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.

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.

Come Down Now . . .

Mood: happy; nostalgic; sad
Currently: remembering the simple times
Listening to: Such Great Heights --The Postal Service

Darkness lay all around
And I lay alone
Surrounded in a comforting world.

I watched your shadows pass by,
Walking to and fro,
They go.

Listen to my silent cry,
Hear my quiet voice
From beneath the breaking waves.
Listen to these silent words
Screaming frantically for you.

I watched your shadows pass by,
Walking to and fro,
They go.

Footsteps ceased,
Lights went off,
And silence screamed at me.

I used to watch your shadows pass by,
Walking to and fro,
They go.

I closed my eyes
And floated away
From that comforting world.
I went away,
On a trip,
And whispered "goodnight" to myself.

Pocket of Secrets

Mood: happy; neutral
Currently: watching Nabari No Ou Episode 10
Listening to: (watching) Nabari No Ou Episode 10

"There are three kinds of secrets. Something that you hide at the bottom of your heart because you don't want it to be mentioned. Something that you can't mention even if you want to. Something that you hope someone asks about even though you're hiding it." Nabari No Ou Episode 10

Dude, I have like, no homework today. Well, except for math, but still. This is one of those rare moments in my life where I will have this little homework, I need to celebrate or something. And catch up on my sleep. Oh my goodness, with all this free time, I suddenly want to do everything. I want to write, I want to read, I want to run, I want to sing, I want to dance, I want to play video games, I want to draw, I want to paint, I want to laugh with my stuffed animals, I want to try playing the piano again, I want to dig up my old flute and try to play a few notes, I want to play board games and chess with myself, I want to sit on the bench in my backyard and sip hot chocolate while getting startled by passing-by bugs, I want to climb up a tree and pretend I have a tree house as my secret getaway, I want to sit on the swing of the fruit tree in our front yard before it was cut down, I want to play Yu-Gi-Yo with the neighborhood kids on the cement that paved over what used to be our front yard, I want to play handball against my garage, I want to chase stray cats while barking as if I were a dog, I want to sit in my room in the dark with my blanket hanging above my head and a flashlight as a campfire as eat those Korean chocolate mushroom snacks with my sister, I want to do it all over again, just for the heck of it. But such hopes never come true. I can only close my eyes and think, "Ahaha, yeah, those were great times. It was nice to live in ignorance and bliss. Feeling miserable over the silliest things and getting over it for no reason at all."

This girl in my journalism class was complaining to the peer counselor in our class about the most interesting person I've yet to hear about. This person is probably a genius, one who has topped the intelligence of my sister. "She's a valedictorian of Whitney high school, takes hard classes (honors and APs and such), AND volunteered in India for a while, AND volunteered at shelters, AND (she listed a huge list of things, I swear), AND you know what? She has time to go shopping and she has such great style. I swear, she is the best looking nerd you will ever see. I envy her so much, I mean, I dress like a hobo, I'm struggling to get my 'A's. Yet she has gotten 4.0's every year, and I've known her all my life. God, I just don't understand how there people who can do that stuff. And you know, I'm so freakin' worried about college, I really want to go to Berkeley, but I don't do anything. And I don't even blame my parents, they've done everything to help me. Like this one time, you know how my thing is singing right? So my mom made me join this one contest thing and I would have probably gotten first place if I wasn't so stubborn and say, no I don't want to. And now that I look back, that would have looked so good on my application, because you know, no one ever does that stuff. Ugh, and I also went into the Cerritos (insert whatever she said, I don't remember) Talent Show thing and won first place for four years, but then I just stopped. Ugggh. I've s----ed myself over."
It was interesting, secretly smiling to myself. How strange. I have the strangest and smallest hope that I would also be able to go to Berkeley, but listening to this girl crack at how she thinks she won't make it into Berkeley when, as far as I know, has done more than I have. Makes me wonder, if she doesn't make it, I wonder what will happen to me. I didn't have to think about it. A lot of people in journalism has the dream of going to Berkeley, and yet again, I smile to myself quietly. In regards to overall grades, I'm probably in the 26th place among the 28 students. And as I don't try and as I silently listen to these people tear their hearts out at the thought of not making it into Berkeley, I can't help but to smile. Why? It's fascinating to watch my own life, full of opportunities, pass me by, as if I were watching my own life from a third-person's point of view.
Life, so fleeting, but I have little desire to lift my heavy feet and catch it. But if I say "little desire", does this mean I still want to make an effort to make what's disappearing in the distance mine? Heh, I thought of an interesting metaphor. You know how some Japanese (?) have like a sort of ramp with running water on it, then they put soba (?) at the top, and the noodles run down with the water, and you have to catch it in order to eat it. It's kind of like that. To eat, you must catch it, if you don't act, the chance will either float away or someone else will take it.

