I'm really sleepy right now.
And really? I have to write about education?
Usually I "edit" what I write before I post it, but for the past few days, I've been spewing mind vomit. It's pretty noticeable.
I don't really learn all that much in college that I don't already know. College, from what I figure, is mainly about honing the skills you do have. Or, if you're a science/business major, drilling unnecessary information into your head. If what we learned in class mattered, students wouldn't pay to skip, fall asleep, play games, check fantasy football, and/or stalk kids on Facebook in class.
It's like brainwashing. Soon, you start seeing sex positions in organic chemistry molecules. Check it out: CH2 Vibrations
To put things "in a nutshell," I think we learn more about ourselves and others in college more than we learn about whatever we're majoring in. We learn that the bulk of us are retarded, douchebags, and self-centered bitches. We learn how to cope with friends with benefits, one night stands, and break-ups. We learn how to survive on barely edible food and no air conditioning. We become "independent," kinda. I'm pretty sure most guys still depend on their mommys to do their laundry for them.
---
On a side note: I think most people celebrated Halloween this year the night before Halloween. Halloween is Sunday Oct. 31st.
There seems to be something innately wrong with celebrating Halloween on a Sunday if you're Christian.
Or maybe the Christians who celebrate Halloween really don't care. They dress like skanks on Halloween and then put on their Sunday best next week. He'll forgive you, right?
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
DAY 19: On Disrespecting Your Parents
I'm not a big fan of disrespecting the padres.
I remember one particular English class a couple weeks ago. We were talking about this short story by Hemingway; in it, the father commits suicide while his wife gives birth in the same room. The professor commented that it's a strange thing to have this thing--this breathing, squirming baby--come out of this other thing that you once had sex with. My professor said that death was easy. Birth, on the other hand, isn't. How do men bang their wives after they witness childbirth? That "thing" is never quite the same.
Anyways, I feel like it must have sucked for my mom to have to given birth to me, so I try to give her as little trouble as I can. I owe her big time.
Plus, I love her.
And I think it's too late for me to go through a weird rebellion stage.
I remember one particular English class a couple weeks ago. We were talking about this short story by Hemingway; in it, the father commits suicide while his wife gives birth in the same room. The professor commented that it's a strange thing to have this thing--this breathing, squirming baby--come out of this other thing that you once had sex with. My professor said that death was easy. Birth, on the other hand, isn't. How do men bang their wives after they witness childbirth? That "thing" is never quite the same.
Anyways, I feel like it must have sucked for my mom to have to given birth to me, so I try to give her as little trouble as I can. I owe her big time.
Plus, I love her.
And I think it's too late for me to go through a weird rebellion stage.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
DAY 18: On Beliefs
I don't believe in a lot of things.
I remember when it started.
I thought it sounded smart to write "I believe" in my papers. Believing sounds so valid, so secure, as opposed to an unsure "I think." "I believe that Romeo never sincerely loved Juliet." "I believe that the themes tackled include the loss of innocence." I believe, I believe, I believe.
This went on for some while until my middle-school English teacher told me that I failed as a writer. "I believe" should never be used in papers.
When I stopped writing the words, "I believe," in papers, I stopped saying it altogether in person. In the place of the words "I believe," I started saying "I think." Once I stopped saying the words "I believe" in conversations, I think I also stopped believing. I stopped believing in the silly notions of true love, I stopped believing in miracles, and maybe--just maybe--I even stopped believing in myself.
I'm ready to start believing though. I don't want to live in disbelief.
I think I'm starting to believe in God.
And I think I believe that things will get better.
I remember when it started.
I thought it sounded smart to write "I believe" in my papers. Believing sounds so valid, so secure, as opposed to an unsure "I think." "I believe that Romeo never sincerely loved Juliet." "I believe that the themes tackled include the loss of innocence." I believe, I believe, I believe.
This went on for some while until my middle-school English teacher told me that I failed as a writer. "I believe" should never be used in papers.
When I stopped writing the words, "I believe," in papers, I stopped saying it altogether in person. In the place of the words "I believe," I started saying "I think." Once I stopped saying the words "I believe" in conversations, I think I also stopped believing. I stopped believing in the silly notions of true love, I stopped believing in miracles, and maybe--just maybe--I even stopped believing in myself.
I'm ready to start believing though. I don't want to live in disbelief.
I think I'm starting to believe in God.
And I think I believe that things will get better.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
DAY 17: On High's and Low's of the Year
I wish they would give me interesting topics to write about…I’m really just writing whatever comes into my head.
Highs:
-Lost around 10 pounds. I should be the next face for Subway.
-Exercising on a daily basis! Making those happy hormones!
-Found God. Kinda. –Let me edit that: in the process of rediscovering God.
-Getting over stupid things.
-Liking most of my classes.
-Staying on top of my work. Kinda.
-Bank account is relatively happy-looking. I don’t feel as bad shopping so often because I don’t really spend my money anywhere else…
-Started blogging.
-It’s almost spring semester!
-Bought rainboots for 6 bucks at Target. They were on clearance. Most people buy their boots for near $200.
-My laptop hasn’t broken down yet!
Lows:
-Hating Asian Art History. I should have learned from my mistakes from taking African-American Art last semester…
-Having crises about my future. My mom said that, with my major, I’m going to “starve.”
-Mom tricked me into buying her a $70 sweater.
-My sister has a boyfriend, and I don’t. Shame.
-WHY IS THIS ENTRY SO FUCKING BORING?
Highs:
-Lost around 10 pounds. I should be the next face for Subway.
-Exercising on a daily basis! Making those happy hormones!
-Found God. Kinda. –Let me edit that: in the process of rediscovering God.
-Getting over stupid things.
-Liking most of my classes.
-Staying on top of my work. Kinda.
-Bank account is relatively happy-looking. I don’t feel as bad shopping so often because I don’t really spend my money anywhere else…
-Started blogging.
-It’s almost spring semester!
-Bought rainboots for 6 bucks at Target. They were on clearance. Most people buy their boots for near $200.
-My laptop hasn’t broken down yet!
Lows:
-Hating Asian Art History. I should have learned from my mistakes from taking African-American Art last semester…
-Having crises about my future. My mom said that, with my major, I’m going to “starve.”
-Mom tricked me into buying her a $70 sweater.
-My sister has a boyfriend, and I don’t. Shame.
-WHY IS THIS ENTRY SO FUCKING BORING?
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
DAY 16: On Mainstream Music
Mainstream music can be amazing.
I mean, a lot of it is crap. But it’s good crap. It’s the kind of music that has a bouncy tune that you can shake your hair to and feel beautiful. It’s the music that gets stuck in your head when you’re naked and in the shower. I mean, I think I’ve sung “Ridin’ Solo” using the showerhead as a microphone a couple of times.
I’m actually one of those really annoying people. You know, the one’s that say: “Oh my God. I told you so. I listened to that song waaaaay before all of you. I knew it was going to get big. Dammit. You said you didn’t like it back then. What did I tell you? That was all all all me.”
Then I realized how much I hate people who do that, so now I just keep those thoughts to myself.
But Michael Buble? I listened to him waaaaay before all of y’all.
I mean, a lot of it is crap. But it’s good crap. It’s the kind of music that has a bouncy tune that you can shake your hair to and feel beautiful. It’s the music that gets stuck in your head when you’re naked and in the shower. I mean, I think I’ve sung “Ridin’ Solo” using the showerhead as a microphone a couple of times.
I’m actually one of those really annoying people. You know, the one’s that say: “Oh my God. I told you so. I listened to that song waaaaay before all of you. I knew it was going to get big. Dammit. You said you didn’t like it back then. What did I tell you? That was all all all me.”
Then I realized how much I hate people who do that, so now I just keep those thoughts to myself.
But Michael Buble? I listened to him waaaaay before all of y’all.
Monday, October 25, 2010
DAY 15: On Favorite Tumblrs?
Right now its 12:23 a.m. There are crazy drunk kids outside early Monday morning screaming. I think I should get to sleep.
---
I don't own a Tumblr, and I don't know any famous Tumblrs--so I guess I'll just make this short and post a few blogs I like that come to mind:
Hyperbole and a Half
PostSecret
Cake Wrecks
EPBOT
The Oatmeal
That's all I can think of right now. I just finished a long personal reflection paper for a class, and my mind feels like mush.
---
I don't own a Tumblr, and I don't know any famous Tumblrs--so I guess I'll just make this short and post a few blogs I like that come to mind:
Hyperbole and a Half
PostSecret
Cake Wrecks
EPBOT
The Oatmeal
That's all I can think of right now. I just finished a long personal reflection paper for a class, and my mind feels like mush.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
DAY 14: On an Early Memory
I think one of my earliest memories is at a friend’s house.
We were fooling around with the garden hose. Like typical kids, we basically had fun doing anything. We would amuse ourselves for hours playing hide-and-seek, drawing dresses on pieces and pieces of paper, and playing with Barbie dolls. We were little girls who thought of nothing besides having fun and being stupid. But that day was not a day for hiding, drawing, or dress-up. No, it was a day for watering the dirt and watching it turn to mud. This transformation was nothing short of amazing.
A few days before, we had somehow gotten it into our heads that carrots grew if you just stuck them in the ground and watered them.
That day we were watering those buried carrots. We were convinced that we would succeed and surprise our parents with fresh produce in a few more days.
All of a sudden, the wet ground started moving.
When we uncovered the soil, we found out that a rabbit and her many bunnies had made their home where our carrots once were.
Our stupidity as children had made a home for new lives.
