Growing Up

Can't help but to feel like everyone just cares about looking cool. Can't help but to want to follow suit and try to be cool to, because I know a part of me wants to look good and feel good.

But I also want to be different. But I know that to be different makes it hard to relate with others.

I don't know how to fight off my impulses to change. And I don't know when it's time to change.

Growing up is tough as you realize there's so many fake people out there in the world and you start to wonder how fake you are yourself.

Facebook

You know, sometimes there are moments when you have something important to say, but no one ever responds, and you can't help but to feel like no one saw it or cared. Yet, there's those people who update their status on everything they do. "Shower," "Eating," "Doing homework," "Sleepover," "Tired," and other rather insignificant parts of people's lives, but those things get comments. Perhaps I'm being immature or self-centered about this, but this is just what I hate about Facebook.
I don't really even know why I still have a Facebook account. For the games, picture-sharing, or contacts? None of my close friends really use it. Pretty much all 200-some people on my friends list are people I rarely talk to. And to be honest, I feel like I shrink when I'm on there. There are updates on people's lives and sometimes I realize how little I do. But in a way, I don't mind how I live. I enjoy my life and I don't particularly like being in the sun. But I guess the grass looks greener on the other side, when I look at people's pictures of when others are having lots of fun.
Also, there's just a lot of negative feelings I get from Facebook. People post crass comments, make stupid arguments, say the most annoying things, and I can't help to roll my eyes at them. It sounds like I think I know what's best, and I know that's not true, but I can't help feeling that way. So a guy writes a poem. About women's breasts. Tags me. And he gets a comment about how it's "meaningful to his personality". To be upright, straight-out, blunt about it, it was the most insulting and disgusting thing ever. Not only because it should be considered sexual harassment, but his poem is not a poem. I actually don't even know what a poem is anymore. What is a poem?! It rhymed, and that's it. You expect me to applaud that? You think that because you can think of some rhymes you can call it a poem. I can't help but to feel so insulted as a writer. And how dare he tag me? It's about women's breasts and I just so happen to be a woman. Does he expect me to not look down upon his so called poem? I just don't understand how insensitive, gross, and tactless people can be.
Oh, and I just happened to have posted a poem yesterday night, not like anyone read/commented on it. I didn't tag anyone, so perhaps that's why. But who would I tag anyways? I want people to seek it, but I guess the joke's on me. Well, in a way, I'm kind of glad no one commented on it. Saying this in an obviously bad mood, I doubt anyone would appreciate my work properly. "This is awesome," kind of comments makes me want to slap people. Seriously. It makes me think, "Did you even understand anything? Really? Really? And if you did, all you could say what that? No reflecting thoughts? No condemning remarks? Nothing at all?" And I always draw the conclusion that no one understands my writing, perhaps because the people who read my junk are idiots or that I'm simply intelligible, not like I would know which one it is because no one tells me anything.
The only productive comments I get is from a guy who is a romantist. He feels like he's nothing without love, and searches for "the one" for him. When he falls "in love," he practically serenades to the girl everyday and writes love poems all dedicated to his one true love. He has no idea what the word "moderation" is. And when the girl dumps him because she think he's creepy with his obsession, then he gets extremely depressed. Then he writes self-pitying poems or longing poems and says how lost he is. From a personal, and totally biased view, I think he has no appreciation for life. He doesn't take things slow, he think he's being "strong" but he actually does stuff to get attention, and when he does get attention, he brushes it off. I used to honestly care/worry about him. But then I just couldn't stand it anymore. He has so many valuable friends around him, giving him advice and encouraging him to move on. All he says in response is, "I know. I know," but no. He simply doesn't get it at all, tosses the advice away, and makes the same mistakes all over again. And that makes me so mad how he doesn't seem to appreciate any of the help he gets, puts on the whole "solitary samurai" charade he likes to do, cries in the rain, posts pictures that suggests he's emo but he's not.
I went through a lot of crude in middle school and had no one. My sister was in college and my parents seemed like they could care less about me. I couldn't talk to my friends, they had so many problems of their own, how could I talk to them? I tried to be the one there for them and I made myself everyone's personal adviser. In a way, I was satisfied; I love helping people, and it made me realize how fortunate my life is. I don't have abusive parents, druggie siblings, or anything, I live a relatively normal life and I have many privileges. But in retrospect I think that I wasn't being strong at all and I let myself get drawn to a hole and became suicidal. So because of that, I let that affect how I see Mister Love, and I can't help but to hate him with a passion. How fortunate you are to have so many people care for you that you can easily toss them away so you can wallow in your own pity, I think to myself. I'm a bit jealous for not being more out-crying. Perhaps I wouldn't as dark-hearted as I am today . . .

