less blogging.

I've taken up journaling again.
And it feels great.
Really great.

Well, this whole blogging business was fun though.
I knew it wouldn't last.
The good old pen&paper is where my heart's always going to be.

But I'll come back sometime later.
I don't know when.
Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe just when I want to publish things or something.
Or vent to an actual someone.
Or post pictures about my new baby in ten years.
That'd be a jump, wouldn't it?

Anyways, happy holidays, and happy studying.
Much love :)

Jim

Here's something else that's incredible:
I've watched so much of The Office that I've started seeing Jim in the halls.
I literally had to stop myself from gaping when I saw a guy with a blue dress shirt and a long face walking toward me.

By the way, I realized that a guy like Jim is my dream guy.
Too bad he's a character on a TV show; those kinds never exist.

Old Photographs

I'm exhausted, and exhausted.
Today I had to deal with a conceited sophomore who would not listen to my advice on the layout of a newsmag page, and believe me the things she was putting on that page looked hideous. I'm talking bright purple circles lined up in a column at the center of a page, with text in each circle. She kept on saying, "No; I want them in the center. I want them in the center." And I was thinking, woman, we have bigger problems than having the circles in the center; let's start with the purple circles themselves. Except I didn't say that because I'm one of those assimilating people-pleaser types of people, and so I nodded and said "okay" and let her degrade the page even more. I came in after school and changed it all. It looks better. I hope she doesn't throw a fit tomorrow.

Yesterday though, I was leafing through my baby pictures / parent pictures for an APLang assignment, and then I began to wonder what my parents were like before I came along. And I began recalling some of the thoughts I thought when I was three, except I was probably only making up those thoughts and instead retrieving them out of the candid little face frozen on the photo. Like, did you know that I hardly ever smiled when I was baby? There was only a handful of photos where I actually looked vaguely satisfied, but in all the others, I looked like I was going to shank someone. Probably my parents; did you know that I got a home phone for Christmas one year (I was probably around 4 years old), and I was sitting on a bed with a ridiculously angry face, while two other toddlers were laughing and holding up their new stuffed animals and robot toys? My parents probably only got me that home phone because they wanted it for themselves, and I find that hilarious. But when I looked closer at the two faces next to mine, I recalled exactly who they were and where they've been and all these memories flooded my head, like when we ran under tables at a fancy restaurant or gathered together in front of the new whirring computer. And then I remembered how the guy in that picture had bought me a huge stuffed bear the size of my second-grade self, and how he moved to China the next year and how I didn't really miss him because boys had cooties (and still do). But in the next picture, there he was again, and he was holding my hand, and I was still probably about four years old. I've always thought that kindergarten romance was the most adorable thing on earth, but who knew that I could've had it myself? I wish I could remember, could fill in these gaps in my memory. Just to make sure it all happened.

What's incredible though is that I do remember tidbits here and there. Like, I remember my dad bringing me to some Siebel company thing and showing me planes, and I remember gasping at how big they were. And when I saw the picture, and I saw how ridiculous I looked marshmallowed in a puffy jacket and clad in a neon orange hat that stuck up like an elf hat, I was shocked. I never knew how silly I looked. I never knew how small I was. It's so weird, remembering scenes from your toddler self. It's like a person from a different world.

And then my parents. I found a picture of my dad, and I can hardly even begin to describe it. I was staring at it for hours it seemed. He looked so young and so sure of himself; I compared him to a Bollywood star. His eyes were fierce, no kidding. And my mom, so beautiful and carefree. I just... couldn't comprehend. They changed so much, being parents, you know? It almost made me feel guilty. But I do see the teenage selves in them flash out every now and then, like the way my mom occasionally runs around the house singing in a high-pitched voice about how she's cooking eggs, or how my dad becomes unhumanly excited at the sound of tennis balls or physics problems (he was a dorky kid).

It makes me wonder how much (or how little) I'm going to change. I just can't imagine it.
I should start compiling some photos of myself for my own children to mull over too. Rather than making them stalk my facebook photos. That's lame.

PS maybe I'll scan the pictures later. : )

A Chinese-American Thanksgiving

I expected yesterday to be like any other usual Chinese thanksgiving, with the obscure chinese foods and random slices of turkey shoved to the side. The schedule would be simple; get cast off to eat with the little fourth graders then babysit them for the rest of the night, with activities ranging from playing with a dollhouse to watching nickelodeon. But, to my surprise, yesterday was... incredibly fun. We went to a party with a different group this time; dropped off my brother at a friend's house then left.

Firstly, the food. You won't believe it, but we had turkey. And mashed potatoes, and sweet potatoes, and stuffing, and macaroni, and cranberries. Cranberries! We didn't really know what to do with that stuff, so we just kindof took some and ate it with the stuffing. Yes, this is going to be the tradition that gets passed down our chinese heritage line; putting cranberries on the stuffing. (Is that what you're supposed to do? I might never know). And then, when I walked in the other room, a familiar smell wafted in my nose, with the clanging spoons and loud chinese laughter, and the terrible smell of hot spices and tofu and lamb mixed together. This was their thanksgiving dinner. And I smiled, because here I was, right in the middle of a crossroad between two different cultures. You know, one of my secret dreams has been to have a true American thanksgiving, with the family relatives and the close bonding time and the yummy turkey in the center. But yesterday, I realized that I don't really want that at all. It's just not... chinese. It's stiff. It's weird.

But it was really nice to see that the adults took the extra leap to make sure there was a taste of American food, you know? I know they hate that stuff, but they did it. Of course, in the center of the table was a huge display of asian jellies and pocky sticks, but I'm not going to complain. I have the best of both worlds, dude.

And then, we gathered in a room and watched Star Trek, which was really fantastic by the way. Then we went outside and played some touch football. Ohmygoodness, it was such a great night. Hey, don't Americans play football on thanksgiving too?

A Million Different Things

Okay obviously, I have not actually re-organized myself since the last post. Everything's just been in a clutter lately and absolutely chaotic, but I blame that on myself because I've taken to procrastinating even more than usual. I think this is partly because I've about halfway given up by now; I really can't do well. Oh, my room shows it too; this is the messiest it's been all year, with underwear hanging on the doorknobs and a billion pages of loose leaf scratch paper scrawled with my physics work. The stuffed animals that I've kicked off my bed and the SAT workbooks on the ground add to the effect too.

And I saved about six drafts in the past week but I didn't publish any of the posts, mainly because they were too whiny or rambly or private or whatever. Or simply because I only got halfway through the post before succumbing to the voice in the back of my head telling me to go do work. Which is ridiculous, because I always end up not doing work. Anyways. There was a lot to say.Starting from Veteran's Day from a few weeks back to yesterday's gingerbread extravaganza. But filling in the gaps in between those two events would take twenty pages of rambling so now I'm stuck with a this-is-what-you-get-for-not-updating-daily feeling. I guess I'll number things. Add a bit more order to my life.

1. Physcis egg drop yesterday- this was incredible. We had to make a structure solely out of toothpicks and glue, put an egg in it, then drop it from 5 meters high onto concrete and hope it doesn't crack. Well, only two structures in the class worked; everyone else's eggs cracked. Take a look at my structure's corpse:

I've learned from this that no matter how hard I try, I still can't get an A on a physics test. Which is really disheartening, let me tell you. But still, this class is one of the best classes I've taken, and I'm probably learning more from it than I did from six of some of my other classes combined. Plus I met some super cool (and kooky) dudes; here's a joke I heard from one of them: What do you call a nosy pepper?

JALAPEÑO BUSINESS (say it aloud with a spanish accent, come on now).

