cause i'm the only one you know who's not at home

It's New Year's Eve! Another year has come and gone, bringing with it a whole entire slew of events. So far tonight, my writing ability has been insulted, my weight has been higher than expected and or desired, and I am currently sitting down in my uncle's house, far away from the party.

They don't even champagne.
Oh well.
At least there's some great intoxicating "sparkling apple cider". It is gold medal, after all.

This year, I actually did make a list of resolutions. Whether I intend to keep them or not is another matter entirely. Thanks to the great heaping amount of SAT prep that has been force-fed to my brain, I think of the concept of "resolutions" in a whole new light. For one, I have been considering the actual definition of resolution. The infinitive, to resolve, entertains the idea of committing to something, of a commitment to change.

There are three things I truly hope to change:
1. TRY in school. Reality is catching up too quickly, and everywhere I go I am reminded that college admissions is right around the corner and there is no room for regrets, mistakes, or laziness. My procrastination was bound to have to come to an end at some point, and I suppose today is the best day for it to die.

2. COMPLETE the challenges I give myself, including the NaNoWriMo challenge and also the picture-a-day challenge. I'm definitely hoping to be able to do both this year, finally. The picture-a-day challenge should be simple, unless I run out of memory, and then it will become a drag. We'll see.

3. This third thing is something that I really do not have much control over. I want to fall in love, and not the half-way, unrequited kind, the genuine, drive-me-insane, intense love. I consider it a challenge; I would like to prove that I can maintain my self no matter who I am with--another resolution in itself.



I suppose seeing as there is 4 hours to the closing of yet another year, I should include an overview of the year, supposing that I even remember what happened each month.



January - Kimmi's sweet sixteen... nothing else comes to mind. Height of HDD.

February - Hard time for some, the play; disgusting, and also as mindless as I knew it would be, considering my "role" in the ensemble included a hideous getup of bright colored gauze. Made friends with random people who have since exited our lives, with grace, I suppose.

March - anniversary of Gabby, the beginning of the AP stress. got a tutoring gig, spring track season started, very painful. continued to question my like for

April - Panic time for the APs, spring break, eventful. Too personal to divulge.

May - hideous, stressful, I (sparingly) can not remember all the details of this month and hope that I will not someday have a terrible memory surge... if those are even possible. APs, very hilarious and cult-like considering we had to seal the booklets when done and also "NEVER" discuss the multiple choice questions ever again. BWAH!

June/July/August - busy, worked most of the week. Did nothing significant, really, but was overall a pretty fun summer. All things considered.

September - The beginning of the Crucial 11th Grade. The Year When It All Matters. First quarter began quite pleasantly--very high average, satisfactory everything, co-captain of XC with Taryn, albeit it was the smallest team yet. We did very well, personal bests all across the board. Some particularly dramatic events, once again related to inebriation.

October - My sixteenth birthday! Got the job of my dreams working at the library, met more exciting people, PSATs, hoped for the best, set more records, Halloween that I can't even remember--mazel tov to that. Except, I can remember. Relatively unremarkable.

November - NaNoWriMo came and went, busy with school, second quarter grades started off atrocious. Began to stop caring as much as I did in September. Thanksgiving at Uncle's house, turkey, etc. Fun times.

December - -------------------------------------->revelations. Some more pleasant than others, some easier than others, some more complicated than others, some less than transparent than others...

overall, the year feels as if it blurred past. I suppose it's always like that by the end of December.

Here's to hoping for a great, great year. Full of happiness and love and all that cheesy Hallmark card nonsense. <3.

hearts break and skies fall but what we have left is best of all.

First of all, I'm utterly entranced by Sex on Fire.

on this day of weather so fine,
Your hand is shaking in mine.
the truth of your words goes
straight to the bone--
neither of us knows
how to be alone.
now you're feeding me another line,
but tonight i will not dine.


I've wanted to write a book for quite a while,
but how do you start a novel with chaos?

the word 'best friend' becomes redefined

Last night was the Chiodos show at the Roseland Ballroom. The line to get in stretched around a good two blocks; anyone with red and white tickets, however, got to go in first. The beauty of exclusivity. I did not have a red and white ticket--I had a print-out ticket, albeit on high quality paper.

The other bands playing were A Skylit Drive, Ana...something, Escape the Fate, and Silverstein. Have to admit, none of the above are part of my usual repertoire of music, but Chiodos is amazing live. The lead singer got so into it that it was infectious. I've never been so close to so many people in my life, literally, pressed against strangers that I'd never seen before and probably will never see again.

The most memorable moment of the night must have been the drunken fellow who came over and basically gave us a life-coaching speech about having fun and "living like there's no tomorrow". He complimented K, G, and myself, and then proceeded to speak directly to my chest. He was drunk, so it was done with absolutely no subtlety. Hilarious. I love random happy drunks.

I've misplaced my poetic eloquence. I suppose it will recover sometime around 3 in the morning. As of right now, I have nothing to do with my Saturday night save for procrastinate, compulsively check my phone, and hope that a good movie will come on.

My job at the library is mostly satisfying, although alphabetizing for four hours, and then watching people mess up what you've just rearranged can be quite frustrating. It does inspire me to write a novel--an extended story. The only problem is, I've no idea what the conflict would be were I to actually successfully begin writing.


