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.

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 . . .

Mere Fantasies

I think I've found the source of my recent depression. I think it's my parents. Not like they've done anything, but you know, they just can't as young as they were when I was in elementary school, you know? It's been pretty weird that my mom and dad's hair, for maybe the last two years, to be growing white. It's like a reminder how old my sister is, how old I am, and obviously, how old they're getting. And since my mom's in China, the house has been more quiet. No car chase scenes or Korean people shouting from the television screen. No random comments my parents make or laughing when the music is all sad. Just the humming of my motherboard and the tapping of my keyboard is accompanying me this night. Last night, the night before, it's so quiet. And so sad. I've been getting along with my father pretty well. We talk more than we would before. Maybe it's because my mom isn't around for him to talk to. The house has toned down a bit ever since my sister went to college, and I wonder if my parents will like their life with me out of their hair. Will they be happy with their freedom, or sad with the stilled air? Would they be thinking in depth about my departure? Or is their matured mind prepared and that my absence would not disturb them. But it's so creepy when they talk about retirement. They aren't that old. Then again, it's from 5-7 years difference, between my parents' ages and a majority of my friend's parents. The difference of a sixth grader and a first-year college student. Mere numbers seem too simple in my eyes, but in the eyes of my past, it seemed just way too distant. Heh, I just remembered an old fear of mine, from when I was maybe in the second grade. I used to be afraid that my parents would soon become elderly, their appearances similar to my grandparents, and that they would forget how to speak English. Somehow that became the reason why I studied Chinese. In eight years, I've grown enough to know that my silly fears won't just happen, but it's still haunting, the image of my parents old and fragile. It seems impossible for your strong parents to look like such a shadow of their past. Then there's those "Joint Juice" containers around the house that reminds you that they aren't strong and reminds you of their aches from age. If life was a neverland, we'd always be living the same roles. The rebellious child, the nagging parents, the bothersome siblings, and wouldn't it all be well? In a fantasy world.

Future Railroad

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

A Flash of Lighting, Heat, and True Colors

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

Fear of My Life

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

What Happened?

Well, I totally don't remember what's been happening in the last few days, so I'll have a hard time summing it up.
There was Friday and we were playing Foccer in cross country again. I managed to not trip. I just go rammed into by Yasmin several times, but it's all good. No bruises, no cuts, which means no bleeding internally or externally. If you ask me, it was a pretty successful day.
I went home after going to the weight room, took a shower, went on the computer for a bit. It was around 11 o' clock when I decided to sleep for a little while. I didn't see it coming, my mom yelling at me to wake up. At 3 o'clock. I had another potluck to go to, this time with Revathi, Diana, Yasmin, Hee Soo, and, Pooja. A small group of people who I had to make sandwiches for! So once again I had the duty of making sandwiches. Once I was done, I had a few moments to mess around and then I had to bustle over to Friendship Park, which only took me a few minutes to walk to from my house. It was pretty fun. Pooja brough yummy pasta, Hee Soo brought soda and leftover chips (from her sister's party apparently), Diana brought chips, Yasmin brought cookies and some random french bread that smelled really good, and Revathi brought the plasticwear. The food was good. Once again, though, my sandwiches had leftovers. I don't think I mentioned this in the blog post about the other potluck, but apparently everyone ate before coming and was too full to finish my sandwiches. I ended up eating a bunch of it and near the end of it, a few people took one. Anyhow, we just sat around, talking for a while, then Revathi and I kept stealing Hee Soo's bike--which she used to ride over to the park--to ride around the park. It was fun. I haven't ridden a bike in several years. I was really shaky at first, but then I got the hang of it again, and I was glad that you never really forget how to ride a bike. We sat down like civilized people again to talk, eat food randomly, then at some point, Yasmin stole Hee Soo's bike, Diana and Revathi ran off to go on the swings, and other crazy stuff was happening. During all this time, a bunch of pictures was being taken. It was nice how we actually got pictures of all of us hanging out. Most of the time, Diana and Revathi just hide from the camera, so there aren't ever any decent pictures to post on Facebook or anything. Of course all the other people on Facebook (especially the people including Jennie, Emily, Timothy, Avi, and Kyle) post millions of pictures of every time they go out and play.
On Saturday, I just went to art class. I saw Julia, of course. We talked a bit during break. It was pleasant to have someone to talk to for once. As I believe I've said before, during break, I normally just sit there, on some days I get up for a drink of water, but other than that, my butt is on the chair.
Today, Sunday, I didn't accomplish much. I did clean a big chuck of my room, I'm so proud of myself! Oh, and during the course of the week, I've slowly been progressing on my math homework. My sister says that I have until Friday to make up all the work I should have done while she was in China--in the end, I never finished it--or else she'll start charging me money for each late day. My family is crazy, my sister keeps telling me, "do your math homework!", my mom tells me a few minutes later, "clean your room!", and my dad just appears out of nowhere to steal my chips (jokingly. He always steals my food.) when he can get his own from the bag. I can't do my math homework and clean my room at the same time, guys! I could try, I did try, I failed. In the end, I gave up and starting playing games on my computer. Since I cleaned a part of my room, I guess I'll spend tomorrow doing some math homework instead. That way I can sort of keep the two of them happy. Oh, and my dad should just get his own chips.