We were fooling around with the garden hose. Like typical kids, we basically had fun doing anything. We would amuse ourselves for hours playing hide-and-seek, drawing dresses on pieces and pieces of paper, and playing with Barbie dolls. We were little girls who thought of nothing besides having fun and being stupid. But that day was not a day for hiding, drawing, or dress-up. No, it was a day for watering the dirt and watching it turn to mud. This transformation was nothing short of amazing.
A few days before, we had somehow gotten it into our heads that carrots grew if you just stuck them in the ground and watered them.
That day we were watering those buried carrots. We were convinced that we would succeed and surprise our parents with fresh produce in a few more days.
All of a sudden, the wet ground started moving.
When we uncovered the soil, we found out that a rabbit and her many bunnies had made their home where our carrots once were.
Our stupidity as children had made a home for new lives.
DAY 13: On Traveling
So I definitely wrote this yesterday and completely forgot to put it up. Sigh.
---
I am having the hugest writing block ever right now.
It’s only day 13, and I’m realizing that blogging is sometimes really really hard to do.
But here goes:
There are so many places I haven’t been. I want to spontaneously visit cafes and museums in Europe. I want to visit Australia and see kangaroos getting hit by cars instead of deer. I want to haggle for useless trinkets in China. I have this picturesque image of myself in a really nice Burberry coat against the Himalayas.
There are so many places I want to go, but if I could get away today, I think I would choose to visit Cancun again without a moment’s hesitation. It's a familiar place in pictures that's becoming slowly unfamiliar in my memories.
I remember it being the best few days of my life.
I could probably go on for ages talking about the food, the juice, the partying, the beaches, the Mayan ruins, the snorkeling, the everything, but I think I’ll refrain.
What I do remember is sitting outside at around 11 p.m. one night. It was dark, but the night was so warm that I was able to relax in only a swimsuit. The only thing that lit up the entire sky was a white moon. The only thing that I could hear was the distinct murmur of the sea. I l distinctly remember looking up and wondering if I could see the man in the moon. I couldn’t. But it was at this night that I felt completely at peace. I had never felt more at peace in my life. It almost felt spiritual—like something else had just crawled into my body and blown warmth into the chilly corners inside my head, cleansing it pure.
It didn’t last for long, but it was magical.
I want to go back and see if that magic is still there. Would the who I am now feel what the girl back then did?
Friday, October 22, 2010
DAY 12: On My Day
-1-2 a.m.: I’m trying to write a paper. I’m getting distracted on gmail and facebook though.
I fell asleep after writing this. Then, after waking up, I completely forgot I was supposed to bullet out my entire day. This list is the result of my best efforts with my crappy recall. You’ll also start recognizing that this is bound to be a shitty entry because my life is lame-o’s. Have fun!
-Woke up.
-Checked phone. 30 minutes of sleep left.
-Alarm rang.
-Was already awake but “snoozed” two more times anyways.
-Debated skipping.
-Decided against it.
-Moved my booty off from the bed and down onto the floor. The scene wasn’t as sexy as it sounds though.
-Did lady things like brushing teeth and washing face (most guys I know fail to do even this in the mornings).
-Changed outfit twice (for practical reasons; the relatively new dress shirt I initially put on had a missing button on an awkward area of my body).
-Walked to COMM107. Ran into roommate!
-10:00 a.m. = COMM107. Somehow ended up giving a speech to the class about padded swimsuits and plastic surgery.
-Walked back to dorm.
-Got “soapy and naked.”
-Mom picked me up from school.
-Ate at a Korean restaurant. Didn’t eat all that much (of my spicy fish soup?) because I somehow ended up ranting to my mom about how much I hate “people who use other people.”
-Realized my mom was as cool as me.
-Realized that I wasn’t cool at all.
-Realized my mom might be cooler than me.
-Inward sobs.
-Picked up sister from high school all the while singing “Cooler than Me.” Car got bombarded with three high school kids who chased after my sister like awkward puppies. Realized that my sister had more game than I did back then. And now.
-Inward sobs.
-Self defense mechanism kicked in. Reassured myself that I was prettier.
-It didn’t change anything.
-Inward sobs.
-Got our nails done. Toes looked like cherries. Felt bad for the Vietnamese lady who had to give a pedicure to the woman with wrinkly grandma feet. Felt equally bad for the woman with wrinkly grandma feet; the Vietnamese lady used gloves.
-Went to Target. Bought a pair of boots and a Christian CD.
-Went to Chick-fil-A (my sister needed her nugs.).
-Got lost. Somehow. In my own neighborhood.
-Got home safe.
-Went to meet up with the most amazing friend ever (you can thank me later…)! Ate at Panda Buffet.
-Went home. Felt the Chinese food and grease mixing horrendously in my stomach. It was worth it.
-Drove sister to Friday Night Fellowship at her church. In the car, she took $20 from me.
-Sitting on bed writing this. While on gmail.
During most of the driving that went on today, I was praising the Lord in the car. Yup, I’m a lame-o.
But seriously, “You Never Let Go” and “Heaven Come Down” are funkin’ (remember that word?) ah-may-zing.
I hope nothing else interesting happens for the next few hours before this day is over because than I’d be forced to edit this entry.
I fell asleep after writing this. Then, after waking up, I completely forgot I was supposed to bullet out my entire day. This list is the result of my best efforts with my crappy recall. You’ll also start recognizing that this is bound to be a shitty entry because my life is lame-o’s. Have fun!
-Woke up.
-Checked phone. 30 minutes of sleep left.
-Alarm rang.
-Was already awake but “snoozed” two more times anyways.
-Debated skipping.
-Decided against it.
-Moved my booty off from the bed and down onto the floor. The scene wasn’t as sexy as it sounds though.
-Did lady things like brushing teeth and washing face (most guys I know fail to do even this in the mornings).
-Changed outfit twice (for practical reasons; the relatively new dress shirt I initially put on had a missing button on an awkward area of my body).
-Walked to COMM107. Ran into roommate!
-10:00 a.m. = COMM107. Somehow ended up giving a speech to the class about padded swimsuits and plastic surgery.
-Walked back to dorm.
-Got “soapy and naked.”
-Mom picked me up from school.
-Ate at a Korean restaurant. Didn’t eat all that much (of my spicy fish soup?) because I somehow ended up ranting to my mom about how much I hate “people who use other people.”
-Realized my mom was as cool as me.
-Realized that I wasn’t cool at all.
-Realized my mom might be cooler than me.
-Inward sobs.
-Picked up sister from high school all the while singing “Cooler than Me.” Car got bombarded with three high school kids who chased after my sister like awkward puppies. Realized that my sister had more game than I did back then. And now.
-Inward sobs.
-Self defense mechanism kicked in. Reassured myself that I was prettier.
-It didn’t change anything.
-Inward sobs.
-Got our nails done. Toes looked like cherries. Felt bad for the Vietnamese lady who had to give a pedicure to the woman with wrinkly grandma feet. Felt equally bad for the woman with wrinkly grandma feet; the Vietnamese lady used gloves.
-Went to Target. Bought a pair of boots and a Christian CD.
-Went to Chick-fil-A (my sister needed her nugs.).
-Got lost. Somehow. In my own neighborhood.
-Got home safe.
-Went to meet up with the most amazing friend ever (you can thank me later…)! Ate at Panda Buffet.
-Went home. Felt the Chinese food and grease mixing horrendously in my stomach. It was worth it.
-Drove sister to Friday Night Fellowship at her church. In the car, she took $20 from me.
-Sitting on bed writing this. While on gmail.
During most of the driving that went on today, I was praising the Lord in the car. Yup, I’m a lame-o.
But seriously, “You Never Let Go” and “Heaven Come Down” are funkin’ (remember that word?) ah-may-zing.
I hope nothing else interesting happens for the next few hours before this day is over because than I’d be forced to edit this entry.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
DAY 11: On 10 Shuffled Songs
여름날 - 유 희열, 신 재평
Banana Pancakes - Jack Johnson
Everything is Alright - Motion City Soundtrack
Maybe - Yiruma
The Way We Get By - Spoon
Midnight Bottle - Colbie Caillat
Goodbye Romance - Pak Sun Zoo
On the Radio - Regina Spektor
My Sunken Treasure - The Duke Spirit
Gotta Have You - The Weepies
"That was easy!" -Staples
Banana Pancakes - Jack Johnson
Everything is Alright - Motion City Soundtrack
Maybe - Yiruma
The Way We Get By - Spoon
Midnight Bottle - Colbie Caillat
Goodbye Romance - Pak Sun Zoo
On the Radio - Regina Spektor
My Sunken Treasure - The Duke Spirit
Gotta Have You - The Weepies
"That was easy!" -Staples
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
DAY 10: On First Loves and First Kisses
My professor told me that all our first loves are our mothers. We were all born against her naked boobies; it’s the first nude body we see, and it’s the first body we love. As such, we should all just get over saying “Ew…” in response to the Oedipus complex. Because everyone has had it one point or another. That is, according to him.
I’m not saying I agree or disagree, but I can say that I was slightly intrigued. In theory: as we mature, we are forced to come to terms with the fact that our mothers cannot be our lovers (well, they can, but that’s opening another can of worms), and we must find a substitute for our mamas with someone else of the opposite sex. It is infinitely harder for a woman because not only must she substitute the mother figure with another, but she must do so with the body of a man. And a man usually isn’t big enough to fill the void (Get it? Not funny…). Basically my professor was saying that it sucks to be a woman.
And he all said this much more eloquently and convincingly than I did.