I'm going to be so busy tomorrow, it's not even remotely amusing.
For one thing, I have to rush from one place to another: First, SAT prep--I did not even complete the reading comprehension homework. Ooops. And then work: I'm working with 1 of 2 pages I have yet to meet, and apparently she likes to work alone, so not sure how that will play out.


In other things, I am really upset that I have no idea who I am. Well, I take that back: I have no idea what I am truly passionate about. Even if I do, I'm not quite sure how to voice it because I feel as if I have been working on becoming this ideal college-friendly "package" of a person that I have become a generic, robotic individual with no true distinguishing characteristics. I am a chameleon.

carefully construed pieces of bread?

My season is over. Allow me to reflect.
More than once I thought it morbid to be pushing my body to limits beyond what I used to think it capable of reaching. Still, I gamely counseled my way through yet another season

It was actually beautiful. Rewarding at best.
Personal bests all across the board:

Sunken Meadow 3mile: 21:41
Sunken Meadow 5k: 22:29
Riverhead 2.6mi: 17:54
Babylon Bowl 5K (3mi?): 21:05

Ranked season's best... Hmm.. is that pride I feel?
I think so.

I feel a bit literally challenged: uninspired is perhaps a better word.

Emotional Masochism is best served with a friend.

I am not a smoker, but I feel as if I understand the urge that must overcome one's senses when one is craving a cigarette. It manifests itself in the way I internally argue with myself, my thoughts volleying back and forth, pounding against the edges of my consciousness. My internal dialogue usually carries the undertones of an argument; I am seldom in agreement with myself.

Today, I had many an epiphany about my behaviors. I realized once and for all that I am an emotional masochist. The discovery that one of my dearest friends is exactly the same was one that provided a deep satisfaction. It felt good knowing that someone else has the same insane, unhealthy problem. Some might even call it twisted. I suppose it is, but mostly it's really... sadistic, I guess.

I set things up to watch them fall; I build the foundation knowing it will crumble, no matter how stable it seems. A tiny fracture, left exposed to the unforgiving air. I want to watch them hurt, I suppose. I guess it's not so much masochism as it is revenge; but it is. One tiny thing; a tiny flaw in the night, a stray thread. It sets off a chain reaction of sorts--first, the initial disappointment, the crippling feeling of helplessness that leaves the mouth dry and the throat ache with unshed frustration. Second, the resignation accompanied by a faint sense of defiance against the acceptance. Finally, the agitation and restlessness: the thought I can't wait to go home and be sad.

I can't open myself up because I haven't closed the door on my past yet. How dramatic, and yet, how genuinely, depressingly apropo. I know that I am not done, no matter how many times I swear to myself that I am, that I will not let this go on a second longer. I know that I will keep going, that I will keep allowing myself to feel this and that it will continue to be just as hopeless.

I enjoy the poking and prodding that leads to cuts and bruises of the figurative variety. I live to ask questions that I do not want to hear the answers to. I know them already: Do you like her? Of course you do. Is it because she's pretty or because you're in love with her personality? You'll say personality and I'll know you mean that you think she's really hot. Are you going to ask her out? Of course you are. Do you want me to help? You're not sure because you don't want to hurt me and you don't understand that I'm doing this on purpose. You do not, will not, and can not know why I do this.

Then you'd think I'm crazy, if you didn't already. I think I'm crazy for doing such a thing to myself on a regular (almost) basis. Every time, at least. I know when the signs are coming and I daresay, I welcome them. I savor them. I roll their bitter flavor around in my mouth, tasting the letdown on the tip of my tongue. It glides past my teeth, slipping down my throat and settling in the pit of my stomach, making me dizzy with a strange masochistic thrill.

I want to feel the rejection drive deeply into my mind, and then I want to pull it out fast. Like ripping off a bandaid. And then, the hole its left will heal itself. It heals quickly, breezing past the scabbing. All that's left is a shadow of a memory, something vague. Something that haunts but does not quite possess.

It doesn't really happen that way.
What happens is something akin to the above; I will probe him for words that I don't want to hear. I will continue to ask things that I have long since figured out the answer to.

I don't understand it, and I suppose I'm better off this way.

The situation will not suddenly remedy itself, nor will a miracle shoot from the sky and into my hands. If it does, I shall catch it with my palms wide open, cupped to ensure success. I will close my hands over it tightly, sealing away thoughts of escape.

I kind of feel like I'm stuck. I'm sandwiched between two glass walls and my inability to climb over is overwhelming and I can't seem to move anywhere except lower, trapping myself further. I look at him and all I see is my own inadequacy, though I hate to admit it anymore, though I despise the thought of it and abhor such assumptions on my part. I can not stop. I can not stop staring, and seeing only a taunting reminder before my eyes. I can't have him. I can try him, but I'll have to buy it if I want anymore than a demo. And I can't afford it. Insufficient funds.


Optimism is not my best friend tonight, or this morning. Whichever one prefers.

lost in a paradise raining hope

The Olympics are over; the closing ceremony was enchanting. Over the course of the past week, I have found myself swelling with pride for China. They really did a good job with everything, the athletes were remarkable.

It was really inspiring. I really feel like I can do anything when I watch these people glide through the water, gracefully stride across the track, dive, flip, turn, kick, throw, it's like a plethora of talent and determination. They seem to glimmer with the spark of intense training and lifelong goals. Their dreams shoot out of their arms as they reach for the gold.

