Thursday, May 29

Nostalgia Part .01

I think the world doesn’t make sense anymore.
Not that it did before or anything remarkable.

I’m at my aunt’s house again, sleeping on the same hard tile, watching Finding Nemo for the fourth time today.

Oh, nostalgia, how you slay me. I suppose I should do a wrap up of high school----burry it and hope it doesn’t come back like some deranged zombie hell-bent on feeding off my worst memories.

It wasn’t all that bad though. Well, actually, it sucked. Supremely. Is it sad that my fondest school memories are of SGS? I should have taken Vera seriously when she said Sampson would be the best years of my life--- but then again, I was still a rebellious kid who thought that Linkin Park was the end all be all of music and that dying silver streaks in my hair was cool.

I’ve done a lot of stupid things. Most of them were the product of rash thinking and want of attention.

But this year was something else. This year, I plunged into the unknown not because I was bored, or wanted mommy and daddy to notice me. I did it for myself. I figured it was my last chance, and that grades were just retarded confinements set up for a system ruled by fascists (alright, nothing quite that radical) . And sure, the more riske among us will call my spontaneity weak…but I’ll have you know dear, it was epic.

I was never prepared to make my own decisions. I wasn’t even prepared to stand up for myself. Something that, to a normal human being, would seem common or insignificant----like an audition or a college application or even a conversation with a stranger---was completely out of my realm. I did a lot of things that many girls with my background and breeding would never dare. Yes, I’m still under parental supervision. Yes, I still yearn for their approval. But I’m learning that in order to be happy, I have to do the things that make me happy---even if it’s not conventional.

Who needs conventional happiness anyway, ey?

I think I’m beginning to like the person that I am. I’m in that place right now. You know, that place where things are just sitting in the perfect spot and you just hope to god that the tide doesn’t change and wreck everything? Yeah, that’s the one.

This isn’t even a tiny chunk of what I want to say, but my aunt is telling me that sleep calls, and if I’ve learned anything at all in my lifetime, it’s not to upset a cranky Asian woman.


Saturday, May 24

Broken Records & Empty Words...

Everyone thinks they’re a superb singer in the shower.
It’s a proven
But let me just tell you now, friend: you aren’t. Neither am I.

We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things…
What a flaming disappointment. I think my heart exploded with so much dissatisfaction. I was expecting something beautiful and effortless. I had expected him to plaster his soul about my wall through the speakers.

There was a certain lack of wit. Hell, there was a lack of inspiration. It was all so commercial and phony.

Where was the spark of genius? Did he suddenly decide to tuck his heart inside his sleeve and move on from there?


I feel like this album was made just to appease a starving record company. I want to believe that he hasn’t completely sold out, that he’ll make that acoustic album and everything will be alright again.

For now, my guitar gently weeps for you, Jason Mraz--- you who have forgotten music in your pursuit of pot and groupies. I hope you’re proud.

Friday, May 23

Tickle Me, Silly...

Sleep makes it all feel so much better.

I wonder if that's a sign.

What would you do if I sang out of tune,
Would you stand up and walk out on me?

Wednesday, May 21

Cynicism, Beware

WARNING: This post has not been censored by the logical part of my brain. It is asterisked for language, content, emo-ness, and implied homicidal tendencies. If any of this offends you, please stop reading NOW.

I typically don’t like watching chick flicks. They’re screen plays written by women lacking in a healthy and functioning romantic life, who find certain pleasure in misleadingly upping our standards for men (don’t ever say I never fought for you, men).

I always feel so degraded and unsatisfied afterwards. It’s kind of like I’m the cherry lip gloss you find at the dollar store check out counter; the one that all the little kids stick their tiny fingers into, but no one ever buys.

Way to build my self esteem.

It’s always the same story. Girl is either unapproachable, incorrigible, or in some way unattractive, hence has thriving insecurities. Boy is successful, typically a womanizer, and has way too much charm for any woman’s sake. Boy meets girl. Boy uses girl. Boy falls in love with girl. Boy screws up. Girl slaps boy. Girl realizes boy and girl had fun together. Girl loses all dignity and goes crawling back to boy.

And so the cycle of masochism begins again for another unassuming----and most likely insecure-yet-beautiful----tragic heroine.

Why yes, I am a cynic.

Why is it that the people who seem to succeed most in life are total bastards? They have no qualms about stepping over others in pursuit of their ambitions, and they frighten off all the good people until there are none left. Why are the manipulators and condescending jerks always ahead ---even though we know exactly how big a douchebag they really are?

Back to masochism, I guess.

I just think of all the people I know who are considered successful by all societal means and they’re really awful. Sometimes we make excuses for them.

‘Oh, she’s only that way because she’s got a strong personality. You need that to play with the big dogs.’
Why can’t they just say she’s a cold bitch who doesn’t care about who she hurts as long as she proves to the world that she was right in the process?


