"Students should study hard because we're paid to, not because we're told to."

Back Only to be Gone Again

Mood: good; neutral
Currently: relaxing before doing homework
Listening to: Love Mode --Clazziquai

Oh my, I haven't been here in so long. I don't know, am I getting busier or lazier? Perhaps it's both?
Man, because of the CSTs, I got to go to school at a normal time. Now that it's over already, it's back to zero period and getting my butt over to class by 6:45 a.m., but ending up late two-thirds of the time. Oh well, next year I won't have a zero period! Woot! Except the one thing I will miss about zero period is the empty streets. You encounter about maybe ten cars on the way to school. But going to school by 7:45 a.m. means sitting in your car behind about fifteen other cars to get their effing bumpers moving when the traffic light finally turns green. It takes me about 10-15 minutes to get to school when it would have taken me 5 minutes without all the cars and one/two traffic light stops. Oh well, beggers can't be choosers. I'm just going to have to get out of my house faster next year. I doubt that's going to happen but it's that or one hundred tardies. I think I'm better off not getting that one minute of lying around on my bed.
I'm actually dreading school tomorrow. Mainly and pretty much because of journalism. So I pretty much procrastinated on my article and it was due the next day. I finished up my other homework and it was around 2 a.m. and I felt just really tired. Of course, I still had to do my article and it needed to be typed and all. I sat in front of my computer seriously feeling like a zombie, and if you guys didn't know, if I'm doing anything in that condition, I'm pretty much just randomly winging it without being conscious of it. Once, before I transferred out of my old history class, we got to type our homework, but I felt really exhausted so I half asleep while typing. Then I kind of jolted awake after a few minutes and looked at what I wrote. It was a question about . . . what was it . . . baby booms? I don't remember, but I wrote something about cat food, and I was like, what the heck is this? Good thing I fixed it too, because my old history teacher actually read what we wrote. It would have been so weird if she read that. Ahaha. Anyhow, yeah, my article sucked a lot, and I really don't want to get it back from my disappointed editor-in-chief who's going to dock off points from my grade. I'm really struggling in journalism, I'm battling between a 'B' and a 'C', and getting a 'C' would look really bad for college . . . Not to mention, tomorrow, I have to finish my project and stuff that everyone's kind of slaving over, but I'm relatively good at InDesign (the program we use to format our pages) so hopefully I'll finish without having to go back to class during lunch, and I hope to receive a good grade as well. I hope, I hope.
Anyhow, I also came across an interesting picture or phrase. Call it what you want.
I totally agree with it. Lots of people think they have the worst life, the worst luck, the worst parents, the worst situations, or the worst something. Heck, I used to think that, sometimes I probably still do. Though, after several of my friends confided their problems and stresses with me, I came to realize how fortunate I am in this world--though I'm more than far from truly appreciating the life I have. However, I'm sure almost everyone in the world has thought at least once that their life is the worst compared to any other. In times of distress, who would blame them? You're caught in a bad situation, you're worried, panicked, and it's hard to even think straight without hyperventilating. But don't you think that it should be considered a joy to be able to breathe, to see, to walk, to feel, and to smell? Where's the happiness for the simple things everyone is forgetting? Where's the bliss in being alive? I guess the people living on the streets on a rainy and windy day doesn't really make them look forward to another day starving. I wonder what people without homes think. Do they think about how unfortunate they are, or are they too worried about how they're going to survive to cry about their life? Do those people want to have the luxuries that we have or do they just want enough to live? It's kind of sad how teenagers like myself want to have more when we have enough. We have more than enough. Isn't it great already that we have a house to live in? Aren't we so lucky to be able to have three meals a day and probably have snacks throughout the day? Don't we have more material possessions than we can count when others don't have anything but the clothes on their back? We should be so happy, but we're not. We should think about all the great, even small, things about our life, but most of the time, we don't. Just because we have the capability to, because we can if we really wanted to, we can get so much more luxurious material possessions because we have money to buy them. While other people would practically cry to get our hand-me-downs. Such a cruel world we live in. Or rather, it seems more appropriate to say, such a cruel world the poor and needy live in.

