This may not sound comprehensible

There's something about weak females that make me cringe in spite. There's people who die involuntarily everyday and then there are those who choose to kill themselves. Suicide is such an insult against receiving a life to fight and influence others.

Ugh. I'm so angry at how this fucking world works, at how society, especially Asian traditions, has set myself and many others up. It's a bunch of worthless bullshit.

Eat shit mothers who dote on their sons who do nothing but spew empty lies.

I'm not like you;

I can't pretend.

Harry Potter

I read the last half of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows again and I have a renewed sense of admiration for J.K.Rowling. Little twists and details that I never paid attention to the first time around--in my obsession to finish it--were noticeable this time; I revere Rowling's capability of grand schemes that manage to weave and interlock in the most novel ways, and how she manages to combine different themes and genres in her books; she's a wicked storyteller.

I admit that the first time I read the epilogue, I found it sloppily written, perhaps in haste, but now that I have reread it, I realized it's a fitting end for Harry Potter. Obviously as a writer of a remarkable series, as Harry Potter, you would want to end on a fulfilling note, and she does.

I hope to echo Rowling's talent for storytelling and detail in my future writing.

WooHOO

AWP Conference here I come!!!

I’ve been wrapping one night stands
around my body like wedding bands
but none of them fit in the morning
they just slip off my fingers and slip out the door

PHOTOGRAPH
by Andrea Gibson

(II Corinthians 12:9-10) 9 He has said to me, "“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”" Most gladly therefore I will rather glory in my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest on me. 10 Therefore I take pleasure in weaknesses, in injuries, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then am I strong.

I'm retreating a little to my black journal book.

Angels, beautiful.

Imagine popping this out of your vagina

Image Source

"I'll tell you something. In this room tonight you saw my present lover but also two of my former lovers. We are all good friends. Friendship is what endures. Shared ideals, respect for the whole character of a human being. Why can't you accept your own freedom? Why do you have to cling to someone in order to live?"

-Emma Goldman in E.L. Doctorow's Ragtime

Somehow, amazingly, I managed to "finish" everything I intended to finish tonight, and I know I should turn in, but I don't feel all that tired though I sure I am.

I want to type more and I thought I had more to say, but as I sit now staring blankly at the screen, I realize I don't.

This is a good thing. It means I'm satisfied.

Humans fear the supernatural, both the undivine (the animal impulses such as sexuality, the unconscious, the unknown, the alien) and the divine (the superhuman, the god in us).
-Gloria Anzaldua

"Who is to say that robbing a people of
its language is less violent than war?"
-Ray Gwyn Smith

Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate.

Don't look back, you stupid bitch

Back at Bingaling. Time to get down and dirty.

What my cousin said to me from 3-4 years ago:
Move on definitely; if he wants you, he will find you. Don't look back.

Old Xanga Entry

Saturday, May 20, 2006

| |The Layers by Stanley Kunitz| | I have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and I am not who I was, though some principle of being abides, from which I struggle not to stray. When I look behind, as I am compelled to look before I can gather strength to proceed on my journey, I see the milestones dwindling toward the horizon and the slow fires trailing from the abandoned camp-sites, over which scavenger angels wheel on heavy wings. Oh, I have made myself a tribe out of my true affections, and my tribe is scattered! How shall the heart be reconciled to its feast of losses? In a rising wind the manic dust of my friends, those who fell along the way, bitterly stings my face. Yet I turn, I turn, exulting somewhat, with my will intact to go wherever I need to go, and every stone on the road precious to me. In my darkest night, when the moon was covered and I roamed through wreckage, a nimbus-clouded voice directed me: "Live in the layers, not on the litter." Though I lack the art to decipher it, no doubt the next chapter in my book of transformations is already written. I am not done with my changes.

I couldn't sleep last night, not because of anything bad, but I was going over all the things that I need to accomplish, all the assignments that are due. There are nights where I promise myself that when I wake up, I'll be super productive. Then I get pretty stoked for the future because there's so much to do, so much to experience. I can't wait to explore the world.

And as for you, I don't know what to do. I try not to think much about it.

scatter-brain

I had one of those bad headaches again yesterday, so I slept at 8:30 pm--pretty much after dinner. I woke up at 6 am and returned to sleep to wake up once again at 12pm.

I haven't been sleeping much at school; I wake up paranoid and nervous. At home, I feel safe.

Dreams:
I was making these elaborate subs, turkey, cheese, everything, in the store. I spent an incredible amount of time making them, but in the end I forgot to purchase them. However, I was famished (like I am in real life for the past week), like there wasn't enough food in the world to fill up my appetite. The next dream consisted of me in the grocery store again, stealing chocolates: M&Ms, chocolate bars, etc. As I was doing it, I felt guilty, but I couldn't stop myself. I was on a rampage. When I got to the cashier, I bought some of the chocolate and hid the rest in my purse. A summer day camper saw me buy all this chocolate and began to make fun of me. I can't explain why, but that set me off. I was humiliated, angry beyond reason. I took my chocolate and jumped into the elevator to leave, but I realized as I was going down that I left my purse with the stolen chocolate behind.

I was driving on these roads--my driving was absolute shit, kept driving past the places I needed to be at.

My cousin asked me why I'm stressing over a boy who's not really thinking about anything and that until he does, I shouldn't worry so much. That's that.

I was talking to my aunt yesterday, she told me that I'm different from how I was when I was younger. It kind of caught me off guard. I asked her how so, but she couldn't say. She didn't say it in a way that implied that I matured, simply that I was different. I'm not sure if she meant it in a good or bad thing.

Why do we pretend everything is okay, when nothing is?
Maybe because we need some semblance of sanity.

Love potion? Psh. An anti-like potion would come in way more handy.

On a review of the TiMER:
"And really, how valuable is love if there’s no potential for heartache?"

SLEEP

CarrollBlog 11.4

Sweet Darkness
by David Whyte

You must learn one thing.

The world was made to be free in.

Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.

I'd like to tell Emma I know how it feels. It's not as if I've never lived. The first time, it's happiness all over. Happiness like a damp cloth on your skin. Later the doubt comes. Later is when the grieving starts.

Everything dangerous starts out as a joke.

"You just don't care about nothing. You so in love with yourself, you can't love nobody else. There's no room in that little heart for me and this baby."
She realized that she'd said it for him. There was something in his silence that lingered there, affirming what she'd said. It felt a little like breaking a spell. All that held her up from the clinic to this place, all the wishing that had her captive since she first saw him with the part on his hair so straight and his smile so quick and wicked, was gone, just like that.
-Laura Valeri

I wanted to run away from him, and I wanted to go to him.

...it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don't know, but it's so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me?
-Jonathan Safran Foer

"Are you still so dull?" Jesus asked them. "Don't you see that whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and then out of the body? But the things that come out of the mouth come from the heart, and these make a man 'unclean'. For out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false testimony, slander. These are what make a man 'unclean'; but eating with unwashed hands does not make him 'unclean'.
-Matthew 16:4

There are some days where I feel enlightened, where I can feel the future on the tip on my brain. I will admit that I'm scared that I won't find anything after I graduate, but it will be due to my own stupidity and laziness, not due to anything else. If I can push myself hard enough, I see myself somewhere sunny and uplifting. I see myself somewhere far, learning and taking in everything. A step away from this place, not that I want to escape, but a new chapter to begin. It gives me hope and drive to hush my senioritis, at least for a little while.

