ARE NOW ARE GONE

"YOU KNOW THE CLOSER YOU GET SOMETHING, THE TOUGHER IT IS TO SEE IT. AND I'LL NEVER TAKE IT FOR GRANTED. LET'S GO."
Closer --Joe Inoue
"'CAUSE I WANT TO GO BACK TO THE VERY LAST YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL. SO MUCH PAIN, SO MUCH STRAIN, BUT STILL I HAD FRIENDS WHO MADE ME FEEL THE WAY I'LL NEVER FEEL. EVER. AGAIN.
LIFE. WAS. WORTH LIVING WITH THE PEOPLE WHO ARE NOW ARE GONE."
Haru --Joe Inoue

Good Habits are Hard to Break

Why don't people ever say good habits are hard to break? Because it's not true, I wonder? Anyhow, I'm not really going to talk about that. It's more like a parry from the topic (Am I even using "parry" right? The word just came into mind so I wanted to put it into the sentence). The title should be "Why is Being Positive Harder than Being Negative?" than "Good Habits are Hard to Break". Do they even relate? My head hurts . . . Continuing with my blog post . . .
It's so exhausting trying to be positive. So in Spanish, I go through the class painfully, trying to figure out what in the world the teacher is saying. She speaks really fast, and the words seem to blur together, so I don't even know if I learned any of the words she's saying. On rare occasions, I figure out what she says after someone answers the question, and I'm like, "Oooh, I get it now." My sister is so bored all the time that she calls home every week or something. And so yesterday, she was talking to me on the phone (when she could have just talked to me on AIM, but whatever) about school and such. Since she's taken Spanish, too, and all, she was telling me how I'll eventually learn to listen and comprehend what the teacher's saying better as time goes on. I hope the time that I begin to get Spanish again comes soon. My current problem wasn't really about all that though, except I was tense, worried that the teacher would call on me as I slowly decipher her words. She made this presentation for us to review how to conjugate stem-changing verbs, and I'm like, cool, I remember this. Then she called on people randomly to answer a series of slides until she says another name. Unfortunately, she decided to pick me. I said I remembered how to stem-change, but that didn't mean I was able to respond faster than the wind. Half the time, I kind of just stared at the screen (pantalla? I'm attempting to randomly review my vocabulary) like a nitwit. Sometimes I mumbled out an answer, but the teacher's like, "Jenny, I can't hear you." I wonder if she knew I wasn't even saying anything half the time. After epically failing to properly think quickly, the teacher finally calls on someone else who answered with master skills, which, I realized, really made me look bad. The class was pretty much over and I spent the rest of my time basically trying to convince myself not to care that I couldn't say what the conjugated verb was. My train of thought was pretty much like this:
"Who cares if people think your dumb? It's not like you intend to make friends with anyone in the class. Even if you did, as friends, would understand that you can't process things quickly and overly all slow. Wait, how does that help the situation at all? Well, it's not like I want to have a profession in Spanish or anything. Agh, but I still hate looking dumb, even though I am. Wasn't I trying to be positive here? Well, everyone has their good and bad points, Spanish is obviously something I'm bad at. Maybe people will think that I sucked at Spanish, barely made it into honors (which is true), and slowly trying to improve, but I'm not dumb. That's still negative, isn't it? Er, maybe instead of worrying about what people might think, let's not be concerned about what they think about you. Okay. It's not like they're people I'll really ever get to know. Back to the friends thing again? But, really, I'll probably never see most of them after this year, and on the plus side, I'm a very unmemorable person, they'll forget who the heck I am in no time! So even if I do end up in the same class as any of them next year, it doesn't matter, because they just think of me as a complete stranger again! Ah, yes, the benefits of being unworthy to be remembered. Dang it, I'm trying to be positive here! Happy thoughts, happy thoughts . . . AGGGGGGGGGGH!!!!!!!"
This is what happened as I migrated from class to home. I was so sick of thinking about it and trying to be more "positive" about the situation, I just fell onto my bed and slept for the next two hours.
Oh, and it's currently 11:28PM, and I'm almost done with homework. Yes! Well, I have a bunch of Spanish homework still, but I don't have anything to do in journalism (I wrote my story and briefs, so now it's the page editors to do a bunch of work). Maybe it's because I never do Spanish until the day it's due that I never get better . . .

A Stab in Your Heart

Title: [A Stab in Your Heart] . . . Doesn't Hurt as Much as Watching A Stab in Your Friends' Hearts.
You know, I HATE people who talk badly of my friends. Joking around with my friends that we're weird isn't the same as other people calling us weird. Joking to other people that my friends are weird is different from when other people seriously calling us weird. So what if we're different? Are you the fudging same as everyone else? You saying that you're a perfectly normal child? What the heck is a normal child, huh? What's average, huh? If you aren't "normal" either, then what the h--- you babbling about? Are you complaining about yourself now, you moron? If we do something that you think is "weird", what's your point? Going to do something about it? If you aren't going to do something about it, then shut the f--- up. You can't even do anything to change how people act anyways. Are you going to kill us? If you aren't, then go back to shutting the f--- up. You think other things are weird or dumb or creepy from your different perspective, and I don't care if you sound out your opinion. This book could suck in your opinion (And ouch, burn as a fellow author. People could have spend months or even years writing that). This song could sound weird in your ears. This picture can be seen in a different light than mine. You can f---ing call me weird behind my back or spit it in my face, and you know what? I don't care. I may get offended from time to time, I may get angry or hurt. But this is different. Insulting my friends is more than saying your stupid opinion to me. And if anyone makes fun of my friends, I'LL KICK THEIR A--!