---In all seriousness though, I don’t think that I’m supposed to be talking about my mother, but who I personally perceive as my first love. Have I fallen in love? I remember the first date at a restaurant. I was a wreck; those damn butterflies were hurdling to their deaths against the walls of my stomach. It was raining that day, and I felt myself fall. I didn’t fall in love; I fell on my butt. But maybe that’s when it all started. Or maybe it happened a month later or 4 months later or 8 months later. I can’t say I knew exactly when I knew I was in love because it only hit me that it was real when it was already over.
Charlie Brown once said: “Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.”
The same goes for nutella and chocolate.
Regardless, it hurt more than I ever thought it would. The butterflies were dead, and all that was left was the space those wings had once occupied. It was broken, it was unreciprocated, it was over.
I think the problem is remembering first love. I’m over the person, but it’s harder still to get over the memories. The places I see, the things I do—they all remind me of something that was done together. When we fought and when we broke up, all I could remember were the bad things. I cried more than I ever had in my entire life. The sobs came from someplace so deep down inside of me, from a place I didn’t know existed. I didn’t know how to fight it. I was torn between what I wanted and what I knew I had to do. But now, with distance, I think I can look back and feel nostalgic for the good things. I remember ice skating, singing in the car, eating ice cream, laundry days, museum visits, sending emails, late night chatting and phone calls, lying down on the beach, cuddling in bed, shopping, walking on cold nights with warm hands, picking fruits, eating out and eating in, saying and hearing “I love you.” I was just happy to be with him doing the things that made me happy. I’m sorry that it ended the way it did, but I’m now willing to let go. Because as much as I cried out of sadness, he also made me laugh until I cried. I have to accept that while we are still the same people, we won’t be the same people again together. We can’t start over what already happened. To wish I can would probably be foolish and futile.
He once told me, “You don’t realize how good I am.” And the truth was I probably didn’t because, at the time, I felt like he didn’t realize how good I was. There were so many things that we could have done differently, starting with the basic components of any relationship: an appreciation for the other, open communication, listening.
I think that’s what first love is. It’s learning. It’s remembering. We all remember our firsts—first crush, first loves, first kisses.
My first kiss was on a carousel. A boy came up to me, said I was cute, and kissed me on the lips. My first kiss was stolen. It was when I was 3.
But the first kiss I can remember? I thought he was going to kiss me, but he joked and said I had assumed too much. I was ridiculously embarrassed. But then he went ahead and kissed me. I tried to hide (because of my damn pride) the fluttering feelings rising in my chest because it was then that I knew that I was turning vulnerable. It was somewhere I both didn’t want and wanted to be.
Thinking back now, I guess everything tastes bittersweet.
It’s funny, but I feel better. It feels like I’m on a search for self now more than a search for another. I’m not waiting for someone to fill the void anymore. I’m going to fill it myself.
So if you someday come across this a long long time from now (and as small that chance may be), I want to say thank you. Thank you for being my first love. And with this entry, I fold these thoughts until I look at it all not with sadness and regret, but with a sympathy for the girls and boys we once were.
I’m not saying I agree or disagree, but I can say that I was slightly intrigued. In theory: as we mature, we are forced to come to terms with the fact that our mothers cannot be our lovers (well, they can, but that’s opening another can of worms), and we must find a substitute for our mamas with someone else of the opposite sex. It is infinitely harder for a woman because not only must she substitute the mother figure with another, but she must do so with the body of a man. And a man usually isn’t big enough to fill the void (Get it? Not funny…). Basically my professor was saying that it sucks to be a woman.
And he all said this much more eloquently and convincingly than I did.
---In all seriousness though, I don’t think that I’m supposed to be talking about my mother, but who I personally perceive as my first love. Have I fallen in love? I remember the first date at a restaurant. I was a wreck; those damn butterflies were hurdling to their deaths against the walls of my stomach. It was raining that day, and I felt myself fall. I didn’t fall in love; I fell on my butt. But maybe that’s when it all started. Or maybe it happened a month later or 4 months later or 8 months later. I can’t say I knew exactly when I knew I was in love because it only hit me that it was real when it was already over.
Charlie Brown once said: “Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.”
The same goes for nutella and chocolate.
Regardless, it hurt more than I ever thought it would. The butterflies were dead, and all that was left was the space those wings had once occupied. It was broken, it was unreciprocated, it was over.
I think the problem is remembering first love. I’m over the person, but it’s harder still to get over the memories. The places I see, the things I do—they all remind me of something that was done together. When we fought and when we broke up, all I could remember were the bad things. I cried more than I ever had in my entire life. The sobs came from someplace so deep down inside of me, from a place I didn’t know existed. I didn’t know how to fight it. I was torn between what I wanted and what I knew I had to do. But now, with distance, I think I can look back and feel nostalgic for the good things. I remember ice skating, singing in the car, eating ice cream, laundry days, museum visits, sending emails, late night chatting and phone calls, lying down on the beach, cuddling in bed, shopping, walking on cold nights with warm hands, picking fruits, eating out and eating in, saying and hearing “I love you.” I was just happy to be with him doing the things that made me happy. I’m sorry that it ended the way it did, but I’m now willing to let go. Because as much as I cried out of sadness, he also made me laugh until I cried. I have to accept that while we are still the same people, we won’t be the same people again together. We can’t start over what already happened. To wish I can would probably be foolish and futile.
He once told me, “You don’t realize how good I am.” And the truth was I probably didn’t because, at the time, I felt like he didn’t realize how good I was. There were so many things that we could have done differently, starting with the basic components of any relationship: an appreciation for the other, open communication, listening.
I think that’s what first love is. It’s learning. It’s remembering. We all remember our firsts—first crush, first loves, first kisses.
My first kiss was on a carousel. A boy came up to me, said I was cute, and kissed me on the lips. My first kiss was stolen. It was when I was 3.
But the first kiss I can remember? I thought he was going to kiss me, but he joked and said I had assumed too much. I was ridiculously embarrassed. But then he went ahead and kissed me. I tried to hide (because of my damn pride) the fluttering feelings rising in my chest because it was then that I knew that I was turning vulnerable. It was somewhere I both didn’t want and wanted to be.
Thinking back now, I guess everything tastes bittersweet.
It’s funny, but I feel better. It feels like I’m on a search for self now more than a search for another. I’m not waiting for someone to fill the void anymore. I’m going to fill it myself.
So if you someday come across this a long long time from now (and as small that chance may be), I want to say thank you. Thank you for being my first love. And with this entry, I fold these thoughts until I look at it all not with sadness and regret, but with a sympathy for the girls and boys we once were.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
DAY 09: On the Future
I wish I could just refer you to Day 02: On 10 Years From Now. Why is it the same question all over again?
That's no fun.
This is definitely going to be a short entry.
---
Well, the "future" is a pretty vague term. After all, my future can be an hour from now, two days from now, 10 years from now. Quick thought: I wonder if 85-year olds on their deathbeds think about their future? It's a thing that glitters with so much hope and anticipation for many; what happens when the potential to have a "future" is gone?
Well, I guess there's the afterlife to look forward to. Maybe.
The thing is, we all technically have the same "future." One thing's for sure--we're all going to die someday. Apparently men live longer when they get married while women die faster when they get hitched. It must be from all the sandwiches (made with love and such) that guys get to eat, and the pain girls go through making them.
For all I know, 2012 will be the end of the world, and we're all snuffing out together.
Or it'll be like I Am Legend with me playing the role of an Asian and female Will Smith.
Is it that unlikely?
Because this entry was pointless!
And on a happier note, I just figured out how to link things!
That's no fun.
This is definitely going to be a short entry.
---
Well, the "future" is a pretty vague term. After all, my future can be an hour from now, two days from now, 10 years from now. Quick thought: I wonder if 85-year olds on their deathbeds think about their future? It's a thing that glitters with so much hope and anticipation for many; what happens when the potential to have a "future" is gone?
Well, I guess there's the afterlife to look forward to. Maybe.
The thing is, we all technically have the same "future." One thing's for sure--we're all going to die someday. Apparently men live longer when they get married while women die faster when they get hitched. It must be from all the sandwiches (made with love and such) that guys get to eat, and the pain girls go through making them.
For all I know, 2012 will be the end of the world, and we're all snuffing out together.
Or it'll be like I Am Legend with me playing the role of an Asian and female Will Smith.
Is it that unlikely?
Because this entry was pointless!
And on a happier note, I just figured out how to link things!
Monday, October 18, 2010
DAY 08: On Being Satisfied
I was actually really really really not looking forward to writing this post. Mainly because I can't think of when I was most satisfied. Plus, when I hear the word "satisfied," I usually visualize one of the two situations:
1) I ate a shit ton of Korean BBQ. I am satisfied!"
2) That was great sex, doll. I'm exhausted and satisfied."
But in all seriousness, I think its the simple things that personally make me "satisfied." I feel really satisfied when I'm singing in the car with my sister's voice wailing along next to mine in the passenger seat. I feel satisfied when my mom trims my eyebrows while my head rests on her lap. I wish I could bottle up these moments in a jar and open it up for a whiff of happiness on bad days.
Right now I feel very satisfied. I just had an hour long conversation over crappy diner sandwiches with my friend at the diner. I still have so much work to do and an exam tomorrow that I haven't even begun to study for. But--here I am--satisfied all while simply writing this blog and eating Smarties. These things must be drugged.
1) I ate a shit ton of Korean BBQ. I am satisfied!"
2) That was great sex, doll. I'm exhausted and satisfied."