Here's the plan

2011
Washington DC for AWP,
Boston for Lily,
Some island/beach for Spring Break,
Somewhere far away and warm for Teach for America (if I get it!).

Goodbye New York.

This is why I don't believe in coincidences

I used to think that believing was such mumbo-jumbo, something Disney movies were trying to perpetuate and a way for parents to keep their kids innocent and naive. But after everything, I finally get it. I finally understand. The truth that I've been chasing after, always at the tip of my conscious but never fully there, is finally mine. The hilarious part is I don't even know how to describe it. I can't even put a name to it. Words are not enough to encapsulate what this is.

But of course, as a human fallacy, I will try.

Here it is: Believing, having faith, hoping, willing things to be. It's all true. And no matter how much of every fiber of my being will try to get you (whoever you are) to actually believe me, it won't matter, because until you reach that point, of complete assurance, where no doubts linger, you will never believe in believing. It's a circle. To believe in having faith, you must have faith, but to have faith, you must believe.

Everything is neither, and yet of both. I'm here but not here. Sometimes, when I'm in class or amid a crowd of people, I'll distance myself out and realize none of this is significant, that I'm on my own, and not. It reminds me that this materialistic world is worthless, that I should not rely on it so much; however, it does not mean it doesn't affect me. On the contrary, it too is another circle; everything is interconnected, interlocked with each other. I cannot separate entities, ideas, and events. It's one magnificently woven tapestry, where every detail causes and is caused by another detail.

And I anticipate the day you become my detail.

CarrollBlog 10.15

“You see this goblet?’ asks Achaan Chaa, the Thai meditation master. ‘For me this glass is already broken. I enjoy it; I drink out of it. It holds my water admirably, sometimes even reflecting the sun in beautiful patterns. If I should tap it, it has a lovely ring to it. But when I put this glass on the shelf and the wind knocks it over or my elbow brushes it off the table and it falls to the ground and shatters, I say, “Of course.” When I understand that the glass is already broken, every moment with it is precious.’”

Mark Epstein

I was yours

If parallel universes existed, I hope that in another world, you and I somehow worked out. Stupid fucking roads not taken. Fuck them to hell.

Do real love stories have happy endings?

Hiding between the lines.

Pluck my thoughts out like a magician's handkerchief trick.

My dreams are returning back to me.

I'm eating chicken gumbo soup and garlic Parmesan bread, and the light is shining through the blinds, and I'm all alone.

There's just something about this scene that lifts my soul.

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Psalm 34:18

Words don't come as easily anymore

How do you write when your emotions are linked to your writing and all you want to be is detached and emotionless?

If I could, I wouldn't move from my bed. The silence and the support of my body is comforting.

I never thought I would be in a position where I hurt so bad that I couldn't even speak about it. All I could do was call Dayana up and make her talk, so that I could forget about it. It worked.

Again, I'm so grateful for all the wonderful people in my life. Truly.

It's hitting me like a bag of bricks that I will be graduating next year. That this will be the last time I register for classes, that this will be the last chance to take courses with some amazing teachers that I once had and will only have once.

I want to say more, so much more, but to think about it breaks my heart. There's so many teachers I wish I could hug and say thank you a million times to.

Nymphomaniac.

I dreamt that I was in a department store and a T-rex was walking around me and I had to feed it shit and walk around cautiously; otherwise, it would chase me and eat me. I was surrounded by a bunch of other dinosaurs too. Fucking hilarious.

I want to hold onto this detachment for a while; please don't leave me vulnerable.

My posts, as of late, are hollow, mere abstracts of what I'm feeling and thinking. I wish I had a wand to put my thoughts into this blog.

To many of you,

Don't ever let yourself doubt that you are worth more than the world.

Love,

I'm banging my head against the desk and my breath smells like onions from eating Five Guys.

The summary of my undergraduate career.

I would like to crawl into a hole and read.

I really don't want to be here right now.

Can't I just kiss you? Just for a second.

I need SLEEP.

Timer (2009)

Mikey: If I'm a pussy, I'm about to have the best lesbian sex of my life in there.

I want to snuggle and breathe you in.

I was in shotgun seat while Brianna was driving on Saturday; we were driving to Apple Hills to go apple picking, and Anum and Tara sat in the back. The day was absolutely beautiful, perfect. Clear blue sky, a slight breeze, and the sun, voluminous, warmed us to the core.

There was a moment when Brianna played Florence and The Machine's Cosmic Love, and all of us were quiet. Bri was driving on these long-winded suburban roads and the trees were awash with autumn colors and the music vibrated as it played...it was a moment that we all needed.

WHY THINGS BURN

by Daphne Gottlieb


You told me you like my mouth.
You want to kiss me.
My mouth is a wound and you
want to kiss me.
But you’re like
that: You want to go
leaping over cliffs—
you want to go
drinking poison
and then write pretty poems about it—
and all I want to do is
fuck you.
You want flowers and sonnets and us
to be together until the end of the world and I’d
just like a blow job, I’d just like
to be friends.
that’s what I’d really like.
Something warm and snuggly like a friendship.
and to fuck you.
The flowers are going to die and the cliffs are
going to erode and we might as well go fuck
since we’re going to anyway.
We’ll fuck and fight and eat and drink and smoke and fuck and smoke and fuck and
get married
And in six months from now
we’ll stop making the world stop
to fuck each other
and one year from now
I’ll get fat and you’ll go bald and
I’ll take prozac and you’ll take viagra
I’ll get obsessed with my biological clock
and my career
and you’ll get obsessed with your hairline
and your career
and two years from now
you’d rather watch reruns than fuck me
and I’d rather be drinking than fuck you
so we’ll drink in separate bars and one night
someone who likes my mouth will buy me a drink
that drink will be attached to a hand
there will be a human holding that drink
the kind with ears
and I will tell whoever it is
all about you
and how we used to forget to eat when we were in bed for three days
and your ears will be burning across town
where you are telling whoever it is how I don’t understand you
and two years from now, that girl with that drink
she will nod that yes that I am nodding at you tonight
that nod, that yes that means you’re not coming home
because just for a second the world has gone away
because just for a second there’s someone who understands you
and that night it will be her pretty mouth you want
and that night I will pass out at home, alone
with a bottle that reminds me of us
because it’ll be empty
because it’ll be gone
I will pass out waiting for you
to come
home
listening to country music—and I hate
country music—
but I’ll be feeling tragic
it’ll be the most romantic moment
I’ve ever had and
I’ll be alone
and you’ll be across town
with that girl who right now is in high school
and right now I just met you
and right now I think you should take me home and fuck me
because it only gets uglier from here
we only get uglier from here
so take me to the edge of that cliff you love
and pour me a shot of your silky poison
you can take this mouth
this wound you want
but you can’t kiss
and make it
better.

Amen- "So be it."

A what-if doesn't amount to much, does it?

Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl
Frozen in the headlights
It seems I've made the final sacrifice

Florence and The Machine, you make me cry.

Words make reality more real; I dare not speak of it.

Man. No se.

Please don't judge me

Sometimes I wish I could stop thinking and stop everyone and their thoughts so that I may close my eyes and follow my heart and enter your room and slide myself underneath your arm and listen to your snores and think that, even for that one moment, maybe maybe it could work and that you would realize that I'm worth it and that things would be okay.

Of course. This is complete fantasy.

I still remember when Day wrote me a letter (can't remember about which guy) and included this quote:

Margaret Mitchell
I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken, and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken pieces as long as I lived.

Funny. God. Real funny.

It's okay because I forgive you (though you should forgive me). And I was laughing along.

This is not the post I originally intended to write, rather this is now a post to keep me strong.

Finally, a good night.

I deserve this one night

I'm going to go to the Drake concert, get drunk tonight, and have a blast.

I'm going to push all my worries, all my hurt, all of everything back and live it up.

The rain is hitting the ground and last night I heard this constant ticking of a clock against it. The thing is...I don't have any clocks in my room.

Today is another day.

I know better than to believe him, but I want it to be true, and so I don't hold back. I will be punished for this, I know, but right now I feel Kyle, I feel hope. He will love me, I tell myself.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm not this woman. I'd like to tell him this, but it's pointless. I could stop it all now. I'm not this.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It is futile, and yet the hopefulness in this gesture is so pure that it seduces me.

-Laura Valeri

I can't wait to reach that point where I am estranged from the anger and bitterness. When I can see you, and feel absolutely nothing.

Time. Tik Tok. Tik Tok.

You shiver and you say to me, "I'm cold."

And all I want to do is make you warm.

Crunch Time!

It feels wonderful going to bed at the time I want, especially after reading a short story on a Friday night. Being surrounded by college students sets up this standard that if I don't go out or drink on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, I'm some kind of a loser. But I've never felt as good, as I do right now, after a night out.

For a moment I want to rip Lisa's hair from her head. I want to punch something. I want to hurt somebody. And I think I can understand Dad, the need to crush something you want that you can't hang on to, something that hurts you so bad. But I hear Dana sobbing and it's some pain that goes from the top of my skull down to the sole of my feet. I realize I gotta get out, 'cause I ain't got nothing to do but get out.

...
So once I ask Dana, What makes a saint a saint. She thinks about it for a while, fingering her chin, touching her forehead with two fingers like it's a fortune cookie and it might crack if you want to read what's inside. Then she says, It's faith.
Faith?
And she goes, Yeah. Faith. Hope. Belief. They believe so hard they make things happen.
And then they're saints?
And then they're saints, she says.

-Laura Valeri

When you want something enough, the universe has a way of giving you it.

My boss gave me a dream catcher made by Native Americans, something I desired for a long time; however, I didn't expect to get one this soon.

My heart is filled with gratefulness.

I'm listening to Christmas songs because I can't bare to listen to anything else.

My old TA was replaced by other TA, of course I was irritated because she would have been an easy A since it was the first time she was teaching and her concentration wasn't even literary theory. I was worried about who my new TA was...and it turns out he's fucking amazing. He gave the lecture instead of the professor today and it was as if he lassoed my neck because I was completely captivated by what he was saying. I understood everything. I didn't even think that was possible.

凡事感恩! 每件事情發生一定都有它的原因.

I might have said something then but I didn't. It was something to ignore. If I ignore it, I thought, it won't bother me. But that didn't work so well this time. I tried to reason it away. I had never really tried that before. It seemed like the adult thing to do. It took some concentration. I held very still. I thought of all the reasons it didn't matter. I thought about our being free. I thought, what good would it do to tell him something anyway? I felt very adult, reasoning away my emotions. I didn't say a thing. It was a peculiar feeling, it felt very strange. It was like being dead.

Susan Minot

Is this how it feels like? Because it sucks. Real bad.

If this is only the tip of the iceberg, then I don't want to know how it'll feel to really have my heart broken.

My dad randomly sang a song to me in Chinese and it made me cry. I don't know what I would do if he wasn't in my life.

This is my only true escape

I have reached that point where I'm ready to fully immerse myself into my studies, not because I'm ready to focus, but it is my way of dealing.

I did this previously with Andy and it's welcoming, this familiar process, because lately, everything I've been doing or feeling has been at odds with myself. I want to take this time to recuperate, to rethink who I am and what I want.

(Psalms 138:3) 3 In the day that I called, you answered me. You encouraged me with strength in my soul.

Funny, I dislike religion, but I do believe; I truly do.

I'm losing touch with reality. I need to stop avoiding and start confronting.

"Women shouldn't ask for what they know they can't get," Harry said matter-of-factly. "That's the mistake they make."
-Susan Minot

Sometimes I get so caught up in nonsense that I lose sight of the important matters in my life and I don't realize all the great things I've been given.

For example, the job that I'm working is in the Visual Arts Collection, and though making slides is tedious, my job gives me the opportunity to look at these beautiful paintings made by famous artists as Picasso, Monet, Manet, and Van Gogh. When I look at their art, I feel as though I'm transported back to their century and that I can feel each stroke, each detail, each emotion.

For example, I'm part of a research team that's welcoming (like my job) and is insightful in the area that I'm interested in. I'm going to work with someone who trusts me and values my opinion.

For example, I'm writing stories that will be read by a creative writing professor that enjoys my writing and I won't have to worry about competing with other students for her attention.

I'M INCREDIBLY LUCKY BITCHES!

The Truth is Hard to Take

Another he said to me that he didn't like me because if he did, he would want to be in a relationship with me. If he had liked me, he would overcome any problems to be with me.
And didn't I know this from the very beginning?

Man, I need to shut the fuck up. hahaha I'm just through with this nonsense.

I wish I was with you.

This will become detachment

I always thought I could travel through life without getting hurt. And though this time isn't all that different, I feel that again I have lost another opportunity for happiness. In fact, we didn't even get a chance to get up to that opportunity and I was crying more for that than anything else.

We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey. ~Kenji Miyazawa

Perplexed

This past week has led me to the question of: Huh???????

I don't want this to be a what-if--I want to see this through to the end, even if I hurt or get hurt.

I need to focus because I'm just a tiny bit fucked up right now. HA!

You make my body burn.

As often as I find myself, I lose myself.

After sex, you curl up like a shrimp, something deep inside you ruined, slammed in a place that sickens at slamming, and slowly you fill up with an overwhelming sadness, an elusive gaping worry. You don't try to explain it, filled with the knowledge that it's nothing after all, everything filling up finally and absolutely with death. After the briskness of loving, loving stops. And you roll over with death stretched out alongside you like a feather boa, or a snake, light as air, and you...you don't even ask for anything or try to say something to him because it's obviously your own damn fault. You haven't been able to--to what? To open your heart. You open your legs but can't, don't dare anymore, to open your heart.

Lust & other stories by Susan Minot

The only power you have over me is what you have over my flesh. That is all.

Let my eyes not set themselves upon you.

Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires. -Song of Songs 2:7

I'm trying to find my way back to You, and by chance I was never with You to begin with, I will be ready someday to seek You and find You with my whole heart.