From the Child

Some friends of my family are staying over at my house for the weekend (at least I think that's how long they're staying) from Phoenix. And today, my house is lively with a small child at the age of two, running around the house. Tong Wen AiYi (Aunt* Tong Wen) and Wang Jing ShuShu (Uncle* Wang Jing) brought their child, Kevin, who is going to turn three in March. He's so cute, just running about. Sadly for me, his Chinese is better than mine. Ouch. Well, whatever, my Chinese sucks compared to most Chinese-learning students. Usually because I don't study or anything except for cram sessions before mid and finals.
*In case you didn't know, the Chinese call adults that are close to your family, "aunt" or "uncle", even though they aren't related.
Unfortunately, this blog post isn't going to be cheery, as most of my posts aren't. I was distracted from my math homework and from the bathroom, I heard Tong Wen AiYi talking to little Kevin. She scolded him lightly because he was acting recklessly, and she wanted to make sure he wouldn't hurt himself. Kevin giggled and seemed to listen. Then his mother laughed, too, and I zoned out of their lives. I was listening to "Poker Face" by Lady Gaga, and thought about the lyrics briefly, knowing the vulgar meaning behind the catchy tune. Then I started to drift away into thought. When do parents go from the openly caring and tender people who raised us in their arms, to the parents who'd scold us and pressure us for our future? When do we go from the obeying child to developed a mind of a rebellious one? When did we start to challenge our parents or backtalk to them in our minds? When did we start to think that our parents didn't care for us? Of course, everyone's cases are different. Maybe some people's parents weren't as loving as other, or expressed it as clearly. Maybe some people's parents are still open with their feelings of love towards their child. Maybe. My history teacher, who also teaches psychology said that maybe people were born to have certain characteristics. That we don't become the people we are purely because of the people around us, but from when we start developing in our mother's womb. Some babies behave better than others, whereas some babies are fussy and hard to handle. Of course the people around us effect the person we'll grow to become, the things we see, we hear. It's a pity how the bad seeds ruin the whole batch somehow. I'll a little grateful that I cherish promises and that my sister made me promise her not to curse. Because maybe I wouldn't be the person I am today, just from a few words added to my vocabulary. It also makes me different. I'm not afriad anymore to believe in things that other people don't. My likes and dislikes, my morals, they're unique to my person. I wonder how much of who I am reflects back to before I was born. Was I meant to end up this way? At this point of life? Who will I come to be in the future? Will I continue believing the same things? Or will influences change who I am now? Who am I now?

It's Worse for Me

I just want to angrily rant about a friend of mine (I'll probably stay up all night doing homework now). So today he was being dumb and hurt his arm. Online, I sent an instant message asking how was his arm, because it was bleeding rather bad. He said it was okay, but it hurt when he moved his forearm. I said, "I see" and he asked, "Do you really now?" Then he had to go into the whole pessimist mode, saying how nobody understands the extent of his injuries. WHAT THE H--- IS THAT? He ranted a list of things that happened to him, "I've sprained my left knee twice, scraped both knees until they bled profusely, burned three fingers by touching an iron, had to use crutches for my knee, had my hand crushed in an elevator when I was three" then he challengingly said, "Need I continue?" That just ticked me off. Sure, it sounds painful, all of that, but to say nobody understands the extent of his pains? I don't know why but that just infuriates me. I think I have an issue with people thinking I don't understand how they feel. Anyhow, I just got freaking ticked at him and ranted, "So? What makes you think that no one else is in pain? Do you think everyone is living in this fantasy that you aren't living in? Let me tell you, yeah, you've been in some pretty bad incidents, and yeah, you're probably been in lots of pain, but don't assume that no one else can even imagine what you've gone through, because a lot of us has been in a bunch of s---, that you don't know anything about how we felt or what we experienced." As I wrote that, I thought about my injury history. I burned my little finger on accident when I was a child; wooden boards fell on my foot, crushing my toenails inwards and making it bleed; getting hit in the eye by the corner of the locker door, damaging it a little; scraped my leg on the escalate (One foot was on the moving floor, and the other wasn't, therefore the toothed edge of the escalated scrapped against my leg. Obviously, I wasn't a very bright child.); and other little insignificant things in my life where I have hurt myself. For the most part, I kept my hands to myself, tried to stay out of trouble, and followed my parents to wherever they took me.
I haven't many other significantly troubling events happen in my life. Yeah, my life IS good compared to most. My sister didn't do drugs, my ex didn't get shot, my friend didn't get in a car crash and is in the hospital getting surgery, none of my relatives or friends have died from an accident, my family isn't poor, I get an education, I get fed three meals a day, I have more clothes then I can remember to wear, and you know, all my problems are over dramatized because I hate to hear people tell me that my life is perfect. People tell me I'm pretty, skinny, smart, and just overly perfect. If I could tear off my face and give it to you, I would. If I could trade bodies with you, I would. If I could give you whatever intelligence you think I have, I'd give it to you. If you want my life, you can have it if you can take it. I don't care if I'm ugly, fat, dumb, or suffering (probably wouldn't say that when I'm in pain, but I say it now). Take everything I have, d--- it, because I hate living some stupid, "perfect" life I have. Besides trying to help others and trying to protect my beliefs, I don't have much I'm living for. It's so ridiculous how I wished I had a worse life so other people won't feel like their life sucks in comparison to me. It's so stupid how I wished I had a worse life because I want to experience to what extent of other people's pains are. It's so dumb of me to wish that I have a worse life so I . . .

Elderly Pains?