2) Gingerbread house- So yesterday, we had a sunday school party at Jason's house; it was so. much. fun. I don't know why we never had more sunday school get-togethers, because these people are amazing. Plus, I've known them since second grade; we've always been in the same sunday school, always sat in the same room every sunday. So why don't we know each other that well? But anyways, It was loads of fun, and I'm so happy we did it. The gingerbread tasted terrible and the house collapsed after five seconds, but we had fun playing with the gingerbread men and wasting those gross gumdrops and dancing to michael jackson and GEEGEEGEEGEE baby baby.
before:

after:
3) Veteran's Day- So as I was sitting there in the Veteran's Day assembly, I just realized how serious this whole war thing is. Except I probably didn't realize it at all, because that probably takes some real eye-witnessing and heart-hardening. But really, just that morning, I was sitting in my bus and I overheard some of the really loud and obnoxious sophomore guys talking, and they were just fawning over how cool it'd be to be in a war. They talked about having these huge whatever-you-call-them guns and just shooting off a few heads like bambambam, and how they'd laugh when a bullet would shoot five in a row, like a kabob. And I was grimacing, and I really wanted to ask them if they really knew what it was all about. I wanted to ask, "have you ever seen a dead person before? How about your dead best friend?" and see if they still thought it was so funny. Because the truth of the matter is, our soldiers are really out there, fighting for their lives, only a second away from being dead. And even if your dad isn't out there somebody's dad is, and before you know it his family will be fatherless and the wife a widow. God, how awful would it be to lose someone to war. I wish I could even begin to understand, but at the same time, I'm so very thankful that I don't.

4. Spanish class- So in spanish class, we watched the first half of this movie called The Otro Lado. It's super depressing I admit, but I liked it. It was real. But there were so many in the class who were like, "This is so depressing. I hate this movie." But why? Is it because you can't face the truth? Because you don't realize that immigration problems and disappearing dads are an actual problem in other countries? Because you just want to stick with your comfortable life, where everything you want is in reach, so you don't have to struggle past the extent of rumors and boys? It's sad, really, how blissfully ignorant we are, and how everyone else is suffering. Rebecca told me some stats -- every person in the US put together makes up 95% of the wealth in the world. What? That's incredible. I'm hella thankful for it, but oh my goodness I do not deserve it.

5. And finally, I've just had a lot of thoughts just floating around lately.

Like how I hate how proud some people are for being naturally smart. They wave their A++s in my face and brag about how they didn't even study. But they might as well be bragging about their hair color or their eye shape because they didn't do anything to be smart. They were born with the intelligence, and that's awesome, but they have no right to brag about being popped out of their mothers' wombs. Please.

Anyways though, happy break guys.

Hopefully I'll get back to posting more, and stop watching so much of the office.

(btw, the women's appreciation episode is just about the funniest thing i've seen).

Later!

What's worse?

What's worse?
Knowing something's wrong, but doing it anyways,
or not having a clue how wrong it is, but doing it for the rest of your life?

Or how about knowing something's wrong and doing it because you think that makes you cool?
Yeah, that's funny.

Persecute me, please.

Alright. It's 1:06 a.m. and there's really no reason for me to be up so late. It' just been easier to sleep later than I usually do. Of course it all comes back to me in the morning, when I'm kicking myself for sleeping so late and struggling with all my might to get out of bed. It doesn't work until fifteen minutes before the bus comes, and I'm rushing to brush my teeth and put on clothes and eat the wonderful breakfast my mom cooked up. Why am I up again? Gosh.
Well, it was probably a mixture of NaNoWriMo writing and The Office watching. Put those two together and I could be up all night (did you know I got up to 10,000 words and watched two episodes today? Talk about productivity!) Anyways, I wanted to talk about church.

Today is National Pray-for-the-persecuted-churches Day, or something along those lines.
You know what's really, really, really sad? It's that those people who are being persecuted, those faithful and enduring spirits (God bless their souls) have more faith and more desire to serve God than we do. And they've got so much more to worry about too; their parents are threatening to disown them (or kill them) for following Christianity; their governments persecute the churches and raid them; they have hardly any leadership because it's so dangerous; they don't have many Bibles. They're banished from homes and even from churches; they're sent to jail for their belief. And you know what they say, even after all that? They say with a grin spread wide across their face how much faith they've still got in God, and how they just know that God will deliver them from their pains and toils. Yeah, they say that.

And I'm just sitting there, leaning back in that comfortable red chair, complaining about how hard it is to balance school and God and how tempting it is to steal candy from little kids. What an easy life I live. And we take it for granted, don't we? We have this absolute freedom to worship whatever the heck we want and to lift praises and prayers to God in public. And what do we do with that freedom? Nothing. We hide in our little corners, and we don't confess to anyone our faith. We're afraid of getting persecuted by our friends. But so what? That's nothing compared to getting killed by some psycho government fanatics.

Seriously? I'm ashamed of myself.

Excerpt.

One bench. Eighty-eight keys. Ten fingers- long, graceful, slender fingers.

The air vibrates in waltz, in tango, in jazz; a classic. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Pause, jump, twirl, land. One, two, three, four.

An elderly man slowly pushes back his chair, hesitating for a split second as he remembers that he has never danced before. A song floats through the air, and he smiles at the memories the melody carried. His life was slipping away, what was there to lose? Shyly looking across the glass table-for-two, he offers a hand to his aged yet ever so beautiful wife. “Would you join me for a dance?” They step in easy rhythm. One, two, three, four.

An audience excitedly fills up the seats of the grand symphony house, marveling at the chandelier that glistened in the dim light and the seats made of velvet and silk. A playful melody dances through the air, and a smile lights every person’s face as the music lifts the heavy burdens off their shoulders. Enjoy the show, whispers the tune. Enjoy the show in a one, a two, a one, two, three, four.

One, two… Jewel Serenity Carwin opened her eyes, and the music stopped. The images vanished; she was alone. She sighed and leaned back against the piano as she stared at the large empty room before her. A wooden floor seemed to stretch for miles around her; there was nothing but a black grand piano in the middle of the circular wooden floor. The walls that took up one half of the room were freshly painted- white. Windows made of nearly invisible glass made up the other half; they stood so tall and elegant as beams of sun warmed the room.

Nobody called her by Jewel. It seemed too awkward, calling an acquaintance a jewel when in reality a graphite stone probably would have better sufficed for resemblance. They called her Serenity. Peace. She was quiet, with grey eyes that seemed to look right through someone’s soul. Nobody could ever recall hearing her voice, or even seeing her teeth for the matter. A strange aura followed her, yet people still felt at ease in her presence. She was everybody’s best friend for gray days, simply because she never talked and only listened. She was forgotten when the rain passed.

Serenity glanced in anticipation at the ancient clock placed on the piano. One more minute… she clutched the piano for support. Thirty seconds… she closed her eyes, and tightened her clammy fingers around the side. Four, three, two, one…
She gasped as her breath escaped her, and she tumbled off the seat, landing on the ground with a heavy thud. Dark clouds covered the sun, and she crawled across the stretch of wood, clawing at nothing as her insides seemed to tear themselves apart and vulnerably spill into the darkness. She cried out toward the deaf sky; she whimpered as the thunder mocked and sneered at her in disdain. One last pain-filled breath escaped her mouth, and then suddenly, the clouds parted to reveal one brilliant beam of sunlight.

Serenity paused for a second then stood up. She dusted herself off, and she walked the long distance out of the room. As if nothing had happened.

Except You're Not Kidding.

What bothers me the most is when people throw the rudest, most obnoxious, most insulting comments at me and expect me not to care. Like, "Jessie, everything you say is so obnoxious; please stop." or "Jessie, you're so stupid, why can't you get this?" I mean, I know they don't mean any harm (or do they?), but I also know that the only reason they say these kinds of things is because they know I won't blow up. They think that I'm this nice, awesome girl who'll take in their jokes and simply laugh along. They know that I'm such an easy person to target, because I won't make a scene. I'm perfect for guys to practice insulting. But you know what else I hate? I hate those obscene gestures and those terribly sexual movements, or those stupid, perverted, horny jokes that boys make. What's worse is that a lot of those guys think they can target those jokes at me, because they think I don't care.

And hey, sure I don't care. Sure it doesn't matter if you think I'm a skank (what? where'd that come from?) or that I'm stupid or obnoxious or annoying or that my laugh is too loud or that I spazz out too much or that I'm weird. But what bothers me even more is that everybody thinks they can erase what they say with a simple "just kidding."

