individuals

People mean a lot to me. No, let me narrow that down. Individuals. When I meet someone I like, when I meet someone I admire, when I meet people I instantly connect with--those people mean a lot to me. They make me happy. I instantly fall in love with them, I want to tell them everything about myself, I want to find all the reasons why they are so much like me and why we can talk on and on even though I just met them 5 minutes ago. And I don’t really know why.
I measure people up when I meet them and I decide how I should act (crazy or conservative? both are parts of me), and when I can be myself (both wild and calm, and everything in between) I’m pretty sure you can catch me glowing. Radioactively glowing.
I am so excited to know people and to meet them all the time, and when it happens and I meet someone and I’m excited to see them again, that is when my life is perfect.

I’m pretty sure this post sounds lame and I’m sorry for the limited words and vocabulary I’m using, but I prefer to capture the moment in all its beauty and perfection.

Budget Cuts

I know everyone's sick of hearing about budget cuts at school- "We can't do this because of budget cuts...Budget cuts this year mean we have to cancel this class...The budget cuts make it impossible to fund this..."
So I'm pretty much tired of hearing about anything to do with budget cuts, unless it involves releasing around 22,000 convicts (mostly L.A.) from prison much earlier than they should be released.
Arnold Schwarzenegger said he's been doing everything he can- which is, obviously, nothing- to make the most practical cuts and to do what's best, but...is releasing a bunch of convicts early from jail the best and smartest thing to do?
Look at it like this: Most of the convicts are from Los Angeles. So they're released earlier than what their sentence actually is, which means they'll most probably get back to LA and start robbing banks and vandalizing property and whatever else they did to get jailed for. LA Police take pride in the fact that they are the most efficient in catching criminals and that they catch the most in the least amount of time. So we're still safe right?
Well, not really...since Gov Schwarzenegger's brilliant idea of laying off police will obviously have an impact. And the fact that all 22,000 convicts will be released in a short amount of time doesn't help much either, does it?
Yeah, I didn't think so.

7.16.2009

i waited for 3 months.
i set my hopes on seeing adam lambert with my own eyes
and the day came
and the concert started
and adam lambert came out and sang.
and danced.
and took off his jacket.
jazmin and i screamed ourselves hoarse
we danced our way to embarrassment
and then,
one of my favorite songs,
Starlight by Muse.
i thought nothing was better than the original
and adam surpassed it by at least 10 times.
and at that moment--as he sang about our hopes and expectations,
black holes and revelations, as the disco ball lit up the stadium, bathed in sliver and blue light-- i knew.
it was the best moment of my life.
rocking out with adam, the music so loud the floor, the chair, the air, shook, and i knew.
some memories stay forever, some fade.
and as i think back, and the music isn't as loud, and the light isn't as bright--
all i can think-- best night of my life, best night of my life, best night of my life.
pure bliss.

stubborn.

If I can't have you/
I don't want nobody baby

skeletons in your closet--hail to toledo

walking down the road,
thinking of you,
walking down the road,
it hurts but it feels good.

i want stabbing pains and fiery rains,
i want you and for you to be in my arms,
once before i unlock your door,
this is you and this is me,
see me, don't you see...

there are skeletons in your closet
here's where i kissed you
here's where you left
the place where we met
and my shadow still follows

there are skeletons in your closet
drowning in the rain
couldn't open the door, you shut it quick
you shut it fast
on my fingers
drowning in the rain

i still see you somedays
drowning in the rain

i'm here but you never are
i saw where you held him
i saw where you kissed him
i saw what you never wanted me to see
when i opened your door

there are skeletons in your closet
here's where i kissed you
here's where you left
the place where we met
and my shadow still follows

drowning in the rain.

one two three four

tell me that you love me more.
chances, chances, chances. it's a crime to be given so many and not take one.
am i insecure? god, i hope not.
you are so anticlimactic. you've given me so many chances to figure you out, and i blindly walked into your arms.
today, i think i figured you out for good. i'll say it again. you are so anticlimactic.
and it bothers me.
and it hurts me.
and it scares me.
one, two, three, four.
i still want you.
tell me that you love me more. even though you don't and never will mean it, because i am and will always be blind to your sarcasm.

i chase sunsets.

i feel like i am chasing the sunset,
desperately trying to grab hopes and dreams.
but at the end of the day, when the sun sets,
when i've chased it all the way to the beach and stand staring at the horizon,
i am no more closer to it than when i saw it outside the bathroom window.
after running for an hour on the treadmill, i am still in the living room, staring at the TV, sweat dripping down my neck.
my hands are outstretched, blind, grabbing at what i can never have.




that sunset on Monday-- watching the clouds turn from white to pink to orange to black--reminded me of what i've been chasing endlessly. i chase sunsets. i chase my dreams and hope that one day, the sun will freeze when the sky is on fire.
and i'll be able to take the perfect picture.

not exactly a psychedelic experience.