my dad said it seems like I've grow up a bit . . .

what's happening to my parents . . . ?

my mom hugged me . . .

Behind the beautiful rose bush is a mat of tangled thorns no one loves or wants. Because the thorns hurt. And the blood from pricked fingers stain the flowers, the oh so beautiful flowers. So everyone cuts the thorns off. But there are too many thorns. And so everyone forgets the thorns are even there.

Or that's how I wish things were. I'm cursed to prick my fingers until there's no skin left to tarnish. Like the curse of the spinning wheel. I'll fall into a deep deep slumber. But there will be no prince to kiss me awake. And I'll sleep peacefully forever.

With no happy ending.

Oh how beautiful the roses are indeed. But the roses comes with thorns that no one loves. Yet almost everyone bears the thorns deeply embedded in their hands. They wrap their hands with bandages. And they bear their pain and their love together.

But I don't think I can do the same. I want to sleep and sleep. With my bandaged hands without thorns. But I'll have no prince to kiss me awake.

It would be best if I learned to bear the thorns. Yet that immortal, spoiled child inside still wants the best of both worlds.

For now I'll keep pricking my hands until I have no more skin to tarnish. Before choosing to bear the thorns or to sleep forever.

Appreciation

There are different forms of appreciation.
But can they be compared? The appreciation for life when you've live through years of poverty and without luxury. The appreciation after surviving through surgery. The appreciation after getting over depression.


"When I was 10 and first saw a radio, I thought there were people inside them."

"Back then, we thought a 9-inch television screen was impressive."

"We had to sit behind each other, because if you looked at the screen from the side, you couldn't see what was happening."

"In college, when it was about the time when China's women volleyball were at their peak, everyone crowded around the TV. There was only 20 inch TV for each dormitory. Six floors, twenty rooms, eight people per room. The first row, people sat on the floor, behind them, people sat on chairs. Then people stood. Then people stood on chairs. Then people stood on the table. The people stood on chairs on tables. All the way until people's heads were touching the ceiling."

"We were so proud when both of our children could go to college. You could only take the exam once. If you failed that one time, you could never go to college. Not in China."

it's time to move on

I hate it when my sister comes to visit.

It only reaffirms my loss.

Time, pain, loneliness, emptiness.

And I remember that there will be a time when she won't come back home. And there will be a time when I leave home. And there will be a time when I won't come back home. And there will be a time when my parents won't be home.

And after all the time has passed, when the pain has increased, when the loneliness peaks, and when the emptiness remains . . . I'll have a new home.

And I'll be happy, surrounded by the people I love and perhaps know then that they don't love me conditionally, perhaps they'll understand that I love them unconditionally, perhaps we'll be a family.

But then I'll lose more on the day my children will leave home. And one day, they won't come back home. And one day, I won't be home.

tsudere

The End

"THE END"

Some happy ending . . .




So sad . . .

So depressing . . .



"Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
And when again they open, the sun will rise.

Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you."

A beautiful song that just doesn't seem beautiful anymore when . . . everything . . . everything . . .

The Hunger Games

It's amazing how reading makes you go through the worst PMS ever. That applies to movies and music even.

Oh, how these words wrap their fingers around your neck and strangle you. Words that lift your hopes in their kind hands and toss you back into the Earth with such force, that it's only until after you get out of your daze, you think it's a b----.

So kind. So cruel. So beautiful. So hideous. So innocent. So destructive.

Words that burn themselves into your mind, spoken or read, forever haunting you, forever letting you see those words flash through your head all the time, forever seeing the images they provoke.