What? You're just kidding? Okay, so of course that makes everything better. Of course I won't think twice again when I open my mouth. Of course you just said your little insulting comment for the sake of just kidding. Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, there's the friendly banter that can occur between two really good friends, but at the same time, there's a line. I'm very sensitive about my intelligence (or should I say stupidity?) and people know that. They don't cross that line. And when you call me stupid, please don't think you can just permanantly erase those words from my mind, as if you never said it. Because the truth is, after years of not caring about the insults being thrown at me, I've actually become very, very self-conscious.

And what's with the little sexual implications?
Why aren't girls respected anymore? (Actually, were we ever respected?) But honestly though, we're moving out of an age where girls were used as nothing more than sex toys, and we're stepping forward into an era where people have realized the capacity and potential behind the female sex. (I don't know why the boys in my school aren't there yet). And with this realization comes with respect. Where on earth is it? I'm sick and tired of these immature dudes scoping out chicks to bang and regarding any little phrase I say or action I make as dirty and obscene.

Please, grow up.

The Sizzlin' Western

Today, we drove two hours all the way to Rome, Georgia to test out the freaking piano for thirty minutes. Tomorrow, we have to drive down there again for the real competition. Ohgosh. But anyways, after testing out the piano, my mom took the piano teacher out to eat, and it was awfully and awkwardly interesting. So we were in the car on the way home, when my mom asks him if he wants to go out to eat. He replies with a hesitant "mmm" and a "Well... no, I think I'm fine" until my mom insists that she'll treat him and pay the bill. At that, my piano teacher sprung up a little in his seat and slurred out an excited "Reeeally?? I guess we can just stop by somewhere then!" And so we did.

We parked in front of a restaurant called "The Sizzlin' Western".
Now, my piano teacher, thinking that he knows everything, takes one glance at the sign and says, "Oooh, this is a steak place? Yes, steak is perfect for the night before a piano competition. Always eat steak before piano competition." Except I did not want steak. So I ordered pasta.

My mom decided she'd order chop, or something like that.
Mom: Could I get the chops, please?
Cashier: Sure, how do you want it made?
Mom: Um... well done?
Piano teacher: Ooooh.. well done? No, I don't think that's right.
Mom: Oh okay... medium then. Wait actually, could I get the T-bone?
Piano teacher: Ooooh... the T-bone? No no, you shouldn't get that. Too much fat.
Mom: Okay... I'll just go back to the chop then.
-pays money-
Piano teacher: Oooh wait a second, you shouldn't get the chop. It's like a hamburger pattie. It's different. No no no.
Mom: Okay... um.
Piano teacher: You should get the sirloin.
Mom: Okay, can I still change my order?
Cashier: -is fuming-

The owner of the shop was super nice and let us change the order without having to pay any extra money. It was only because we were asian, and she was asian, and we were able to have a grand old ball being asian together. Seriously, she stopped by our table every few minutes to talk in Chinese and check to see if everything was alright; it was nice though. I could tell she was glad to have people from the same culture finally come to the Sizzlin' Western. All the other waitresses were nice too, with the southern accents and lingo (they called silverware "flatware"!) Oh, and the piano teacher really wanted me to have that steak (he wouldn't let up on it), and he made me and my mother switch our meals. So I ate the stupid steak.

But I mean, it's nice that he knows so much about nutrition, I guess. Being healthy's always important. Haha, when we were walking out, he saw the owner's daughter, and he goes, "Hello there. You look very healthy!" And then we left.

NaNoWriMo

Happy halloween!

I think... I'm going to take on NaNoWriMo.
Wish me luck.
You might not see me for the next month.
175 pages, 50,000 words.

I must be crazy.


I had a lot more important things to say but the thought of NaNoWriMo has surpassed all else. Whoooooo.

YES !

I just finished watching Yes Man with the family and I have to admit, it was quite a funny movie. I wasn't expecting much when we first slid in the DVD, but it was so silly that I found myself clutching my stomach and falling off the couch hee-hawing all the way. Plus two of the actors were in He's Just Not That Into You and the main girl from 500 Days of Summer. Two of my favorite movies, by the way. But anyways, my parents loved it too, and I'm so glad they've finally moved on from jumping up and lunging at my face to cover my eyes whenever a male and female came in contact with each other on the screen. Haha, I missed half of The Notebook because they made me hide under a blanket whenever Noah and Allie started making out.

But yeah, we've all grown up now, and I love my family to no extent, and I wouldn't be happier spending a Friday night watching a movie or eating out at a restaurant with them.

But anyways, Yes Man was great. Because under all that laughter, you knew that there was still some truth in the lunatic's words. And I completely agree; I say no to so many different things (like, wanna go to a massive food fight tomorrow? or the tenth avenue north concert on sunday?), and I promise you I am missing out on so much, just locking myself at home and studying all day. (And the bad thing is, I'm not even studying. I'm doing things like blogging or stalking people on facebook). So, it was a great message that a lot of Americans needed to hear.

On another note, this week has been fantastic. Usually, I only get one spectacular few hours out of the whole batch of days during the week, but I was genuinely skipping around school these past few days. (Think about how happy I usually seem, then think about what I'd be like to be really happy. Yes, this involves literal skipping). There wasn't any reason. Perhaps it was the beautiful weather outside. Or that I finished webassign with a breeze. Or that I felt great after GHP on monday. Or that I was able to watch two halloween plays. Or that everything seemed to finally be going right after weeks of fatigue. Man, I'm so happy for this. Praise God. For the past ten years I've been in school, I've finally learned that being happy works out so much better for you than that whole stressful depressing junk.

Guess what else? I've been logging on to chat.
Yay, finally. :) Of course, I'm still not good at the whole respond-to-people or strike-a-conversation thing online, but then again, I'm not going to change from how I feel about internet-based relationships. So whatever. And tomorrow's Halloween! Hopefully I'll be able to squeeze in some homework time between all the piano lessons and trick-or-treating parties going on. Hopefully my mom won't get too angry over driving me everywhere; can't wait until I can drive.

Oh, and one more thing.
GHP-- I still don't understand why Donna and Anna didn't make it, because they work so hard and they're absolutely fabulous at what they do (and a million times passionate too). I tried saying the "well, we don't know why diseases and natural disasters happen either, they just happen, just like how you didn't make it...!" thing on Donna but of course that doesn't make any sense, nor is it helpful (Donna laughed though, and laughter is the best medicine!) But Anna seemed alright, and she went on to say that there was always a purpose for everything, and that perhaps God had bigger plans for her. And I admire that she's able to cope so well and be so optimistic; the only time I've seen her cry was when her teacher got breast cancer. Goodness, I love her to death, and she's completely right. I can learn so much from her. You know what, everybody can. Anna, I just wanted to tell you how unbelievably inspirational you are, and that you should never ever give up at what you love. Because you're great.
So I guess they're just going to go on with their lives and accomplish something so much greater than GHP over the summer. Can't wait to see how awesome they'll turn out.
Don't lose faith, girls. :) GHP isn't everything, and I think you two already know that.

Be Okay

I forgot to write about something that happened yesterday- a small a little action that makes me smile every time I think about it. After I had finished my physics test and was in the worst mood possible, I had rushed out of the room knowing that I only had a few seconds to make it to my next class. When I pushed open the doors at the end of the hall and was greeted by a huge downpour of rain, the first thing I thought was, crap. And I was so immersed in all my self-pity and stupidity that I failed to notice that a guy was standing there when I opened the door. I jumped a little when he talked; he said, "Hey, good luck." I was so startled when I looked into this stranger's face that the only thing I could stutter back was a weak "th-thanks" before striding away in the opposite direction. I expected to hear laughter from the other side; I thought that it was some sort of joke, that he was trying to look cool in front of his friends, whatever this whatever that. But it was silent save the pounding rain. And then the words began to sink in. Good luck. He didn't say good luck for what, just a simple good luck. For school, for my future, for life. And when I thought about all the troubles and worries and anxieties that would sometimes overtake me, I realized the truth behind the consoling response I'd always say to my troubled friends- It's going to be okay. Because it really, really will. And sometimes the best thing you can say to yourself is good luck. Try hard. It's going to be okay.

So yes, today was a great day.