I've realized I seem to be on better terms with my parents lately. I don't know, I guess we talk more, mostly about school, but it's an improvement from not talking. Except I feel like I'm really cold towards some of my friends, depending a lot on my mood and what we're talking about I guess.
And geez, my hands, arms, and neck are killing me. So when I write or type, it's like the bones of my hand ache. I can't hold them straight either, like if I want to put my hand on the table, my palms hurt, and sometimes my wrist. When I rotate my arm sometimes, I swear, it's like a creaking door, as if the bones were rubbing against each other (my knee does that, too, but it doesn't hurt at least). Not to mention, when it's cold or something, my upper arm has some sort of stinging sensation, but it doesn't even seem to go away when I wear a jacket. My neck is probably the worst. It may be from bending over my desk all the time, but if I try to lean my head all the way back, the muscles on the back of my neck hurt, but if I try to bend my head too far to any direction, it hurts, and I'm usually too tired to keep my head up, which is a more comfortable position. Hopefully I won't get sick, because then my muscles will probably cramp, and depending on which one wants to spazz on me this year, it'll just make my aches worse. I really wish I knew what's the deal about my muscle cramps. I visited a bunch of doctors about it, but apparently none of them can find anything wrong with me besides that I have influenza. Of course, the cramps go away soon after my cold passes, but I'd like to know what's wrong with me, you know? Apparently, I used to cry all the time as a baby because of some muscle cramp, too, and my parents had to tie me up in my blanket. I'm not too sure if that's true, because they brushed it off by saying, "Nah, it's just probably because you liked crying." I don't even know.

Foreshadowing

I sometimes feel like my body is telling me I'm going to die.

Inspired by my blog post. I just felt like singing it, so technically it's a song, and not a poem.

In Reality
I stuffed my hand into my pocket
And drew out a key.
It flashed twice in the light,
Then I hid it once again.
Did you
Really think
That this is the end?
IIIIIIIIIIIIII
I just wanted to let you know,
Everything you see right now,
Isn't everything
In reality.
IIIIIIIIIIIIII . . .
I faced the sea,
And I faced the wind,
As I fingered the key.
I balled my hand into a fist
And thrust it at the sea.
But IIIIIII,
I kept the key in my hand.
Why is letting go,
So hard . . .
IIIIIIIIIIII-I . . . I . . .
I just wanted to let you know
That everything you see right now
Isn't everything
In reality.
But I wish that this was all,
All that there was to my story,
But there's more.
And IIIIIII,
I just wanted to let you know,
That everything
That you see right now
Isn't everything,
In reality,
Noooo . . .

Click. Bang.

It's always so hard to not judge people, like judging a book by its cover. There's always those people you'd never expect to be hiding so many secret feelings inside. They talk with their friends, laughing and looking like they have a great time. But then I notice, when they glance away, it's like the expression changes completely. A perfectly happy smile turns into a distant stare with a turn of the head. There's so many of them. Heck, I do that sometimes. Why are we all so private, so quiet? In a way, it's like the world stops turning, just for a little while, and it keeps on going without anyone noticing. What is with the masquerade party everyone attends that is supposed to be life? Female, male, all alike. I've talked to be people who's lives have been hindered from backstabbing friends to drugs and weapons. And honestly, it's shocking to learn these things. All these people come to school with a grin on their face, but when no one's looking, they're fighting within themselves, against others. No one knows the nature of their home, near their home, or rather, outside of school. Ignorant of what violence occurs, or what peace there is. And there's always that hidden lock in our hearts, sealing away our secrets. We all want to throw away the key that walls between the world and our souls, but never able to bring ourselves to let go. We thrust our fists out to the sea, but our fingers still clasp tightly around the key. The key we so longingly want to give to someone else to hold, but we just can't. We all try to drive the tough seat, but it seems we'll all crack once the gun is up to our head. Too afraid of what people will think. Too afraid what people will say. Too afraid what people will do. Why are humans so frightening, yet so timid? Perhaps it's because we judge people too fast and its too late to realize we treat others the way we don't want to be treated.

Literature Response

I'm supposed to be doing homework right now (and I'm certainly going to regret getting distracted when night comes), but I was almost done with Lord of the Flies, so I felt the need to continue reading. So I finished it a few moments ago and felt a need to say that I thought it was an amazing book. A quick summary merged with a few of my thoughts about the book's meaning. There may be some things I've written that may spoil the story, so don't read it if you don't wish to know the ending.
It's a story taking place during wartime. A plane full of young British boys have been shot down, the pilot died and only the passengers survived on an unknown island. At first, everyone was excited. No adults, no rules, and everything was theirs. They worked together in the beginning, but slowly, things fell apart. One of the main characters, Ralph, was elected by the other boys to be chief. As their randomly chosen chief, Ralph seemed wise enough to know that in order for them to be rescued, they needed smoke, a signal for help. One of the other main characters, Jack, didn't think so much about the smoke. He was obsessed with the idea of hunting the pigs that lived on the island, killing, bringing back meat, and what he really wanted was the power of being the leader. The story progresses and everything starts to fall apart around Jack. He became savage and converted most of the other boys into uncivil beings. Jack and the other savages were so separated from society, their minds so twisted by their surroundings, that the idea of killing was not disturbing. The small society on the island broke into pieces. They slowly became humans that not twitch at the sight of the blood of pigs, or even the blood of humans. Nearing the end of the book, the boys were saved. But after Ralph finished speaking with the naval officer that came to rescue them, Ralph's mind flickered back to the images of the pristine island which was then set into a crazed flame. And he started to weep. Crying for the losses that were made, crying for the end of what was innocence, and crying because of the darkness and evil in man's heart. He felt his share of the horrible thing that is called war and what violence does to a people.
I really liked the ending. It really sums up how Ralph has been feeling and it also brings back the whole war thing back into perspective, since while you're reading, you focus more on the boys and their struggles to live on the island. Then the moral of the story kind of pops out at you, stuff like how war is so terrible, without rules we all may go crazy (unfortunately, some people still go against them, small or big, rule breakers or lawbreakers), and that violence brings out the monster in you. Not only does the theme of the book really stand out to me, but it's how I felt while reading. During the entire book, I felt the frustration and the anger. I felt terrified and my heart started to beat faster. The book was simply amazing because it brought so many vivid colors, but morbid images as well. I feel a deeper appreciation for adults and the rules that they guard for our benefits.