Daisy Bomb

Mood: happy; neutral; thoughtful
Currently: getting distracted from my mountain of history homework
Listening to: El Manana --Gorillaz

I finally went back to reading Elsewhere by Gabrielle Zevin and it's very interesting. It gives dying a whole different aspect, I kind of thought of the same idea, which intrigued me even more. Basically it's about this girl who dies at fifteen who then she goes to Elsewhere (Heaven, as we know it), only to learn that she was going to grow younger until she was back to being a baby, where she would then be sent back to Earth to be born. While reading, I felt something. I wasn't depressed reading about a girl who felt like she had so many things left she wanted to do back on Earth. But I wasn't too sure what emotion I had that would have made sense. I found an interesting part.

"'Were you happy?' asks Aldous.
Liz thinks about Aldous's question. 'Why do you want to know?'
'Don't worry. It's not a test. It's just something I like to ask all my advisees.'
In truth, she hadn't put much thought into whether she was happy before. She supposed that since she never thought about it, she must have been happy. People who are happy don't really need to ask themsleve if they are happy or not, do that? They just are happy, she thinks.
'I suppose I must have been happy,' Liz says. And as soon as she says it, she knows it's true. One silly errant teardrop runs out of the corner of her eye. Liz quickly brushes it away. A second tear follows, and then a third, and it isn't long before she finds she is crying."

And as I read that, I didn't feel depressed, it was more like mystified. I wondered if it was just the individual, the writer, or us. As far as I know, I've only met people who asked themselves, who've sometimes asked me if they were really happy--as if I had a response for them, especially when they didn't have a response for themself. Are there really just individuals on Earth who've never really thought of themself as unhappy or particularlly miserable, or was that just the author's doing? Or maybe, is it just us? Do we think we don't have a happy life or that we are unfortunate? Are we expecting too much out of "happiness"? Do we think too much about what happiness is and want more than we should? Or is it that life is just what it is? Unfair, cruel, mean, harsh, tough, and gives us more suffering than it gives us joy? I wonder.
I want to be Daisy.

Mute Ears Deaf Speech

Mood: happy; tired
Currently: staring at homework
Listening to: hum of the laptop