Beyond Words by Tenth Avenue North

well if you only knew the pain that i've been through
since when did it become all about you
as you can see from the start i've said the truth
but if the truth means nothing to you
then what am i supposed to do?

and i'll still love you
beyond what words can say
i'll take your every suffering moment
and bring a better day
i'll still love you
more than what i hope to be
let me wrap my arms around you
let me take your breath away

and every time i ask
you assure you're doing fine
but your heart looks good by smiling
you couldnt fool mine
by the end of the night your pillow sits to dry
in a crowded room you're singing
on the inside you sigh

God is good.

I guess life just isn't fair.

I woke up this morning thinking, gee. today's going to suck. I didn't finish reading Huckleberry Finn for AP Lang, I forgot about my APUSH group project, and my physics test was today. I didn't really know what to do, since the things I hadn't done was just so overwhelming and there wasn't much I could do about them all. So I just resorted to reading a few pages of Huckleberry Finn on the bus (which failed miserably, since it was still dark outside and the bus vibrated/shook/moved-more-than-a-mom-in-labor-does.)

So first period, APUSH, here I come.
I walk into class, and one of my partners had this really hopeful look in her eyes when she saw me, and she was like, "You have it, right?" all expectantly, since I usually do do all the work in group projects (simply because I'm a control freak or my group members usually can't think for themselves). Well, the one time I decide to sit back and let things work themselves out on their own, nothing works. Goodness, why doesn't it work for me when I change roles and become the slacker? And then my other group member completely forgot. I quote: "Uhh.. what project?" But luckily, we were all good at BSing things (practice?), and we got through the presentation and told Mr. Edwards we'd give him the handout at lunch. Easy fix.
What frustrates me about this class though is that the teacher hasn't updated anything since the first test. And what'd I get on that test? A C. So what do I have in that class? A C.
Man. This isn't going anywhere. The mood in that class was so negative and tense this morning, because the girl next to me was so pissed off at Mr. Edwards for not updating grades, and Mr. Edwards was so pissed off at being scolded by a junior everday. Tensionnn.

Second period, AP Lang.
Guess what? No quiz until Thursday.
It's going to be okay.

Third period, newspaper.
HAHA. So there's this game that's stuck in one of the cabinets in the newspaper room, and this game was invented by some messed up dude who had nothing better to do than to think of cynical murder plots and torture tactics or something. See, in this game, each person holds this curved, claw-shaped piece of metal. Creepy music starts playing, and the second the music stops, you have to try to be the first person to press the button on the end of your piece of metal. It's supposed to test your reaction time. But here's the thing- if you're not the first one to press the button, the metal electrifies your hand. And it's not just a little sting either; it hurts. (I know right, what kind of person would play this?! Well, newspaper people). Then the teacher walks in the room, and one girl goes, "Hey! Mr. Jackson! Come play this with us! Just press the button as soon as the music starts playing." Unfortunately, if you press the button before the music stops, it still shocks you. So Mr. Jackson, oblivious to it all, got electrified, threw the thing across the room, yelled "OW!" and jumped a few feet backwards, then screamed, "NOT FUNNY!" and stormed out of the room. It was quite hilarious. Of course, he came back into the room laughing a few minutes later, but seriously, that reaction was priceless.

Fourth period, spanish.
This class is a joke.

Fifth period, physics.
The test was difficult. It was very difficult. I thought I knew it all, but apparently not.
But hey, whatever. Even though I did practice problems until midnight every night and even though I listened in class and took notes and even sat through my mom's own personalized physics lectures, my brain was still empty when I took the test. All for nothing.
But maybe I'll do better than I think. Hopefully.

And finally, sixth period, pre-calculus.
Well, the only reason I'm not doing so well in this class is because of little errors that can be fixed in a second, but I never know I'm making these mistakes until the test comes along. It bugs me. And the kid who sits in front of me does nothing but cheats, and he's making hundreds.
That's unfair.

But once again, there's always next time. And I guess I have to deal with who I am- I work hard, I don't cheat, and sometimes none of it pays off. Trust me- I've tried being different. Like for APUSH, I tried to slack off in the group project. I've tried cheating (it was tempting). And well, when I slacked off, nothing got done, and when I cheated, I felt sooo so so terribly guilty for the next week (I still do). It just doesn't work. And I guess that's a good thing; at least I have a conscience, right? That's definitely something to be proud of in this day and age.

Maybe I can put that on my college applications.
Dear Harvard,
I have a conscience.

CRP?

HAHAHAHA I have another conversation to share:

Mom: JESSIE! Do you know what CIT is???
Me: What..?
Mom: HEY JONATHAN! COME ON! Yeah, CIT?? CRT?? JONATHAN COME OUT! You have to open your mind and open your heart and just listen to me! CRT??
Jonathan: Uhh. CRP?
Mom: YEAH! CRP!
Jonathan: WAIT! I MEAN CPR!
Mom: Okay! Jessie! Your friend... talk to Jonathan!
Me: About what??
Mom: About your friend! Who took CRP! Someone!
Me: Uhh.. Kevin?
Mom: YES! HIM! TALK TO JONATHAN ABOUT CPR AND KEVIN!
Jonathan: Yes it takes two pushes every thirty seconds in order to get them breathing again and another push and (blahblahblah)
Mom: -pause- Wait, what? You already know how to do it??
Jonathan: yeah..
Mom: So why'd you fail your test??
Jonathan: Well, because I just learned it.
Mom: ...oh. Okay! Give me a high five! For every fail you get, you're closer to success! Yeah! High five! High five! High fiveeeeeeeee!!!
Jonathan: Uh.. this'll hurt...

-WABAM-

Oh man. Greatest conversation of the night. I love my family.

Hey there, GHP

It went well.
And that's really all I have to say about this whole interview shananigan. Because I honestly can't tell you if I think I made it past first round or not; all I can say is that I had a lot of fun during that discussion (and why would I analyze myself when I'm having fun??). My group was amazing. And you know what, it'd be freaking awesome if I end up making it, if I'm able to have discussions like these everyday with these kinds of people. Man, that'd be the life. But if I don't make it, well, I've got other things to look forward to. I mean, I can go to Spain for a foreign exchange program. I can go to Costa Rica for a mission trip. I could go to public speaking nationals again, if I happen to make it. I could go to Shocco. And really, those things are just as great as GHP. So, what happens happens. All I know is that I had [a poopload of]* fun today. And besides, if I (or you) don't make it, all that means is that we didn't fit under that perfect definition of what a GHP kid is. And there's definitely more to life than that.

Pre-GHP was pretty funny though. In my sixth period class, the three people who sat around me were all trying out for GHP, and they were all pretty nervous about it. SO we all handled our nervousness different ways... hahaha:
Danny: AHHH I'm so nervous. I feel like I'm going to throw up.
Me: Oh, you'll be fine. Just play your instrument well, that's all that matters.
Danny: No, I don't know! I'm so nervous!!!
John: DONT BE NERVOUS YOU'LL BE OKAY. DAANNNYYYYY
Danny: what..?
John: DANNYYYYYYY. YEAH DANNYYYY. EVERYBODY CLAP FOR DANNYYYY.
Megan: I'm so nervous.
John: Danny, I dare you to stutter like m-m-m-mmmyyy n-n-n-a-m-ee-e i-i-i-isss d-d-d-danny. And then when the judges ask you to repeat your name, you should stand up and yell "DID I STUTTER??" DO IT!
Danny: What?! Why?!
John: Just do it. DANNNNYYYYYYYY
Megan: I'm so nervous.
Danny: I'm so nervous!
Megan: I'm so freaking nervous I feel like I'm going to puke. It feels like clowns are beating me!
Danny: AHHHH.
John: You guys will be fine, because you guys are q00te!! DANNNYYYY. ohmygosh I'm nervous. Jessie! I hope you don't make it, so then I have more of a chance. And I hope I get put with a bunch of Asian girls so I can intimidate them with my male dominance and totally pwn. Yeeeah.
Me: ..... !!! John! Turn around. You know, I'd be happy if you made it!
John: I'm just kidding! I hope we both make it. Then we can have seeeexxx all day
Me: WHAT THE HECK.
Megan: John got someone pregnant??
Me: Yeah, him and Danny.
Random girl: Ew...
Megan: I'M SO NERVOUS.
Danny: I'M GONNA THROW UP.
Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHASDKFJA;SDLFKJ YOU GUYS ARE MAKING ME NERVOUS TOO!

