Dreams can stay a fantasy or become reality

If you think about something in particular before entering REM, then there will be a good chance that you will dream it.

I finally confessed. We were in a store and the lights were faded or as least we were in a section where the lights were filtered through a black drapery of some kind. We held that romantic tendency that couples usually have, leaning into each other, with his head tilted to hear me and and my head craning for me to be heard . His proximity was satisfying; I relished in the almost contact because it teased but never fulfilled. Contradicting?

I took the chance and whispered that I was interested and sweetly kissed his cheek.

The scene afterward was humorous and typical enough. I fled. I left him still and shocked.

In the following scenes, as if we were in a drama, we were near each other but never able to communicate. Until he finally sat me down and was about to answer, only for me to awaken.

I love to anticipate the soothing intensity and excitement that comes with the answer.

Twelfth Night is my favorite comedian Shakespearean play, so far, because it combines humor to emphasize reality and fantasy, the dual nature of disguise and the deceptiveness of self-conception.

Perhaps, I am like Orsino or Olivia, falsely infatuated because I cannot differentiate between what is authentic interest and what is superficial interest.

Dissembling into Ash Wednesday

Lent begins and though I'm not Catholic, I would like to give things up. I view this as sort of a purification process.

1. Facebook

Facebook is the ultimate stalker as well as the chocolate-center of my frustrations. I hate being able to look through other people's lives. This is the only way I am able to explain it; I want to run away from people, run away and not have them know that I exist, in order to not have expectations of people and for people not to have any expectations of me. I need relief.

2. AIM

AIM is like Facebook, people IM me and I don't care to answer, but I do out of politeness. 90% of the time I'm inivisble, so why not take that full step and just not sign on.

3. Chips

Simply put, I'm addicted to chips. I will die of high blood pressure one day.

4. Cursing

I curse often. I think it's a reaction to the reaction of my original action. Once upon a time, there was a young Asian girl who cursed like a sailor and didn't give a hoot about religion. Then she got sucked into church and felt guilty for cursing. Then she matured and rarely went to church, and entered college. Amusingly, I think I curse more now. I stop now only because cursing is filthy.

One thing I wish I could change about myself: not to allow Interest to determine my mood.

I heart Sherman Alexie

Hilarious Article.

What I truly desire...is a book shelf. haha

Yesterday I took a break from studying and reading for class to read some creative writing stories.

Can I say that women are morbid? I think women writers have a need to push the line because they're women and need to show that they can write just as well as male writers. Not only that but female writers want to prove that they can write any suspense, any horror, and any complex story that any man can write.

Therefore, I suggest reading Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery" (I'm sure most have read this or heard of it) and Nadine Gordimer's "Once Upon a Time". The stories are twisted but written beautifully.

Honey Nut Cheerios

I'd rather fall asleep with you in my arms, if you were a book

I'm weary of blogging, perhaps because I don't know who's reading and how much of this is to myself and how much of this is to others. There are a lot of bottled up emotions, bottled up thoughts, and bottled up actions that I cannot express because it's too inhumane to express them.

What am I saying? Who knows. Who cares.

I revert to the old ways of writing. With a pen. With a journal. With pages and lines and the smooth calmness that ignites when one embraces the other.

Once upon a time, I tried writing a book.

Phlegm

I wish I could cradle a baby in my arms.

Bottle of Soda with Mentos

My writing skills have been shredded and spit upon, these be my blatant thoughts.

It's known that dreams do not reflect reality, but then why does it seem so? It readily mocks me that what I try to hide is who I am, how I think, and how I shall act.

I've been hiding my feelings, as I always do. It's not towards anyone particular or rather it's not towards one person.

I'm spiteful and people deny that I am but I am. No one can know who you are except for you or at least unless you are bad at self-evaluation. Thus, I am saying I am vindictive, spiteful, and vengeful. It isn't public neither is it explicit; it is a parasite that lives within me that bloats and abates.

I was speaking to a comrade ( ha ha) and I was reasoning with him about those who are indeed good people and those who are lacking. My point of view was that I think everyone is capable of being sincere and genuine but it depends on how well you know that person, not everyone will reveal who they truly are to you. I cannot take anyone's surface personality for anything because it is meaningless. Only until I have successfully cut to the pulsing, bleeding heart, until then will I come to accept that I may know what kind of person they truly are.

Yet, this will never come to be. People are not picture books that allow the reader to know everything; unfortunately, the reader will never be omniscient. I still find out important features and memories from my best friend, who I've known for 9-10 years.