It's pretty naive for me to say that I almost always think that people are happy all the time, up until the point they show me that face of anguish. Today in journalism, a girl who almost always got top marks on her math tests--I know that because she's in my class--and overall, based on her participation in class, she seemed like one of the really smart people. I found it hard to believe, hearing her confide in someone how she felt so dumb in journalism. Although I shouldn't eavesdrop when others are talking about such person feelings, or rather, I shouldn't at all, but I couldn't help but to want to listen. She was talking to a girl in our class who joined the Peer Counselors program, saying how she felt like she didn't belong in journalism because she was too dumb to be taking the class. Everyday, she would have fun, but also feel miserable, thinking, I don't belong in this class. Feeling conflicted, she asked if she should take journalism next year. She's a bit like me, we both get pretty bad grades on our articles and such, so she thought, "If I reapply next year, and I get cut, I'm going to spend the rest of the year feeling like a complete idiot. If I make it, I'm going to go through all this all over again. But if I quit, it's going to be just like swim. I joined this class because I'm interested in journalism, I like writing, but I don't want to take this class if I'm going to just keep thinking that I don't belong here. But I also don't want to quit and feel like some kind of loser who can't keep up with her passions." The peer counselor asked her questions calmly, and even though she was staring at the computer screen, she dedicated her full attention to the conflicted girl. She told her, "From my point of view, well, it's pretty biased since I hate journalism, but it's not like not taking journalism again next year will conflict with anything, even if you decide to pursue journalism as a career. I mean, being in this class for like, just one year is great and all, it gives you foresight and all, but it won't really drag you down if you don't join again, you know?" The girl sighed and said that she was going to think about it for a while longer. The peer counselor nodded and encouraged her to do so, then they briefly made arrangements to talk some other time around school. It was already snack when I decided to give up at my task at hand, feeling like find the right font, size, and color of the magazine titles were too much of a hassle for me today. When I was about to stand up, another girl approached the peer counselor and started to talk about, then said something about being stressed out about college. The peer counselor said, "This again? You're a junior, why are you thinking about this stuff so much?" Then the girl said, "But I should be! Last year, I didn't worry about college at all, but I should have." She went off into further details as I walked away. And a "you learn something new everyday" moment was that everyone has been through some rough times, no matter who they are or how they act at school or even just in front of you. Another one, a more specific one, is that peer counselors are admirable. People go up to them and talk to them about their feelings and their problems and you know, that's great. I think that's just really admirable.
And a rude awakening (ripped of Madison Finn, sorry) today was from what a friend told me. "People just don't seem to really care. Why is it that I listen to their problems, but they can't even listen to mine?" There really just are people who you can't confide to because they just don't listen, talking to them about your troubles is like a waste of breath, and although saying it all out gets it off your chest, your words feel like it sits on top of your heart, after mustering all that effort to say what you wanted to say, and that person asks, "what did you say?" Of course, I knew that there were people like that, but ignorantly thought that they were simply inconsiderate about how others feel. However, in reality, it's possible it's the other way around. Everyone is unfortunate, but some people are faced with worst problems than others. Perhaps we try to talk about our problems to those extremely troubled souls when they have enough to think about already. If that person's family has issues such as financial struggle and it's hard to guess what's going to become of them, I don't feel like that person will have the attention span big enough to listen to someone else complain about their bad grades. Well, it doesn't even have to be a big problem in that person's life, maybe even small conflicts distract their minds with such unsettled thoughts that they can't focus on what other people are saying. Maybe there really are people who couldn't care less about others' problems, but there's always a special case. But we can never assume we know people based on the person you see in front of. Sometimes we can't even assume we understand people even after hearing them.

Puzzle Pieces

Mood: happy; neutral
Currently: mulling over Spanish script
Listening to: Lost My Pieces --Toradora OST

"'When someone else thinks that they know me and act like they do. I hate that! It p---es me off! Why don't you understand?!'
'Do you want or not want people to understand you?!'
'I don't know! No one will know what I'm thinking! Because . . . because, I don't even know myself.'" Toradora Episode 8

That's totally me right there, and I suspect quite a lot of others are like that, too. When people understand us, we're happy, because obviously, we want to be understood. It makes us feel like we can relate with them, giving a sense of belonging.

People want to belong somewhere.

On the other hand, when people try to guess what you're feeling, and when it's wrong, you get mad. For some reason it's frustrating that people don't understand you and can't be able to tell how you're feeling all the time, in any situation. Then all of the sudden, we start to rant at either how they can't understand and to mind their own business, or we claim that they can never understand us and they never did at all. Maybe what we want is perfection.

Perfection that doesn't exist.

But because we are selfish and conceited, we expect things to come out okay, everything is going to be okay, and in the end, everything will be perfect.

Sometimes people just need to hear, "Everything is going to be okay." Even if it's a lie.

"Everything looks perfect from far away." Such Great Heights --The Postal Service

"Everything Looks Perfect from Far Away" --Thomas Hawk [Flickr]

Arrows Pointing in Every Direction

Mood: happy; not neutral
Currently: doing Chinese homework and diving deep into thought
Listening to: Getting Away with Murder --Papa Roach