I used to remember the Lord's Prayer by heart, but now I can only recite the beginning:

Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name.
Thy Kingdom come,
thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory. for ever and ever. Amen

This song cracks me up:

我不是很想你

Old School

I picked up the journal that Justine got me and was reading back about how things were a year ago. Wow. We change so quickly, young chameleons we are.

Holding a pen in my hand and inking my thoughts onto paper seems foreign and unnatural now.

I say it'll be okay, but sometimes I don't think I say it with much conviction

Every morning, we have meetings (devotion) where we're given little slips of paper with words that are supposed to inspire us to be better teachers. We read them and though I understand the words, I don't really understand until my cousin speaks. She has a way of speaking where everyone can relate to. She speaks in a way that her sincerity is in every word she says because she truly does care, and that she wishes for us to get that these kids are more than students, they are us (but hopefully much much more).

Days, like today, I hear her speak and I have an urge to close my eyes and have her voice flood my senses: I admire her vigilance, her honesty, and her unwavering hope for these kids.

I am not a patient person; I snap at the slightest provocation. There have been moments where I've yelled out of anger and stress, but it didn't really do anything but to scare them. Isn't that a little too Machiavelli for me? If I teach with more love, with more patience, I hope that they will listen better and try to comprehend what I teach.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There's a quiet boy who was in Spanish class but since he didn't cause trouble and didn't speak that often I overlooked him. He is big for his age and looked like he's mature enough to be left alone, but I should have taken notice of his eyes, the kind that says he could nunca cause harm to anyone. He has eyes that holds loss, sadness, of want of someone to take notice of him.

He asked me to take him to the bathroom because he wanted to blow his nose. At first, I had just returned from the classroom to watch my kids, so I was hesitant to leave them to take another kid from a different grade to the bathroom. When he came out of the bathroom, as we started to walk back to sanctuary, his face scrunched up like he's been holding back a great deal of pain, and he started to cry. He didn't sob. He didn't wail. He cried silently, great big tears that broke my heart. I hugged him and wished that I could take it all away.

I wished I could protect him from all the other kids who laugh at him because he can't enunciate words as well as they can. I wished I could keep him from getting pummeled by the world, by its expectations and by its cruelty. I wished I could keep him from building those walls that will keep him in the future from getting hurt, but will also keep others at a distance. Finally, I wished he knew just how special and wonderful he is, and how special and wonderful he will become.

But all I could do was pat his back as he cried and pray that God is watching over him.

Tuyo soy por siempre.

Trust is the operative word.

Carroll's blog

If You Knew
by Ellen Bass


What if you knew you'd be the last
to touch someone?
If you were taking tickets, for example,
at the theater, tearing them,
giving back the ragged stubs,
you might take care to touch that palm,
brush your fingertips
along the life line's crease.

When a man pulls his wheeled suitcase
too slowly through the airport, when
the car in front of me doesn't signal,
when the clerk at the pharmacy
won't say Thank you, I don't remember
they're going to die.

A friend told me she'd been with her aunt.
They'd just had lunch and the waiter,
a young gay man with plum black eyes,
joked as he served the coffee, kissed
her aunt's powdered cheek when they left.
Then they walked half a block and her aunt
dropped dead on the sidewalk.

How close does the dragon's spume
have to come? How wide does the crack
in heaven have to split?
What would people look like
if we could see them as they are,
soaked in honey, stung and swollen,
reckless, pinned against time?

I dreamt last night that I was on a long road where the sides were covered in greenery. I was behind a couple of people, jogging at a slow pace. Eventually, the people in front of me disappeared and I started to sprint. Why? I can't say.

I sprinted until I reached a mountain of snow. As I was climbing, a bird dove straight into the snow and vanished. I kept on climbing, my legs moving on its accord, moving higher and higher. Then as I finally came to a stop, a bird dove into the snow, marking my finish.

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On parents

Finishing my 14 Fl. Oz chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream with warm Lipton tea. You would think it would taste nasty, but it's quite delightful.

The week that passed has given me insight on what parents, particularly Asian parents, want to see from their kids. I realized during parent and teacher conferences that most parents just look at grades. At first, I allowed the parent to look at the grading sheet I had, thinking they were mature enough not to look at other students' grades. Of course, I was wrong. All Asian parents have this need to compare their students to others; they want their daughter or son to be smarter than everyone else. While other ethnicities have a tendency to be concerned only on how their children are doing.

However, as a teacher (at least for the summer), I realized that this isn't a competition as most people make it out to be. Yes, if you excel in class, it means that you're smart, but it isn't about that; it's more about the learning experience.

I rather have all my students earn 90s and higher as long as I know they're learning rather than give them hard tests to have some fail and some pass. That is not the purpose of a teacher. Grades aren't for the student, it's for parents.

Additionally, I didn't even realize it, but I fell into the norm. Teach directly and not interactively. I'm scared that I am the first of many standard teachers, pushing the idea that learning is boring and that there is only one answer to everything. I rather promote divergent thinking and creativity; I rather be an aberrant teacher.

....maybe teaching isn't so far off my radar after all.

I would like to be somebody's #1 priority

I was on Jonathan Carroll's blog looking for a poem to describe how I feel right now and he put up one today:

Bird-Understander

by Craig Arnold

Of the many reasons I love you here is one

the way you write to me from the gate at the airport
so I can tell you everything will be alright

so you can tell me there is a bird
trapped in the terminal all the people
ignoring it because they do not know
what to do with it except to leave it alone
until it scares itself to death

it makes you terribly terribly sad

You wish you could take the bird outside
and set it free or (failing that)
call a bird-understander
to come help the bird

All you can do is notice the bird
and feel for the bird and write
to tell me how language feels
impossibly useless

but you are wrong

You are a bird-understander
better than I could ever be
who make so many noises
and call them song

These are your own words
your way of noticing
and saying plainly
of not turning away
from hurt

you have offered them
to me I am only
giving them back

if only I could show you
how very useless
they are not

Why do you do what you do to me

Back to Basics

"I need to put up with two or three caterpillars if I want to get to know the butterflies. Apparently they're very beautiful. Otherwise who will visit me? You'll be far away. As for the big animals, I'm not afraid of them. I have my own claws." And she naively showed her four thorns. Then she added, "Don't hang around like this; it's irritating. You made up your mind to leave. Now go."

For she didn't want him to see her crying. She was such a proud flower...

When I bought The Little Prince by Antoine De Saint-Exupery, I told Joann that this book has the answers to my problems. And it does.

I realize that I have already repressed memories of you, like I do with others, and it's tragic that you couldn't give me a chance to get to know you and that you couldn't give yourself a chance to get to know me.

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Reading books and watching movies meant for kids returns me to the person I once hoped for. It's sort of like attending Sunday mass, a constant reminder of what's important.

Yesterday, I was sitting in the sanctuary with the kids, watching Meeting the Robinsons again, and I was so overcome with emotion. At the end, Little Wonders by Rob Thomas came on and I started to cry (I know I'm such a cry baby):

Let it go
Let it roll right off your shoulder
Don't you know
The hardest part is over
Let it in
Let your clarity define you
In the end
We will only just remember how it feels

Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists and turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours
These small hours
Still remain

When you're young, events are harsh and the present can be unsettling, but the future, the future is unimaginable. We go through turmoil and failure so that we can earn what we have in the future.