But in all seriousness, I think its the simple things that personally make me "satisfied." I feel really satisfied when I'm singing in the car with my sister's voice wailing along next to mine in the passenger seat. I feel satisfied when my mom trims my eyebrows while my head rests on her lap. I wish I could bottle up these moments in a jar and open it up for a whiff of happiness on bad days.
Right now I feel very satisfied. I just had an hour long conversation over crappy diner sandwiches with my friend at the diner. I still have so much work to do and an exam tomorrow that I haven't even begun to study for. But--here I am--satisfied all while simply writing this blog and eating Smarties. These things must be drugged.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
DAY 07: On Zodiac Signs
I am a Pisces. Basically I’m a stinky, wet fish. According to one guy, girls smell like “fish markets.” Take both comments as you will.
According to one sketchy site, Pisceans “possess a gentle, patient, malleable nature.” This is pretty off-topic, but I didn’t even know “Pisceans” was an actual word until today; spell-check isn’t catching it though, so it must be.
Anyhow, the things the site goes on to say basically ascertain how amazing I most definitely am. But then I realize the site’s playing the “good cop, bad cop” role because it suddenly starts establishing that the stars have proven that I have issues. They even somehow foretell my future employment (apparently I would fail as a leader) and ailments (heavy periods and, what the…lameness?).
Basically, I’m a pushover. Who also doesn’t take initiative and attempts to solve the problems of others before their own. Oh! And I also seem to “sometimes exist emotionally rather than rationally, instinctively more than intellectually.”
But it’s ok. They acknowledge that I am “remarkably creative.”
Something else I found funny:
“They are sexually delicate, in the extreme almost asexual, and most Pisceans would want a relationship in which the partner’s mind and spirit rather than the body resonated with their own. Unfortunately they can be easily misled by a lover who courts them delicately and in marriage makes them unhappy by a coarser sexuality than they expected.”
I think most people know that I’m one of the most open people when it comes to discussing the topic of sex. But it’s like the person who wrote this “garbage” tore past my façade and sees the idealistic, sappy me inside who likes the idea of courtship and Prince Charmings as opposed to crude, uninhibited passion. Shit.
If you want to read exactly what it said because this site (with its cheap graphics, childish wallpaper, and fail HTML skills) is pretty legit: http://www.astrology-online.com/pisces.htm
But I admit—I actually sometimes take this horoscope stuff seriously. I love grabbing the school newspaper only to read my daily horoscope (under the pretense that it’s for the Sudoku). I’ve even bought a book on horoscopes at Barnes & Noble before (all while avoiding eye contact with the cashier). I guess I am as irrational as they say. If my horoscope said I would meet my true love at a dingy alley in downtown Baltimore tomorrow, I think I’d be tempted to take a chance.
Oh, and another thing. If you want to know if you have “love compatibility” with me, here is another sketchy site to satisfy your curiosities: http://www.gotohoroscope.com/pisces-compatibility.html
According to one sketchy site, Pisceans “possess a gentle, patient, malleable nature.” This is pretty off-topic, but I didn’t even know “Pisceans” was an actual word until today; spell-check isn’t catching it though, so it must be.
Anyhow, the things the site goes on to say basically ascertain how amazing I most definitely am. But then I realize the site’s playing the “good cop, bad cop” role because it suddenly starts establishing that the stars have proven that I have issues. They even somehow foretell my future employment (apparently I would fail as a leader) and ailments (heavy periods and, what the…lameness?).
Basically, I’m a pushover. Who also doesn’t take initiative and attempts to solve the problems of others before their own. Oh! And I also seem to “sometimes exist emotionally rather than rationally, instinctively more than intellectually.”
But it’s ok. They acknowledge that I am “remarkably creative.”
Something else I found funny:
“They are sexually delicate, in the extreme almost asexual, and most Pisceans would want a relationship in which the partner’s mind and spirit rather than the body resonated with their own. Unfortunately they can be easily misled by a lover who courts them delicately and in marriage makes them unhappy by a coarser sexuality than they expected.”
I think most people know that I’m one of the most open people when it comes to discussing the topic of sex. But it’s like the person who wrote this “garbage” tore past my façade and sees the idealistic, sappy me inside who likes the idea of courtship and Prince Charmings as opposed to crude, uninhibited passion. Shit.
If you want to read exactly what it said because this site (with its cheap graphics, childish wallpaper, and fail HTML skills) is pretty legit: http://www.astrology-online.com/pisces.htm
But I admit—I actually sometimes take this horoscope stuff seriously. I love grabbing the school newspaper only to read my daily horoscope (under the pretense that it’s for the Sudoku). I’ve even bought a book on horoscopes at Barnes & Noble before (all while avoiding eye contact with the cashier). I guess I am as irrational as they say. If my horoscope said I would meet my true love at a dingy alley in downtown Baltimore tomorrow, I think I’d be tempted to take a chance.
Oh, and another thing. If you want to know if you have “love compatibility” with me, here is another sketchy site to satisfy your curiosities: http://www.gotohoroscope.com/pisces-compatibility.html
Saturday, October 16, 2010
DAY 06: On 30 "Interesting" Facts
1. I write this blog for myself. And it makes me happy.
2. I like saving the center of sandwiches for last.
3. When I lie, my lips give me away.
4. About 85% of my clothes are blue. Wearing red makes me feel sexy though (I only own like four red things though, so I don’t feel “sexy” all that often).
5. When I’m stressed out, I start cleaning everything.
6. I am completely fail at mental math. I depend on everyone else for tipping, taxes, and Monopoly.
7. When I’m at the mall, I always have a hard time deciding whether I should eat a Cinnabon or Auntie Anne’s Almond Pretzel with caramel dip (or, I guess, neither).
8. I almost always go in for my free monthly chocolate piece at Godiva. Usually I get the Dark Chocolate Raspberry truffle.
9. My favorite dessert is still apple pie.
10. And I just noticed almost all my “interesting facts” revolve around food…Oh, and I am a fatty.
11. When I write papers, I always write the introduction first. And then I start thinking about the final sentence to the conclusion.
12. My favorite T.V. show is, hands down, Top Chef (food…). But I also love Say Yes to the Dress.
13. If I could reconsider my career path, I would become a baker (my friend says that he will become a baker and make “dough;” har har?).
14. I have driven into a wall, a boat, a parked car, and a fence—but guess what? I have not been pulled over by a cop AND I haven’t run over a squirrel.
15. I can’t swim.
16. I hate vacuuming more than any other household chore. I would rather clean the toilets and pick up hairs in the bathroom.
17. I wear sexy underwear on days I want to feel secretly sexy. My sister calls my underwear “flamboyant.”
18. My favorite spot on campus is in front of the Tawes building, on the benches and next to the fountains.
19. I secretly love yard sales because of how much it tells me about what goes on in strangers’ houses—but I’m always hesitant to go alone.
20. I think I’d change my name to Erin if I wanted an “American” name. Instead, some people call me “Yeggie Veggie Wedgie” and “Molly.” When I hear Molly, I see a fat, pimply-faced girl.
21. I use coconut shampoo only because it makes me feel good. Honestly though, I don’t think it’s great for my hair though.
22. I usually only dress nice two out of five school days.
23. I love playing minesweeper because it makes me feel smarter than I really am. The same goes for solving puzzles.
24. My bed is used more often than my desk.
25. I would rather live next to the beach than in the mountains.
26. It’s really embarrassing, but I can’t touch my toes.
27. I pay attention to a guy’s hands and his back.
28. Sometimes I make up songs; they’re usually really crappy, cheesy, and have really bad rhyming schemes (e.g. “We were supposed to be forever—how did forever turn to never? Now I’m alone..holding the phone? Waiting for you to call…which may come not at…all?” I usually belt these made-up songs at home—in the shower or on the toilet.
29. I have cried during Pokemon the First Movie and Eminem’s Love the Way You Lie.
30. I like dinner by candlelight, slow love, and long walks on the beach (“LOL”).
2. I like saving the center of sandwiches for last.
3. When I lie, my lips give me away.
4. About 85% of my clothes are blue. Wearing red makes me feel sexy though (I only own like four red things though, so I don’t feel “sexy” all that often).
5. When I’m stressed out, I start cleaning everything.
6. I am completely fail at mental math. I depend on everyone else for tipping, taxes, and Monopoly.
7. When I’m at the mall, I always have a hard time deciding whether I should eat a Cinnabon or Auntie Anne’s Almond Pretzel with caramel dip (or, I guess, neither).
8. I almost always go in for my free monthly chocolate piece at Godiva. Usually I get the Dark Chocolate Raspberry truffle.
9. My favorite dessert is still apple pie.
10. And I just noticed almost all my “interesting facts” revolve around food…Oh, and I am a fatty.
11. When I write papers, I always write the introduction first. And then I start thinking about the final sentence to the conclusion.
12. My favorite T.V. show is, hands down, Top Chef (food…). But I also love Say Yes to the Dress.
13. If I could reconsider my career path, I would become a baker (my friend says that he will become a baker and make “dough;” har har?).
14. I have driven into a wall, a boat, a parked car, and a fence—but guess what? I have not been pulled over by a cop AND I haven’t run over a squirrel.
15. I can’t swim.
16. I hate vacuuming more than any other household chore. I would rather clean the toilets and pick up hairs in the bathroom.
17. I wear sexy underwear on days I want to feel secretly sexy. My sister calls my underwear “flamboyant.”
18. My favorite spot on campus is in front of the Tawes building, on the benches and next to the fountains.
19. I secretly love yard sales because of how much it tells me about what goes on in strangers’ houses—but I’m always hesitant to go alone.