--bell rings--

And off we went. Interesting class period. So yeah, there wasn't much reason to be nervous, but I do wonder how Megan (social studies) and Danny (music) did. And John (CommArts)... well, I'm sure he did fine. Freaking male dominance.

*Poopload: One freshman on my debate team used this word in an actual tournament. I will forever quote it.

Where'd You Go?

It makes me sad when
I see you
so
changed.

Both of you.
How is it even possible to give in
so easily.
How is it even logical to act
so stupid.

Don't you remember?
Did you really forget?
Can't you differentiate
between what's right and what's wrong?
Did you really feel something
when you talked to the homeless?
Did you really try to change
when you came crying back home?

Or are those memories really that flimsy,
really that empty,
like information meant for masking your identity and
decieving all of
us.
Information obtained
to lose the next day.

I cried.
Because I miss
the old you.

I know he's still there, somewhere.
I'll be praying.

My Piano Teacher is an Opera Singer.

And a jazz dancer, and a comedian, and a playwright, and conductor Mickey Mouse. Oh yes, my piano teacher is ridiculous. I've started to have lessons with my duet partner (and they always end up running an hour overtime), and today, he just went overboard. I mean, I'm used to the occasional opera singing while he's illustrating what exactly should come from my fingers out to the keys, but today, he started dancing and prancing (I'm not exaggerating) around the piano. I could not stop laughing, and it took every effort to supress the guffaws (I'm not very appealing when I laugh) dying to burst out.

I wish I could have videotaped it. His facial expression was just priceless, and I must say, his happiness was quite contagious. He told us to paste huge clown-like smiles across our faces when we reached the end of the song, to suddenly bounce up simultaneously in our seats and swish our heads to make that certain kind of eye contact that has that mischievous glint. He demonstrated it for us. And then he demonstrated the way we shouldn't play, which was even more hilarious, because he bobbed his head left to right as if he were an Egyptian princess, then moved his head front to back like he was the old camel carrying the Egyptian princess. I could tell he was having fun.

Anyways, we barely got past the first movement. He really did stop us at every measure to give a five-minute intermission, complete with a stand-up comedy show and everything. It's so much more fun to have lessons with another person.

On a more serious note though, competition is in two weeks, and neither of us have memorized our part. So maybe the teacher should calm down on the dramatic effects and let us get through the songs. Maaan. Oh, and GHP interview's coming up (which I'm actually pretty excited for, minus the fact that I'm competing against five of my best friends), and so is my physics test and apush test and college applications and job interviews and marriage-partner-quests and tax dues and retirement questions.

Yup, it's all coming down pretty quickly. I better get moving.

I am fearless.

I never thought I'd ever ever pay money to be scared. That I'd even think of going to a haunted house. Heck, I can't even walk around my house without getting spooked about some creepy dude hiding in my shower. And there's a reason I don't watch horror movies. So when I found myself waiting in the cold last night in a ridiculously long line for Netherworld, I seriously did not know what on earth I was going to do with myself; should I leave? Go the bathroom? Cry? Laugh? Scream? Suck it up and just be quiet? Oh my goodness.

And then I saw the monsters. They were strutting around the parking lot (where we were waiting to get in), creeping behind unexpecting people and nearly jumping on them, so that the people would let out a bloodcurling scream that split the air and sent chills down my spine. When I saw one with white skin and an ugly, swollen, sucked-in face heading toward our group, my heart started to race, and you can not believe the fright that overtook me. I tried to back up so that I could somehow camoflauge with the background or become so invisible that the monster would just pass by and scare someone else... I couldn't handle it. So the moment he turned his back, I walked away as fast as possible- fast enought to get away but slow enough to show that I wasn't running away from him, because then he'd just start chasing after me (yes I was analyzing the situation as I made my great escape). Ohmygoodness, I was laughing, but I started to tear up because I was so scared. That's when I realized I couldn't do this. I really really couldn't. Everybody was laughing because they thought my fear was just hilarious, but if I was going to be scared while I was waiting in line then how was I going to deal with the house itself? I began to jump at every little scream, and I became so paranoid that I would look around every few minutes. At one point, this boy behind us screamed in an attempt to scare his girlfriend, who ended up brushing it off as another stupid act. But I screamed like I had fallen off a cliff and was awaiting my fiery death below, holycrap. I couldn't handle this. And then I was hyperventilating by the time I finally walked on that ramp to enter the house; I had to force my breathing to calm down. What had I gotten myself into?

I had to hold on to the jacket of the person in front of me the whole time.
I couldn't stand up straight; what if I bumped into some kind of hand that was hanging off from the ceiling? I had to look around at every corner to check if someone was hiding there. (Of course they'd just come from behind instead). I have to admit- the effects were incredible. It was scary. But I suppose that's not saying much coming from me... but I wasn't the only one getting scared. We walked through twisted vortexes where everything around you was spinning so that you could barely walk straight, and when you finally grasped the railings this face would slide down and freak you out. We had to trek through intestines (or whatever that squishy junk was) and shelves of faces and halls of mirrors (there were so many mirrors in that hall that when you looked around, you couldn't tell that there was a place where there wasn't a mirror, and that's exactly when a monster would jump out) and a room of dummies...

By the end though (it took a while), I was able to get used to it. Definitely still scared, but instead of hurrying along to try to catch up with the people in front and avoiding eye contact with any kind of monster, I began to look them in the face and mask my fear by saying things like "Oh hey hey hey, yeah hey, yeah you're scary, hahaha good job, haha hey yeah bye" or something like that. I started opening my eyes. Goodness, everything was so disturbing. I'm not even going to begin to describe it.

Finally, we got out, and the fresh air felt wonderful. No more scary monsters...
and then they told me there was more.

But I sucked it up and got through it, I dealt with the guy who chased after us with a chainsaw, and I laughed. I swear, I will never be scared of these guys again. When I saw the monster who I had ran away from earlier, I smirked and thought, gee, he's not that scary. And we rode home singing to christmas songs on this CD Christine burnt, and were so much in the Christmas mood that we stopped at Waffle House for some hot chocolate before going home (ended up back home at 1:30 am). I didn't have any nightmares, and I slept the best I have in quite a while. No more fears. :)

FBLA Rally/Fair/No-School-For-Me-Today Day.

I wish I could tell you about the exhilarating (yet kiddish compared to the ones at sixflags) rides and the rigged overpriced games and the bumper cars and funnel cakes and rotating teacups, and the giant slide and the tiny lady that you had to pay one dollar to see. I wish I could tell you about the free stories and the endless games of mafia (and do-date-dump) and the ridiculously gory + graphic story our "motivational speaker" told us (he made a fool out of himself), and the objective tests that none of us knew how to do. And the smells of roasted hot dogs and greasy french fries, of salty pretzels and sugary cotton candy. And the colors!

Oh, I wish I could, but I'm too busy and I'm definitely too tired (I woke up at five this morning?), and I already spent enough time watching The Office episodes and playing more rounds of do-date-dump with a friend online. See, I told you logging on to chat was a bad idea. I got distracted for an hour, and I still haven't gotten anything done.

I'll go brush my teeth first.
One step closer to sleep.
And cleansliness. :)

How I Hate People and Love PSATs.

You know why I don't pick up calls? Why I don't log onto chat anymore? Why I don't respond to texts? It's because... I hate people. Yes, I hate them.
That's exactly why I never go places, and why I'm always stuck at home like a little hermit crab in an aquarium, scared to stick my little head out and see what that fake artificial seaweed is doing in that corner over there. If I lived in Nemo's tank, I'd probably die of fright from all those little sea creatures tapping my shell every five seconds.

I'm just kidding. What? I love people.
But still, I don't respond to your facebook posts.
This is obviously a problem.
And don't think it's a mistake that you get my voice message every time you call.
Or that you can never find me on your AIM list anymore.

It's because I'm scared. I'm scared to let anyone come too close. Last time I did that, I was blinded for about a year and depressed for the other. You think I'm going to go through all that again? I'm smarter than that. I'll shut you out when it seems like we're going to be more than just acquaintances, and I won't hesitate at it either. I can't be vulnerable. I can't.