‘He’s just under so much pressure to be the best. He is a legacy, after all.’
Don’t you mean he’s a spoiled little man whore who’s had everything handed to him his entire life, and it’s still not enough for him, because he obviously can’t find satisfaction?


I think that’s what you meant to say.

Ugh. Too much meanness here.

P.S. I have to go to school tomorrow. Meh.

Monday, May 19

There's Nothing You Can Sing That Can't Be Sung...

This will be my last entry from the media center.
I put on my headphones, hoping that music will evoke some sort of feeling in me, some reaction appropriate for the occasion. Maybe it’ll explain why I’m lingering here instead of busting through the doors that have kept me at bay for so long.
I hit shuffle and Do You Realize by the Flaming Lips is playing.
Do you realize that happiness makes you cry?
But the thing is I’m neither happy nor sad. I’m completely apathetic. I’ve been released from this physical manifestation of my failures, yet it hardly means a thing. It’s as if it’ll all begin again in another cycle of torture yourself while you wait in limbo, bitch.
The next song? Blackbird.
Sigh. This certainly is a promising beginning to a life of self-indulgence and bitterness.

Well, so long dear friends. From here I will report of my daily nothings no more. Goodbye media center, good bye Wallace the wall. Goodbye memories. I’d rather forget you any day.


Thursday, May 15

We've Almost Made It, Friend.


Wednesday, May 14

Would You Love Me Even If I Didn’t Have Eyebrows?

Because I've always been quite self-conscience about them. I've been thinking of waxing them off completely---then I wouldn't have to worry.

I'm at school right now, sitting at one of the fancy computers trying to remember things. Life has been going by remarkabl fast and I couldn't be happier (insert 'simply, couldn't be happier' without underlying hints of depression and guilt. Believe me, there is nothing to feel sad about).
It’s strange, this excess of nostalgia--- so poignant, so evident--- as I walk down the corridors. People that I’ve barely know---nameless faces scattered throughout the years---are smiling and waving as if we were long lost friends. I can literally see the stress melt away, burdens being buried in the past. We are moving forward, the worlds tremble on my lips. Bitter sweet and condescending, I have to wonder if these feelings of uncertainty and awkwardness will ever disappear. I wonder if high school was the catalyst of it all, or if it’s something inside me. Well, we’ll find out soon enough.
You’re the bubble gum stuck to the bottom of my Soul,
Save me, and not in the way of religion.
I’m not a slacker, I’m artistic. I’m also unmotivated---which pretty much coincides with the former.
I’m not sure if I’ll miss this place. I don’t think so. I don’t think I ever truly settled. I don’t think I ever will.
I keep having this fantasy where I publish the book I’m currently working on and I have enough money to pay for SLC. Then I’d get out of here and this and away from them and be done with it all. Pathetic, ey? I know.

It's suddenly become very loud in the library. I think that's my que to leave.


P.S. will post better blog with nifty pictures once I get home. I'm not planning on studying for Econs. today...or ever for that matter.

Monday, May 5

Trees, Trees, Trees!

I don’t really have much to say lately.

I had a sarcasm OVERLOAD after going to Asima’s talent show. I’m telling you, it was ridiculous. It seemed as if every kid invited their entire family plus their neighborhood. I was expecting some radically sweet performances---what with a full house and all.

But of course, elementary school functions disappoint just as much high school ones. They’ve just got mini-people involved. And not midgets. Kids. By the end of the night, I was ready to shoot the next douchbaggette to defile my stage with a subpar performance of Hannah Montana lip synching.

Boy who smiles does not like me. He acknowledges my existence, at best. I’m too childish, I guess. At least that’s what he said. Not in a condescending way, but in a ‘haha. No one can take you seriously. You’re childish’ way. Which is true. I am quite childish and proud. Viva la youth!

I’m going into the business of drawing henna tattoos. Interested? I’m giving up my post secondary education and am applying for work at IOA. That way, I can wear a gypsy suit ALL the time. You should come visit me one day.

My room is a war zone. I’m just too scared to go in there and clean it---lest the monsters try and get me. There is definitely something living on my couch, hidden under mounds of clothes, books, scattered papers, cough drop wrappers, and used tissues. I can’t even find my knitting needles and it’s driving my hands crazy.

We had our gov’t test at UCF today. Though the campus is lackluster in history and character, it has beautiful trees. By the fountain, there are these gorgeous oak trees littered about the grounds. I went up to each one and introduced myself.

I’m sure we’ll be great friends.

In elementary school, there was this huge oak tree out front and I would play on it every single day before going home. I’d hide acorns or pretend I was a pirate jumping from ship to ship or act like I was an international spy on a secret mission. I’d leave maps for the squirrels to find acorn booty. Or I’d let the tree cradle me as I did my homework.

Those were happy times for me.

Maybe UCF won’t be that bad. I mean, they have beautiful trees that remind me so much of my childhood.

Insert amusing musing.

-Cheers! P.S. Here are some pictures from senior awards night.

Me & the Dad

That's my Mum...we're suppose to be related.
The Friends.

The 'no more effing pictures!' look