20. I think I’d change my name to Erin if I wanted an “American” name. Instead, some people call me “Yeggie Veggie Wedgie” and “Molly.” When I hear Molly, I see a fat, pimply-faced girl.
21. I use coconut shampoo only because it makes me feel good. Honestly though, I don’t think it’s great for my hair though.
22. I usually only dress nice two out of five school days.
23. I love playing minesweeper because it makes me feel smarter than I really am. The same goes for solving puzzles.
24. My bed is used more often than my desk.
25. I would rather live next to the beach than in the mountains.
26. It’s really embarrassing, but I can’t touch my toes.
27. I pay attention to a guy’s hands and his back.
28. Sometimes I make up songs; they’re usually really crappy, cheesy, and have really bad rhyming schemes (e.g. “We were supposed to be forever—how did forever turn to never? Now I’m alone..holding the phone? Waiting for you to call…which may come not at…all?” I usually belt these made-up songs at home—in the shower or on the toilet.
29. I have cried during Pokemon the First Movie and Eminem’s Love the Way You Lie.
30. I like dinner by candlelight, slow love, and long walks on the beach (“LOL”).
Friday, October 15, 2010
DAY 05: On Suicide
There are probably many ways I can make this entry funny (or disturbing). It’s apparently called a “hyperbole” if I say, for instance, “So, there was this one time that my shit was so big that the toilet wouldn’t flush. F*ck, I just wanted to die right there by the toilet.” Granted, I don’t say that out loud very often…but I’m sure that if I did, dying would probably be a very plausible option running through my head.
There are also many many many times that I have said the words “I’m going to kill myself” (in an annoyingly whiny voice before tests) or “I’m so f*cking (fill-in-the-blank) that I wish I could die” (for me the word is usually “hungry”).
Sometimes I just stay hours awake lying in bed, wondering what it’d be like to die. And then I have this image of Ophelia, floating in a pool of water with dresses fanned open around her willowed body and hair trailing behind her head like a halo. And then—an image of Edna Pontellier, sinking into the sea as the air slowly fills with the musky scent of pinks. Is there such a thing as a beautiful suicide?
It’s strange because I think of life as something that’s burning, but when I think of death, I see water.
Buddhists see life as a form of suffering. Human life is full of hurt, pain, longing, desire. And while I am far from being a Buddhist, I think that they’re onto something.
Someone once told me that he’d kill himself if he wasn’t a coward. He said he couldn’t bring himself to committing the actual act of killing himself. It was, perhaps, the fear of pain and of the unknown. I thought of it as a strange comment. People are seen as cowards for choosing death over living. But there he was—and here I was—him mouthing the words that he was a coward for choosing life over death.
In Sartre’s No Exit, three people realize that their hell is a small room where the trio is confined together for eternity. One character, Joseph Garcin, cannot help recalling past memories of running away from battle. He constantly needs the assurance of the two other women in the room; he needs them to recognize him as not being a “coward.” It’s interesting that he fails to recognize why he is in hell. In the midst of being caught up in this idea of “cowardice,” he disregards his real sin—driving his wife to commit suicide with cruelty that she took silently.
And how that has to do with anything, I don’t know. And yes, I do realize that this entry was all over the place and quite possibly incoherent to anyone but myself.
---
Yesterday was actually an interesting day. My entry was about religion, and that night, a friend persuaded me to go with him to The Gathering—basically a fellowship on Thursday nights at Stamp. I’m actually really glad I went. I feel like I have to start somewhere to get anywhere. Maybe then the rest will come naturally.
There are also many many many times that I have said the words “I’m going to kill myself” (in an annoyingly whiny voice before tests) or “I’m so f*cking (fill-in-the-blank) that I wish I could die” (for me the word is usually “hungry”).
Sometimes I just stay hours awake lying in bed, wondering what it’d be like to die. And then I have this image of Ophelia, floating in a pool of water with dresses fanned open around her willowed body and hair trailing behind her head like a halo. And then—an image of Edna Pontellier, sinking into the sea as the air slowly fills with the musky scent of pinks. Is there such a thing as a beautiful suicide?
It’s strange because I think of life as something that’s burning, but when I think of death, I see water.
Buddhists see life as a form of suffering. Human life is full of hurt, pain, longing, desire. And while I am far from being a Buddhist, I think that they’re onto something.
Someone once told me that he’d kill himself if he wasn’t a coward. He said he couldn’t bring himself to committing the actual act of killing himself. It was, perhaps, the fear of pain and of the unknown. I thought of it as a strange comment. People are seen as cowards for choosing death over living. But there he was—and here I was—him mouthing the words that he was a coward for choosing life over death.
In Sartre’s No Exit, three people realize that their hell is a small room where the trio is confined together for eternity. One character, Joseph Garcin, cannot help recalling past memories of running away from battle. He constantly needs the assurance of the two other women in the room; he needs them to recognize him as not being a “coward.” It’s interesting that he fails to recognize why he is in hell. In the midst of being caught up in this idea of “cowardice,” he disregards his real sin—driving his wife to commit suicide with cruelty that she took silently.
And how that has to do with anything, I don’t know. And yes, I do realize that this entry was all over the place and quite possibly incoherent to anyone but myself.
---
Yesterday was actually an interesting day. My entry was about religion, and that night, a friend persuaded me to go with him to The Gathering—basically a fellowship on Thursday nights at Stamp. I’m actually really glad I went. I feel like I have to start somewhere to get anywhere. Maybe then the rest will come naturally.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
DAY 04: On Being Religious
I am not a religious person.
Nowadays, however, I’ve wanted to be one. I want to believe in something other than the knowledge of “I think, therefore I am.” In all honesty though, I don’t even know if Descartes had it right.
Yesterday I made this statement: “I am flawed, but I think I’m a good person.” My friend immediately retorted, “Yea, but doesn’t everyone say that about themselves?” Upon further reflection, I realized how uncannily right he was. Everyone can make excuses for their flaws and wrongdoings, and everyone can just as quickly justify that their actions were, in some ways, just—“good.” After all, we are all self-justifying creatures. Can we ever truly ever be sorry? Are things that dual—divided between as ambiguous a word as “good” and “bad?”
Maybe it’s not enough to just think I’m a good person.
Here’s the thing: I can’t make myself believe in God. But I’m willing to try to open up my heart and let Him come in. I can’t say that I believe that God has a “plan” set out for me, and I can’t say I believe that his existence can be proved. But then again, I can’t say I believe in much of anything. How do I live not believing in something’s and anything’s? Have I found my purpose only in an ideal of facing this “crusted self” as I head towards an inevitable death?
What I do remember though is the child who once believed wholeheartedly in the existence of God, and how He and a simple prayer had somehow made hard times better. Something had made sense to this child, and it had made her feel complete.
What happened to that little girl? When did she stop believing?
I can say that she just grew up. I can say that she learned the world was not as simple as good and bad, heaven and hell. I can say that she learned the world was a cruel place with no one to dole out imaginary mercy. I can say she learned that Santa Claus, tooth fairies, and even God didn’t exist. That all that existed was what she knew as real—herself.
But then again, maybe, just maybe, that girl just lost her way. Maybe she just stopped believing because…because…?
I want to find out.
Nowadays, however, I’ve wanted to be one. I want to believe in something other than the knowledge of “I think, therefore I am.” In all honesty though, I don’t even know if Descartes had it right.
Yesterday I made this statement: “I am flawed, but I think I’m a good person.” My friend immediately retorted, “Yea, but doesn’t everyone say that about themselves?” Upon further reflection, I realized how uncannily right he was. Everyone can make excuses for their flaws and wrongdoings, and everyone can just as quickly justify that their actions were, in some ways, just—“good.” After all, we are all self-justifying creatures. Can we ever truly ever be sorry? Are things that dual—divided between as ambiguous a word as “good” and “bad?”
Maybe it’s not enough to just think I’m a good person.
Here’s the thing: I can’t make myself believe in God. But I’m willing to try to open up my heart and let Him come in. I can’t say that I believe that God has a “plan” set out for me, and I can’t say I believe that his existence can be proved. But then again, I can’t say I believe in much of anything. How do I live not believing in something’s and anything’s? Have I found my purpose only in an ideal of facing this “crusted self” as I head towards an inevitable death?
What I do remember though is the child who once believed wholeheartedly in the existence of God, and how He and a simple prayer had somehow made hard times better. Something had made sense to this child, and it had made her feel complete.
What happened to that little girl? When did she stop believing?
I can say that she just grew up. I can say that she learned the world was not as simple as good and bad, heaven and hell. I can say that she learned the world was a cruel place with no one to dole out imaginary mercy. I can say she learned that Santa Claus, tooth fairies, and even God didn’t exist. That all that existed was what she knew as real—herself.
But then again, maybe, just maybe, that girl just lost her way. Maybe she just stopped believing because…because…?
I want to find out.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
DAY 03: On Being High and Wasted
Personally, there are only three times when drugs are acceptable. And they all, more or less, start with a “C:”
1) Colds
2) Cramps
3) C-c-kidney stones
Kidney stones are basically God’s way of telling you that he hates you. After nine hours of going through bodily hell, morphine became my own personal wonder drug from the heavens. I was saved.
I don’t really have much to say on the issue of drugs and alcohol. I just accept the whole ordeal as an inextricable part of college—girls in slutty outfits during the dead of winter find warmth from the alcohol burning through blood; guys find ways to make friends with people having nothing in common besides a mutual interest in drinking. The buses will continue to roll by packed with bodies reeking of sweat, alcohol, and throw up.