Another from Jonathan Carroll's Blog

AFTER AWHILE
By Veronica Shoffstall

After a while, you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and
chaining a soul. You learn that love doesn't mean leaning and company
doesn't always mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts and presents
aren't promises. You begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes ahead –
with the grace of an adult and not the grief of a child.

You learn to build all your roads on today, because tomorrow's
ground is too uncertain for plans, and futures have a way of falling
down in mid-flight.

After awhile, you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So, you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong.
And you really do have worth. And you learn .....
And you learn. With every goodbye, you learn.

Even though, it hurts, I'm relieved. No more games. No more hoping.

It's just me and my aspirations from now on.

"One of the most difficult things about teaching is the lack of closure in so many areas. We plant; we water; we plant, and we water day after day, week after week. And, sometimes the new growth doesn't pop out of the soil no matter how we counsel the student. Some things take more time than others; some students mature slower; and other students harden their hearts and refuse to grow."

When I read this for devotion, I agreed wholeheartedly. I remember when there were little kids I had to talk to and work with personally because they needed the attention. I'm the type of person who typically lacks patience; when I really want something, I'll go out of my way to get it. However, when I see a troubled youngster, I go out of my way to help them. Because even though I may never see the fruits of my labor, as a teacher, even a summer camp teacher, I'm still a stepping stone.

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When I was younger, I acted out; all I wanted was someone to pay attention to me. Though, I never disrupted a class, I desired a teacher to realize how much potential I had; I needed someone to believe in me. Even now, I still feel like I'm searching for that teacher to realize that I'm someone worthy of being taught.

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When I read the quote above, it also crossed my mind that this could also apply to loving someone. If I ever love someone more than they love me, albeit one-sided, if I just keep loving them, perhaps they'll grow. And even if they don't grow for me, even if the time isn't right and I may end up with a broken heart, wouldn't it be better to soften their hearts for the next person who might be the right one for them? Couldn't I be a stepping stone in this case too, insignificant but necessary?

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My feelings are simple. My actions not so much.

In yo face

The waves slapping against the shore and the seagulls high in the sky, soft curved M's, and the damp sand where I'll sink into, this is where I want to be the most right now. Where the clouds will hide away the sun and leave me in this perpetual state of gray.

A part of the reason is because I want to be somewhere serene and yet not so sanguine; I don't want beautiful right now. Another part of the reason is because that was one of the places where I felt most at rest with you.

And it's okay. It's okay to feel like this. And it's okay. It's okay because the future holds no bounds. And it's okay. It's okay because there will always be something to look forward to.

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You asked me if I was waiting for marriage. I replied that I was waiting for the right guy. I can't say that I have any sort of checklist for the right guy. I can't say that I want all these qualities in him. In fact, I don't even know who the right guy is. However, I think it must be someone who's waiting for the right girl too.

Because I know, I am the right girl.

I cannot wait

until the weight of you is in my arms. Your knees pressed against my breast and your butt puckered out; your head in the nook of my neck and your cheek resting on my shoulder. I cannot wait until I can watch your eyelashes flutter as you dream or when your tiny hand clutches my finger. I will pour every ounce of my being into loving and protecting you because I am all yours and you are all mine.

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The sun glints off of skyscraper windows, nuggets of Fool's Gold, and I wish to collect them in my hands and press them against my cold cheek.

Jonathan Carroll's blog

CarrollBlog 5.29

There are always moments when one feels empty and estranged.
Such moments are most desirable,
for it means the soul has cast its moorings and is sailing for distant places.
This is detachment—
when the old is over and the new has not yet come.
If you are afraid, the state may be distressing,
but there is really nothing to be afraid of.
Remember the instruction:
Whatever you come across—
go beyond."

Nisargadatta Maharaj

I miss those days where my thoughts meant something or led somewhere, where I was trying to look for something without actually looking for it. This usually happens at school and when I graduate, I have no clue as to where and when I'll be thinking again.

From Jonathan Carroll's blog:

from “Target”
by Jason Koo

Oh you out there not in love,
I know how it is, when you wake up in the morning and look down
at your body like an émigré looking back
Disgustedly at his homeland; when you peer through the blinds
and the world is nothing but a grey side;
When you feel each day is a dart flung at a target you keep missing
because who, or where, or what is the target?
The soul cannot live like this, the soul needs a cable, a clasp, its talons
are hungry for a peak, there’s too much space
And it’s thinning out like smoke: you step out of the furrow of the future
onto an asphalt present. Worse, there’s
A whiff of sin about you, because not to be in love with a person
should never stop you from being
In love with the world: and the problem is you’ve fallen out of love
with the world. You’ve come to hear
An underlying Goddamit! in everything, and never notice the trees
tossing their heads in the wind like conductors.

It gets tiring

being lonely.

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I've lost my touch. Be my muse?

Sometimes I think about how much I wish I could speak to my mom. Just once so that I could ask her what she liked and what she didn't. To understand which parts of me come from her.

But on Sunday, as I was sitting next to my mom's mom, my mom's sister and her daughter, I realized I don't have to yearn for her so much. There's so much of her right here.

Day 10- I really wanted Brazil to win

I have a poster that contains all these quotes about love and at the top, in big letters, it asks, "What is love?"

It's funny how there are so many interpretations about love when the essence of love should be the same. At the corner, there are blank lines that I filled in when I was dating Victor, 8 years ago. One of the things I wrote was: Lust drains you while love awakens you.

I know it's sort of obvious or cheesy, but it's true. Lust has this way of making you want something that's not filling, like junk food. You're chewing on emptiness so that you're never satiated and you're never genuinely happy. Love is everything that lust can't provide. It revives you; it breathes life back into you--at least in theory.

Things are up in the air and I can't deny that I'm excited, though I should be more wary.

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My body starts buzzing with heat when I do my meditations now. Freaking weird.

I was reading about tummo, this Tibetan Buddhist meditation, where monks can heat up their body to the point where they feel nothing when in ice water. Apparently, you can even see steam rise from when they heat sheets up on their backs that were doused in ice water.

Naruto can suck on them apples.

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I told my dad I love Kaka and that I will only marry him. He smirked and told me to "get out of here".

Week 2-Day 9

When I return home, even when I'm feeling angry or upset, I suddenly feel calmer and more sensible. Maybe it's my head playing tricks on me or maybe it's the quartz. Who knows.

Today at training, I was surprised at how many atheists were singing along to the worship. Wilson was singing behind me in his hoarse voice and it made me realize how strong music can be. There's something about Christian music that makes you want to give yourself up to Him. For me, it's in those moments, when the singer's voice is strong and high, that I am truly moved.

I missed this feeling; this feeling of exhaustion.

Day 8

Biting into a Chessman cookie and sipping green tea is akin to the aftermath of an orgasm--endorphins and all.

I'm calm and balanced.