Your Sterotypical Snail

When I entered my room today only a few minutes ago, coming back from the library, and the sunlight was slanting into my room through the shades. For some reason, I found deep comfort being there and there was a strange realization that, this was my room. It's not like I never knew my room was . . . well, my room. I guess I just never acknowledged it as my room and only my room? Since I've always used to share my room with my sister, who's moved many of her things with her upstate. That or I'm just really slow. Anyhow, I'd love to stay and chat longer, but I need to finish my homework. I'm a bit tired, so I'd prefer it if I didn't stay up until eleven doing homework.

Knock Knock On the Clock

Delusions, are they? Perhaps . . . insanity? Paranoia is an option. Maybe a really bad sight. Lately, when I look around, or glance off to the side, there's a flash of color. Sometimes the color, in that spilt-second, takes form as a bug, the design of my mom's shirt, or something else completely. And I turn to look back again and there's nothing there, leaving my heart beating fast. What is this? There's nothing to fear from these things, objects, or people, but somehow I feel scared.

Do You Mind?

I just realized that I never updated about how school was for me. So the first two days have been great. I like my teachers, the classes are very interesting. The one I probably dislike the most so far is P.E. Since all we do is sit on very uncomfortable benches and talk. It's not like I don't like talking with people, but it's P.E., we should be out there running or something! Anyhow, it'll get better after the teachers do their thing, give us our lockers, and finally let us move onto the great outdoors. When that happens, my most unfavorable class would probably be Pre-Calculus. It's just not exciting, not to mention, I've never liked math. Zero period Chemistry is okay, the teacher seems pretty cool and Yasmin's in my class. First period P.E., I already talked about. Second period English is great. My teacher seems really cool. We haven't really done much yet, but I just get a vibe that it's going to be a great year. Third period journalism. Oh my gosh, it's like heaven, but I'm alive somehow.
--journalism rant--
The journalism adviser (I don't really like calling her the journalism teacher, because it just feels weird that way), Mrs. Beach, is cool. She's been teaching English for 30 years, worked with a bunch of editors in the past, and has taught journalism for, was it over 25 years? I don't remember. Anyhow, she's really cool and fun. The whole team is just as great. Although I've yet to talk to them or get to know any of them up close, they all just seem so enthusiastic about being there. When Mrs. Beach asks who wants to run an errand for her, this one guy--I forgot his name already--literally jumps up as he says, "I'll do it!" It's so cute. Currently, I really don't have much of a position in journalism. I'm currently fighting for the columnist position. It's just where you can write anything you want, but it has to be creative, funny, and connects with the readers. It's kind of like an editorial. Anyhow, I think it's a nice position, and I thought it was interesting, except there's a bunch of other people who want to spot just as much as I do. I'm a bit intimidated. Guys, you can shower me with as many compliments as you want, but in my head, it will always be, in 18 point font, Arial, bold, "Don't stand a chance." We have to write a sample column and you know, my grammar, vocabulary, and spelling sucks, don't ask why I want to be an author. I actually don't have a good sense of humor. I laugh at really weird things and the jokes I make are really lame puns that make some of my friends depressed because it was really just that lame. Creative, I guess I'm okay with, but I've thought of several ideas and I realize that my topic is just weird and stupid or I have nothing to say about it. Yeah, I went from very optimistic to very pessimistic. I depress myself. You know, I have to sell ads (as in going to businesses or academies to see if they'll pay so their ad shows up in our newspaper) and sell up to $50 or I don't get an 'A'. My parents said something about it sounding like bribery for a grade. I know we need money, the school doesn't fund us, and all the schools have their own money issue. And for people's information, our school ads are so not cheap. When people get their free newspaper, most of the time, the random pieces of paper stuffed in there are not random, they're ads we call "inserts". So while the inserts fall out of people's newspapers and flutter around school like tumbleweed, people paid $45 each for that. As a person who's money is actually just a collection of pocket change my sister gave me (the rest of my dollar bills were spent to pay my dues, meaning to pay back friends money I borrowed), that is a freaking lot of money. To print all 10 issues of the newspaper spends us up over $4,000, since we do have to supply 8 pages of a newspaper to over 2,200 students plus facility. You'd think people would respect the newspaper, you'd think. On the bright side, since lots of businesses buy ads (they're practically donating us the money) we usually have money leftover, which we spend to buy new computers for journalism/yearbook staff.
--end of journalism rant--
Fourth period is math, and you heard my opinion of it. Fifth period history is pretty interesting. The teacher is nice, she makes history much more interesting, granted she told us the history of how sticking up your middle finger came to be, how sayings like "raining cats and dog" came about, and did you know "saved by the bell" was actually people buried alive ringing that bell? Anyhow, that was the first day, and the second day we went to get our textbooks, so I'll see how much I enjoy history later on. I don't really like the people in there, it's full of people who'd always cause trouble and mess around. I'll live, though, hopefully. And finally, sixth period is Spanish. The actually teacher isn't around, so we have a substitute named Mrs. Smart. She lives up to her name rather well, and I think she's a rather interesting teacher. I remember her from substituting my Spanish teacher last year. She's a nice person with many years of experience, though the class gets pretty tough with her manning the station.
I won't lie in saying that I get pretty worn out after class. Perhaps taking a zero period was a mistake? Who knows? Maybe the future.