Then again, it's all much easier said/watch than done. I want to push my body to its limits, to feel the pain that comes with getting better, but when I'm actually feeling it, when my lungs and heart are protesting what my legs want to keep doing, the inspiration wavers.

It gives way to weakness and excuses. Running is too mental of a sport to withstand negative thoughts. I need to have a constant supply of positive feeling and motivational quotes to chant through my head.

The ideal conditions, though, is music that pounds through your head, entering through your ear and exiting in the form of speed.

ON THE OTHER HAND,
I have thus far been inebriated twice without huge consequences. My control is improving. I found my happy point, and managed to stay there. I also saw something I most certainly never expected to see in real life.

I did the first half of my back to school shopping-- got two pairs of jeans, two shirts.

I need to get a pair of shoes, and also some more shirts/jeans.


I have a remaining balance of $155.

Brevity.

The Olympics:

Athletes to make me swoon -

Ryan Lochte
Michael Phelps
Alessio Boggiatto


They inspire me to run further, faster, stronger, although they are all swimmers. I do love swimmers on an Olympic level. The broad shoulders, the abs, the smooth, absence of hair, mmm.


I feel an extreme necessity to run now. To be a superhero in human form, to push my body to its limits. To share in the spirit of the Olympics.

Fondly known as "Asianfest" 2008.

Today, well, technically yesterday, though to me the day is not over until I have gone to sleep, we attended the Java St. 4th of July celebration hosted by some influential guy named Henry. We were invited by my mom's colleague and me, my parents, sister, grandparents from both sides, uncle and aunt went. I fondly refer to it as "Asianfest" because it is essentially a gathering of Cantonese people. This year was the second time I went, and it was interesting. I still cannot fathom the alarming rate at which time has passed. It feels like just yesterday that it was this time last year.

Midway through the festivities, said colleague's son (with two friends), daughter, and nephew arrived. The chicken burgers they had at the gathering were unacceptable, and borderline inedible. Thus, I accompanied the son, his cousin and two friends on a journey to McDonalds for some "real fake food". We walked through the streets of Brooklyn, acquiring curious gazes most places we went. Not really, though--I'm just paranoid. When we finally reached McDonalds, we realized we had walked in a huge circle when in reality it was basically down the street from where we were. In any case, it was fun, and I got a 99 cent vanilla soft serve cone out of it. Yum.


After returning to the fest, the Macy's fireworks spectacular started. If you'd like a better idea of where we were, we were on the Brooklyn side of the East River. It was nice, very dramatic and endearing and spectacular of course.

Alas, they did not have a cheeseburger shaped firework.

Nor did any explode on top of us--which is a positive


Hope that all enjoyed our nation's birthday.

i want you to stay please hold me out til my breath runs out

I got my shirt in the mail today! I'm so excited.
I was just telling my mother that it should be coming tomorrow, and I open the door, only to find it on my doorstep in its pretty Hollister cardboard box. It's lovely, I like it.

Anyway, I decided I need to do some moral cleaning.
As in, rid myself of bloodsucking bitchy friends who find pleasure in the pain and misery of others. I have no need for them, and they will only hinder my path to happiness.

I try to be a nice person to everyone, and I've always stood by the belief that in order to be unconditionally nice, there is lying involved. Honesty is just not a uniformly nice trait. The truth has its edges, and some of those edges are sharp, perhaps even sharp enough to cut. Somehow, though, my lies might take things too far, digging a hole too deep for me to fill up with simple excuses. I'm determined to stop doing such things, to stop digging holes for myself.

The first thing I must do is to stop caring so much about the things that useless people have to say to me. I do care what others think about me. It's inevitable. It doesn't matter what that person means to me, I do not like being thought of as a bad person. Still, I've lost respect for two people whom I used to be able to consider my best friends, and now I'm surprisingly apathetic towards the whole situation.

I'd like to believe in karma. But I know that in truth, life will give some people all the lemonade, while others will have to make it themselves out of the bits and rinds of lemons they are given. It is that way because that is the way the universe works. On the other hand, I haven't given up hope that perhaps those who have trespassed against the innocent will get what they deserve in one form or another.

I'm not saying I was completely innocent in the issue, I certainly could have done things differently. But I would never use the mistakes of others as an excuse to call someone up to make them cry. I may say I will do it, I may soak the joy of being a bitch out of it, but I would never actually pick up the phone and dial the numbers. It's just too cruel and so cliche.

Either way, it drives me to insanity.

hey baby can you bleed like me

Everything is moving in slow motion. It's a fucking trip.

Memories fading
limbs revolving slowly
around the tides of time.
We are falling, we are falling,
slowly into a stupor we
never knew to hold so dear.
The river of our minds is so clear,
translucent as a newborn's eyes,
we are rising, we are rising,
against the current of blood lust
we are coming up for air.




I have a morality issue that is currently bouncing back and forth across the surface of my mind. Here's the background information regarding the situation that escalated today. Last week, activities inducing impairment were engaged in, and this resulted in a kiss between two individuals not exactly entitled to kissing, lest of all understood. Then, the male culprit promised that he would inform the two hurt parties himself (ex girlfriend and best friend) so no one else should say anything. Upon hearing this, I naturally took it seriously and agreed, so long as he promise to tell them himself. Accepting his promise to be binding, I naturally do not mention it, nor do I feel an overwhelming need to stir shit without any true purpose. Alas, the mouths are not so tight-lipped, and the ex girlfriend stumbles upon the truth, thereby launching a merciless tirade against the female culprit. The best friend found out through the EX and that created endless conflict as well. Now, question is... why the fuck?

i'm basically high right now.

close your eyes and i'll kiss you cause with the birds i'll share

"More lonely than alone."