I wish I was better at hugging

I dreamt that you were leaving and I wasn't overwhelmed with disappointment or with missing you but the feelings were still there nonetheless. You left but time passed and you returned, much to my surprise, and hugged me. It wasn't any ordinary hug, it was a hug that meant that you would think of me and that I meant something to you. One of those lingering bear hugs.

I don't know why you continue to appear in my dreams, perhaps I project my desires onto you in them. Or perhaps I still have unfinished business with my emotions dealing with you. All I know is that when I think of you, my eyes get glassy and I have to choke back the desire to sob.

Day 7

It's time to disappear. Poof!

Day 6

I have no wise words. I have no comforting actions. I have nothing.

Yet, I am blessed to be part of your life.

I forget sometimes

Whether it's between parent and child, sibling and sibling, friend and friend, lover and lover, human and animal, human and god

Love is beautiful.

I'll take it easy this time.

Suck It

Psh. It don't matter; there are more important issues at hand.

Reading & maybe get cracking on GREs and grad school nonsense.

Kaká, you are the man of my wet dreams. I will miss you in the next game.

Damn Coincidences. Damn Them to Hell.

I'm happy and upset that I hastily deleted your number for the umpteenth time. Last night, as I was making s'mores with Bri, I was looking up at the stars and I wondered how you were. If I had your number, I would have texted and told you that I missed you. But that's why I deleted your number in case I wanted to do stupid things like that.

There are two emotions warring inside of me.

I dreamt last night that I was holding a bunny in my arms and for some reason it turned into a little girl. She was either going to leave me or be taken away. I don't remember why, but I started to cry. I was crying so deeply and intensely that I was convulsing with sobs. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I was distraught and almost started to actually cry.

In my next dream, I was verbally berating a guy for something he did. All this anger and viciousness spilled out of me and I wanted to cut him with as many harsh words as I could think of. I remember saying something along the lines of scooping his eyeballs out with a spoon. Actually, now that I think back, I might have ended up punching him over and over like he was a bobo doll, except, he didn't keep getting back up.

My favorite text of the week:
Victor-Man if he saw you with me he would be all jealous and what not. That's just what I do. Make bfs jealous and angry even though he aint your bf. Why settle for punching him when you can knock him out if you just ask victor nicely? And maybe some flowers too

Thanks for having my back fool.

So please God. Keep me from distractions and help me focus.

Why are you crying
Did I say something wrong
Weren't we just talking
Tell me what's going on

Cause I'm pretty sure my intentions
Were nothing more than conversation
Maybe you just needed someone
To listen to your heart

Maybe I spoke too soon
Maybe I said too much
Now that my face is blue
Think it's time I listen up
I've already said enough

Sometimes I do this
Thing is I'm so afraid
When it gets quiet
What you might have to say

Cause I'm guilty of
Overcompensation
I'm lost in my
Own translation
I apologize, I know I
Should listen to your heart

Chorus

There isn't anything that I could say
Not a word to get in the way
Of you, Of You, I am listening

Why do I even bother to hold my breath?

I feel guilty about what I did, but then I think back about all the things you did and again what you did last night. You deserve it.

You make me bitter and I don't ever want to be bitter. I'm not that kind of a girl.

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I dreamt about G yesterday. I was in math class with him and I sat behind him, and seeing him calmed me down.

I don't know how quite to put it, but lately I look to people from my past for some solidarity.

If Only

Image Source

within me?

Recently, I've been walking to my dad's store because my aunt keeps telling me to get some exercise (she's scared my ass is going to get wider). When I get to his store, I wait around an hour or so for him to close up and then we walk home together. The first time I visited, I was wearing flats and he ended up speed walking. At first, I complained, asking why he was walking so quickly, but, instead of diminishing his speed, he just made fun of me. He continuously remarked on how slow I was, but I retorted that I wasn't wearing any sneakers!

I wanted him to slow down because it was such a beautiful day. I wanted him to absorb things and take a look around. Take everything in. Though, I eventually sped walked with him. However, I did try to persuade him to carry me like how he used to when I was a kid. But he ignored me as usual.

Yesterday, I wore a skirt and sneakers that were more for looks than for running. I thought this time, I'm ready to walk with my dad. Of course, he decided to jog instead of walk. Hence, I ended up jogging in my skirt beside him along Queens Blvd. Even though, it sounds absolutely ridiculous, it felt really good. I miss hanging out with my dad. He doesn't speak much, but when he does, he either tries to impart wisdom or crack a joke. For example, he always makes some sly comment on how I must suck at volleyball because I can't even keep up with his old ass.

But when I'm with my dad, I feel safe. I don't have to act; I can be. All the caution and masks fall, leaving me feeling weightless.

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I was reading age old emails last night because Victor brought up a confession I sent him in 2004. I remember typing the subject line, but I could not for the life of me remember the contents until I read it. It was the most painful thing I have ever read. I was literally moaning in agony because I sound so naive and young and fucking stupid. I started to look through other emails and I have quite a few from everyone from my past, especially from Day. Reading back, Day and I have gotten through a lot of emotional boy drama.

One particular one made me laugh hysterically: on Triangle not drinking, " WHAT?! Okay Pauline, what is this, you can't hook up with a pussy."

There was an email from Gary that I kept, but I barely remember. It makes me want to go back in time and say sorry and tell him I was such a stupid friend, even if he did screw up.

If I apologized right now, would it mean anything? Because I'm really sorry.

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I'm extremely grateful for the people in my life, the genuinely good ones. No matter how jaded they become, I know they would never intentionally hurt me because at the core of their being, they don't know how to be anything but good.

It's funny how I can talk to guys on the phone for hours and make that connection that I adamantly wanted, but we're not in that romantic situation. Whereas the one I would like to stay up late talking to, can't even bother with me. It reminds me AGAIN that it's not worth it and that this is why I prefer older guys.

who caused such a ruckus

A man with red hair and a goatee was sitting across from me on the train. He had on red and grey sneakers, but was business casual. He was listening to his mp3. He must have been listening to some dance music because he was moving his feet and rolling his shoulders. He also moved his arms like he was shifting a car into reverse. At one point, I swear he was pulling a weird dance move--like in Hitch--with his left arm straight out. It was such an awkward scene to witness; I had to hold in my laughter.

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At Barnes & Noble, a man was dressed in drab colors near the entrance. I don't think I would have taken a second glance at him; however, as I passed by the table of books, I saw that he was kneeling. He was kneeling in order to affectionately kiss the cheek of a girl toddler. She scrunched up her face, but I could tell she loved that man because she didn't resist.

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There was a teenager across from me as I was traveling to the city. He was wearing a gold Catholic cross. When I was traveling back home, a woman across from me was wearing a silver version of the same cross.

I know that it's not a big deal. I know that the Catholic cross is a common symbol. But I couldn't stop wishing that you were sitting next to me so that I could turn to you and smile, and kiss you, and cradle your cross in my hand, and then kiss you again.

I dreamt about you last night. I woke up and knew you weren't beside me. At times like these, I wish you had taken me.

Was it you

I type this now because I have gotten past it. I type this now because I don't expect the person this is about to read it.