As Water Clear, As Mud Thick

In a Heartbeat
Scraping sounds upon the door,
And my heart started to beat faster without knowing what for.
No one knows this feeling,
Because I'm all but alone to hear the shrilling,
Except I'm the only one who's terrified.
And the other knew what to do, he's specialized.
My soul was slipping,
The room, I swear, was tipping,
A dark hand reached towards me,
But I could do nothing to be free.
For life, I could jump,
But in jumping, there is no triumph.
Perhaps my breath will be stolen away,
And everything will end the same way.

Heart racing,
Compensating
For the beats that can't be done
When living,
When breathing,
When beating,
Stops.

Four Pieces of Sin
Tangled intestines,
Blinding pain,
Dying slowly as I come
All
Apart.
Breath ceased,
Lodged throat,
My lungs are breaking
All
Apart.
Heart stuck,
Dripping blood,
My love is coming
All
Apart.
Mangled mind,
Twisting world,
I'm falling
All
Apart.
These pieces,
They make
A deformed
Monster.
I scream,
I cry,
I become
All
Flustered.
This crime,
I can only
Make a
Monster.
With my stained hands,
With my own soul.

Just rambling about more angry feelings by in poems. And in case you guys don't get what I'm trying to say, no, I don't want to kill anyone. I'm just upset at myself again.

It's School

School. It's right there. Tomorrow. I'm getting all pumped up for it. Although I'll miss lazing around the house, staying up until unspeakably late (early, depends on how you look at it), and waking up at noon, I want to go back to school. I've discussed my issues with my schedule and how I want to go into Journalism, yes? Well, I have zero period and all the classes are packaged in. I know I'll be busy and I'm probably going to be really tired throughout the year, but I'm still looking forward to the school year. I'm ecstatic about my classes, especially journalism and English class, obviously. I'm not as enthusiastic about chemistry and pre-calculus, though, since they aren't really my best subjects, nor are they my preferred subjects. Except I am hoping to see some improvements with my grades, so you can say I'm still looking forward to the classes. History, I really wish I didn't have to go through it, but it'll be okay, I guess. And then there's P.E., but I like P.E. I have it first period, though, so that's not great, but I'll deal with it.
For some reason, I feel really depressed, too. Except I feel happy. It's a feeling I don't really know how to explain. Maybe it's because I've been listening to Dark Woods Circus a lot lately. I even changed my GaiaOnline profile to something more . . . distant. [x] (if you aren't one of my four close friends who I know reads my blog, and I know they have a Gaia, add me) I was looking for something more depressing, but I couldn't really find one that really suited my mood. And so I chose that one. I editted my "about me--which is under my avatar (and video of Dark Woods Circus, if you didn't know)--to something less happy. Before, there was a picture I bought on the forums (for Gaia gold, of course) with a teddy bear holding a heart and a piece of paper saying "I love my life". Well, replaced that with "You think you're living the life until it bites you dead." Then I added a bunch of more happish-sad sayings I made up. Yeah. I don't know what's with me. I feel happy but I'm also a bit sad off to the side. Weird. Maybe it's school.

Resperating and Perspirating

Staying up late is really taking it out on my lungs. Isn't it really dumb that I stay up anyways? It's even dumber getting irritated at my family for telling me to go to sleep earlier. I guess it's just hard for me to hear it from somebody else.

Future Railroad

So I'm having dinner with my family. It's nice, I'm eating some soysauce-covered tofu with broccoli and rice. Then my mom has to go and talk about me going to bed earlier and stuff. Yeah, my habit with staying up late is bad for my health and all, not to mention it'll have an effect on my school life. But hearing it so many times makes me want to wring my ears, which is actually very hard to do with cartilage. Anyhow, she tells my entire family about how I have to wake up at like six every morning of the school year because I have a zero period. Then my sister jumps in and says that I'll probably die because zero periods are the worse (yeah, she would know, Miss I-took-zero-to-seventh-period-and-had-perfect-grades. AGH.). So then my dad's like, "Wait, why do you even need to take seven periods." I start to tell him three times, interrupted by my mom and sister each time, because apparently, they know the answer oh-so-much more than I do. It's like, jeez, I don't have to talk for myself anymore. After my mom and sister both made their different points about why I need to take seven periods, they all started to talk about how I need to volunteer and stuff. I'm just like, yeah, okay. But then they start going into detail about the Rose Parade, the library, and the Performing Art Center. It was nice they were giving me all the suggestions, but I'm just like, okay, I can handle it. But then they started degrading me after all their ideas like I can't handle it and stuff. Family really does know how to lower your self-esteem. Then they go onto about colleges and stuff. Earlier my sister's like, "Yup, when it comes to the eleventh grade, it's just like, 'Man, I need to study for tests and I need to keep my grades up, too.'" As much as I harassed my sister when she was in the eleventh grade, at least I didn't make her want to cry under stress. And I'm not even in the eleventh grade yet.
Ugggh, I'm just not in a good mood today. Or I'm just having a bad day. It's all the same, really.