It's amazing at how much you can relate to "you learn something new everyday." And today, it was more like a deep recognition for the obvious. Today was a small Octagon event, making posters for the cream puff sale that will take place on open house. So I was with Hee Soo and we went to Heritage after we were done. After bugging the track people while they were playing capture the flag, Hee Soo and I sat down, talking for a bit. At first, it started with a random white bunny that was running about, with children chasing it. Then there was a hummingbird Hee Soo saw that I had mistaken for a large beetle. And finally, a quiet spider, perhaps building its new home over the tables. Hee Soo and I started to float off into the past, talking about the good times of childhood and the irony of growing up. When you're a child, you tend to look towards the future, thinking, "I can't wait to drive," or "I'll be able to get my own house," or just something like that. Regardless, the common child, I believe, is usually anticipating on growing up. But as Hee Soo said, "it's not all that glamorous." And as high schoolers, we thought back to elementary school, like the time you first go on the slide, uncertain, afraid, but after trying it, it's fun, you try weird stunts like racing up the slide before sliding down again. Times when we'd pretended the woodchips in the school playground were lava, and you had to climb on the equipment from one end to another. Times when you collected woodchips and stacked them in the grass, picking yellow flowers, imaging them as your food supply as you sat next to a small fire. Yeah. Those were great times. Times when we have always wanted to be where we are now, and now we wish in vain that we could go back to those times. And that reminded me of something my sister said. "In high school, you think that elementary and middle school were the best times of your life. In college, you think it was high school, but when you're in grad school, you think college was the best." Most of us look either behind us, or look at what's ahead of us, but who really looks down at the floor they tread on? Who looks up and to the sides, appreciating or hating their surroundings?

Ahaha, funny thing that I say that about that. In math today, we took a quiz that was practically a test, and this one guy was suspected of cheating. Of course, our math teacher is really lenient (a bit too much) and told him to keep his eyes on his test. Then Travis, just this one junior in our class, said he had a teacher who said, this was really genius, "You can look up for inspiration, you can look down in desperation, but you can never look side-to-side for information." Absolutely genius, isn't it?! That totally made my day right there. My math teacher now wants a banner that says that hanging in front of the classroom. Ahaha.

"It's the small things in life that matters, we just never pay attention to them." --JJS

Well, there's that and then something that complexes me. Out of experience and partially by my own nature, I have a tendency to avoid getting involved in things that doesn't directly effect me or causes me to face great changes. As a result, it seems to me that I've been "letting the people who are wrong always win." And I wonder, is this right? The obvious answer is, no, it isn't. But what in the world is "right"? Why must it be this way? But more importantly, is it improper of me to not take action? Will I be one of those people who don't stand up for something, therefore, no change is ever made, and thus, nothing changes. Life will continue with people living in an age of darkness. But you know, there are those people who you can just categorize as a moron. Neither logic, reason, scolds, nor lectures can convince them that they are wrong, throwing back responses that make no sense at all, and I wonder if it wrong to avoid getting into a bad situation by not trying to correct them, even if their behavior threatens others' safety? I don't know, because it seems like a waste of time and breath to try correcting these people you know won't change. Why get into arguments, why fight, and why make enemies? Perhaps because these people were enemies from the very beginning . . .
Wonders beyond wonders, and each significance different from another.

Sixteen Going On Seventeen

Mood: happy; neutral
Currently: eating apples while mulling over my newspaper article
Listening to: the humming of the laptop; the distant ramble of the radio

If people were reborn every year on the same day and time as the first time they were created, I suppose I would have been born for the sixteenth time on February 21, [approximately] 11:20AM.
I've been wondering for a while, what am I going to be like as I get older? Will I become more mature? Will I be more responsible? Will I look more like my mother and sister? Will my morals and beliefs change?
There was a time in elementary school where I was reading a Chinese Mashimaro comic book we got randomly on vacation, and there was a section in English. And so, I decided to read that part outloud. But I accidentally said the s-word as a result. With my sister sitting behind me at her desk, she exclaimed that I shouldn't say that word. Thus my promise with my sister that I wouldn't curse was born. However, it was actually her who has grown up to curse. Just an example of people and their fickle morals. Or perhaps, that was never a boundary for her, the censoring of vulgar words, but just an expectation for me . . .