Is there no hope in this cruel world? If we replaced poor leaders with better ones, if we replaced the corrupt with the pure, if we ruled the world with our hands . . . oh the fragile tough thing would break the moment it touched our wretched hands.

Oh so cruel the world is! How sad life is! Why are humans so kind, so cruel, so beautiful, so hideous, so innocent, so destructive that we can't nourish anything with our hands but pain and sorrow and never ending torture.





By the way, The Hunger Games Trilogy. So. Good. I swear. It's so powerful. It has so much to it. It doesn't just have adventure, action, humor, romance, and drama, there's so much more. So much depth. It's so sweet. It's addicting and it's painful. It's a drug that stabs you in the heart, but deep down inside you think, I still want to continue, even if it's sad, even if it's cruel--hand me that box of tissues over there--even if I start screaming, "NO, WHY, YOU LOVED HER SO MUCH. YOU RISKED YOUR LIFE OVER AND OVER TO PROTECT HER. EVEN IN YOUR STAGE OF DELIRIUM, YOU CALLED OUT TO HER. OH MY GOD, IS THERE NO HOPE IN THIS BOOK? IN THIS WORLD? IS THIS HOW'S IT'S GOING TO END? NOW? NOW?!?! GIVE ME THE ENDING ALREADY, WAIT NO, I TAKE THAT BACK, NO, STOP IT!!!"

Yeah, it drives me crazy. AND I'M NOT EVEN DONE YET. Because I read so slow.

I should be doing AP homework. Actually, it's past 12, I'm SUPPOSED to be in bed. BUT, OH MY GOD, GOOD SERIES.

SO GENIUS, BUT SO PAINFUL. AGH, THIS BOOK IS DRIVING ME INSANE. IT'S INFURIATING, BUT SO. F---ING. GOOD.




Yeah, I'm sane. I promise.

So. I posted for the first time in . . . over a month. Yay me!

Yeah, I need to go to bed now.

READ THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY. YOU WON'T REGRET IT. . . . maybe you will, but ohhh my goood, it's worth the regret in my opinion.

Now I have to crawl up in bed and cry because this book is just SO SAD. Oh, I hope for a happy ending . . .

Blurred Vision

Ache.

Sometimes you forget to shut up.

And sometimes you forget to be patient.

And sometimes you forget to think.

Ache.

You try to play peace but instead you light the fire that the wind blows. Then the entire village is burning.

And sometimes you feel like you should have done something different.

And sometimes you wonder if you tremble when you're cold or when you're sad.

Ache.

Elephants move in herds, hyenas in packs, sheep in flocks, fish in schools, life in pieces, and hearts in shards.

Ache.

Life's not that bittersweet. It's just bitter. Really bitter. So bitter you think it's sweet. Like when you touch something really hot, you get confused if it's really hot or if it's really cold until it starts burning. Burning on your tongue. Even when you burn sugar it turns all black and disgusting. You pour in more sugar to make the coffee sweet.

All you get is black coffee.

D--- the coffee.

Rift

You start to wonder at some point, what's real and what's imaginary?

And the battle is all in your mind about your mind. First you think about your dreams, then your conscious thoughts, and then the world all together.

"I wonder," you say to yourself, "is this how I really feel? Or is it not? Do I want this? Perhaps I don't. What is real?"

Befuddled, you run around in circles in your own dreams. You scream out loud, "What is real? What do I believe? What do I trust?"

You realize you've been running on nothing but black emptiness and you start falling.

You fall and fall, and while turning in the air you continue to think, "What? What? What?"

You wake up as if you've landed roughly on your mattress.
You stand up, unsettled, but you walk towards the door. You stop to look in a mirror and laugh at your bed hair before trudging off to the bathroom to wash up and greet the beautiful day.




All in your mind about your mind. Your dreams, your thoughts, and the world.

Befuddled dreams. What is real? What do I believe? What do I trust?

You fall and you think, "What?"

You stop to look at the beautiful day.

And then you understand.

The person who frustrates us the most is, perhaps, nobody but ourselves.

Perhaps the thing we deathly fear has been waiting for someone to understand it.