A Flash of Lighting, Heat, and True Colors

So my mother. -glares- Is on the phone right now, talking to my friend's (who's name happens to be Jenny, also) mom. Just talking in Chinese. I don't really care what she's talking about. Then she starts getting into talking about the average-everyday-worthless-child-of-the-present. She's just ranting on and on about how kids are always texting, and their hands are glued to their phone. That they can't learn anything. In class they're texting and listening? Yeah, not so much of the last part. And I'm sitting here thinking, yeah, I guess you're an expert since you've sat in class with us, huh? True, I've seen people like that, but their grades are decent, it annoys me whenever they take out their phone secretly in class, but hey, what can you do (besides tell the teacher and have it confiscated, which would be for their own good)? Then she goes on about how the average children of this country is always on the computer. She looks at me when she's saying this, and I'm staring right back at her in the eyes, so she says, "They spend all night on the computer, perfectly awake, but they never wake up in the morning." I'm staring right at her, and she doesn't even look away. It really ticked me off for some reason. Yeah, it's true. I stay up until who knows how long and I wake up at noon. But it really, really ticked me off. Then she went on how worthless and useless the children of the world are today and that the older people of the world are relying on them, but it's pretty much assured that the world is doomed. Now I'm just trying to ignore her, but she's still really ticking me off. Just wanted to say.

School of Chaos

I just felt like typing here. If only I put in my blogging time to recreating my story. Well, it was program verification day for my school. My school is so weird, I sometimes wish I'd change schools. So first of all, even before today, the school calls like a bunch of times, leaving different messages every time, and it's so hard to hear what's being said too. I'm just wondering, "What is he saying? And is this important to me anyways?" Why can't they just gather up their information, put it on one organized email for us to read and understand? Day after day, stuff about PTA, taking pictures in the wrestling room, and it's just too much. Anyhow, today, we have to line up in this ridiculous line in the heat to turn in forms the school mailed you, and I didn't know what to bring exactly. Apparently, though, I didn't have two forms, so I have to turn those in on the first day of school. So after waiting over an hour, maybe, in the heat (at least there was shade, I guess) I get into the gym and there was a bunch of tables. I paid for my textbook damages from last year, it was just a dollar though, then I had to find my ID among a bunch of them, got my schedule, got confused at one table because I didn't know what to do there, and apparently it was for a schedule change, so I was like, "Oh, I don't need to be here then." It was a huge confusing mess. Then I found out there's another long line for getting lockers. You know what's so messed up about the school I'm going to? We have to share our lockers with someone else. Not only that, we have to pay five dollars each for it. My sister went to a different school from me, so after listening to what I said(since she just came back today) and she said, "Your school's weird. I didn't have to pay for our locker, and I certainly didn't have to share it with anyone." And her school had cardboard walls, dang it, does that not say anything about how poor it was? I think they changed it by now, I don't know though. At least they had their own lockers and they didn't have to pay for them, except they did have to bring their own lock, but still! I just think my school is a bundle of chaos.

I'm Running Out of Ideas For Titles

Huh, I've been blogging a lot lately. It's not just a lot post-wise, but I've been ranting for a long time. I wonder if I'm back to my old self now. Ah, yes, the me that just squirts out angry things at things that make me angry. Well, I prefer being angry than sad, I guess . . .

A Title. Huh?

Depressing. I'm so depressing. I'm always like this and I never change. I can look back on all my past blog posts and five-sixth of it is me spewing out crude about me or my life or something I did. I have enough negative energy in me that the negative end of the battery has resisting force when pushed towards me. Heh.