Blossom Blossom

Mood: happy; tired
Currently: blanking out while doing math extra credit
Listening to: Love is War (Techno) --Kagamine Rin

Today was the long awaited Cherry Blossom Festival!
This morning started quietly as I woke up drowsily from bed around 7:20AM. I was getting all my things together, and a few moment before leaving the house, I get a phone call.
Long story short, Hee Soo needed a ride, so my dad all drove over to pick up Hee Soo, then we made a B-line to school. We were a few minutes late, but it was all good. We got there before everyone filed onto the bus. Except, once we were on the bus, we had to wait a while for the last few latecomers. When all was well, we set off on our epic journey.
I was just basically listening to music and messing around my ITouch most of the time. Going from one seat to another to keep Michelle and my boyfriend company. I think I didn't do a good job of both missions, but at least I tried? Ahaha.
Eventually we arrived at Little Tokyo and checked in. I migrated over to the arts and crafts station with Diana, Hee Soo, and Michelle--I got separated from my boyfriend somehow--and basically learned how to make leis made out of beads, paper flowers, and straws, then make examples. I pretty much stayed there all day. Except Diana and Hee Soo ran off to look a this drummer guy they saw last year and thought he looked really hot. Later on, Michelle changed shifts with people, ditching the arts and crafts to pass out posters. Those crazy people, I don't get them, the arts and crafts booth was so much fun! The little kids were cute and their parents were funny, and I felt so useful!
Anyhow, some time after noon, I got my lunch break. Lunch was so delicious, it was barbecue chicken with rice, macaroni salad, and sliced lettuce. Good stuff. Though it took a long time to get our food, so most of my thirty minutes were wasted in line, so Diana, Hee Soo, and I had only about ten minutes to snarf down our food and go back to the arts and crafts booth.
My job changed to helping kids make fish kites (which weren't really so much of a kite, but oh well, most of them really just wanted to color). I stayed there for the remainder of the day. Diana and Hee Soo went on a break, never to return (They were dragged off to dress up as a Hello Kitty mascot, which I really wanted to take a picture with, but by the time I came back with my camera, Hello Kitty [Hee Soo in disguise] was gone! All my hopes and dreams. Shattered!). Anyhow, I just helped kids make kites, Michelle came back from her freedom of exploring (literally trying almost every single food available) and my boyfriend came to help out. I actually think Michelle and my boyfriend get along pretty well (but not that well), which I was particularly pleased with. Especially since I get a feeling sometimes that my friends just don't like him, which concerns me quite a lot. Regardless, I made myself a rainbow fish kite that's not a kite! It's so pretty, though I wish I could have blended in the colors more, but hey, crayons aren't miracle workers!
I finished writing my post. Clicked "Publish Post", but then this error screen came up, and this was all that remained of my post. Basically said, I don't feel like talking about what happened later on all over again because I'm just too lazy to.
All in all, I had lots of fun, hopefully I get to come next year and volunteer (especially with Octagon).

Reality

Heh.

I already know the truth.

But it's still kind of harsh, isn't it?

It's obvious.

I already know.

If you have friends, most of the time they'll have closer friends.

And when you make friends, sometimes they drift away.

Sometimes you drift away.

It's stupid to be sad over what's obviously stupid.

it doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter

But . . . even the things that don't matter hurt.

I hate Facebook.

Nah.

That's just me hating myself.

I shouldn't be like this, and I shouldn't care about such stupid stuff.

If you make a big deal over stupid stuff, you should be considered stupid, and I don't want to be stupid.

I wonder if other people feel this way.

They probably do.

I wonder if I'll just be like my mom when I grow up.

It's not like I haven't noticed.

My mom's very lonely, too.

She has my dad and one close friend.

Anyone else who calls her is because they're dreadfully bored or they need something.

She doesn't work, therefore, she doesn't talk to many people besides her blood family, my dad, and her close friend.

In reality, even I talk to my mom as much as a stranger does.

I don't want to be like my mom.

But, I don't want to be unrealistic either.

Since I don't talk to my blood family much, I might end up worse than my mom.

I'm a hypocrite.

I tell people that they should change if they want to, even though I know it's hard to.

I don't want to change anymore, I'm so tired of it.

But, in the end, I still want to change so I can become a better person that people would like to be around.

This is probably what they call fickleness.

Perhaps indecisiveness.

Maybe it's called unhappiness.

Angels Fell

Mood: happy; neutral; thoughtful
Currently: about to go brush my teeth
Listening to: the humming of my sister's laptop

If I had a wish, I'd wish everyone were angels.

If people were angels, there would be no malicious secret intentions, we wouldn't do things to look cooler, we wouldn't do things to fit in, we wouldn't do things to make ourselves feel better even if it means putting others down, we wouldn't pity ourselves, we wouldn't pity at all, we would hurt each other even if it was accidentally and playfully, we wouldn't spread sorrow, and we wouldn't . . .

Or maybe we would anyways.