Fun and Food, the Best Combination

Mood: good, but also tired
Currently: eating strawberries
Listening to: Suffocate --Elsa Chapman

My friends, Michelle Pang and Hee Soo Kim went to Olive Garden with me today. In order to conserve gasoline, Michelle's mom drove me and Hee Soo.

Michelle ate chicken with mashed potatoes. Hee Soo ate noodles with seafood. I ate the "Tour of Italy," a dish with some noodles, some lasagna, and chicken. It was very delicious, but it was one thousand four hundred fifty calories! I need to choose healthier foods and eat less . . . or I will become fat. ):

After the meal, we went to the mall, because it was across the street. We went to Forever 21 to look at clothing. Then Hee Soo suggested we play a game. In ten minutes, we needed to find clothing for another person to wear. Hee Soo chose clothing for me, but she is very crazy and gave me interesting clothes. I put on a sequin shirt, a very colorful miniskirt, a blue jacket, and a very colorful vest.

We stayed there until 4:30, but Hee Soo and Michelle didn't by anything. On the other hand, I bought a shirt with a picture of a women wearing a red dress.

-insert picture here-
The shirt design. I think it is pretty. (:

Hee Soo needed to leave early, so my mother drove me and Michelle to our homes.

Today was a very fun day! (: But I am tired, and I still need to do history homework. I do not want to do it . . .

Diversión y Comida, El Mejor Combinación

humor: estoy bien, pero estoy cansada también

ahora: como las fresas

estoy escuchando: Asfixiar (Suffocate) –Elsa Chapman

Mis amigas, Michelle Pang y Hee Soo Kim, fueron al restaurante de Olive Garden conmigo hoy. Para conserva gasolina, la madre de Michelle condujo mí y Hee Soo.

Michelle comó el pollo con pure de patatas. Hee Soo comó los fideos con mariscos. Yo comí el “Tour de Italiano”, un plato con algunos los fideos, alguna la lasaña, y el pollo. Lo fue muy delicioso, pero, ¡fue mil cuatrocientos cincuenta calorías! Necesito escoger más saludables comidas y como menos . . . o me hago gorda. ):

Después de la comida, nosotros fuimos al centro comercial, porque lo fue al otro lado de la calle. Fuimos a la tienda Siempre Veintiuno (Forever 21) para mirar la ropa. Entonces, Hee Soo sugerió nosotros jugar un partido. En diez minutos, nosotros necesitamos encontrar la ropa para la otra persona llevar. Hee Soo escogió la ropa para mí, pero ella es muy loca y dio mí ropa interesante. Me puse una camiseta lentejuela, una minifalda con muchos colores, una chaqueta azul, y un chaleco con muchos colores.

Nosotros nos quedamos allí hasta a las cuatro y media, pero Hee Soo y Michelle no compraron nada. Por otro mano, yo compré una camisa con un foto de una mujer se lleva un vestido rojo.

El diseño de mi camisa. Yo lo pienso es bonito. (:

Hee Soo necesitó salir temprano, entonces mi madre condujo mí y Michelle que nuestras casas.

¡Hoy fue una día muy divertida! (: Pero estoy cansada, y necesito hacer mi tarea de historia todavía. No quiero hacerla . . .

IN SPANISH! (or not)

[Creating a blog for my Spanish class, but it's on this weird kidsblog.org site where only people in my Spanish teacher's classes can look at each other's blog--since we have to comment on people's blogs, and it's just easier with everyone's blog kind of connected.
Anyhow, translation time! Notice all my grammar fails in Spanish AND English! Woot, woot!]

An Interesting New Project

Mood: excited
Currently: eating chips
Listening to: The Flying Cat --The Band (?) (a very interesting song [and lyrics] hahaha)

Hi! If you don't know who I am, my name is Jenny Sheng--which the title of my blog says--and I am in Mrs. Marcroft's sixth period Spanish class. In the future, I want to make a living as a writer, because I am creative and I like to write stories, but my English and Spanish grammar is bad. ):

-insert picture here-
At the Exploratorium in San Francisco. Left: my sister, Joy (22 years old) // Center: me // Right: my sister's boyfriend, Matt (23 years old)

Today my Spanish class received two new projects. One project is this, a blog. I am excited because I like writing a lot! Also, I have an English blog and, in my opinion, writing a blog is very, very fun! I try to write in my blog frequently, but I have a lot of homework almost every day so I can't write every day. However, I hope I can write in my Spanish blog everyday to practice my Spanish before the final exams.