Fear of My Life

Well, what do you know, here again around the same time. I think. Anyhow, I may seem like in a humorous mood, but I've just been scarred for life. Why, you might ask? Besides the fact that I just had the most terrifying moment in perhaps my entire life so far, my respect for my parents took a major step down. Okay, so to be blunt, I saw a cockroach. If you guys haven't realized, I have a huge fear of bugs. Even if they are ladybugs or butterflies, insects in general scare the life out of me. Ants are the only ones that can be near me without me totally freaking me out, because I passed that phase years ago after I realized that it's impossible to escape them. But a cockroach. THE VERY NAME COULD SEND ME TO H---. I was watching an anime I recently discovered. It's called Lovely Complex, it's cutely romantic and it's really funny, I totally recommend it. But enough of that. So there was a really loud fluttering sound and before I know it, that huge, disgusting, vulgar, vile, and down-right creepy monster of a thing appeared in my doorway and you know what I do? I just let out a big, fat scream. My parents' reaction? Zip. I had to scream "COCKROACH!" a million times. There was this one time, when my sister and I both screamed at the same time when a cricket suddenly appeared out of nowhere. My parents just continued watching their shows and my sister said to me, "It's sad how they're so used to us screaming out that they don't even bother asking what's wrong." Yeah, the sad truth. But you know, I was scared out of my mind. It was big man, big. I screamed and screamed and jumped onto my bed, held my blanket up to my head and screamed like a madwomen (I bet my neighbors were debating on whether to call the police to report a murder). My dad enters the room calmly and catches a glimpse of the cockroach midflight to my sister's bed which was right above me. My dad grumbled to himself while tossing the cover sheet around half-heartedly around and said that it vanished. Then he left to report to my mom that I wasn't crazy and that there really was a cockroach. My mom's response, "Really? Ah, this is going to be troublesome." Then they go back to watching their stupid drama. THEY GO BACK TO WATCHING THEIR STUPID DRAMA. Dad, I understand that you work hard everyday trying to support a family and that you're older than most of my friend's parents (if my friend is their parent's first child), but I'm sitting their sobbing uncontrollably, and you act like you don't care at all. Mom, I know I'm always making a fuss, and have to deal with me a lot when you probably just want to relax sometimes, but you are just as indifferent as my father. Tell me, is that not cold at all? Am I overreacting? About either of the two things that happened to me at that moment? Am I? Of course, by then my paranoia has gone over my head and I can't help but to feel that the cockroach could even be behind me at that very moment, so I run out of there. When I was in my parent's room, I felt safe, but the thought of the cockroach made me go mad, and I started crying again. This isn't a joke when I say, I've never cried so hard before in my life. Granted, I'm a fifteen year old girl, that amount of living is insignificant to even my 22 year old sister. But I was just in there crying, and I was sure that my parents could hear me (it's starting to sound like I planned this all out . . .) and they don't even comment about it. They talk very loud, I know, I evesdrop on them all the time except when they're talking about me. Anyhow, so I crying thinking that one, my life is slowly going to be ruined by a cockroach and it's stupid spawns, but two, that my parents don't care if I'm miserable or terrified at all. You know, as a child, whenever my parents scolded me and I started crying, they'd yell at me more to go cry out of their sight. I always figured that they didn't want to see their child making such a miserable face in front of them--that or they got sick of me crying from when I was a baby and didn't know better than to cry when I was supposed to sleep)--but I'm starting to have second thoughts, except for that last part. And so I regain composure and poke my head out and ask my mom what I should do. "Do whatever," was pretty much the gist of what she said to me. Then my dad said, "I can't do anything about it if I don't know where it is." Since I decided that either I run away from home (which is pretty dumb for obvious reasons and the fact that there are even more bugs out there) or the cockroach goes. So I stood at the doorway of my room, staring and staring. I gathered the couraged to step into my room and quickly tidy my things up, just so that if the cockroach appears, it couldn't crawl into a huge mess (luckily, earlier I had the sudden urge to clean up my room a little, so it wasn't that bad). Finally it showed up, fluttered viciously and landing on an old binder I was thinking about throwing out, though I knew my answer after that thing touched it. Of course, none of those thoughts occured when I saw it. My big mouth opened again for another furious scream, and my dad came to me angrily. He looked into my room and apparently saw nothing, so he yelled at me to stop screaming, but rather to tell him where it is because he can't do anything if he doesn't know where the blasted thing is. I had a huge debate speech in my head that had to do with, I can't help but to scream because I'm just that scared and that the cockroach moves. If he doesn't run to me, it'd probably scuttle out of sight by the time he gets there, I can't even point the direction where it went, because I ran back into my parent's room again to take shelter. So after calming down when my dad left, I tried to hunt down the cockroach while tightly holding onto this belt-like-thing for stress reasons. I finally saw it, on my blue bag, by the way (I really want to throw it away now), and I managed to keep my cool and I called out to my dad where it was. I kept an eye on it except it was crawling right at me! I was backing away when my dad came to my rescue and so I ran away. My dad said something about the cockroach going into the bathroom so I should just go away for the moment, so I went into my parent's bathroom instead. I sat in the clean shower and cried with my hands covering my ears (I don't know what I was trying to not hear). After a long time and I heard the mumbled voice of my father through my hands, I knew it was over. Up to this moment, I don't know what he did with that thing, and I'm glad I don't. I just hope he didn't catch it and let it go, which I'm pretty sure he did. Just the thought of it being in his hands makes me shiver. I do give my parents credit for not being a spineless whimp like me, who still screams (though not as loudly, nor as furiously) at the sight of a cricket sometimes. I still feel like they don't care about me, though. My dad called the cockroach an "insignifcant cockroach" and I'm just like, yeah, that scared the living day out of me, if you haven't noticed. Although my parents are over a million times smarter and wiser than I am, I think I'm more sympathetic than they are.
I'll say one more thing, it's a good thing my sister wasn't around, here to witness a cockroach fly onto her bed and stay there for who knows how long. Except she did tell me that there was a cockroach in her room at Caltech (happened twice really). I laughed at her situation on AIM, but after seeing one, I think I should be b---- slapped and hanged. Though she seemed composed when she talked to me, but what the heck does that say, it was through an IM box where you can hardly communicate feelings other than "-cries-" or something like that. It's also a good thing that she's up North helping her boyfriend who's helping her move into their apartment (since they're going to live together when she goes there for gradschool) because that means she won't be sleeping in her bed for a long, long, long time. The next time she visits is probably winter vacation, since Thanksgiving is too short to come all the way down here for. It's much farther away than her other college, that's for sure. Anyhow, before she left to go help the moving in, she slept in the guest room (the room I'm in right now, actually) because it's cooler in here than our room, since there's only one wall to the outside world for the guest room, and two for my bedroom, which means that the heat transfer is less. Moving on, it was a smart move of my sister. Hopefully the cockroach didn't touch any of her stuffed animals (or any of mine, for a matter of fact!) although she'd probably keel over and worry about it when she comes home anyways. Bugs. Insects. I curse you to the ends of the world. The one thing I detest the most. It's worse than annoying people, which I won't even go on right now, and almost as bad substance abusers, normal abusers, killers, and rapers. They are just about the worst. I swear, if there was a God, he likes to send a cricket ever time I'm happy. This time, since I was slacking off from math homework again, and enjoying my show too much, He decided to send in the big guns. If I could list how many times my good days were ruined by a mere bug, this blog could not be bloated enough, and this blog has . . . an infinite amount for you to write? Point is, there's a lot, and I honestly think that the world is out to get everyone, especially on their good days.