I find a lot of relativity in that statement. (I probably used that word incorrectly. However, I lack the time nor desire to care enough to find out for sure.)

Today I went to Ally's house for the first time in months. Kristin, Gianna, and all the other Europe trip attendees left today. This week should turn out interesting. We watched the very beginning of 10,000 B.C. only to give up on it, and then watched Definitely, Maybe. I realized the full majesty of Nirvana's music and the power of Kurt Cobain's voice.

The other night, I spent a total of four and a half hours talking about life. Concepts like time, which we have only the word of others as proof, boggled our minds and amazed us as the thoughts poured out of our orifices. Philosophical statements blew out of our ears and into our minds where we kept them like a leftover cake, a mess beneath carefully applied saran wrap. Over the course of the day, or night--there is that time thing again, who's to say three in the morning is actually 'morning', rather than really late at night, or vice versa?--we unanimously decided that the things we never knew will not be missed, and order creates disorder.

There are two trees, one on Peter's front lawn, the other near Chris'. They have grown far beyond the others, the result of Darwin's theory of natural selection--only the tallest will reach the sunlight and thus, survive. Their branches, though, curl towards one another, reaching for each other, almost like the Sistine chapel's 'Christus Rex', the part with the fingers stretching. That blew my mind, for some odd reason.

Over the past few weeks, there have been numerous occasions during which I found myself strangely irritated by little things that certain people around me did. The first, I realized my penchant for pretty boys with the heart of true men. I discovered my annoyance for overly sensitive boys who constantly need their self-esteem stoked and stirred. Though sexist and old-fashioned, I believe that it should be the girl who is complaining about herself, if anyone is complaining at all. I'm all for confidence in my guys. Not overly cocky, nobody likes a big cockhead. However, between the two extremes, I would prefer overconfidence to complete self-hatred. As Brittany so eloquently put it, "If a guy thinks he's hideous, he probably is."

Well, this morning, I had an existential crisis, had people over for a brief time, then showered, and took a nap topless.

I'm trying to get my eloquence back.


I did really well on my report card, I'm extremely pleased with myself. Hah. I didn't think I'd be able to say that this year.








Once upon a time, there was a darling little girl who had a dream to be happily married. She wanted to have two kids, just as her parents did. She would wear a garland on her head and dress herself in white, spinning and twirling like she imagined a newlywed bride to. She carefully practiced walking to the tune of the wedding march and held a bouquet of artificial flowers in her little hands. She picked flowers in her backyard, kissing the petals and pretending they were her Prince Charming's. Her home transformed into a gated castle, her room was a tower, kept safe from harm by a magical barrier that she created with her meticulous imagination. She pictured a feast fit for a thousand, waltzes and pretty shoes. She wanted a band with every instrument in the world, and a beautiful glowing sunset behind her when she ran to their waiting 'Just Married' honeymoon getaway car. The little girl was full of happy scenarios and daydreamed her way through Disney movies--that is, if she wasn't sitting an inch away from the screen, reaching out and wishing she were the princess about to be swept off her feet. She dragged her four year old best friend, a sweet little boy who grew into a troubled man, and informed him of their marriage. He was oblivious, as most four year old males are apt to be, and agreed unconditionally to whatever she said. She misses that boy.

oh when i said i need you so much i was dead...

Yesterday was interesting. No lapses in judgment for me!
I've decided the area right between the beginnings of a buzz and full on tipsy is just wonderful.

Basically, there was plenty of actions that would certainly result in volatile reactions..
but, for once, none of those actions involved me, myself, or my reputation...













But it's summer. I'm certain that "I'm not involved" will become my motto of the season. I don't want to deal with a best friend who is so lost in her heartbreak and hopes that she can't see that it ended long before they even realized it themselves. I'm not going to lie, I am biased, I am rooting for one team more than the other and that might make me seem like a bad person, disloyal, even, but then again, it might just be karma.


I'm not one to get bitter, though. Well, at least not now.

I went shopping today with G. Well, I didn't really shop. We contributed to a greener earth while simultaneously saving gas money by taking the bus. It was definitely an experience. G got leered at left and right, one ogler even made contact. He had dirty fingers and yellowed teeth. Not exactly appealing.

The SAT II scores came in this morning. Jenn slept over, and we'd spent a good 3 hours discussing the pros and cons of the-thing-that-might-possibly-just-maybe-could-work. She left at 7 and I couldn't go back to sleep, so I sat myself down and waited. I ended up not checking them until 11 30. I didn't do as well as I'd wanted, but I'm not unhappy either. I got a 680 on both the chemistry and the world history. Certainly not spectacular by Asian standards, nor are they anything to brag about to the overachievers and future yuppies. However, my chem grade far surpassed the expectations I did not dare hold.

I also discovered this morning that I love checking scores. That's such an odd thing to say, I'm aware, but the anticipation is almost enough to provide an adrenaline rush.