Thank the Real Superstars

Mood: happy; thoughtful
Currently: busy, but I still felt like I had to come here record my random ponderings
Listening to: What Hurts the Most --Rascal Flatts

Goodness me, I've been so busy this week, it's not even funny. I'm looking forward to the weekend so much, but that joy has been killed when I realize that I have Chinese and art class still on Saturday. At least I plan to spend a quiet day on Sunday. Anyhow, back to my purpose here.
I was reading the article in my English textbook for homework when it mentioned the rosy periwinkle found in Madagascar, and it can be used to create medicine that seems to effectively fight off blood cancers. The article was about how we should try to preserve wildlife and such, then a line said, "Cancer specialists believe there could be at least another ten tropical forest plants with capacity to generate similar superstar drugs against other forms of cancer--provided the scientist can get them before the chainsaw of devastates their habitats." I thought about it a little, and wondered if scientists were really in tropical forests now looking for these medical plants. If there are, I wonder if the search is dangerous, in that insecure forest. Are they protected from poisonous animals and plants? Is the terrain difficult to travel on? Is there anything in that forest that can cause these scientists to extract some sort of disease? I don't really know if those brief videos that included tropical forests I've watched in history were recent or not. Actually, I'm not even sure if it really took place in a tropical forest at all. Regardless, I was just curious about the situation. Suppose if those scientists were facing dangers in that forest, looking for miraculous plants, what do they have in mind? Is it fame? Or is it the well-being of mankind? And if it were for mankind, how much would we appreciate their efforts? We'll take the medicine and live on. As time goes on, perhaps if we find some way to cure and prevent cancer some way some how, we won't think that it's so serious anymore. The people of the future will get a dulled feeling of appreciation for those brave scientists because cancer doesn't feel as scary to them with a cure by their sides. And maybe those people will take the medicine and live carelessly even after they are cured, without the appreciation for life or giving thanks to those scientists who labored over the difficult task of discovering and creating medicine for us. The world is waiting for those scientists. The rest of the world full of people who either didn't have enough skill to become a scientist, people who didn't have the passion to become a scientist, and people who didn't want the bothersome task of being a scientist. People are waiting for scientists. Waiting to take the things they have been given with little intention of giving back.

"I cried while wondering, 'if I protect them, who will protect me?'" --

Life's Not a Black Hole

Mood: happy; moody
Currently: remembering why I've used to hate going to sleep
Listening to: Supermassive Black Hole --Muse

Anything in life can be considered a "waste of time" or "stupid".
"Playing that game is a waste of time, it's so stupid." Since when did playing a game have some sort of special and significant meaning behind it? Heck, what is "significant" and what's not a "waste of time" anyways? Reading a book? Why is it so special? Because it makes us "smarter"? Is it a more productive way of using our time because we think more while processing words and attempting to find a deeper meaning behind them? What's the point in being "smart"? We have more knowledge, have better debate support, sharper comebacks, snottier remarks, and know what to do in certain situations? Depressing thought or perhaps not, sometimes I don't know what's so special about living. I breath and see. I can taste things, I can feel things physically and mentally. Life is a miracle I don't know why bothers happening sometimes. I'm not depressed, nor do I feel like my life is meaningless, I honestly don't understand why.
And my questions are ones that can't be explained through facts, perhaps, but the cliche "What's the meaning of life?" question rolls in here. To get a good education and find a nice job? What's the point of learning? To live a better future? And what's that to accomplish? Raise a family and create a new generation to wander about life? Is it to be safer? Accidents happen all the time, and the people who don't learn will cause those accidents, and no matter how safe we proceed, things we don't see will hit us. To not hurt others? Physically or mentally, we'll always continue hurting others. A special moment we have, it may end up hurting others. A careless remark one makes can drive another into winding depression. Our human nature will always make us hurt each other and we can't avoid it. We can only hope we can realize we wronged another and apologize for our actions.
Honestly, thinking just makes my head spin, and sadly enough, I shouldn't even be talking about any of this. What do I know? I'm on the crossroad in which the train is going to hit 16. I'm too young to talk about topics as broad as human nature and life since, in reality, I don't know anything at all. I suppose arrogance should have a limit.

"'A nosebleed is the perspiration of the heart!' [Toradora episode 3] . . . 'Crying is a nosebleed from the heart.' . . . 'But I've realized something. If you trip while running down a hallway, you'll get a nosebleed. If you trip in life, you cry.'
'Are you stupid? It's still too early for us to be talking about life. From now on, for 10 years, for 20 years, for 60 years, life will go on.' [Toradora episode 24]"


Hanging by a Moment. Darkness Eyes. Aozora no Namida. Numb. Suffocate.

