I'd Rather be a non-educated Rubber Duckie, aka NERD.

I halfway figured out how to compile audio and text together into a video!! The only problem is that the text is all weird-looking, so please excuse this time of test and trial. Still trying to figure things out. But hurray! My first youtube video, kindof! I'm going to make a different youtube channel, but I don't have a username. Perhaps, thejessiepress?Maybe I can make something serious out of this! That's fairly exciting. If only AP tests and SATs weren't looming over my head.

Anyways, this poem is called I'd Rather Be a Non-Edcuated Rubber Duckie, a.k.a. NERD.

haha. enjoy:) It was inspired by rumors, so hurray, hurray.

It might be time for a hiatus.
It's sad, when you say you need a break from having a break.

PS: We all know that I'll only blog more when I say things like this. That was the plan.

This week has been unbelievably hectic, and I have so many unfinished blog entries right now, saved as drafts in my posting list. I wish I could've finished them. You may never see them.

Anyways, It's too late at night for me to think clearly enough to blog (after two weeks straight of sleeping past one, I'm exhausted), and I'm not going to be here for the next two days, so it looks like this week is going to be one of those voids of bloglessness.

But for a short snippet-
today was, as monique put it, emotionally draining. In the good way, mainly.

Wow, thank goodness I finished this post. I almost didn't.

later!

my dad is cooler than yours.

LOL, here is my dad,

reciting 100 digits of pi in one breath in Chinese.

He is so proud of this.

Fifth Grade

I watched silently as the lunch lady plopped the square of jiggly meatloaf onto my flimsy Styrofoam tray that preached the words “DON’T DO DRUGS” in capital letters on the side. The friend next to me went through the same process, watching the same metal ice cream scooper claw out some bits and pieces of questionable meat. We slowly walked back to our table.

The moment we sat down, the friends around us who had brought lunches in red, black, sponge-bob-square-pants lunchboxes from home took one glance at our food and looked away with disgust.

“Ew, Julia, you’re eating that?”

Julia put down her fork, embarrassed that she’d been caught guilty in the middle of her despicable action. I looked up and took a bite in front of their faces, chewing the food calmly, gulping it down steadily.

“It’s not that bad,” I replied for her.

The others didn’t mention the food again after that, and Julia picked up her fork and continued to eat her food, glancing sideways at me with a look of gratitude.

And I felt like a hero; I had stood up for someone.

the things I was too busy learning

The things I was too busy learning this week which in turn prevented me from blogging:

1. how to productively use the leftover 1 hour and thirty minutes after GHSGT testing

2. that I still can not beat the expert level of minesweeper, even with a cheat

3. how to play starcraft

4. how to properly interview someone

5. how to shift the computer away from the teacher and do other things like play minesweeper

6. how to get the entire class into one chat box on gmail while shifting the computer away from the teacher

7. that the person in my lang class who gave a speech advocating the legalization of marijuana does, in fact, smoke marijuana.

8. as did George Washington, Obama, and Michael Phelps.

9. In fact, the Constitution was written on hemp.

10. that they're getting rid of the music program in elementary schools :(

11. that no matter what I do, my mom will always know

12. which flavors are the best at Rita's

13. how to get from fulton to forsyth to gwinnett, then end up back at fulton

14. that my friends are the most drama-avoiding group in history, which I love

15. that the photoshop I had torrented requires a different passcode every time you open it

16. that I worry too much sometimes

17. that I don't worry enough

18. how I don't have much time left before SAT and AP exams

19. that you will never be able to get everyone in the world to like you

20. and if everyone in the world likes you, then you're not doing something right.

21. that no matter how long I spend wishing I was a child again, it will never happen

22. that no matter how many soap operas or dramas I watch, that girl is still not me

23. that if I sleep at three, I'm less tired in the morning than if I sleep at ten

24. and that I will never get sick of Up

25. ever.

We live life

so that we may know pain.

We know pain

so that we may recognize joy.

We recognize joy

so that we may cherish the moment.

- mistikx on xanga

I'm glad my dad doesn't smoke.

Okay, you know what's an extremely strange sight to see?