2 days after getting my grades, 15 days into summer, 19 days before the American Idol Concert, and after 16 years of being Kimberly Renée Ngai, I had more of a realization than a psychedelic experience. But it was close enough.
I know who I am. I always know who I am. And I will and say this: who I was before was not how I want, or wanted to be. I always needed someone to know everything was going to be okay, I always needed someone to say I was doing the right thing, regardless of the circumstances. I always needed someone to talk to, someone to rant and complain with. And I wanted to feel accepted, feel like I was part of something. I think I wanted to be someone else, because I wasn't comfortable in my own skin. I took criticism too seriously, and let everything get to me. So for a while, I was fighting with myself and tried to find someone I could be friends with--someone who would unconditionally love me. I don't know what kind of fairy world I was living in. And what I hated most about it--I don't think I was that kind of friend either. I was too wrapped up with myself to be the person I desperately wanted from someone else.
And I think that was my mistake. I spent my life looking for someone who I could talk to forever, for someone who would always care and love me. That is not to say I didn't have caring friends. My friends--well, two or three good friends-- were always there for me. But I always wanted more, and that was my biggest mistake.
My biggest regret is that I never thought of, for even an instant, that I myself could be the person I wanted so badly. Why do we need other people? I know it's part of the human character, but as of now--as of around 9:30pm at Target in the contact solution aisle-- I believe in myself. I depend on myself-- and only myself. I am tired of people telling me and thinking you can't do this, she'll fail that, she's not capable, there's no point in trying.
I will go ahead in life at full speed. I have a plan and I intend to carry it out. I know what I am going to do, and nothing anyone can ever say about me will hurt me or slow me down.
1 week ago, the Rolling Stone magazine featured an Adam Lambert article-- The Liberation of Adam Lambert.
And I truly feel liberated.

sweet misery

After one day of doing absolutely nothing except for clean my room, eat, sit around outside, listen to KIIS Fm nonstop for at least 12 hours, and watch the NBA finals (ongoing), I'm bored.
Really.
There is absolutely nothing to do when you're grounded during the summer. Why am I grounded, you might ask? Well that is sweet misery.
I got a C in Pre-Calculus Honors.

I am so screwed over.
I mean, it's not even a B. It's a C. I know, I know, people will read this and think I'm an AP Freak, but really, right now, I don't even care. I cannot believe I messed up my entire college career. My entire UC future, if you want to be specific. I am so frustrated with myself, and at the same time, I'm just relieved that all of this is over and that I can try harder next year. There is one thing I'm not going to let myself think, though. I am not going to get into that mentality that grades don't matter. I will not let myself start to think it's not just about the college you go to, because even if it's not, if I don't have any motiviation, if I don't have a drive, or a goal, or a reason, this will be the first and definately not the last C on my transcrpit. And I can't let that happen.

So about this boring summer...if school was still in, I would be panicking and trying to finish all my homework because I would have obviously left it to the last few hours of Sunday. But I'm happily letting my melted cherry popsicle drip onto the napkin and leaving my hands with that sticky feeling, because, believe it or not, it's summer. Shiny, bright, warm, sticky, summer.