Or maybe I'm just lazy. Maybe I don't find it as important to keep in touch with people. Or to have conversations with people on AIM or on the phone when I could be doing something like, well, studying PSATs. Hey, that's what my parents are telling me. When my phone bill last month ended up costing (insert high number here), they told me that I was wasting my time. And they're probably right too; is talking on the phone going to get me into college? I think not.

There's another problem too- online conversations are so awkward. There is so much of me that just wants to avoid them altogether, which is a huge reason why I don't log on anymore. It's fine if you ask me what the math homework was, but if you just say "hey" what am I supposed to say? I'll be interested for a few minutes and try to hold a conversation of course, something normal, an effort to see how a friend's doing and if everything's going alright. But here's how it goes:
friend: hey
me: hey!!! how are you??
friend: nm, u?
me: oh.. yeah school sucks.
END CONVERSATION HERE. I don't understand what the point of saying hello to me is if you decide not to say anything past that. Which is why I'd much rather have conversations face-to-face. They're more real, more personal, more intimate. I love people because I can see them and talk to them and laugh with them, not because I can build a beautiful relationship with them via computer screen through LOLs and LMAOs and ROFLLOLOLHAHAHAs and (add a million emoctions here). Goodnesss gracious you can't even physically lmao in real life, nor can you make even half of those overexaggerated faces that they allow you to put on through chat.

Or, the conversation can go like this:
friend: hey
me: hey!!! how are you?????
friend: oh good (insert youtube link here)
me: oh.. i'm kindof busy i'll watch it later
friend: pleeease?
me: okay finee. (spends five minutes watching a baby rip up paper)
me: hahaha! that's funny.
friend: (insert youtube link here)
me: another one?? okayno. i hafta work!
friend: (insert another youtube link)
friend: (and another)
friend: (and another)
me: OKAYASDFJA;RLKJA;SLKJAS;LJ AHHHHH

i hate people.

but ohmygoodness. I definitely did not mean for this post to turn into a ramble about internet conversations. The point was supposed to be that I've been ignoring a lot of my friends lately because I've been caging myself at home with books and books of SAT test prep crap and physics workbooks (Except it technically does not matter because my friends are doing the same thing). But I miss ninth grade when we'd have sleepovers every month because we had nothing better to do. I guess this is the cost of being Asian... haha that was a racist comment. I'm kidding. This is the cost of caving into the pressure to do well in school and get into an Ivy college and live a just wonderfully dandy life.
And that I've also been ignoring boys in general but I don't think that's going to change much.

Smile One More Time

This short story was inspired by Whirlwind; the girl is very real (as well as her smile). Feedback/criticism is welcome; this was a response to the Reflections prompt: "Beauty is..."
And this place was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful places I've visited yet.

I wasn’t expecting much when I timidly stumbled into Azalea Park, an old and tattered apartment complex in metro Atlanta. Needless to say, I was scared. I shied away from the thought of handling a room of rowdy third-grade children, especially when I found myself staring into the large and barren parking lot, shadowed by menacing apartment buildings that stood stiffly on the yellowed and withering grass. The naked trees threatened to fall as they shooed me away, howling that this was no place for me. I wasn’t looking forward to the coming week. As I clutched my lesson plan notebook and a carefully selected sticker sheet for the star students, I suddenly doubted whether I really wanted to do this, to step out of my comfort zone and tutor children in this run-down neighborhood of shabby apartments. But it was too late to quit now.

I slowly crept up to the building that would house me for the week. It looked no more welcoming than any of the other apartments; it only looked less intimidating because it housed a small, red flower that sat outside the window. This piece of shrubbery stretched out its petals, yearning for a drop of water and a beam of sunlight. But its attempts were in vain, and now, it sat shrunken and withered, awaiting the deadly breath of the next breeze.

This building was not intimidating. It was pathetic.

I cracked open the door, and found that I was late. Orientation had already begun, so I found my place in the back of the room and settled in to listen for any details I had missed in the informational packet that I’d already read five times. To my surprise, tutoring would only last for thirty minutes every day; the other ten hours would be dedicated to nothing but nonstop playing with the children in the neighborhood. “Show them love,” the director said.

So I sat on the curbside, with a cluster of young girls eagerly crowded around a tiny basket of chalk. Red, yellow, blue, and green - they were hypnotized by the possibility of a rainbow on the road and a pot of gold at the end. One girl, Jossie, begged me to play the role of a mother in her house that she had just drawn with a piece of chalk. We slept in our chalk beds, ate dinner from our table, ran down the stairs, pressed buttons on the elevator, and yelled that our house was crashing down whenever a car drove over. I was amazed then at how much fun I was having with a stick of chalk and a second grader’s enormous imagination; she was satisfied with simply pretending that her life was more glamorous than reality. Jossie put the chalk down then and tugged at my sleeve, looking up at me with large, innocent eyes and an enormous smile that was wide enough to affect every other feature of her face; her eyes crinkled into reflections of her grin, and the bridge of her nose scrunched up to reveal the tiny teeth in her mouth. I was frozen in place by an unexplainable force, and for a few seconds, I was almost confused at being bombarded with such a dazzling smile.

“Will you come to my house please?” she asked.

I hesitated. I was a bit intimidated at unexpectedly intruding on her mom’s privacy, but I finally obliged. How could I refuse? When I doubtfully creaked open the door, I suddenly found myself in a flurry of arms and flower-printed clothing, until I was pressed into her mother’s bosom and wrapped inside her large arms. She was hugging me as if I were her long-lost daughter and not as if I were a stranger who she had seen for the first time.

“Bienvenido!” she cried, welcoming me inside the small kitchen. I offered her a gift - a large jigsaw puzzle that depicted a few men on the street of a marketplace. It wasn’t an exciting picture, but the mother accepted the gift as if she were receiving the Nobel Prize or a new convertible; she clapped her hands and called her daughter over to begin piecing the puzzle together. I watched in awe as the pair attempted to match one square to another, with genuine grins plastered on their faces for the entire stretch of time. “Thank you,” she said over and over again in her broken English; I felt as if I had just cured a woman fated to die of cancer. How could anyone be so happy at receiving a jigsaw puzzle?

As the week progressed, I grew more and more attached to Jossie. She came to my class every day, and afterwards we went outside and sat on the curb, sucking on our ice pops and watching the cars pass by. I learned more from her innocent second-grade thoughts than she probably did from my lessons. She taught me of the beauty behind the singing birds, telling me fairytale stories about a lonely bird flying after his lost love. She took my hand and demanded that we perform a talent show for an imaginary audience. She showed me the games the kids played on the streets and the desire they had for piggy-back rides; she helped me rediscover the fun in simple games like hide-and-go-seek. At the end of each day, she’d take my hand and look deeper in my eyes than any other person had ever tried to look, with a face of earnest admiration and trust - so earnest that I felt almost guilty for knowing that I was far from the perfection she imagined me to be. But then she smiled and stirred up that inexpressible feeling in me again, and suddenly, all my doubts were erased.

At the end of our last day, I took Jossie and embraced her, but to my surprise, she pulled away from my hug and looked at me with a determination lit aflame in her eyes.

“Are you going to be here tomorrow? I’ll see you, right? You won’t disappear?”
I nodded and stroked her head, then bent down and looked straight into those large, innocent eyes.
“I’ll be here as long as you remember me.” I replied.
Of course, such a vague answer didn’t satisfy her, so she tried again.
“Will I see you next week?”
I sighed. “Jossie… no, but I-”
“-you’re going to leave?”
“No, let me finish. I’m going to leave because I can’t live here-”
“Why not? You can live in my room. We can be like sisters!”
“No, Jossie… I have a family at home. I have to go to school. I only came here to visit and tutor, and I have to go back home this Saturday… I don’t live here.”

I could see tears swelling up at the corners of her eyes, and I felt like a monster. But a monster was only a thing that hid in the closet or slept under the bed; it only triggered tears in a child for one night before disappearing in the depths of darkness again. But I had unleashed tears not from a temporary scare, but from her heart, where years of hurt and pain had already settled ever since the disappearance of her father and the fragmentation in her household. I was worse than a monster.