Back to the incidents. As much as I'd like to say I'm not involved, I am. I am irrevocably, intrinsically involved. I have no idea what to say to any of the parties who are directly involved, but I do know that I have desire to be in the middle of a tangled web woven by other people. I'll weave my own, thank you very much.


Ugh, psychotic obsessive people are obnoxious.

Especially when they're not even drunk.

it only takes one moment to change your life forever. if it hasn't happened to you yet...it will.

I spent a total of $7.90 on movie rentals in the past two days.
First, there was crazy/beautiful. Recommended by a friend after my request for a "fucking cute" movie, I watched it and I got everything I had asked for. It was adorable. The lighting was a bit crazy, and I hated the fact that Dunst felt it was okay to never wear a bra, but other than that, it was touching. Cliche, maybe a little, Romeo&Juliet-like, yes, but absolutely well done.

Then, last night, I decided to get Bella. I've contemplated watching it more than once, and I must admit the summary is quite persuasive ("...a love story that goes beyond romance... a day in New York City changes three lives forever..."), the tagline is tantalizing ("One person can change your life forever"), and generically speaking, it was pretty similar to crazy/beautiful, only with the added element of pregnancy and carried the undertones of the abortion issue. I'm not a film buff, I really have no idea what I'm saying, but it was beautiful. I really loved it. The way it was filmed was beautiful, the actors' interaction with one another was flawless, and the story was adorable. It was bella.

Other than that, I've been dealing with a plethora of things. First of all, I got my body fat percentage measured, and I'm happy with the results. But I'm having trouble finding the right amount of motivation to keep myself going to the gym. I think there's something wrong if it takes more energy to change the seat height then actually doing the exercise. Next, the Incident still gets brought up, and that makes me a little mad. It's over. It doesn't have to be held against me forever. I don't mind the occasional dig, that's well deserved, but to transform it into some sort of justification of banning me from certain things is just ridiculous. I'm done with defending myself, though, I shouldn't have to so vehemently. It's done.

I sent a secret into PostSecret last week. It wasn't posted. I hung out with Brittany yesterday after the gym, and we spent two hours walking around and talking. She showed me all the spots where she learned how to love, and I told her at each spot that I wished I knew what she was talking about. I wished I could say I understood how she felt. But I don't. I can sympathize and emphasize all I want, but will I truly be able to relate? No. I have never fallen in love. I don't even know if I've come close. I know that my expectations for love are made too high and embedded into them are hopeless romantic ideals that reality cannot possibly provide. I feel numb to love, I feel like I've become hardened by the cute stories of other people that I don't remember how to feel truly touched without feeling a twinge of jealousy, of envy.

My seventh grade English teacher once explained the difference between jealousy and envy. She believed that to be jealous of someone was to be happy for them, whereas to envy another was to wish so much you had what they did, you almost wished to take it away from them. I do not envy the love my friends know. I am jealous of them. But sometimes, I'm afraid I'll start to envy them. I don't want that to happen.

Since I was a little girl, I was obsessed with love. I still am, I'm in love with the idea of love, and I want to feel every aspect of it. I want to feel the raw emotion that separates that kind of love from familial love.

I just watched Blue Lagoon. Brooke Shields has got a whole lotta eyebrow. Christopher Atkins in all his tan and blonde glory, though, hmmm.

There's a scrape on my leg from tire-burn that refuses to scab again. I hope it goes away. There's nothing eventful going on right now. The atmosphere is sunny with a hint of silence that I can't seem to fill. Tabby's picking me up in about ten minutes to go to Babylon village with Brittany. My sister went to the park, and she better be home by then because she doesn't have her key and I do NOT feel like dealing with that. There's a cute boy involved though, so I suppose I can cut her some slack.


--- EDIT ---

I went and helped with a scavenger hunt project yesterday. It was poignant, I suppose, and certainly an experience. I apparently have adapted Spanish characteristics to my physical appearance.

pouring alcohol on blisters

It is scorching out. This is weather that will make even the most skeptical believe in global warming. It's the kind of hot that feels like you're trapped in a box with no holes for air. Not quite humid, thank god, but stifling. It is SO hot, that I don't even feel like eating. My hair, my hair, is even feeling the effects. Usually, it's immune to the sun's displays of overly enthusiastic display of affection towards the upper East coast.
But today?

Yeah.

On the other hand, we are currently in the first of three days of the last three days of classes. This is a time that I thought, back in September, would never arrive. Just as I thought the track season would never end, or that cross country way back in fall, or the AP exams, or the SAT IIs, well, it's all come and gone, and another year has almost run its course. But not quite. There are still finals to take, all of which I have no intention of studying for, if only for the sole reason that I am so goddamn bored with school.

I met with my SAT tutor yesterday, after deciding that the last one was decidedly too patronizing, and thus, ineffective. The one yesterday, however, proved to be quite promising. As a tutor myself, I long ago realized that the way to get through to a child is praise. You do not, should not, can not, start off the session reprimanding their idiocy. Rather, you compliment their strengths, putting them on a pedestal. Then, you swiftly, carefully chip away at said pedestal until they are level with you. To them, however, they have already been lifted above mere mortals, and thus have such an idea stuck with them forever.

My love life is as dry as dirt in today's weather. It is insatiable, and ravenous. It is not being fed by anything more than a dim hope. I hope it rains soon.

extraordinary secrets from ordinary lives

I had a lapse in judgment that resulted in a string of exceedingly embarrassing events which I would rather not divulge to anyone other than those who already know. There were things involved which I would have preferred to remember, if only to have some kind of way to defend myself. I suppose that it's a lesson learned the hard way, but this was one lesson I wouldn't have minded getting the cliffnotes for.