Perhaps humans were like angels at some point.
We wanted to help others just because we thought how it'd benefit them. We worried about each other and comforted each other and warmed each other with pure intentions. We loved and we did not hated. But one day, an angel wanted to be different, and to be a different angel was perhaps, to be a bad angel. A bad angel wanted to think of methods that would help him or herself, wanted to have everything to itself, wanted to do things its way just because it wanted to. When the other angels thought the idea was not a bad one, they followed suit, and so there were no more angels. There were only devils. And humans.

"If everyone were angels, there would be no need for government or law." --?
Rules were made to keep us from doing it again. To do it again is breaking the rules. If we were all willing to break the rules, there is no point in the rule at all. No order kept, no boundaries made, and we are no angels, so perhaps chaos will rule us all. Rules are made. And rules are ignored.

There is no good deed done selflessly because we do good things in order to feel good about ourselves, not because we wholeheartedly wanted that person to benefit from our actions. Self-satisfaction. There are no good deeds. --as stolen from Friends.

First Time a Second Time

Mood: happy; neutral-ish
Currently: about to go to bed after reading the latest chapter of Skip Beat
Listening to: the humming of my sister's laptop

Yesterday, for the first time in a while, I cried myself to sleep. Perhaps it wasn't out of loneliness and misery, but then again, maybe it was. For the second time, "for the first time in a while", I cried because I missed my boyfriend. Generally, I'm really good at distracting myself from whatever bothered me. It's not like I just sat around in my sister and her boyfriend (Matt)'s apartment all day. No. It was a very busy day.
First, I woke up around nine, got ready, and we drove about twenty minutes to pick up our (my sister and I) cousin, Gong Chen (The one who was born 12 years before me and on the same day as me, so he's the same Chinese zodiac animal as me, the dog. Thus Gong Chen and I are known as Big Dog, Little Dog, respectively. Which might we why he's quite fond of me. He seems to like to pinch my cheek lightly when I do something funny/cute.) and his friend. Then Matt drove us all the way to San Francisco to go see the Fisherman's Wharf and get a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge, but it was too cloudy, rainy, and just way too windy for us to go, so we gave up and went to find a place to eat.
For lunch, we ate at this place called The Pub. I had Southern Fried Chicken (that came with two sides) and pretty much ate everything, which either really impressed everyone, or pretty much disturbed them, since I ate more than a 23 year old (and older) adults, yet I am still the shortest, smallest, and skinniest of them all. Except Gong Chen is pretty skinny, but he's quite a beanpole really. Anyhow, we went to that one famous chocolate place, Gappolli? Errr . . . something like that. I don't feel like checking if I'm even relatively close. Regardless, I took really random pictures which I shall post onto Facebook when I get back home so you guys will understand then hopefully. Anyhow, I had hot chocolate there, except Gong Chen's friend ordered the wrong thing on accident, so I ended up getting a sundae too. Lucky me? On a really cold day, not so much, but it was pretty darn good, if I do say so myself.
Then we went to this scientific exploratory. I swear, this place is so cool, I've never thought science has ever been so interesting. Okay, so there was a lot of things, as in a lot of things. I couldn't even get to see everything. So, I'll just talk about a few things I liked (my explanations aren't perfect, and I probably switched some stuff together, so bear with my ranting if you wish to proceed reading). There was this tube where there's water and in the middle, there's this sort of screen with holes and such in it right? If you turn the tube quickly enough, and because of differing pressures, the water will be able to stand on the screen, despite the fact that there are holes in it. Then there was this wall where your shadows are different colors, and the only reason the wall looks white is because there are different colored lights shining on them, and when you stand in the lights way, you have three shadows, red, blue, and yellow. Then there are a bunch of optical illusions, where you walk towards the picture, and the picture kind of looks like it's rotating, which it isn't, since it's just fooling your eyes. Then there's this really cool water fountain which I didn't get to really look at very well, but there was something about drinking it a certain way, and the water hits the metal basin, it detects wavelengths and transforms it into music. Yeah, I don't really get it, but it's pretty darn cool. There was a bunch of other stuff, but it's either too hard to explain what I was doing, or it's too hard to explain the logic behind it. The exploratory closed, we left, blah blah blah, drove back closer to Stanford again.
We met up with some of Gong Chen's friends and ate at this Thai restaurant, but I wasn't really hungry, so I ate half of my friend rice dish, which was actually really delicious. Then we went home, stuff and stuff.
We're back in the apartment, and my sister, Matt, and I play this trivia game on Matt's PS3, Buzz. My sister goes crazy because she couldn't beat Matt, and somehow I ended up winning because I didn't know s---, so I just clicked a random button, got it right, and kicked butt. My sister was all like, this game is outrageous, blahblhalksjdhsdfh, she exploded, and then she and Matt went to go study, since they have class tomorrow, where I continued to play this really addicting game, Trash Panic. The objective of the game is to pretty much compact all this trash in this supersized trash can. Doesn't sound like much fun when I put it that way, but trust. It's crazy. While playing, I chatted with my oh-so-wonderful boyfriend, but because of bad signal and connectivity, the conversation had to be cut short. Oh well, at least I got to hear his voice, that's all that really matters to me at this point.
Amongst this slightly chaotic day, I couldn't help to think about my boyfriend all day, thinking, "I wonder if he'd like eating here," or "I bet he'd love to come here one day," or "I really wish he could be here now to see this." So much for being easily distracted. Well. I was distracted. Perhaps by the wrong things.

