wiser group of procrastinating super seniors. Oh joy for us younger folk. Now that would mean that there would be many upper-division classes left. But let me enlighten you with one little truth: lower-division classes are usually prerequisites to get into most of the upper-division classes. OH BOY!

So now I am left with 2 classes (still paying more than $1000 mind you!), meaning that I am not exactly fully enrolled for next quarter while one of those classes only meets one GE section. So in the end, my dear friends, I am oh-so-glad to tell you that I will be contributing to the super senior rush when I am older, angering the ickle little freshman who will scavenge.

..Just as I am doing at this very point in my life.

2008-02-19T01:01:00.000-08:00

It's been quite a while since I last poured my entirety onto a measly web page. I discovered that he actually does read this and I, now self-conscious, stop myself from typing down anything too revealing. But I seize this very moment in time when such inhibitions are nonexistent to live that one facet of my soul that raises only self=scorn.

Sensing his absence on the other side of the camera, I decided to verbally unload the burdens that settled into my mind this past few weeks. I don't choose to leave all else out; it is only inevitable that I forget. So here exists the most important thing.

In no way do I enjoy any overflow of emotion. If anything, I prefer emotional neutrality, deeming emotions dangerous when they manage to gain complete control. Which is why, as the most logical solution, I "told" him this:

Only for you am I willing to take a broken and battered heart. Only for you.

2008-02-07T00:31:00.000-08:00

Enough.

Enlighten Me, Mr. Xie

2007-12-19T16:58:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-12-19T11:16:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-12-15T07:47:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-01T20:50:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-28T02:10:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-24T02:26:00.001-08:00

Life is wonderful right now.

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

In Hookah's Place

2007-11-22T23:53:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-21T22:58:00.000-08:00

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

For No One

2007-11-08T00:08:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-11-05T14:00:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-11-04T22:38:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-11-02T16:17:00.000-07:00

[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

2007-10-31T00:42:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-30T17:28:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-10-23T15:29:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-15T19:05:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-12T14:58:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-11T16:55:00.000-07:00

I love getting packages and letters in the mail.

That's all.

Untitled

2007-10-05T02:15:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-10-03T18:13:00.001-07:00

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

2007-10-03T04:01:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-29T02:26:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-22T12:34:00.000-07:00

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...?

2007-09-19T02:43:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-09T03:41:00.000-07:00

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

2007-09-04T07:52:00.000-07:00

... 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

2007-09-04T00:45:00.000-07:00

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.