Anyway, trust is a hard thing to keep these days. It's also a hard thing to dole out. How can you keep trusting when every time you think it's okay to tell someone something, that person will inevitably reveal the secret, and usually to the person intended to keep the secret from in the first place.

We're reading The Scarlet Letter. Hester Prynne knew a bit about secrets. Arthur Dimmesdale, now there was a coward if I ever did read about one. You could argue that he had a reputation to uphold, a position to honor, a priestly duty to God to fulfill, but does the denial of your bastard child not count as sin?

I feel like, I have a lot of secrets. But somehow, when I sit down and try to list them, I can think of nothing. Maybe that's a sign that I'm more open than I think. Maybe it's just that I've hidden the secrets for so long, I can't even see them for myself anymore. I've shoved them in a corner so far and hidden within my mind that they've embedded themselves into the walls of my brain. An incongruous part of the complex human mind, no longer able to be studied under the ever-concerned eye of my conscience.

Do you know, I've always liked to think, the one you love most will make you cry, but the one who loves you most would rather die than make you shed a tear. I'm not sure that's true. But the first part is. For me, it's a lot more literal than I would've liked it to be, given previous incidents. On the other hand, I also realized that, much like that profound book I read months ago, someday, this pain will be useful to me.

Someday, this will have a purpose.

Until then, I may choose not to search for said purpose, lest I miss the pleasant details of a life better spent enjoying the moment rather than analyzing the future.

must enjoy the sun, must enjoy the sea

It's raining again. It was raining last night, and it would alternate between a torrential downpour, to a drizzle that you could barely feel. Funny how the weather can be so similar to human emotion. We feel waves of something that crashes into our heads and on our hearts and makes us feel too much too fast, but then it subsides, and all of a sudden, it's numb, and we're okay. It works with happiness and sadness and extremes of all sorts.

My procrastination has definitely gotten worse. I decided to do track this spring, and it exhausts me. I have a goal to reach though, and I'm determined to get there. I have people to prove wrong. And I'll do what it takes to do so.

I'm trying to finish reading Please Don't Kill the Freshmen, but it's not working. It's poignantly written, and it's inspirational, but I just can't seem to finish it. I'm on page 229 of the 309 page novel, and I am positive I can finish it by tomorrow, but I keep getting distracted. Tonight is a party for a friend, an extremely belated birthday party.

Speaking of poignant, I read an amazing passage in Peter Cameron's Someday this Pain will be useful to You, and it so perfectly expressed one of my most intricate fears:

"...the randomness of everything. That the people who could be important to you might just pass you by. Or you pass them by. How did you know?...Life is full of these tragic incongruities."

My mom bought bread with raisins in it, and it's not cinnamon raisin bread, so I have to pick out the raisins and the crumbs get everywhere.

So I was talking to a friend, and we were being negative. And it was alright to be negative because sometimes you just need to be. And we were talking about the shallowness that everyone is bound to have because if you didn't care at all you're probably a saint and what are the chances of there being any saints just walking around these days?

I don't like rainy days, it's as if the rain washes away my clarity, at the same time it cleanses the earth. It seems to muddle my thoughts, blurring and blending them into one another until I can't tell one from the other, and I can't tell where one thought begins and another ends, and I'm not quite sure of anything.

Right now all my thoughts are so scattered, and I have so much to do for school, most of which I should probably be doing right this moment. I've got to research censorship for English. I've got to construct some mundane DBQ for history, and I've got to teach myself about the pH of buffers vs. the pH=pKa and whatever the hell else we're supposed to know by now, and all the important everything's that are crucial to passing the test in May. I have to get more sleep and run and do so much. I have to finish reading this book and I have to become more ambitious and focused.

And then I was thinking this morning, out of nowhere, about babies. And I was thinking about the sound they make when you feed them, that weird gurgling-slash-swallowing sound. And for some reason, I had this epiphany thing and it was like I understood why people have children, and then I realized that it was about eight in the morning, and that it was Saturday morning, and that I had absolutely no reason to be awake.

"How long does it take to heat butter?"
"Ten seconds."

for once maybe i could

keep this up?
I want to be a writer.
I love being inspired at random times by books.
Right now, I'm reading the third book of the Gemma Doyle trilogy by Libba Bray. And I just accidentally read a spoiler even though I already guessed it based on my horrible habit of skimming. I'm sure that lots of people know what I'm talking about, when you flip through the book looking for the good parts. Yeah. Well, anyway, I already know this book is going to be sad and I'm sure it'll be bittersweet and I'll actually really like it and deny all the bad parts like I did with Harry Potter. It's in my nature. Oh well, besides that, I haven't really gotten anything done at all. I've been trying to teach myself kinetics, to no avail. I still have absolutely no idea what the difference is between first-order and second-order. Like the whole ln[A] vs. 1/ln[A].. Yeah I don't know what the fuck those things are.


Writers are always eccentric.
I feel like I'm eccentric. Maybe I could be a writer.

Stupidity doesn't suit you.

Okay, remember back in elementary school when the determining factor for who was your best friend was a sticker from a school apple? Those ones that advertise the farm from which the fruit originated, the ones that you gave to your best friend of the day, week, etc. Fickle we are, at that age especially.