A Typical Saturday

Mood: excited (today too!)
Currently: eating strawberries
Listening to: [my fail translation of] Tell Yourself --Clazziquai (a Korean song)

At nine a.m. I went to Chinese class until twelve p.m. Between those three hours, my class learned about movies, something I learned in Spanish too! It is very interesting to learn vocabulary in different languages.

When it was twelve fifteen I ate spaghetti for lunch, because I like Italian food. The truth is, I prefer Italian food more than Chinese food. In my opinion, Chinese food tastes plain if you eat it every day. But I think Italian food is very, very tasty! Spaghetti with tomato sauce, meat, and Parmesan cheese is very delicious. My favorite food is lasagna, but it is not healthy so I can eat it once in a while.

At two to four p.m., I went to art class. I started a drawing of a woman to learn how to draw the body. But the woman is not wearing clothes so it is a little awkward.

-insert picture here-
Most recent drawing (I drew her scary ): )

The rest of my day is not interesting, but, tomorrow at eleven thirty I am going to go to the restaurant Olive Garden to eat lunch with my friends. More information tomorrow!

¡EN ESPAÑOL!

"Un Interesante Proyecto Nuevo" -El abril de treinta

humor: estoy emocionada

ahora: como las papitas

estoy escuchando: El Gato Volador –El Chombo (una canción [y poema] es muy interesante, jajaja)

¡Hola! Si tú no conoces mí, me llamo Jenny Sheng—cual el título de mi blog dice—y yo soy en la clase de español período seis de Señora Marcroft. En el futuro quiero ganarme la vida como una escritora, porque soy creativa y me gusta escribir las historias, pero mi gramática de íngles y español es mal. ):

Al Exploratorium de San Francisco. Izquierdo: mi hermana, Joy (tiene veintidós años) // Centro: mí // Derecho: el novio de mi hermana, Matt (tiene veintitrés años)

Hoy mi clase de español recibo dos proyectos nuevos. Un proyecto es este, un blog. ¡Estoy muy emocionada porque me gusta escribir mucho! También, yo tengo un blog de ingles y, en mi opinión, escribir un blog es divertidísima. Yo intento escribir en mi blog frecuentemente, pero yo tengo muchas tareas casi todas días entonces no puedo escribir cadas días. Sin embargo, ojalá que pueda escribir en mi blog de español todas días practicar mi español antes de exámenes finales.

"Un Sábado Típico" -El mayo de primero

humor: estoy emocionada (¡hoy también!)

ahora: como las fresas

estoy escuchando: Te Contra (Tell Yourself) –Clazziquai (una canción de coreano)

A las nueve de la mañana yo fui a la clase de chino hasta a las doce de la tarde. Entre esas tres horas mi clase aprenda sobre las películas, ¡algo yo aprende en español también! Es muy interesante aprender vocabulario en diferentes idiomas.

Cuando las doce y cuatro yo almorcé los espaguetis, porque me gusta la comida italiano. La verdad es yo prefiero más la comida italiano que la comida chino. En mi opinión la comida chino proba lisa si comes todas días. ¡Pero yo pienso la comida italiano es sabrosísima! Los espaguetis con la salsa de tomate, carne, y queso parmesano es muy delicioso. Mi comida favorite es lasaña, pero la no es saludable entonces la puedo comer de vez en cuando.

A las dos hasta a las cuatro de la tarde, fui a la clase de arte. Hoy empecé dibujo una mujer aprender como que dibuja el cuerpo. Pero la mujer no lleva la ropa entonces un poco embarazoso.

Más reciente dibujo (yo dibuje ella sepantosa ): )

La resta de mi día, no es interesante, pero, mañana a las once y media yo voy a ir al restaurante de Olive Garden comer almorzar con mis amigas. ¡Más información mañana!

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