I’ve had my moments of weakness. It was this idea that I had one life to live, and that I wanted to “live” it. Somehow, I started seeing college as nothing more than an enclosed town for horny kids who placed getting wasted at the top of their agendas. I’m pretty arrogant, so I did place myself as having more class than the typically hormone-crazy college student. However, the curious side of me wanted a taste of that surreal world and the corresponding drama, the unknown, the naughtiness that it promised.
But I think I was disillusioned. Today, I honestly don’t have a strong desire to drink alcohol. I know that a letting go in the moment does not parallel with a much harder letting go of my problems. When I wake up, the problems will be there (if not more—I may end up with “$500 more in my pockets”). I want to find friends that are more than “drinking buddies,” I want to find happiness in more than a drink, I want to find reality over an illusion.
Plus, the idea of waking up with my hair tangled in a pile of my own throw-up isn’t something I particularly find fun.
--If you set a drunk person aflame, will they burn slowly in blue and green flames?
1) Colds
2) Cramps
3) C-c-kidney stones
Kidney stones are basically God’s way of telling you that he hates you. After nine hours of going through bodily hell, morphine became my own personal wonder drug from the heavens. I was saved.
I don’t really have much to say on the issue of drugs and alcohol. I just accept the whole ordeal as an inextricable part of college—girls in slutty outfits during the dead of winter find warmth from the alcohol burning through blood; guys find ways to make friends with people having nothing in common besides a mutual interest in drinking. The buses will continue to roll by packed with bodies reeking of sweat, alcohol, and throw up.
I’ve had my moments of weakness. It was this idea that I had one life to live, and that I wanted to “live” it. Somehow, I started seeing college as nothing more than an enclosed town for horny kids who placed getting wasted at the top of their agendas. I’m pretty arrogant, so I did place myself as having more class than the typically hormone-crazy college student. However, the curious side of me wanted a taste of that surreal world and the corresponding drama, the unknown, the naughtiness that it promised.
But I think I was disillusioned. Today, I honestly don’t have a strong desire to drink alcohol. I know that a letting go in the moment does not parallel with a much harder letting go of my problems. When I wake up, the problems will be there (if not more—I may end up with “$500 more in my pockets”). I want to find friends that are more than “drinking buddies,” I want to find happiness in more than a drink, I want to find reality over an illusion.
Plus, the idea of waking up with my hair tangled in a pile of my own throw-up isn’t something I particularly find fun.
--If you set a drunk person aflame, will they burn slowly in blue and green flames?
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
DAY 02: On 10 Years From Now
In ten years I will be a year away from thirty. Do you remember that movie, “13 going on 30?” It’s all about this 13-year old kid’s wish to be “thirty, flirty, and thriving.” Honestly though? I picture 30 to be the end of my youth and a new age slowly promising wrinkles, weight gain, and saggy boobs. I don’t want to be flirty at 30. To me, that’s just gross.
This sounds ridiculously retarded, but in ten years I would like to be old, preggers, wearing an apron, and making awesome sandwiches. Y’know, the kinds without the crust and cut into triangles.
Right now, I’m sure many guys can think of so many “woman” jokes regarding this subject. And I bet a lot of women (mostly the feminists that like burning bras and not shaving their armpits) hate me right now.
Women seem to love the idea of the cool, independent, and hip woman. But you know what? That’s not me. I’m un-cool, relatively dependent, and unhip (but I do have hips! Har, har, fail.). In all honesty, I think I’d be perfectly happy with my medium-sized house, my mommy Honda CR-V, and friends to invite over for Labor Day BBQs. And I won’t mind sharing my bed with one person, cuddling through thunderstorms and making stupendous love. It’s not that I don’t like excitement; I’d be willing to “experiment” to keep marriage life exciting. It’s just that I place family, security, and appreciation beyond most things in this mundane existence. For me, that’d be happiness. Kids to kiss good night, a hubby to kiss awake in the mornings. But hey— if you’d like to see yourself in a mansion, convertibles, and involved in sexy threesomes at 30—by all means, go for it!
This sounds ridiculously retarded, but in ten years I would like to be old, preggers, wearing an apron, and making awesome sandwiches. Y’know, the kinds without the crust and cut into triangles.
Right now, I’m sure many guys can think of so many “woman” jokes regarding this subject. And I bet a lot of women (mostly the feminists that like burning bras and not shaving their armpits) hate me right now.
Women seem to love the idea of the cool, independent, and hip woman. But you know what? That’s not me. I’m un-cool, relatively dependent, and unhip (but I do have hips! Har, har, fail.). In all honesty, I think I’d be perfectly happy with my medium-sized house, my mommy Honda CR-V, and friends to invite over for Labor Day BBQs. And I won’t mind sharing my bed with one person, cuddling through thunderstorms and making stupendous love. It’s not that I don’t like excitement; I’d be willing to “experiment” to keep marriage life exciting. It’s just that I place family, security, and appreciation beyond most things in this mundane existence. For me, that’d be happiness. Kids to kiss good night, a hubby to kiss awake in the mornings. But hey— if you’d like to see yourself in a mansion, convertibles, and involved in sexy threesomes at 30—by all means, go for it!
Monday, October 11, 2010
DAY 01: On Being Single
My friend is a psychology major, and currently she’s taking a “Psychology of Interpersonal Relationships” class. For the class, she’s supposed to keep a journal on the progress of three goals that each individual decides for themselves. These goals revolve around developing relationships with others. Apparently one of the most common goals is: “Get a boyfriend.” I urged her to do the same, but she refused to jump on the bandwagon. Mentally, I’ve already been recording in my journal for the last few days--
10/8/10: “Lonely today…”
10/9/10: “Lonely again today…”
10/10/10: “Happy 10/10/10 Day! Oh, and lonely again today…”
10/11/10: “Just read the last three posts, goddammit.”
Personally I thought it’d be comical because it’s just so damn sad.
And, yes, I just realized how pathetic I sound.
Despite that basically 80%+ of this campus is probably living the single life, we all can’t help but notice the couples on campus—the everyday Girl A walking hand in hand with everyday Guy B. It’s all we see thrown up against our faces. Either they’re fighting or kissing. Hearts break and remake constantly on our Facebook newsfeeds. We walk into them awkwardly in elevators and in bedrooms. Whether we cringe or sigh, it makes us all painfully aware of our “status.” We all crave (like pregnant woman) the happy endings we’ve been fed since Disney movie childhood days. We gobble gobble gobble up the gossip, the chick flicks, the latest episodes of Glee and Gossip Girl.
So I guess the message here today is fairly simple. My friend said that whatever I said (“I’m ridin’ solo! S-O-L-O!” and “Girl power!” and “Single, and I’m lovin’ it like a McDonalds happy meal!”) really wouldn’t matter because this is all “singlehood” sums up to: “It fucking sucks. The end.”
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Spring Pools by Robert Frost
These pools that, though in forests, still reflect
The total sky almost without defect,
And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,
Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,
And yet not out by any brook or river,
But up by roots to bring dark foliage on.
The trees that have it in their pent-up buds
To darken nature and be summer woods---
Let them think twice before they use their powers
To blot out and drink up and sweep away
These flowery waters and these watery flowers
From snow that melted only yesterday.
I have never seen a field of flowers. The only close resemblance I’ve seen are within cemeteries, fields against fields of colorful flowers both fake and real, slowly fading and wilting under the sun.
My dad’s birthday is in a few days. For the first time in over five years I visited his grave. A bouquet of fresh flowers occupied the passenger’s seat. Somehow I knew that these flowers weren’t enough. I was alone, and as I parked my car against the curb—I cried. There were so many graves—so many forgotten flowers—that I was afraid that I couldn’t find my own dad against hundreds of others.
His grave had the whitest of flowers; the sun and years had faded the hues of yellows and pinks of the flowers marking his grave into a stark white.
I cried, and I cried, and I cried. But it was not only an act of grief. It was for the years, the “un-given” flowers, the unvisited graves. It was for all the times I promised I’d visit, and I hadn’t. It was for the times I had wanted to bring someone I loved with me—someone real to hold as I cried over what was now dust, this unmet wanting to introduce him to my dad. It was for innocence, for humanity, for regret, for love. It was for remembering. After I finally stopped, I just sat next to my dad, and I wrote him a letter. Both sun and wind touched my face with unseen hands. It was the perfect day. It was time not only to forgive others, but forgive myself.
---
It’s been rough these days. And, I'm sorry sorry sorry about the last two sad posts. But—I’m going to try to fulfill the purpose of this blog which is to somehow bring at least a little “teehee” to everyday moments. So--! A friend gave me a great idea on a “30-Day Tumblr Challenge.” This isn’t Tumblr, but same concept? After this “challenge,” I’ll probably just go back my old, everyday posts with a BAM!
Day 01 - Your current relationship, if single discuss how single life is.
Day 02 - Where you’d like to be in 10 years.
Day 03 - Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 04 - Your views on religion.
Day 05 - A time you thought about ending your own life.
Day 06 - Write 30 interesting facts about yourself.
Day 07 - Your zodiac sign and if you think it fits your personality.
Day 08 - A moment you felt the most satisfied with your life.
Day 09 - How you hope your future will be like.
Day 10 - Discuss your first love and first kiss.
Day 11 - Put your ipod on shuffle and write 10 songs that pop up.
Day 12 - Bullet your whole day.
Day 13 - Somewhere you’d like to move or visit.
Day 14 - Your earliest memory.
Day 15 - Your favorite tumblrs.