I Always Seem to Type to Blog Title Last

Here I am as always, up during unsightly hours of the morning that could also be referred to as night. I've been thinking a lot, as always, and you know, I feel very insecure. I'm not going to go on a rampage again about feeling "uneasy" and all, this is a different type of insecurity. I think. Ages and ages before on this blog, I told a tale from years before, my childhood. If I think about what I say to people, I feel like I make it overly dramatic about having no "real" friends back then. I blamed a great deal of my old friends for using me and wanting to do nothing with me when I was long overdue. But I kind of wonder if it's really just all my fault. I was happy. I really did enjoy hanging out with them, Meghan, Erin, Mary Anne, Stephanie, Tiffany, Kayla, Caroline, Jennifer, Catherine, and of course, Michelle. During the different years, I've moved on from friend to friend, and in most cases, I never really talked to my old friends from the previous grade. She'd be busy with her new friends, and I'll be busy with mine, but it never really bothered me until the fourth grade. The story is long and has been told too many times, but it's a real-life story that I felt like changed my entire view of my friends. Betrayal and blurred memories are cruel things. All I know is that, after that day, I've accused my friend at the time for using me and backstabbing me. But is what I thought happened really occur? Is everything I told myself a lie, and all the hatred built up from falsehood? Was one of the few grudges I could never let go never existent between the two of us? Then it wasn't just her, that one girl, it was all of them. I thought ill of my old friends, but wasn't it the both of us who moved on? Wrath is a sin I am guilty of. Michelle was the only one who was spared from my criticism and judgment. After all, she was the only one who'd talk to me once in a while even after kindergarten has passed. Year after another, we'd hang out once in a while. That's how she became to be my best friend, and somehow my "only real friend". This old tale gets longer when I've learned to regret what I've thought about my friends, though the story never seems to change (As I've said in a previous post, I tend to want pity. Hey, this entire post could be filled with my pity-yearning words. I can't even understand myself anymore . . .). In the sixth grade, when my sister went off to college, it got lonesome at home, and I felt bad about never making an effort to stay friends with people for over a year. And so I ventured to enforce my friendship with Michelle. Before I entered middle school, I was torn when I learned Michelle wasn't attending the same school as me. I wanted to hold onto her, the one person who never seemed to get sick of my company and the person I worked with so much so that our bond was strong. I found that our friendship wasn't so flimsy and I would go and contact Michelle occasionally over the two years. When I moved onto high school, the first thought that entered my mind was, "I can see Michelle almost everyday again." And when the school year began, I wondered. Indeed, I got to see her, talk to her, but then she'd hang out with her friends. Of course she'd make new friends. Michelle isn't a person who'd go past the years without making an effort to be around people she likes. I made friends, people who I really enjoy being around, too. But you know, they always hang out. They go to the beach, they go to movies, they have picnics and potlucks. Some days, I would just I stand behind Michelle and listen to her talk to her friends. She'd sound so happy, and the rest of them were too, laughing until their guts hurt. And sometimes I wondered if she liked being around them more than me. I'm not that cheery of a person (go figure). I try to look on the bright side, but when it comes to the "bright side" for me, it's more like the loony side. If you hang out with me a lot (I don't know who would be reading this if they didn't), don't even pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Laughing insanely for no reason, talking nonsense and babbling weird, happy things. I know I can be happy without being a nut, but I feel like I'm just a nut anyways all the time. By the way, I'm very self-conscious about being "weird" around people I don't really know which is usually why in class, I'm as stiff as a stick--which are actually pretty bendy, depending on it's thickness. Anyhow, I'd worry if I bring Michelle down sometimes. "Live, laugh, and laugh some more." is her motto, she told me once. Every now and then, I have an insecure moment for myself to worry about my friendship with her. One of the days happened to be yesterday, by the way. Program verification day is coming up for school, which means we need to find locker buddies and such. Last year, I was Michelle's partner, and this year, I forgot about the whole thing for so long, I was worried that someone else teamed up with Michelle (Last year, I asked her several months in advance because I didn't want her middle school friends taking the opportunity. Not like I didn't/don't love you guys, Pie.). I worried all day yesterday and I finally gathered up the courage to call (Since in truth, I get nervous about phone calls.). The line was busy and I threw my phone down dramatically then proceeded by shaking my fists at the heavens. But then I had to check if my phone was still alive. Yes, I was trying to be funny when I was typing that (Although it did happen, strangely enough.). Was anyone amused? Then, today, when my dad handed the phone over to me and I was pretty surprised when I heard Michelle's voice on the other end. I was absolutely blissed that she called me to ask if I wanted to be locker buddies with her, absolutely blissed. Right now at um, 3:30AM, I'm still very happy that she wanted to be paired up with me again. She even said sorry for not really staying touch with me, which was so nice of her, especially since I basically did nothing either . . . Guilt trip. Then we had a nice little talk about what we were going to do about our locker, and yeah. After I hanged up, I was still high on relief. Then I went back to my guilt trip. I doubt Michelle at times, about if she really wants to hang out with me or not, but then she does something for me that just makes me want to slap myself for being a bad friend and doubting her. You know, after typing for so long, and now I'm really really really tired, I went from a serious typing blog person to a person who wants to put in a random comedy video that I haven't even seen. Basically, I have no idea why I'm talking about this anymore. I had to scroll up to reread what I said earlier. Insecure. Yeah, I felt insecure about my friendship with Michelle, but now it's all better. Yay! Okay, I'm going to bed, night.