Heart Beat, Heat Beat, Cold Beat

Mood: happy; depressed; confused; feeling like I need to cry
Currently: doing homework; trying to figure out how to change
Listening to: Suffocate --Elsa Chapman

I need to grow a heart that won't stop beating.

Happiness

Mood: happy; thoughtful
Currently: watching Toradora episode 23
Listening to: (Toradora episode 23)

"I believe in you, Taiga. I don't think you're the kind of person to blame others for your inability to go after what you want! Or are you someone like that?!"
"That's not it . . . I just want you to be happy. I just want the Minorin I love to be happy."
"Cut it out! My happiness can only be . . . can only be made with my own hands! My happiness doesn't depend on anyone but me!"

Sponges Not Under the Sea

Mood: happy; confused; a bit down
Currently: watching Toradora episode 21
Listening to: (Toradora episode 21)

Don't you ever have those days where you just lie back and wonder about those cliche questions? "What's the meaning of life?", "Who am I?", "Why is there so much suffering in the world?"

[spoiler if you ever plan on reading/watching Toradora]
"I'm just saying it to spite you because it seems you don't really care. Takasu-kun is interested in you, not Taiga, but you rejected him. I think you're just pretending to be an airhead in order to forget about it. You're probably thinking, 'Let's just be friends forever.'"
"When did you see me pretending that nothing has happened? Did you really see it? What do you know about me? Can you look into my heart? Besides, this has nothing to do with you."
"I see, so it has nothing to do with me . . . Oh! I see! So your sense of guilt is nothing too, right? I thought you at least had some feelings for Takasu-kun. You just thought you'd feel guilty about someone, so you rejected him. Now I see. You rejected him simply because you don't like him. I'll tell him about it tomorrow then. Don't you think it'd be kinder to just end it now than to leave him half-dead?"
"Do whatever you want."
"Eeeh, then should I go now?"
"I SAID, DO WHAT YOU WANT!"
"Tsh . . . you're really good at faking."

The first time I wanted to kill myself was the fifth grade when I realized I couldn't play the flute anymore. My parents wouldn't let me quit until I went into middle school, so every morning during practice I pretended to play, holding the instrument up to my mouth and pressing the keys. But I constantly lived in the fear that I'd be found out, that the band director would find out and kick me out. I wouldn't know what to tell my parents. I desperately began to practice, but the more I practiced, the worse I got. The more desperately I practiced, the more pathetic I felt. I wanted to tell someone, but Stephanie had transferred schools and I was too ashamed to confide in Michelle who could skillfully play as the only trombonist in the band. I was too ashamed to talk to my parents or my sister about it. The people who would have known what I should have done I didn't trust. One day after marching band practice, I thought to myself, "Ahhh, I want to just go into the bathroom and kill myself." I was pathetic. I had to fake through the city parade, too, and, for the dumbest moment, I felt proud of myself at the end of it. I thought to myself, why am I proud? The people being praised are not me. The person who's being praised here isn't real, the person being praised is nothing like what they say, the person being praised shouldn't be me. But then two year passed by and I kept my secret to myself. The day before the first day of middle school, I sat in the shower, praying to no one, and wondering if I sat there long enough, if all my sins and sense of guilt would wash away with the water. Middle school passed with mild depression, but minimal moments where I honestly wanted to die. High school came and blew up a bomb. I felt like I was drowning when my boyfriend saved me . . .
I find it strange how when I got out of my self-absorbency that I began to notice how others around me were suffering more than I was. People who are constantly in pain, people who are depressed, people who are pretending to be happy, people who are living in denial in order to get by, people who want to die, and people who are suffering enough to die. And it's sad that I don't know what to do, or what to say to them. What am I supposed to say to the people who I used to think like? What was the reason that made me change for the better? And how can I give that reason to others to use?
The people who cry don't get the help they need, the people who hold in their feelings don't get the fact that they need help recognized. In the end, no one can be helped then I suppose. I wish I could be a sponge. Suck away everyone's sufferings and make them mine. But then squeeze out the water. But if I did that, the water would have to go to someone, somehow? Even if the water were to be evaporated, it'd rain, and someone would have to take the pain.
"Why is there so much suffering in the world?"