But the thing is, we don't really ever grow out of that--especially girls. Well, at least, not when we reach high school. High school adolescents, for all our talk of independence, our insistence that we are old enough to do insert-here, we still manage to retain a sense of juvenile possessiveness for certain things, like our friends. Oh well, whatever.

There are things that the internet is actually neither the time nor the place to say, surprise surprise.

eg. Nothing to do?

I'm at Johnny's house, and his four friends are here being retarded. They are all relatively dirty looking and at the same time, really hilarious and typical guy-ish. Anyway, there's not much going on, and I think I'm going to read crappy inaccurate tabloids and wonder if I'll ever end up in one.

in the midst of midterm week.

So far, the Spanish midterm is done. One-half of the APC midterm is done. The APW midterm is done. The math midterm is DONE. My next one is English. Blahh. Oh well, that's not until next week, so it's all good.

I went to see 27 Dresses with my mom today. My dad and sister went to see Alvin and the Chipmunks. 27 Dresses was basically like junk food--empty calories, but so good. It was predictable, the plot was easily recognizable, but it was cute anyway. A chick flick for sure, and Katherine Heigl + James Marsden had good chemistry. I think I'm going to get the DVD when it comes out, because it was very Wedding Date-esque, honestly very heartwarming. Speaking of Wedding Date, there's an illegally burned copy of it somewhere in this house, and I suddenly want to find it and watch it.

i started a fire for you... and now the whole world's on fire.

i think.. i do this too easily.


By the way, this is about to be an insecure pointless little vent.


























is this an asian thing?
to move on from one guy, get over it for a while, and then do it again with a different guy? Anyway, i wish people would just tell me straight up why. None of this overrated excuse business. i am chock full of insecurity and i'm like my ANALytical English teacher x 2000 with this stuff. I overthink EVERYTHING. I delve so deep into it that I drown myself in a deep sea of anxiety and what if's and paranoid reasoning. Kind of. I know all of those things people say and how you're not supposed to go looking for it it's supposed to find you, etcetera, but i can't help it. and i know that i've made others feel like this before, in this unrequited position, but it really is very sucky. and i don't know what to make of it, or what to do with this one. another one. there's always one, isn't there? i just wonder what it would like to have it work out, what all the shouting is about, and i really would just like to be part of something like insanely awesome amazing tingly warm cool. that would be fantastic. and i want to feel pretty. i'm so sick of my inferiority complexes with just about everyone and i just can't stand it, i know all about how you're supposed to think you're beautiful so other people can think so too but i don't know how because everything gets to me. absolutely every little comment. i'm so sick of it i want to be the one that exudes confidence, but how can i? there's too many fucking pretty girls and it just heightens competition to impossible to meet levels. idk how to deal. idk how to over come this and i dont know how the fuck i'm going to do good on my midterms. any of them. except maybe like.. english.

WIZARD!

This morning, I went tiara/dress-fitting with Kimmi and her mom. It was very fun, and inspirational. I went home with many ideas and gave my mom a fright because expenses for that kind of thing are bound to be high. Then, went to see Juno. It was really good in a calm way. Like, there was no loud, seat-jumping conflict, but there was subtle drama here and there, and, the best way I can think of to describe it was "artfully pieced together".

Then, we went to Pete's and played True Colors. It wasn't revealing in any sort of scandalous way, just good plain fun. All in all, it was a good night.

i ain't got no crystal ball, i had a million dollars, but...

A certain someone says that they don't care, they just want something. Everyone knows that is definitely the vaguest, least accurate thing you can say. Because just about no one, at least not anyone with a certain amount of self-respect, would ever just settle. If we all just wanted "something", "anything", then it wouldn't be this hard. The truth is, we have this ideal in our minds, and that is the 'something' that we want.

Like you can say that you just want to be in a relationship, you don't care with who. So the next day, you discover someone you've never considered as anything before suddenly likes you. You'll find yourself completely contradicting everything you said just yesterday, and start forming a montage of excuses as to why you can not be with this specific person. Why? Because this person is probably not the one you dreamed up in your mind. That's why.

They do not resemble the image you conjured up in your mind of the person you want to give your affections to, they do not fit in the picture you imagined, so you automatically push them away. But what do we do with those missed opportunities?

Is the next time we face a similar situation, this time on the other end, karma?

And what do we do about those around us who pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure us to be a certain way, like what they want you to, do what they want you to, the hypocrites who demand too much but reciprocate half-heartedly.

I'm very tired. School wears me out--never getting enough sleep.

So, I'm not quite sure what I'm talking about anymore,

but i'm tired of giving up.

calorie induced temporary joy

I always convince myself to eat things I know I'll regret eating later. Always. If I spent even a quarter as much time thinking about chemistry that I do thinking about eating and not eating, I'd probably be a chemical prodigy and recite Lewis structure and gas constants like the alphabet. Too bad. Today, I bought a pretzel that smelled like semen. Then, I had a cookie. Then, I spent the next two periods feeling guilty about eating the cookie. I got home, ate half of a chocolate bar, and felt bad about eating more than one block (it was a Hershey's) like I said I was going to, so I burned it off on the treadmill, only to eat it back during dinner.