“Hey, I’ll come visit, okay? Twice a month at least. Okay?”
Her sniffles caught in mid-air, and silence enveloped us again.
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“Can we celebrate Christmas together?”
“Of course; I’ll bring you presents and hot chocolate, and we can sing Christmas carols for your mom.”
“And we’ll play hide-and-go-seek like we always do?”
“Of course.”
She paused for a moment, contemplating whether she should buy my answers or not.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”

The moment our pinkies linked to cement that promise, her face broke out in that familiar smile again. A bird flew out from behind the apartments, and another followed. Music seemed to play in the background of my mind, and the trees swayed along with the rhythm, the branches welcoming our renewed friendship.

And then I saw the beauty in this squalid neighborhood, as the tall buildings that once seemed ominous revealed themselves to be full of bustling life and vibrant colors. I saw the joy that seemed to be permanently drawn on the kids’ hearts, and I saw how easily they were able to find love in all the slightest things. This place was not the ugly godforsaken place I had first imagined it to be; rather, it was one of the most beautiful places I had ever set foot in, more beautiful than the pristine beaches in Cancun or the unsullied snow on mountain peaks. This place, apartment complex, neighborhood, group of people, family - whatever it was called - was able to touch a person’s heart with smiles and welcomes that a teenage girl like me could only have dreamed of. This place made me realize that such joy and happiness was, in fact, possible.

The director had told me to show these children love, but little did he know that they were the ones showing me love, and as much as I tried to make it up to the families with lessons and gifts, I knew that in reality, it was Jossie and all the other smiling faces in this neighborhood who had puzzled together the pieces of joy in my world.

And finally, the red flower on the doorstep began to grow again.

This is Now.

The whole time, I was thinking,
I could be studying.
I could be snuggling on the couch, watching The Five People You Meet in Heaven with my family, munching on those unidentifiable Chinese snacks my dad brought home.
I could be going putt-putting in the crisp weather. Eating frozen yogurt from the martini-like glasses. Practicing piano with my duet partner. Finally finishing that C.S. Lewis book or maybe even the one we're supposed to finish for AP Lang by Tuesday. Journaling because I haven't for the past two weeks. Running. Catching up.

Anything but this. Anywhere but inside this crowded gym of strangers grinding up on each other, of people losing their dignities because it's okay for tonight, because it's okay tonight to flirt with your best friend's boyfriend and dance with a complete stranger. But only for tonight.

It wasn't actually crowded either. It was empty, minus the select few who were dancing to dance and swaying along to the rhythm because well, it was natural. But everyone else- those shadows along the walls of the cirucs- they were figments. Who were they? Actors, playing their roles as party girls? Clowns, covered in cakes of red blush and purple eyeshadow? They weren't the girls I was used to seeing in the pews at church or in the halls at school.

And when I saw the couples- I nearly wanted to gag. Well, cry first, then gag.
Wasn't that me last year, and the year before? Wasn't that me in the corner, looking up into his face, thinking, gee, I'm the luckiest girl in the world? Wasn't that me, running out of the dance holding his hand, gasping for breath because it was too darn hot in the middle of the dance floor, but laughing because hey, this is just a one-night thing and at least I can press his body against mine? Oh, my gosh, that was me. That was me.

And I wanted to stop right then, stop dancing, and leave. And go home.

I didn't want to see these girls who moved their bodies to try to impress the idle boys standing on the side. I didn't want to see them act so undignified, so dirty. It made me feel dirty. I didn't want to be reminded.

It would have been better if the music they played fit more to my tastes. If it didn't all have to depend on how you moved your hips, how you rolled your body, how you shook your ass. If I could just twirl around the freaking gym with my girlfriends and jump on the platforms and declare to the world how I'd love to nod my head like yeah (which, by the way, isn't even physically possible). If I didn't have to see the way other people danced.

If it could just be me and those friends. The ones who won't leave you because you got boring, or because you're too demanding or goody-good or weird or whatever. The ones who'll stick by your side if you make a few mistakes, rather than ignoring all your calls. The ones who won't forget your birthday...

And that would be the life.

So I closed my eyes and imagined that.

I forgot my surroundings, and I did twirl around, holding the hands of not him this time but of them. Of friends. Of family. Because this is what matters. This is what I need to hold on to. This what's important. And I thought, you know what? I need to stop worrying so much about my past and stop pondering the things I could be doing. Because this is now.

Thanks for the best time.

Slip of the Tongue by Adriel Luis

My glares burn through her.
And I’m sure that such actions aren’t foreign to her
because the essence of her beauty is, well, the essence of beauty.

And in the presence of this higher being,
the weakness of my masculinity kicks in,
causing me to personify my wannabe big-baller, shot-caller,
God’s gift to the female species with shiny suit wrapping rapping like,
“Yo, what’s crackin shorty how you livin’ what’s your sign what’s your size I dig your style, yo.”

Now, this girl was no fool.
She gives me a dirty look with the quickness like,
“Boy, you must be stupid.”
so I’m looking at myself,
“Boy, you must be stupid.”
But looking upon her I am kinda feelin’ her style.

So I try again.
But, instead of addressing her properly,
I blurt out one of my fake-ass playalistic lines like,
“Gurl, you must be a traffic ticket cuz you got fine written all over you.”
Now, she’s trying to leave and I’m trying to keep her here.
So at a final attempt, I utter,“Gurl, what is your ethnic makeup?”

At this point, her glare was scorching through me,
and somehow she manages to make her brown eyes
resemble some kinda brown fire or something,
but there’s no snap or head movement,
no palm to face, click of tongue, middle finger,
roll of eyes, twist of lips, or girl power chant.
She just glares through me with these burning eyes
and her gaze grabs you by the throat.

She says, “Ethnic makeup?”
She says, “First of all, makeup’s just an anglicized, colonized, commodified utility
that my sisters have been programmed to consume,
forcing them to cover up their natural state
in order to imitate what another sister looks like in her natural state
because people keep telling herthat the other sister’s natural state is more beautiful
than the first sister’s natural state.
At the same time,
the other sister isn’t even in her natural state,
because she’s trying to imitate yet another sister,
so in actuality, the natural state that the first sister’s trying to imitate
wasn’t even natural in the first place.”

Now I’m thinking, “Damn, this girl’s kicking knowledge!”
But, meanwhile,
she keeps spitting on it like
“Fine. I’ll tell you bout my ‘ethnic makeup."
I wear foundation,
not that powdery shit,
I wear the foundation laid by my indigenous people.
It’s that foundation that makes it so that past being globalized,
I can still vocalize with confidence that i know where my roots are.
I wear this foundation not upon my face, but within my soul,
and I take this from my ancestors
because I’ll be damned if I’d ever let an American or European corporation
tell me what my foundation
should look like.”

I wear lipstick,
for my lips stick to the ears of men,
so they can experience in surround sound my screams of agony
with each lash of rulers, measuring tape, and scales,
as if my waistline and weight are inversely propotional to my value as a human being.
See my lips, they stick, but not together.
Rather, they flail open with flames to burn down this culture that once kept them shut.

Now, I mess with eye shadow,
but my eyes shadow over this time where you’ve gone at ends to keep me blind.
But you can’t cover my eyes, look into them.
My eyes foreshadow change.
My eyes foreshadow light.

And I’m not into hair dying.
But I’m here, dying, because this oppression just won’t get out of my hair.
They form these highlights of my past atrocities,
They tangle around my mind,
This oppression that manifests,
it’s stressing me so that even though I don’t color my hair,
in a couple of years it’ll look like I dyed it gray.

So what’s my ethnic makeup?
I don’t have any.
Because your ethnicity isn’t something you can just make up.
And as for that shit my sisters paint on their faces, that’s not makeup, it’s make-believe.”

I can’t seem to look up at her.
And I’m sure that such actions aren’t foreign to her
because the expression on her face
shows that she knows that my mind is in a trance.
As her footsteps fade, my ego is left in crutches.
And rejection never sounded so sweet.

