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.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
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.
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?
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?
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