Touchy

Doing a research paper outline on suicide and whether or not the media should cover suicide stories.
And as the material made evident, suicide is a touchy subject. To talk about it, or to not talk about it. Talking about it can lead to copycat deaths. Not talking about it won't solve the problem, even if you pretend such an issue doesn't exist, it lives on. And people who joke around about this stuff. It's annoying. Why would people say something so carelessly like they'll kill themself when they don't understand that saying something like that, so leisurely, can actually lead to someone really killing themself. People who think they understand don't, and people who understand don't think others understand. In the end, it's hard to even talk about our feelings because we don't understand each other and we don't understand ourselves. And people who don't understand that they can't just tell people to go die because people will go die. It's hard to talk to people about suicide and it's hard to help others out of suicide. Feeling like you nearly killed someone isn't pleasant. So carelessly. So ignorantly. It's scary to know, for sure, you made someone think about dying that day. I never want to go back and relive.
Bear the murder weapon with your hand on the blade without cutting yourself.
"This is my third column in a week touching on the subject. Pray there is no blood on my hands." (Egan)
"32,439 suicides--double the number of murder victims. . . . (While you're at it, consider that 42,636 people died that year in car crashes and 41,000 from breast cancer--and look at the mammoth publicity given both to road safety and preventive checkups.) Plus, who know how reliable those totals are. How many deliberate overdoses by dying people are classified as mishaps, how many single-vehicle 'accidents' aren't accidental, how much self-destructive behavior is ignored or misrepresented? True, suicide is a private act, an expression of despair or anger, resignation or defiance. But taken in the aggregate, suicide is also a public health reality of vast social importance." (Wasserman)
"Suicide rarely occurs in a vacuum. Although the act itself may be impulsive, people who kill themselves usually have considered or tried it before. As many as 90% of suicide victims have diagnosable and treatable mental disorder, such as major depression and alcohol or drug abuse." (Adams)
"South Wales Echo had run the headline: 'Why are so many of our youngsters killing themselves?' . . . In on notorious case in 1999, a report of a suicide gave too much detail of the chemical cocktail that was used, and in the ensuing month nine people tried to kill themselves by drinking similar mixtures. . . . Most reporters will tell you that almost everybody who is associated in any way with a suicide never wants the story to be reported. It is horrible, and reading about it through the inevitably distorting lens of journalism only makes it worse. From that angle it can be hard to believe that anything is gained." (Cathcart)
"Bryce Mackie, a 21-year-old student at Columbia College in Chicago, knows all about that. In high school, he made a film about his own experience with bipolar disorder and suicidal thoughts. He first showed the film to his parents and teachers and ended up getting help, and now speaks to other young people across the country about his experience. 'I'll have seven or eight kids after a speech come up to me and, for most of them, this is the first time they've talked about it,' says Mackie, whose film 'Eternal High' has won awards for helping stigmatize mental illness. 'They had no clue that anyone else felt that way,' he adds. 'And even if they did, their teachers weren't talking about it. Their friends weren't talking about it.' . . . Jamie Tworkowski, 29, was inspired to action by a suicidal friend who told him she was cutting herself and using drugs. A story he wrote about her ultimately helped save her life and resulting in a Florida-based nonprofit called To Write Love On Her Arms. . . .Tworkowski posted the story about his friend on the MySpace social networking site in 2006 and sold T-shirts to raise money for her treatment. After another friend who played in a band wore one of the shirts during a performance, he says he received more than 100 online messages, many from young people who said they were depressed or suicidal. Now his organization, which has eight full-time staffers and five volunteer interns, uses social networking to put people suffering from depression in contact with professionals. 'It made me realize, OK if a hundred people respond this way, why wouldn't 100,000 or even a million respond whit way?' Tworkowski says. 'There was this need to talk about it.'" (Irvine)