A group of dorky asian dads, chilling on a wall, and smoking. It just feels so out of place and so wrong and I had to look twice for a second to see if I was really seeing what I was seeing. I was so confused! Because all this time, I've been discussing about how it's so stupid to bend to pressure to do something like smoke, and here are fathers of elementary school children, fathers who are way past the pressures of adolescence, smoking. So the reason can't be to look cool (because the world really would be ending then). Could it be because they think they're old now, so it shouldn't really matter anyways? Because their lives are about to end so they might as well make the most out of it? (Although I don't quite see how smoking is equal to "making the most" out of life). What's really sad though is that they've got elementary and middle school children- kids who are so easily influenced by their parents' habits, kids who will look at their fathers and think wow, smoking is so cool. It's terrible, really, and there's nothing stopping them now either. Or maybe adults have pressures too. Maybe it never ends, this desire to be someone different, this desire to be accepted. Growing up really is scary.

By the way, last week's episode of The Office was the funniest I've seen in a while, and the costuming in Alice in Wonderland is beautiful. That is all.

It's not that glamorous, you know.

This week was the definition of nostalgia.

Northview hosted the Fulton orchestra festivals this year for middle schoolers, and seeing those little boys and girls in their tacky blue collared shirts tucked messily in their undersized khaki pants just made me want to cry. I could not stop thinking to myself ohmygosh that was me, that was me, that was me a few years ago. And I realized how much I've grown, how I'm a junior, how I'm going to go to college soon, how this whole high school life started passing by a lot more quickly than I had wished for it to pass, as if it's slipping right through my fingers and I can't make the effort to fully grasp this rapidly disappearing thread of life.

It's just weird, how time works. It's so temporary, and it confuses me. A few minutes ago, I was cleaning my room, but now I'm not. A few minutes later, I'll be studying for physics, but that'll be later and not now. Every second passes and then it's gone, forever, and you have no way of retrieving it or going back to fix anything. It's kindof stressful, if you think about it. One, two, three, did I really just waste three seconds of your life?

But anyways, I just started to remember all those times from middle and elementary school, and sometimes I wonder if any of it actually happened. Was I really alive? Was that really me, giggling as I rolled down that huge grassy hill behind Shakerag Elementary, then picking off the grass off of my best friend's back? Was that really me, sitting embarrassed outside my third grade classroom because they had found out I had lice? Was that really me, playing four-square, crushing rocks to make colored chalk, hiding in the attic from my friend's sister, crying the night before I left on vacation to Hawaii because I thought I'd die from an exploding volcano? And I saw myself, and I felt as if I were watching a movie of my past.

Is this really where I am right now? Or am I in a movie? Because that's how I feel. I feel like I'm watching myself age, as of this life isn't even real. It's an extremely bizarre feeling.

You know what else though? When I was little, I would always look at the high schoolers and regard them with some sort of worshipful reverence, as if they were the kings and queens of the world and I was just a lowly peasant. And I'd always dream of the days when I'd be one of them, a high-schooler; I saw myself being glamorous and beautiful and popular, I saw myself free, I saw myself driving from party to party. I saw myself having a handsome boyfriend who'd do practically anything for me, and having the best night of my life at prom like how I was supposed to. And now, look at me; I'm at that age, and yet, I'm nowhere near that glamorous image I had painted for myself. I'm just the same old girl- just add a little bit more maturity and subtract some optimism. It's weird, to see yourself being somewhere at a certain age, then reaching that age and realizing that you were wrong all along.

And I'm really afraid that that's how my college life &later will turn out to be, that it won't be that glamorous and free life. That I'll just end up the same old girl who lives everyday, seeing potential in herself but still does nothing with it.

Fourth Grade

“I know more Chinese poems than you do!” George sung at the top of his lungs in his high, shrill voice.

“Yeah? Try me!” I challenged, always eager for competition.

We recited poems, one after the other, until I was too tired and too embarrassed to continue. People were beginning to stare at us from the other side of the playground.

“Hey, come on! I know you know more,” he taunted.

“Shhh, I don’t want to play anymore, okay?” I snapped back, running to the trees that surrounded the playground, jumping to pluck off the honeysuckles. He looked a bit hurt, but I didn’t care. He had so much foreign pride; it wasn’t healthy.

When the teacher called us back into the classroom, I skipped ahead, eager to sit away from George. I began sniffling and wiped my nose, when I realized that my nose was bleeding.

George jumped up and raised his hand.

“I’ll take her to the clinic!” he offered excitedly.

I groaned, but I followed him outside.

“Here, hold your head up like this,” he commanded, tilting his head back and looking at the ceiling. “It helps the blood flow go back. Make sure the tissue paper’s in there tight. My dad told me all about this,” he said proudly.

He was right; my nose stopped bleeding before we even got to the clinic.

Maybe being Chinese had its advantages after all.