And then, some days I'll make a million excuses about why it's okay to indulge. And I'll promise myself to go running so that I'll burn it off. By the way, tread milling isn't as exhilarating of an experience as I thought it would be. It's more just the same thing as running outside, only minus the scenery (that you don't really enjoy anyway because usually I'm either too tired or too into the running part), the feeling of actually getting somewhere, and recently, the numbing sting of wind and cold.

I didn't go to drama. Planned on playing translator for my grandma, but got home too late anyway. The interim principal is a perpetual nagging oppressor. I miss the drunk one. Well, at least this guy isn't threatening to google our myspaces and punish us for things over which they have absolutely no say in.

School is tedious. I need another vacation already. Well, I guess I'll have to adjust my sleeping pattern sooner or later. It's really not good to go to bed at 12 a.m. and wake up 5 hours later. Not that I don't press the snooze button as many times as possible anyway. My circadian rhythms ( a roughly-24-hour cycle in the physiological processes of living beings) are all messed up, probably from sleeping at 4 a.m. and waking up at 1p.m. all the time. They're supposed to work according to the sunlight-- you sleep at night, wake at day. But over breaks, I'm practically nocturnal.

I've been reading Valley of the Dolls. It's really very addicting. Everyone takes pills in the book. Oh, and I gave myself a French manicure--embracing my ethnic stereotypes. It came out better than I expected. Still, some nails dried weird. Speaking of which, the Sally Hansen Insta-Dri Top Coat doesn't exactly "insta-dri" the nail. But it's a good top coat.

I wish everything in school could be typed. I think I would learn so much better, since then I'd actually be able to read my notes. Plus, in the time it took me to type that entire sentence, I probably would've only written down a quarter of it.

I wonder what it would be like if my parents just let me go out all the time without asking for an M.O. all the time.

Boring? Naaaah.

So besides that, progress is at a standstill.

Determination, Motivation, other words that end in 'ation'.

Speaking of ending, this vacation is at it's end.
The school district really should put in better consideration of its students' needs. Such as the fact that the majority, save for the overachievers and whatnot, have probably put whatever work they were assigned to be done at the very last possible moments of the vacation. So, I was thinking, while reading some things, that I've been "blogging" since I was ten. My habit of creating fake cyber-dentities began at the age of 8 when I was still obsessed with Sailor Moon. I bought the book Valley of the Dolls around the same time, maybe a few years later, and am only now reading it for real, instead of the juvenile skimming of pages for interesting bits. The thing is, I have never actually been able to maintain a blog--as in, I'd start one, post in it daily, sometimes more than once a day, and then, a few months later, I'd forget all about it and start another one, always hoping that this time, I'd stick with it.

I'm pretty sure I have at least seven livejournals out there, a bunch of Xangas, plenty of Bloggers, a TypePad account, a Moveable Type, etc. I'm pretty sure I must have registered with every weblog site there is. Oh, and let's not forget Vox. I really should start writing them down someplace. Someplace that no one will find...

Anyway, recently, I embarked on a hunt for these long lost relics of my internet past, and found a number of them. Most of them are filled with emoticons (:) and :-p frequented the jumbled, rambling paragraphs--the rambling part hasn't changed) "lols" and other phrases I have since stopped using in blogs. It's hard to believe that it's been so long, but the archives do not lie. Although most of them aren't exactly things I want other people to read, it's always amusing to read what you wrote in the past. Like when I found my journals from first grade. They would contain words in the first few pages, and quickly submit to my scribbles and drawings, the pages filled with outlines of my palm.

Through the years, a lot more than my writing style has changed. Oh, but to pause on that for a bit. Everyone I ask claims that there is a specific way I type that separates me from everyone else. Something about the way I "talk" on AIM. I don't know what it is, and neither do they. Oh well. So, tonight, coming back from Uncle Y. (dad's side)'s house, I was thinking how instead of becoming more wild, the New Year's Eves have become subsequently quieter with each passing year. I guess it's because everyone's getting older, and to the majority of the parties involved, "older" means a stronger desire for "peace and quiet". Not that I really mind, it's just that I miss the bubbly and the increased loudness (being that my family is never quiet by normal standards) that New Year's usually brings. I guess it's because Johnny's family was away again this year. It's always louder when they're around.

Speaking of, I'm pretty sure there's a blog out there somewhere from a New Year's Eve a couple of years back, also spent at my cousin's house.


In addition, I used to make lists of all my resolutions. I'd have so many, I would fill a page front and back. This year, I'm not sure I have even one. At least, not one that I'm sure I'd be able to actually keep. Oh, there's the usual of course--lose 5-10 pounds, eat healthier, sleep earlier, try harder in school. The latter I might actually try to stick with. There are AP tests with my name on it that I'll need to actually haul ass in order to pass.

What the hell, might as well make a list for tradition's sake:

- The usual (see above)
- Finish Anna Karenina, A Confederacy of Dunces, and other great classics I've put aside in favor of trashy, guilty pleasure reading.
- but never neglect my reputation for reading the dirtiest book in class.
- Stop procrastinating
- .. or at least, decrease procrastinating. No use in quitting cold turkey.
- Just say it. Instead of deliberating in my head for painful seconds about whether or not I should say it, whatever 'it' is.
- but DO think more before saying stuff to parents--
- try to pick less fights; better to stay on good side, of both mom AND dad.


With that, I'm going to end this and go read Valley of the Dolls.

oh, and last one:
Learn how to punctuate titles already.