It isn't possible to completely understand someone, but I suppose there are times when one digging will reveal enough for satisfaction.

I dislike how my ideas are always abstract because I don't trust and cannot reveal what my inner thoughts are.

I admit this blog lacks flow and is butchered. My apologies.

Telepathy. Can you

Sometimes my thoughts are even too dark for me.

"Let be" if possible

The hardest lesson that I have not learned yet is to "Let be".

"If it be [now], 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be [now]; if it be not now, yet it [will] come-the readiness is all. Since no man, of aught he leaves, what is't to leave betimes, let be" (Act V ii 220-224)

What if I am exactly like Dr. Faustus? I seek knowledge and the understanding, but rather than world and spiritual consciousness, I seek the knowledge of people.

I know I should not dig but that is all I know. I don't know why I want to delve into someone else until everything is exposed, leaving both of us vulnerable but that is all I know.

Am I sadistic or masochistic? That is all I know.

Dark bags of Nightmares

Had nightmares this morning.

Can barely part my lips to speak.


yadayadayadayadaydaydaydyada...softly until the "bang bang" recedes.

Sweat Bullet Train

I just scared the shit out of myself by thinking that it was Monday. I am not prepared for classes whatsoever.

Currently reading and writing a reaction paper for psychology and I have a terrible feeling that my writing will be scratched out and spat upon. Psychology is nitpicky, understandable since it needs to be precise and accurate to be a respected field of study.

My writing definitely needs to be approved on.

Art shows = culturally stimulating
Frat party = socially stimulating
Dollar show = academically failing but awesome possum time-wasting

Pipe Dream article hopefully earlier than next week.

I know, they're working me to the bone. haha

Bleeding Heart Liberal, Perhaps

I failed an exam recently; actually I failed it twice. It sounds ridiculously miniscule because it’s just a test and, after all, tests do not actually express what someone truly knows or the potential of what they can do.

Yet, this single test made me ask myself whether I even wanted to participate in this course any longer. Additionally, the questioning of taking that class led me to ponder on whether I even desired what this class was offering; consequently, leading to whether I still wanted to pursue my major.

Thus, I was questioning whether I was a failure.

Though, I dislike sounding pitiful and wallowing in negativity, it was instinctual to feel upset; after all, I couldn’t accomplish a feat that others could so easily handle. It was quite a blow to my self-esteem.

I was not only embarrassed by merely failing-I was also the only one who failed-but embarrassed that I considered discontinuing a major that I had once professed such enthusiasm for. Indeed, resigning from my desired career path would be simple and would make my life increasingly calmer.

Moreover, second-guessing myself was also based on others around me. I couldn’t help but compare myself to others who had passed the test. Thoughts of quitting came to mind because I was the only idiot capable of failing so many damn times.

Of course, that was my mistake.

In spite of feeling like a pathetic disappointment, I realized that it wasn’t my first failure and it definitely won’t be my last.

When I was accepted by Binghamton University, I didn’t expect to attend. While my friends were getting accepted into Harvard, Yale, Columbia-and unfortunately so on-I was glancing at my Binghamton mail reproachfully. I even refused to purchase a Binghamton T-shirt for College T-shirt day because I was adamant about detaching myself away from Binghamton University. I had felt that my high school years had wasted away, academically, leaving me depleted and ashamed.

Despite the college process being a personal failure, Binghamton University actually met the criteria that I had originally wanted in a college (excluding being rainy, snowy, and icy). After hearing what it was really like at other various colleges, I now think that Binghamton isn’t too shabby.

Therefore, I never thought that anything valuable could come from failure but, possibly, for reasons yet unknown, I needed to “fail”.

Furthermore, I am no exception; plenty of people are frustrated with themselves as well. Indeed, if I didn’t fail that test then I would not have been able to empathize with friends who were also going through the questioning period, also known as “what if I’m not good enough?” period. It gave me a legit excuse to bash and curse education and life, and, I must say, that release of anger was liberating.

Though it’s frightening to realize that such little happenings in life can impact a larger decision, that a single thread could possibly unravel the whole tapestry, it’s consoling to know that all things are connected, that minor details does affect the whole. For example, perhaps, this failure will provoke me to strive harder or thrust me into a newer direction, since failure shouldn’t be taken as an ends but as a means.

Hi Failure, I thought I saw you yesterday.

Failure isn’t a bully who is twisting my arm to make me eat dirt; failure is more like a friend who is trying to honestly pinpoint faults that should be reevaluated.