Blabbering

Mood: happy; confused
Currently: having a mild migraine
Listening to: Silky Heart --Yui Horie [Toradora OP2]

So I just finished skimming through everyone's blogs, and my head's like, wooosh. Argh, my head . . . I don't even think I got half of that information down . . . (kind of pointless for me to read them in the first place then?!)

So. I'm going to the movies with Jennie later at Towne Center. I wonder why she decided to invite me all of the sudden. Perhaps it was due to our reunion at Towne Center on Friday?! Regardless, I'm happy. I haven't seen her since last year (disregarding yesterday, that is). Except there are going to be a lot of people from her school that I don't know, so it may be a tad awkward. Oh well, I'm sure they're nice people since they're friends with Jennie! Sarah's going to be there, so at least I won't be the only "outsider" there?

You know, I really like Hershey's Cookies'n'Cream candy bars. Well, I wouldn't like to eat massive quantities, but they're nice to eat now and then. I'm currently eating those mini ones. They're delicious, though I think they aren't helping my headache. I should stop.

Violet Viola

Mood: happy; thoughtful
Currently: eating; watching Toradora episode 16
Listening to: Vanilla Salt --Yui Horie

"'The thing you wish for the most is something you'll never get.' When I came to understand that, I didn't know what to do. At that time, Kitamura-kun smiled and held my hand. He's such a kind person. I can't show him how grateful I am by a simple 'thank you.' I understand the one he likes isn't me, however, I want to do what I can for him. Just like he did for me."
"Kanou Sumire! Am I doing something wrong? Fight me!"
"I don't understand who's wrong and who isn't. All I know is . . . I can't stop moving forward!"

One of my favorite parts in the Toradora series.
--
SUMIRE --Japanese;English-- Viola Mandshurica (AKA Fuji Dawn)

Violent
Violet
Blossom,
Bloom,
Let your
Bold
Bud
Bloom.

Release your
Vicious
Vice,
Vexing
Bind,
Suffocating
Sufferings,
And Malignant
Melancholy.

Violent
Viola
Blossom,
Bloom,
Be Purged
Be Purified.

Sumire.

Open the Door

Mood: happy; thoughtful
Currently: staring at my chemistry homework
Listening to: Pre-Parade --Kie Kugimiya, Eri Kitamura, Yui Horie

When I get my own house, I want the kitchen to be facing the direction where the sun will peek past the patio roof and make the sink faucet sparkle. And if I put a small plant there, its translucent leaves will shine a light green. My bedroom will face the East so the sun will beckon me to awaken for the day when my alarm fails to make me rise. The sunlight will shower onto the green carpet the shade of the grass. I'll glare against the garish light and shut the blue curtain so that the light will shine through it softly, making the blue a beautiful shade. I'll have a study room where I can write my stories on the computer. Next to my desk will be a sofa for me to muse on or take a quick nap or just to relax on. I'll paint on the walls the scenes of my story.

Pa-Pa-Paranoia

Mood: happy; paranoid(?)
Currently: suddenly bewildered by a chill
Listening to: silence (minus the static of the speakers, humming of the computer, the ticking of the clock, and the tapping keys as I type)

I felt a very disturbing chill after telling my friends "bye" on AIM. For a very strange, yet unknown, reason, I felt like it was the last one we'd exchange. It was like something was going to happen. What? I do not know. I don't particularly believe in magic, supernatural abilities, or a sixth sense, and thus, I'll just tell myself that I'm simply paranoid. Sad thing is that when you're paranoid, everything looks like it's out to get you and that anything can go wrong.