Day 16 - Your views on mainstream music.
Day 17 - Your highs and lows of this past year.
Day 18 - Your beliefs.
Day 19 - Disrespecting your parents.
Day 20 - How important you think education is.
Day 21 - One of your favorite shows.
Day 22 - How have you changed in the past 2 years?
Day 23 - Give pictures of 5 guys who are famous who you find attractive.
Day 24 - Your favorite movie and what it’s about.
Day 25 - Someone who fascinates you and why.
Day 26 - What kind of person attracts you.
Day 27 - A problem that you have had.
Day 28 - Something that you miss.
Day 29 - Goals for the next 30 days.
Day 30 - Your highs and lows of this month.
These pools that, though in forests, still reflect
The total sky almost without defect,
And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,
Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,
And yet not out by any brook or river,
But up by roots to bring dark foliage on.
The trees that have it in their pent-up buds
To darken nature and be summer woods---
Let them think twice before they use their powers
To blot out and drink up and sweep away
These flowery waters and these watery flowers
From snow that melted only yesterday.
I have never seen a field of flowers. The only close resemblance I’ve seen are within cemeteries, fields against fields of colorful flowers both fake and real, slowly fading and wilting under the sun.
My dad’s birthday is in a few days. For the first time in over five years I visited his grave. A bouquet of fresh flowers occupied the passenger’s seat. Somehow I knew that these flowers weren’t enough. I was alone, and as I parked my car against the curb—I cried. There were so many graves—so many forgotten flowers—that I was afraid that I couldn’t find my own dad against hundreds of others.
His grave had the whitest of flowers; the sun and years had faded the hues of yellows and pinks of the flowers marking his grave into a stark white.
I cried, and I cried, and I cried. But it was not only an act of grief. It was for the years, the “un-given” flowers, the unvisited graves. It was for all the times I promised I’d visit, and I hadn’t. It was for the times I had wanted to bring someone I loved with me—someone real to hold as I cried over what was now dust, this unmet wanting to introduce him to my dad. It was for innocence, for humanity, for regret, for love. It was for remembering. After I finally stopped, I just sat next to my dad, and I wrote him a letter. Both sun and wind touched my face with unseen hands. It was the perfect day. It was time not only to forgive others, but forgive myself.
---
It’s been rough these days. And, I'm sorry sorry sorry about the last two sad posts. But—I’m going to try to fulfill the purpose of this blog which is to somehow bring at least a little “teehee” to everyday moments. So--! A friend gave me a great idea on a “30-Day Tumblr Challenge.” This isn’t Tumblr, but same concept? After this “challenge,” I’ll probably just go back my old, everyday posts with a BAM!
Day 01 - Your current relationship, if single discuss how single life is.
Day 02 - Where you’d like to be in 10 years.
Day 03 - Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 04 - Your views on religion.
Day 05 - A time you thought about ending your own life.
Day 06 - Write 30 interesting facts about yourself.
Day 07 - Your zodiac sign and if you think it fits your personality.
Day 08 - A moment you felt the most satisfied with your life.
Day 09 - How you hope your future will be like.
Day 10 - Discuss your first love and first kiss.
Day 11 - Put your ipod on shuffle and write 10 songs that pop up.
Day 12 - Bullet your whole day.
Day 13 - Somewhere you’d like to move or visit.
Day 14 - Your earliest memory.
Day 15 - Your favorite tumblrs.
Day 16 - Your views on mainstream music.
Day 17 - Your highs and lows of this past year.
Day 18 - Your beliefs.
Day 19 - Disrespecting your parents.
Day 20 - How important you think education is.
Day 21 - One of your favorite shows.
Day 22 - How have you changed in the past 2 years?
Day 23 - Give pictures of 5 guys who are famous who you find attractive.
Day 24 - Your favorite movie and what it’s about.
Day 25 - Someone who fascinates you and why.
Day 26 - What kind of person attracts you.
Day 27 - A problem that you have had.
Day 28 - Something that you miss.
Day 29 - Goals for the next 30 days.
Day 30 - Your highs and lows of this month.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Death's and Unknown's
I died yesterday. For the first time throughout my short 19 years of existence, I fell completely asleep at the wheel on a major highway.
I’m not really sure how it happened, but I can tell you that when I finally woke up I didn’t scream, I didn’t cry, and I didn’t pull off onto the side of the road. I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes. I just calmly took in the fact that I had been swerving in and out of lanes at 70 mph during my sleep. I don’t even know why I had chosen to wake up (in fact, I don’t know how I had fallen asleep)—I hadn’t woken up through the loud music, the cars beeping. It made me feel something I hadn’t felt before. It wasn’t a feeling of gratitude, and it wasn’t a feeling of fear. But the feeling filled me up with an unknown emptiness, and I could only name it as death.
My dreams that night got me tossing and turning in bed. The dream involved whales, drowning, and expensive buffet lines. I woke up with a heart burning through my chest, and it let me know I was still alive.
I’m not really sure how it happened, but I can tell you that when I finally woke up I didn’t scream, I didn’t cry, and I didn’t pull off onto the side of the road. I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes. I just calmly took in the fact that I had been swerving in and out of lanes at 70 mph during my sleep. I don’t even know why I had chosen to wake up (in fact, I don’t know how I had fallen asleep)—I hadn’t woken up through the loud music, the cars beeping. It made me feel something I hadn’t felt before. It wasn’t a feeling of gratitude, and it wasn’t a feeling of fear. But the feeling filled me up with an unknown emptiness, and I could only name it as death.
My dreams that night got me tossing and turning in bed. The dream involved whales, drowning, and expensive buffet lines. I woke up with a heart burning through my chest, and it let me know I was still alive.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Eve's and Hamlet's
In my art history class today, the professor introduced the numerous Buddhist hells. One scroll flaunted “The World of Screams,” where two naked women flailed unyieldingly on the ground with contorted faces as insects fed on their festering wounds. The other depicted women drowning in a sea of pus as maggots happily fed on their putrefying bodies. The professor showed us around eight more of these horrifying scenes, and interestingly, all the sinners involved seemed to be women. The professor was smiling evilly the whole time, and the more I looked (at her grinning face) and listened—the more I became convinced that I was going to hell. It was all pretty depressing. To lighten the mood I found myself singing the “Na na na batman!” song in my head. I’m really hoping that Buddhism doesn’t exist because if it does I’m definitely going to the most terrifying hell Buddhism has to offer:
It’s pitch darkness, but you can feel it watching. You feel its breath on the nape of your neck; you hear its whispered words hissed into your ear. It’s waiting. And then out it comes! A giant, fire-breathing chicken!
…Apparently this chase between man and chicken is the eternity doomed to us meat-eaters.
I’ve learned one other thing; women are seen as “Eves,” sinful temptresses, in almost every religion. Buddhist monks would hang scrolls illustrating the slow decomposition of the beautiful woman’s body until the pus-filled, rotten body is finally eaten by mangy beasts and crows. This image seems to help Buddhist monks get over their desires for women and their subsequent erections.
---
In my English class, my professor made the offhand comment: “We are all minor characters. But we are all Hamlets to ourselves.”
Some days are hard, some days are easy. The days that had once passed by so quickly with another now pass equally slowly. Regardless, time passes by.
It’s pitch darkness, but you can feel it watching. You feel its breath on the nape of your neck; you hear its whispered words hissed into your ear. It’s waiting. And then out it comes! A giant, fire-breathing chicken!
…Apparently this chase between man and chicken is the eternity doomed to us meat-eaters.
I’ve learned one other thing; women are seen as “Eves,” sinful temptresses, in almost every religion. Buddhist monks would hang scrolls illustrating the slow decomposition of the beautiful woman’s body until the pus-filled, rotten body is finally eaten by mangy beasts and crows. This image seems to help Buddhist monks get over their desires for women and their subsequent erections.
---
In my English class, my professor made the offhand comment: “We are all minor characters. But we are all Hamlets to ourselves.”
Some days are hard, some days are easy. The days that had once passed by so quickly with another now pass equally slowly. Regardless, time passes by.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Infomercial's and Schnauzer's
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I decided to go to school in disguise today. I knew I couldn’t use the rain as an excuse to miss school any longer, and I figured that going to school disguised as another me would perhaps make me feel more inclined to trudge through an unrelenting rain. I threw on a gray, oversized sweater, tortoise eyeglasses, and a pair of over-the-top kicks. Then I ran my fingers through my hair (as I attempted to tame flyaways) for that “sexy,” messy bed hair look gone awry. To complete the look, I didn’t wear makeup. Of course, it was a risky strategy—but it was one that I was willing to take. I wanted guys to get that raw feel of what I would really look like if I woke up in bed next to them, with the face I had worn yesterday caked off onto the pillows (but that reminds me: Urban Decay sells a makeup product that helps your makeup hold through sex, sweat, and overnight…helping men stay ignorant until the firstborn child). Since the disguise took me a total of five minutes, that left me 45 minutes—45 minutes spent watching infomercials on hair products rather than trying to salvage my look.
I might be the only person in the U.S. who considers infomercials “good T.V.”
It was a cold cold cold day, and I couldn’t help entertaining myself by exhaling mini clouds that shrouded my glasses and temporarily kept my face warm. When I finally reached the bus stop, feeling coy and cold in my disguise, I happened to lock eyes with the saddest looking creature in my life. Wearing nothing but a light sweater and jeans, he stood soaked with matted, wet hair and glasses covered with rain. He reminded me of a wet Schnauzer. He swiftly looked away as the situation quickly started to reek of awkwardness. The kid looked so damn miserable that I let him stand under my umbrella (ella ella ay ay ay?). The bus didn’t come for another ten minutes or so, so I was glad I was there.