Silly Little Me

I feel like a little rant today (don’t question my judgment in “little”). I try to do my best in everything I do. I try. Of course, I’ve noticed that half the time that I’m wasting my time just sitting there, either playing games on the computer or really, just sitting there. I like to amuse myself by telling myself that I put in my full effort into my homework, studying, and all those things. In the end, I realize that my “full effort” is just exhorted into my vegetating. It’s funny how I like to say I enjoy writing or reading in my free time, but I just happen to forget to say, “Oh, and play mindless, brain-melting-into-putty-degrading games on the computer pretty much most of my life.” I guess I just want to save face.
The stereotypical opinion people have on me when they first meet me is that I’m “pretty”, “smart”, and “nice”. It starts to get annoying when people shower you with this nonsense flattery that just makes you feel like an absolute moron when you fail to meet their unintentional expectations. If I get, say, a ‘C’ on a test, the people around me would say, “You getting a ‘C’? What happened there? Did you forget to study or what?” I find that those are pretty embarrassing comments.
I actually prefer insults over compliments sometimes. My parents never really did praise me much, so I suppose that it’s from their reactions that I feel slightly disgusted when someone highly congratulates me. I’ve become accustomed to being “average” no matter what I do, that I’m nothing really unique in any my achievements. If I got an award or something special, my parents just say “good job”; if I’m lucky, they’ll give me a smile and a pat on the back. Yesterday, there was an award ceremony for students that teachers thought were outstanding in the class. When my mother first got the invitation, she was indifferent and said something along the line of “Do I have to go?” This is all normal, and I understand why my parents aren’t as involved as others. They’re comfortable at home; they’ve had their share of a tiring life and just enjoy kicking back at home when they can. Maybe I’ll be like them when I get up to their age, even though I haven’t labored as much as they did. They farmed, were in some military training, and such. Me? I just bum around home while attempting to do homework, then I go play games on the computer, then go back to homework at nine, and then I finish up at around one or two in the morning. Yes, I do have an unhealthy lifestyle (slowly but surely, I’m fixing it). I don’t know how I’m not overweight since I eat a bunch of junky food, also. My mom’s theory likes to blame it on the fact that I never sleep, so all my bodily fat is used up as energy.
I think I’d rather be fatter. Sure, it’s “nice” to just be average all the time in everything you do, but then people who think they’re fat start saying how lucky you are to be skinny. Those people irritate me, but after they say it to me a few times, I get a hysterical laugh or two out of it, so it’s all good, I suppose. But honestly, what’s with people and their overcomplicated desire to be “pretty”, or “skinny”, or whatever they want. Sure, I’m self-conscious about my legs and I think they’re unattractive, but whatever. Who cares what people think! The only thing that drags down people most of the times is what they think about themselves. I know that there are those jerks around that openly say whatever they want, without regards to other’s feelings, and then the insulted person starts to feel insecure or upset.
You know what I just realized after my ranting? I can contradict myself forever. I’m pretty sensitive to what people say to me, yet I say I prefer insults and that I don’t care what people think or say about how I look. Now I feel like this entire entry is beginning to have no point besides the fact that everything is true but then sometimes I contradict myself, and so everything I said is wrong. I’m beginning to lose my train of thought.