"The horror of communication is the fear of the end of it." --JJS

Warmth

Mood: happy; neutral; thoughtful
Currently: still pretty much doing nothing but talking on AIM
Listening to: Tabi no Tochuu --Kiyoura Natsumi

Random, but not random thought (but actually it is random . . .), you know what I missed about childhood the most? No, it's not the stress-less days, with small bits of homework and easy tests, somehow it isn't anyways. And no, it's not recess, those few minutes of playing and being carefree. I don't miss the days where I would use my blanket to make a tent to hide under with my sister, and then share the cookies I stole from the pantry. I don't miss those times where I cut the cardboard boxes so that they looked like a castle. And I don't mourn for the days where I'd pretend the apple decorations hanging on the Christmas tree were real and collect them from the branches, then hide them on the limbs again to find later. Actually, what I truly miss about childhood are those feelings of being under someone's wing. At night, my mother would always tuck me into bed, kiss me on the forehead and tell me to have sweet dreams. And when I had a bad dream, I would selfishly wake up my father, and he would lie next to me in bed, stroking my hair until I fell asleep. Warmth, comfort, security, sometimes I feel like they've washed away slowly, and I would wake up for the blood-streaked dream with tears in my eyes. Then I would silently, half-heartedly comfort myself, and drift off into another violent dream again. Lately I've had some more pleasant dreams of school, with my friends abound. I'd think of laughter and smiles, and one particular kind hug. But I'd always wake up in the night, with the image gone from my head. I then would proceed to hug my stuffed animal, and with its cold surface pressing aganist my skin, I'd wish it were warm.

Cold as Stone

Mood: happy; thoughtful; sad
Currently: still working on my English essay
Listening to: the humming of my computer; the ticking of my clock

I was working on my essay, starting to feel proud of my work, and started to credit my sister for helping me finding stronger points to make. However, that just caused a huge explosion of thoughts that I couldn't help to come here and record. My sister, I swear, is extremely bored at grad-school, even though the school she's going to is supposedly really hard, but after the school she went to for college, there's just no amount work that can compare. Why do I think this way? From the 6th grade to 9th, I hardly hear a word from her. She doesn't come back home very often, even though her school was a few hours drive away. She forgets to call back home all the time, and pretty much never IMed me. It was really almost as if she didn't exist for those four years. Now, though, she IMs me, not to tell Dad to call her when he comes back home, but to just say things such as, "I love you!" And my response is usually, "anyhow . . .", "meh", or "okay". I've realized for quite a long time that I hardly show any love towards my sister. It's not like I don't love her, I do, very much so, but it's like I can't express it to her. When she does come home once every blue moon, you'd think we'd hug with tears in our eyes at our reunion (not really, but you get my point). Instead, she comes into my room, asks for a hug, where I proceed to sigh and give her an awkward hug, as if I didn't want to hug her. Now that I think about it, I feel like I show more care and love to people other than my family. With my friends, I can freely say that I loved them like they were my sisters (even though I can't see to say that to my real life one), but around my family, I feel so . . . cold. After all they do for me, you'd suppose I could show them how much I love them through all the good and bad times. I don't even remember a time where I willingly and freely just gave them a hug, nevermind tell them that I loved them. Even when saying good night. There's no more, "Night, love you, sweet dreams." It's just my dad telling that he's going to bed (my mom just goes to sleep one way or another) and I call out a "Okay, night." I feel so detached from my family . . . Even though I say that, I bet that I'll continue living my life, never trying to show more love for my family until they die. It's always been like that. When my grandfather died, I cried for months in regret that I never got to see him one last time and tell him that I loved him. However, did I show any appreciation for my other grandfather before he died? No. I just sat next to his hospital bed, holding his hand and smiling so that he wouldn't be worried about me. But I never got to tell him that I loved him before I left. And even if I said that I regret not stopping that day in the doorway to just quickly say that I loved him and thank him for everything he's done for me, I probably wouldn't change. I would continue being the idiot that can't properly tell her family that she loves them so much for so long, that they may start to wonder if I even love them at all. Do I love them? Or am I unconditionally bound to them through blood? Is it like those moments where people say, "Come on, you have to love him, he's your brother," kind of thing? Except, in the end, I think I do love them. Ah, I miss my grandmother so much. My ABu. Whenever my family goes to China and we visit her, she asks me, "Did you think of me?" I would say yes. She then asks, "Where did you think of me?" And I'd tell her, "From my heart." I just can't seem to ever say that to any other member of my family. Why? I just don't understand why I can't change and summon the strength to tell them that I love them. Why? Why? Why? Why . . .