For a rainy day, it wasn’t all that bad.
On a different note: I thought the idea of guy masturbating in a lonely room was a sad image in and of itself, but urbandictionary.com brought me close to tears with one of their more recent spins on the word.
Masturdating: Going out alone. I.e. seeing a movie by yourself, going to a restaurant alone.
---
It’s always uncannily strange when rain falls onto an open face. One can’t tell if it’s the onset of tears, a mere coincidence when water graces cheeks with soft recognition, or both.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Trojan's and BJ's
Yesterday night I had the “fabulous” idea to look up my old Xanga. I won’t tell you the user account name, but the name involved a lot of x’s, snow, and flowers. The banner flaunted this very cool motto: “We Belong Together!” And it even had this trendy pink color scheme that showed off my HTML finesse. It’s great because the site reminded me of not only how much of an absolute, funkin’ retard I was up until a few years ago, but the thing also decided to hand me a wonderful welcoming present called a Trojan (which I found out thanks to McAfee, but the damn thing refused to help since it’s “expired”). I’m not the most “tech-savvy” college student on campus, so I’m hoping (with fingers crossed and all that voodoo) that the Trojan will magically go away.
I really really should learn from past mistakes though. The last time something like this happened, I used the same old finger-crossing trick; I ended up with a wallpaper crawling with cockroaches and self-pity wallowing in a pit full of fresh cow dung. I then promptly decided that the whole “unchangeable wallpaper” deal wasn’t all that bad until the computer made this “brr brr” sound and died. Usually when machines do this to me, I:
1) Sweet-talk it.
2) Yell at it.
3) Resort to kicking it.
This time those three didn’t work, so I was forced to call Gateway services. Basically, I talked to this man with a heavy Indian accent for three hours until even he gave up and hung up on me.
Anyways, here are some things I said as a blogger back in the day:
“[ ] bought a black dress. So seckshii x]”
“hey sup to all da peepz out dere”
“I jus came bac from summa skool nd now in lik a few min I need 2 go 2 reading class nd cum bac at lik 9:30…seriously I need 2 get a life!!!”
And yes, I spelled “come” as “cum.”
As for today? Well, I went to BJ’s (this wholesale chain retail place) with a friend. I also commented to her that the place would do better if they actually sold bj’s. I think I said it a little too loudly though because old men looked at me like I was some sort of freakish prostitute.
I have two goals for the upcoming months. A) Exercise (I actually used to be a fat kid…) and B) Blog daily. Blogging is helping me rediscover me. I’m getting a feel of who I am as a writer as well as a person (cheesy college essay statement; sorry!). But more than that, it’s helping me “re-find” the fun in life. When’s the last time you can say you honestly had fun? I thought about that a few days ago, and it was actually disturbing at what an “emo chick” I had become. It’s time to laugh people. Plus, 2012 is coming up and we should all "party like it's the end of the world" (-Jay Sean...who is obviously quote-worthy...).
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Flight Attendant's and XYZ's
Today! I feel "butt exhausted." Let's see:
First! I went to the National Aquarium. For $25 I got to look at fish and stuff. Was it worth it? Well, there was this one fish that looked like it had Down Syndrome, so it was pretty funkin' (I tried to spell fuckin', but it came out as "funkin'"--bam! Dictionary-worthy word!) cool. I also saw a sawfish (bam! alliteration, baby!). By the way, did saws come first or the fish? After all that jazz, I went to the gift shop and bought myself a $4 shark tooth necklace, and now I feel pretty funkin' invincible.There was a ton of other funkin' amazing things, but I think you should spend that $25 and make your way over there. I think proceeds go towards saving the dolphins or something anyways. Good cause, right?
Next! I went dress shopping with my sister. She has homecoming coming up. That little girl is growing up. I tried on dresses too, so it was like some weird "blast from the past" moment. I felt a bit nostalgic until I saw the price tag on those polyester dresses.
Tonight! I was managing my blogs today for "fun," and I found this draft from August 2,2009. It brought back funny memories.
---
I was sitting on the plane today, and I couldn't help but observe the passengers as my means of free entertainment. The American man in front of my sister kept on putting down his chair until the back of the seat was touching my sister's knees. I would have told my sister to kick the back of his chair, but I saw that he had a tattoo on his elbow and that was the end of that. There on my left -- was an old Asian man who kept on asking the flight attendants for alcohol. He was alone, and throughout the 14hour flight, he consumed several cans of beer and several cups of wine. While intoxicated, he was oddly quiet and kept to himself. However, he had the strange habit of throwing pieces of paper all over the aisle. I felt bad for the flight attendant who had to bend down in her pencil skirt and pick up the random trash he left on the aisle each time she passed. Perhaps it was a ploy to get her to bend down, but I think...[end draft]
There's certain sayings that drives me crazy. Like "XYZ." I always forget what it means, but everyone else around me remembers. So "XYZ" only draws uncalled for attention to certain areas and while everyone else laughs until I finally remember that it means "Examine Your Zipper."
---
P.S. By the way, I figured out how to add pictures all thanks to the superpowers emanating off from my $4 shark tooth necklace. Without this newfound "visual excitement," I know that anyone else who happens across this blog will be bored stiffer than a cadaver. I'll try to throw in pictures of some hot girls every once in a while if you stick around.
P.P.S.(?) A snarky friend commented that the picture failed to show cleavage. Upset?
Friday, October 1, 2010
Harry Potter Glasses' and AIM Bot's
Let's go back to middle-school days. No contacts--just harry potter glasses and blinged-out braces with rubber bands (much to the dismay of my orthodontist, it was always a matter of life and death to choose a color). It was back when I still knew how to pull off jeans that made my butt look non-existent. When wearing tennis shoes was more fashionable than flats and heels. When I thought that earrings that came down to my shoulders completed an outfit consisting of t-shirt and jeans. When wearing bras from Target and Kohl's made me feel oh all so "grown up." Those were the days. Do you remember? Sitting on yellow school buses, feeling that slight thrill whenever the bus driver drove over a bump? Mixing ketchup with the school spaghetti to enhance the taste? Days when it was important to be called a "pre-teen" instead of a kid. Neopets was cool instead of Pokemon. Xanga instead of Facebook. Having lockers rocked and so did back-to-school shopping. Back to when the world felt so so so easy, and idealist dreams of Prince Charmings and fairytales still existed among females. When Romeo and Juliet were "romantic," instead of "what the fuck?!" When we didn't really want to know where babies came from, and when sex (sex?!) was only between parents. Who knew?
It's not that the drama didn't exist back then. It was like a baby version foreshadowing what more would come in time. I remember thinking I was going to die when I had my first period. I remember crying over a sure to come (and ultimately painful) death. I remember getting into a fight with a friend over shoes--the principal had to tear us apart. And another fight that involved an icy snowball and resulted in the two of us rolling on the ground pulling out each other's hair. I had lost my father. I remember my mom dating someone new; I stuck toothpicks into the carpet hoping that the "stranger," this "outsider," would step on them. Somehow, the physicality and outright rage of the moment helped. Now, everything is so hidden, so conniving, so emotionally brutal.
I remember back when I was in middle school, and I was just getting over my first crush. Of course, it was a one-sided thing, but I was so sure that the stares I shot towards the back of his head would somehow make him fall in love with me. When it didn't, I felt that immature, 13-year old heart of mine break into two. Not able to tell my friends of the emotions I was starting to feel for the first time, I found solace talking to those "AIM Bots"--my relationship doctor.
Now Google is like my "AIM Bot." I type in "How to get over..." and it's like google reads my mind. "How to get over a..." break-up? A guy? A broken heart? An ex? A crush? First love? Dr. Google has my back.
Today I find myself remembering days when it felt so much easier. I'm sure that to that girl years ago though, it wasn't.
http://blisstree.com/feel/how-to-get-over-a-broken-heart/
P.S. My sister just pointed out something else about middle-school: "I remember when dances were just people jumping up and down. There was a SKILL to it."
It's not that the drama didn't exist back then. It was like a baby version foreshadowing what more would come in time. I remember thinking I was going to die when I had my first period. I remember crying over a sure to come (and ultimately painful) death. I remember getting into a fight with a friend over shoes--the principal had to tear us apart. And another fight that involved an icy snowball and resulted in the two of us rolling on the ground pulling out each other's hair. I had lost my father. I remember my mom dating someone new; I stuck toothpicks into the carpet hoping that the "stranger," this "outsider," would step on them. Somehow, the physicality and outright rage of the moment helped. Now, everything is so hidden, so conniving, so emotionally brutal.
I remember back when I was in middle school, and I was just getting over my first crush. Of course, it was a one-sided thing, but I was so sure that the stares I shot towards the back of his head would somehow make him fall in love with me. When it didn't, I felt that immature, 13-year old heart of mine break into two. Not able to tell my friends of the emotions I was starting to feel for the first time, I found solace talking to those "AIM Bots"--my relationship doctor.
Now Google is like my "AIM Bot." I type in "How to get over..." and it's like google reads my mind. "How to get over a..." break-up? A guy? A broken heart? An ex? A crush? First love? Dr. Google has my back.
Today I find myself remembering days when it felt so much easier. I'm sure that to that girl years ago though, it wasn't.
http://blisstree.com/feel/how-to-get-over-a-broken-heart/
P.S. My sister just pointed out something else about middle-school: "I remember when dances were just people jumping up and down. There was a SKILL to it."
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