When I attended that IV large group meeting months ago, I felt that God was speaking to me for once. The lesson was about how God gives you what you need, but may not give you what you want because what you want could end up harming you. God can see the larger picture, while you (me) only see that one piece of it. It's one of those lessons that comes off as commonsense, but one I forget and ignore often.

I didn't feel that I deserved you. I know that sounds degrading to myself, but I mean that I could feel that you were meant for someone else. That night, I prayed. I prayed with my heart that I would get over you and that you would find the right person. But even though, I tried my hardest to get over you at the time, I still wanted you. I still hoped. Every time I saw your name, it made my heart twinge and I didn't want to hear anything about you. I didn't want to know how great you were and how many things you were doing. I didn't want to think about you anymore.

So that when you were brought up again, I didn't recognize you.

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Last night, I was talking with Tom and he told me that someone waited for him for 8 years, but eventually ended up marrying his best friend. This statement makes me sad for many different reasons.

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God, where will you take me now?

You ruined this for me

Image Source

Time to float away from you.

"For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are those 'It might have been.' "
-John Greenleaf Whittier

I've been thinking about eyes lately, how you can really tell what someone is thinking or what they're feeling by the look they give you. I dislike the quote about the eyes being the windows to the soul because it's been overused, but it's pretty damn accurate.

When I really care enough or when I want to convey something without saying, I'll give a look, hoping to fill it with how I'm feeling. It's sort of a secret into my psyche. Sometimes the most important things I want to say don't come out verbally because to speak them would ruin my pride. Perhaps, that's why all my characters are always in a situation where they can't speak out. One day, my character will be able to articulate herself/himself. Instead of having life deal with my character, my character will deal with it (a mirroring of my own wistful thinking).

"Why does the eye see a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination when awake?"
-Da Vinci is the Man

Coraline was disturbingly good

There's a phone scene in a different movie I was watching, where the guy calls the girl because he's worried about her. He calls and says that he wants to hear her voice to reassure himself that she's okay.

It reminds me of when I'm worrying too much at night and I need to talk to someone. And if there is someone that I like at the moment, I'll call them. I must say, personally, that one of the most disappointing feelings in life is to wait and listen to a phone ring only to eventually hear their voice mail. It isn't even about having that person console you, it's about hearing their voice. It's a remedy in itself.

I just want to hear your voice. Can't I at least have that?

Maybe Not

Ann and Juanes were walking in front of me yesterday. (I happen to be surrounded by couples lately, and I can't help but observe their interactions.) They weren't holding hands; instead, they had their pinkies hooked and somehow that was more intimate than holding hands.

Later on that night, when rain was falling, a boy was upset and he was standing near the train tracks. His girlfriend was obviously nearby, but didn't want to interrupt his mood. Finally when she came to her senses, she realizes that she should be by his side. She starts running down to him. What a sight. Truly. The world crying and in misery, and this girl sprints, with her legs kicking up, to her boyfriend.

It was one of those moments where you have to appreciate the genuine feeling of caring for someone because when you like someone you sacrifice and sacrifice and, when you see that you have given up so much, you're still willing to do it over again.

Don't I deserve this? Don't I deserve some stability? Some real passion and real affection. Don't I deserve to have someone willing to situate himself fully in my life?

And don't you deserve this too? Don't you deserve a girl willing to run to you because she cares so much she can't bare not to?

Image Source

I have a lot of hope, for now and the future.

Thank you.

My heart isn't in it. Where's the depth?

At this moment in time, I am happy.

Dame lo que quiero.

My dad is a "master ironer" and was called in by my aunt to assist me. As I watched my dad patiently iron my dress shirt, I realized how great of a husband he probably was or at least what a great catch he must have been. He's been in various occupations so he knows how to cook, clean, iron, sew, etc. Moreover, he likes to keep in shape and he's pretty decent looking, even for an old geezer.

And I would like to say that I hope to find someone like him, someone that has all these qualities, but I rather not. Of course, it would be nice to find someone who's as capable as my dad, but there's one quality that I love about him: his patience to deal with my crazy. Out of everyone, he's the only one who really knows how moody I truly am. He's seen me at my worst: my immaturity, my anger, my pettiness, my selfishness, and my hate. Yet, he still loves me. He could have ditched me; yet, he's still around (maybe not around a whole lot but nonetheless around).

So, please, stick it out with me. Don't let my atrocious personality keep you from sticking it out with me. I promise once I'm comfortable and secure, I'll be worthwhile. (I'm probably talking to a brick wall here.)

And I'm pretty sure I just saw two Asians about to get their freak on. Too bad they decided that a third Asian watching was too much and closed the blinds. Insert sad face.

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Bonne Nuit

Image Source

Even though, I think you're a promiscuous dickhead whose gonads should be ripped out...I still wish, foolishly, that I was where you are.

God. Being a girl means all kinds of stupid.

Organizing my shit, so that I can reorganize my life. Whomp, whomp!

Please God. Let me go on that road trip!

It's good to talk to people from the past. They bring me back to earth and help me refocus my ambitions--I need more ambitious friends.

It's time to research and get down to business. No more fucking around.

"From the get-go Artie & Tina's drama has been more serious as opposed to the superficial stuff of fighting over leads in glee. I think that's the good thing about the show -- we portray the different kinds of relationships. I feel like Artie & Tina are the Cory & Topanga of Glee. They’ll always be together." Kevin McHale

Even when I'm at the edge of bitterness, when I'm ready to just give up, I can't. I'm going to hold out and wait for when I meet my Cory.

Finn (after Rachel declines his offer of being together): "Hey, whoa...I'm not just some guy you met at the music store that you can just blow off. I don't give up that easy."

Remember this one?

Girls are like
apples on trees. The best
ones are at the top of the tree.
The boys don't want to reach for
the good ones because they are afraid
of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they
just get the rotten apples from the ground
that aren't as good, but easy. So the apples
at the top think something is wrong with
them, when in reality, they're amazing.
They just have to wait for the right
boy to come along, the one
who's brave enough
to climb
all the way
to the top
of the tree.

My cousin's profile picture is her in her graduation gown with her family: her, brother, sister, mother, father, and both sets of grandparents.

When I graduate, it will just be me and my dad.

I sabotage myself

All those daydreams about you lying next to me in the fall while it's storming outside, kind of like tonight, have drifted away like the red balloon at my cousin's graduation.

And I will admit that if I close my eyes, I can see myself caressing your face and kissing you.

You don't realize it, but everything is up to you. It always was. And that was part of the problem.

The sad thing is that I wanted to make this work with you, but some things are better left unexplored.

Besides family, good friends are the only thing you can count on most of the time.

Finished Tobias Wolff's book of short stories; he's such an amazing writer.

I dreamt that it was end of the world. The street was wide and the left side was blazing with fire and the right side was dilapidated. There was a rift in the street where water collected and huge arcs flooded in with Egyptians and Samaritans, people from long ago. That was only a few feet away from a old wooden house, where my mom's side of the family was staying. I was on the steps, praying for protection, but as I step in, my cousin tells me that we're already protected since there's a a renown priest outside the house already.
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I kind of want to give up on you because if this is the beginning, I don't want to see the end.