Poetry Place

I remember caving in.
I remember being stretched at one end,
Pulled at the other,
Then ripped apart from head to toe,
As if I were a hated toy.
I remember screaming, and crying,
And pounding at the wall but finding
That there was no escape.
That no one could hear me.
That I was in fact,
Alone.

I remember searching.
I remember making blind passes,
Desperately grasping at any remnant of love,
Reaching out my arms toward any open door,
Only to be shut out.
Only to pushed down again,
And again,
And again.

But then I remember you.
And I remember how reassuring that old tissue box was,
And how consoling your senseless jokes were.
I remember how you tried to bake me apple pie,
And how your face crumbled when you discovered it salty rather than sweet.
I remember how you attempted to call me with words of support,
And how you serenaded my brother when I refused to answer the phone.
I remember how you sent me kiwis through the mail,
How you hung portraits of Pokemon characters on my wall,
How you tried to sign me up for a therapist,
And contacted the rejection line instead.

I remember being difficult.
I remember walking ahead and leaving a mess,
Moving forward and leaving you behind,
Running away and leaving no trace.

And then I remember you,
Picking up my trash,
Calling out my name,
Searching for my face.

And you always found me.
I just never found you.

Today, I ate a pomegranate.

Yes oh yes, this wonderful fruit.

Pomegranate.

I've never seen one in my life until my dad brought it home Friday night with all the other obscure little fruits he decided to spontaneously buy (including one with furry hairs covering its shell, and another grapefruit-shaped lime-green one as well. Anyone have a clue what these fruits are called?).

So I asked my dad, "What's this fruit called?" And he pulls out his receipt that fell to the ground (and totaled to about a hundred bucks) and looked through the list until he found the name-
"Pe..me..gra..nte.."
"Pomegranate?"
"Yes! How do you spell that?"
"Hm.. pom.. e-g-r-a-n-a-t-e."
"Oh! Granate, like the stone?"
"Nah, it's different."

So I cut open this fat little fruit (it was shaped quite funnily, with a little tiny stalk of a neck awkwardly placed on its round and very obese body), and I was surprised to see that this pomegranate was no apple or pear. It was made of seeds. (Please keep in mind that I've never seen anything like this before!) After turning the fruit around for a few minutes, debating how I should initiate a plan of action, trying out where my teeth was able to bite the best... my dad finally took the fruit out of my hands and simply bit into it, just like that. Of course, a few seconds later, he was ungracefully spitting out all the seeds onto a napkin (or the floor), as if he were some kind of projectile-shooting machine. The seed-spitting shooter.

Well anyways, it was a nice and tasty fruit. A pleasant suprise, if I might say. And sometimes, you just have to get past the technicalities and fears and take a bite, no matter how unappealing things might look. You know what they say- take a leap.

Of course, sometimes you're faced with fruits like durian, which my dad also forced me to try out... just looking at the word makes me want to run far, far away to the outerspace where no such thing as durian exists. Not really though. I love this earth too much. As my Sunday School class today taught me, this love for Earth should be so abundant and so overflowing that we should simply refuse to eat things like cheap hamburgers. No, I don't get it either. But still, as much as I loathe durian now, at least I took that bite. Won't ever make the same mistake again, that's for sure.

Planting Seeds

On this lovely Saturday morning, I rolled out of bed at 8:30 in the morning. Well actually, it was more of a "hey, let's ignore the alarm clock for thirty minutes and wait until my parents come pounding on the door before I jump out of bed" kind of thing. Of course, when they opened the door to check that I was actually awake, I feigned this bright-and-early face to please them, then dropped back on my pillow the second the door shut.

This is nothing new; it happens every week. There was this stretch of time during the summer when I tried to wake up at 6:30 every morning to go for a run, but sadly, this little experiment lasted for a grand total of one day. Well, I was proud of myself that day.

But today was one of the few Saturday mornings that I was out of bed by nine and out the door by 9:15. (The only time this has happened was when I was so anxious to get started on SAT studying that I literally could not close my eyes without seeing SAT-witches cackling in my face and mocking at me for my terrible scores... didn't get much sleep that night). But today was Hands On Northview- planting trees and bushes and pinestraw and things like that to make the school all nice and pretty. "Pretty" wasn't exactly where I saw the great outdoors going though, when I saw the disgusting bales of pinestraw they gave us... this isn't your everyday prickly pinestraw, please understand this. It was wet and mushy, and every time I tried to pick a bale up it'd simply plop to the ground and splatter little bits of mud and dirt across the sidewalk. Pinestraw isn't even supposed to splatter. Not to mention that it was black, not brown...

It was a pleasure. So I moved on to pulling weeds; I ended up pulling out all the grass and leaving the weeds in the soil to grow. This is when I realized that I'm terrible at yard work. Hey, nature is fine and dandy and all, but when it comes to me trying to control it? I think I'll leave that to the male in the house (since males are always control freaks anyways and want everything to go their way, with that i'm-the-dominant-one-here attitude. Don't deny it.) I didn't even try to plant a tree (well, the "trees" were more like bushes). I'm sensing budget cuts on the plants this year...

Putting all this aside though, it was actually pretty cool doing something for nature today. I put pinestraw next to those bushes so that they'd look good and be all safe and snug, you know? Now the next step is to plant a tree somewhere and watch it grow. Gosh, how rewarding that would be, and how I could move on to bigger and better things after that experience...

I'm being serious though. I've never seen a tree grow (since it's an awfully slow process), but there's always that one day when you nonchalantly glance over at the tree and then BAM, you realize that it's a tree now and not the skinnly little twig you had planted a year ago. And this realization hits, and you think, "Gee- I didn't even realize how fast that thing grew!" But this whole process happens with humans too. Today, while I was pulling at the weeds with a friend I've known since middle school, I glanced over at him and I noticed he was laughing the way he always does, with his eyes crinkled up and his head thrown back. But for some reason, I was caught off guard. He was different from the sixth-grader I had befriended. His smile was more mature, his laugh more refined, his body more built than the one of the little lanky kid I knew before. Of course, I never noticed him changing, but today, when I saw him working under the brilliantly blue sky, I just realized how much we had grown, and how beautiful we had grown. And I smiled.

Yes, yard work is most definitely rewarding.

My "First" Post

Hello world.
Did you know? This isn't the first time I've said hello to you before. No, this is probably the fourth or fifth time. Sorry, but I'm always in disguise, so you probably didn't know that I'm the same person. That's understandable. After all, I do specialize in that area. I'd say that I'm like a masked vigilante, but the thing is, I'm not actually a vigilante. See, I don't save the helpless and needy at the stroke of midnight, flying around with a fist stretched forward and a cape fluttering boldly behind. And I most certainly don't oversee my little city of Johns Creek and pick out the bad guys the way I pick out little grammar mistakes in essays. Ha- if only I could. I disguise myself because I'm a coward. Am I familiar now? Do you remember me, do I ring a bell? Can you recognize me from all those other blogs that I've tried to set up? I do admit though, I did actually reveal a little more of myself in my last blog (before I stopped blogging).

So in all honesty, I don't know why I'm starting over again.
Oh, I know. For a new kind of disguise. A new kind of persona that I can hide behind, an appearance that I can mold and create into the perfect, thoughtful, and insightful girl. The girl who's always humble, and who knows how to be funny, and who's smart and intelligent and every teacher's favorite. The one who struggles enough to have something to write about, but who's positive and joyful enough to twist those bad situations into better ones, to brush them off in an "oh-it'll-get-better-and-since-i'm-getting-better-you-should-be-inspired-by-my-deep-and-insightful-posts" kind of manner. Yes, that's who I'll be this time.

I'm just kidding.
I'll try to be myself this time.
But, World, you have to agree to do something for me too; this has to be a mutual relationship. I can't just unmask myself and show this hideous monster, not without some kind of reward. So can you promise to simply let me be for once? Can't you just forgive my imperfections? Look past them? Why do you have to make them into gaping holes for everyone to pounce on and trample over? I'm a bit tired of it.

Let's see how you like being trampled on, World.
Oh wait, six billion people already do...
Hm, I guess it's not so bad for me after all, compared to your misfortunes. No wonder you want to take it out on me. Sorry.

Guess I'll just stop walking on you for now.