"But her husband had never been thrown across a room, or kicked, or slammed headfirst into a door. No one has ever spoken to him as her father has spoken to Frank. He did not understand what it was to be helpless and alone. No one should be alone in this world. Everyone should have someone who kept faith, no matter what, all the way."
-"The Night in Question" by Tobias Wolff

It's a typical track. Red with its edges ripping from the overzealous racers and scorching sun. My breath comes in short spurts and my movements feel as though I'm not moving at all. A girl with a long pony tail catches up to me. Her bra straps are about to slip off her shoulders. She should be wearing a sports bra, but at least she's smart enough to wear a tank and shorts. Her jogging needs to be improved upon though. Her elbows stick out and her body isn't attuned to her legs. She passes me in her awkward haste. I look around, she isn't here with anyone. Who is she trying to impress?

The next jogger is sweating, it pools at the nape of his grey shirt. He's pale like toothpaste; it must be his first time outdoors in months. I can tell from his face that he thinks that if he can continue jogging like this, he can get into shape. The way he listens intently to his headphones, you can tell that he desires to become someone else.

Then there's the stereotypical jacked-up jock, the one with the ripped washboard abs and soccer shorts barely hanging on his bottom. He's around my height, good eye-candy, and he knows it. As I turn the corner, he looks my way, but I keep my head trained on jogging. When he gets on the track again, his back to me, I blatantly stare. It's alluring and yet disturbing how his shorts cling to his bottom when the top of his glutes gleam above them. The sun is beating against my eye lids and I blink as I stare, my footsteps match the pounding in my head. The ice cream truck's melody fills the area as it passes. It's torture. I stare at his shorts, sure that it'll slip at any second, but he keeps his steady pace and his shorts stay intact. Sweat licks at my neck and I feel my legs wobble with heaviness. My throat is parched; it's difficult to swallow.

you sneaky bastard

It sort of happened.

When I'm away from you, I think about your kisses. I think about how much I want to press my body against yours. I think about how comforting it is to have your hand on my stomach and how much I love to play with the cross around your neck--it grounds me. I think about how easily I fell asleep next to you when I can't stand sleeping in the same bed with someone. I think about how much I laugh when you're around. Then I think about how screwed I am because I don't think I'm supposed to care this much.

Current show: Leverage

Image Source

I'm going to push my fears aside and give us a chance.

Just don't break my heart too bad.

At the Cusp

Lately, I haven't been having any revelations or moving thoughts; hence, the one-liners and quotes (I've been drawing from other author's deepness). But the end of the year deserves one.

The other day, I walked down with Numz and Fe, and sat in the courtyard between the New Union and the library; no one was around (the library even closed on our asses). I don't really understand why, but I automatically zoned out.

Last year, I sat in the same area with someone that I was completely infatuated with. It was us two, and it was sunny as it was the other day, and I remember thinking it would be nice to be married to him. I remember touching his tattoo, thinking how surreal things were. It's funny how things work out. The story of my life is that I always know that things will come to an end; I anticipate it. Yet, anticipating something doesn't mean that it'll diminish the pain and the disappointment.

This year, I could have gone to a recognition ceremony. I promised myself I would go because I missed the end-of-the-semester show. But I couldn't bring myself to go; even if I was sick, the only thing keeping me from going was still myself. I couldn't bring myself to see him sing. I couldn't bring myself to face this, to fall back into whatever I was in. I lied in bed listening to music regretting every minute that I wasn't going to go see seniors. But I just couldn't.

Maybe it's because I'm bad at goodbyes. Really, really bad at goodbyes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Seniors officially graduated yesterday and it didn't really hit me until Anum hugged me and said she was leaving. As she said those words, my head was in the nook of her neck and her hair was brushing against my cheek and I couldn't help but start to tear.

I was waiting for that moment, waiting for that moment where all the sentiments built up and I would just cry. So I did. She kept saying that I was faking it and at first I thought that maybe I was forcing myself to cry, but once I started, I couldn't stop. I started to bawl into her shoulder as she held me tighter, telling me not to. But a year without Taco and Numz, how could I not?

Not to lessen her importance in my life, but I was crying for everyone and everything too. I was crying for all the seniors that took care of me (from Regina and Mike to Bri and Brandon) the ones I always looked up to, grateful for their presence . I was crying because next year I will be leaving. I was crying because Saratoga's 103 suite will be empty. No posters, no pictures, no lights, no stolen goods, no food, no laughter, no alcholic drinks, no boys who were supposed to sleep on the fucking couch--no excitement! No more running into each other's room to talk, lying around in each other's beds complaining about how lazy we are--we were such lazy fucks. No more cooking together and no more touching each other inappropriately. No more open confessions about our fears and no more hysterical giggling during late (late) night snacking to power hour with Key Stone (gross) to sleeping on Tom's couch with tatter tots, pistachios, and almonds (sorry Tom Tom). No more grinding with each other at the Rat, Scoreboard, LUL's house, Saratoga, Pods...anywhere. No more Thirstdays! That is the saddest part. No more Thirstdays.

I'm unbelievably blessed that I was able to be a part of this family of superheroes: Mei-Ling, Jya Jya from Sweden, NuNu and Maria Garcia. Junior year will definitely be the highlight of my college career.

Ice Queen Persona

This is why I keep to myself and I don't let guys in.

Brava!

I. Don't. Know.

And it's okay not to.

Hyped

Finally. Finally. We finally won intramural volleyball!

If only a certain one was around to share my joy with...

What the Dark-Eyed Angel Knows
by Eleanor Lerman

A man is begging on his knees in the subway. Six-thirty
in the morning and already we are being presented with
moral choices as we rocket along the old rails, through the
old tunnels between Queens and Manhattan. Soon angels
will come crashing through the ceiling, wailing in the voices
of the castrati: Won't you give this pauper bread or money?
And a monster hurricane is coming: we all heard about it
on the radio at dawn. By nightfall, drowned hogs will be
floating like poisoned soap bubbles on the tributaries
of every Southern river. Children will be orphaned and
the infrastructure of whole cities will be overturned. No one
on the East Coast will be able to make a phone call and we
will be boiling our water for days. And of course there are
the serial killers. And the Crips and the Bloods. And the
arguments about bilingual education. And the fact that all
the clothing made by slave labor overseas is not only the
product of an evil system but maybe worse, never even fits

so why is it that all I can think of (and will think of through
the torrential rains to come and the howling night) is
you, sighing so deeply in the darkness, you and the smell
of you and the windswept curve of your cheek? If this
train ever stops, I will ask that dark-eyed angel, the one
who hasn't spoken yet. He looks like he might know

I need to crackalack this paper & presentation

I want to eat watermelon. =(

image source

Oh Fuck

Ah, fuck. I need some sleep.

Need some of this again -->

From Jonathan Carroll's Blog

by Ellen Bass

The thing Is
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.

In love with OMG by Usher and Will.I.Am right now.

Taking a Breather

Can finally just chill out a bit. Needed a rest.

On my professor's door:

What the Living Do
by Marie Howe

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven't called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It's winter again: the sky's a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat's on too high in here and I can't turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss--we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I'm speechless:
I am living. I remember you.