I would worship the summer if it didn't end so quickly every year.

hello again

2 days into summer and the sun finally decides to shine. what a terrible school year it was. i don't have much planned for this summer, but it beats going to Pre-Cal Honors every day.
i really want to talk about how the year went, but honestly, nothing really happened. made some friends, lost some, got more weird looks, sighed a lot, rolled my eyes...and skipped out on too much sleep.

so--this summer-- run, swim, work, volunteer, eat, sleep.

sounds good to me. not much brain power involved, but i don't mind getting brain freeze for three months. in fact, i'm welcoming it with open arms.

i need to write something else, but i have time. to wait and think and plan my words carefully, all while watching TV, listening to The Killers, and eating a big bowl of strawberry ice cream. slowly churned, of course.

ah yes, this is summer. no school, no stress.

black and gold

i kissed the moon and the stars,
flew above the clouds and cried myself to sleep.
i had cake for breakfast, chocolate with whipped cream.
i didn't wash my hands so my fingers could hang onto the monkey bars longer than anyone else.

subzero

I want to go to UCB, I want to got to UCLA, Stanford, Harvard. I always wanted to go, and dreams of accomplishment always consisted of one of those colleges, me unpacking in my dorm, me eating in the cafeteria, me studying in the Hogwarts-y libraries. And it's always snowing outside, it has to be snowing.
But my view has changed, a complete 180 degree turn, my college choice and dream is so different now that it puts Harvard and UCB a category below.
Five people know. I shouldn't have told three of them though.
They're too quick to judge, those three. I've known them the longest though. At least 6 years. But I shouldn't have told them.
I'm scared to tell people where I want to spend 4 years studying. I know what they're thinking.
she'll never make it there.
I see what they're lips are forming, what they are saying to me.
Oh my God, you want to go there? Wow! You'll totally make it!
I hate them. I hate all of them. Because they all have two faces, they all smile at my decision and smirk on the inside.
I'm afraid I'll tell someone and then not make it. Fail the admissions test. Not get a nomination. And let that smirk they're wearing on the inside become a laugh.
I want to be disciplined. I know how far I can fall if I can do whatever I want. So I made my decision, I know where I want to go, UCLA is nice, Stanford is nice, Harvard is beautiful.
But where I want to go, it's me.

because i have to

i always try to keep the same template on my blog, the same theme on my phone, the same status message on gchat.
it never works. it never, ever does.
sorry. sorry i always change my personality, sorry i hate it and then claim it's the best thing ever.
i can never stand myself, i can never stand the same thing, over and over. i want to be different but somehow it always comes out twisted.
i want you to like me because i am human. i want you to approve of what i do because i want to know, because i need to know.
i have to.

This, Catharsis

Once before, I’m sorry.
Only a million times after,
Why can’t you see? I am apologizing.
We look for what is attainable, dream and long
for what is
Not.
And there’s you, and me,
And all of these people.
I can’t keep my eyes off you, my hands
Shaking. If you were coming in the Summer,
I’d brush by
Fall. Gold leaves. Orange leaves.
Fall leaves, sway, swing,
bleed on the ground.
I never look to you to solve my problems,
The problems I create.
I crash, you crash, shades of yellow, and feel me, touch me.
Play the music, vibrate, the floor, my chest. I am crying, the music is crying, crying on the inside. I am.
Who do you think I am? Who can I be? What
Will I be? Make a memory, make a memory, make
A memory.
Sweat and tears, it’s all the same.
I suffer to feel, my regret, not your pain, mine.
My pain. Twirling,
Twirling and waving like
Flags, mixed up in the wash, bleeding colors. My
Pain.
And all I want you to say
All I ever wanted to hear, to wish, to dream, from you,
I don’t ask for much.
And to have the world spin, when mine stops,
When mine freezes, control alt delete.
To have you say it so I could feel it with my hands and
Have the guilt wash over my face— to see it in my tears, in the
Heavy heavy part of my chest where the tears
Start.
Have you say, hear you say,
I can never love you. After what you did.
Especially
After what you
did.
Once before, only a million times
After.

happy belated.

It was eighth grade when I thought I fell in love. There was a day when we were telling each other about ourselves, our likes and dislikes, when we realized we both knew that the strips of wax for braces never helped and it was more fun to chew. That you were so perverted and that I could be equally so, just for you. I was never nervous around you, I used to punch your left leg so hard if you annoyed me that it would go numb for a second. I took pride in knowing that I could be friends with a jock. That was your label, already.
There was a time when we were laughing at the girl who sat on the other side of you, our eyes met, and I quickly looked away. We could never be together, you, already a baseball and basketball star, white, friends with the pretty girls who claimed the best table in the lunch area. And me, the epitome of the geeky asian girl.
I’ve been writing this blog for a long time in my head. Somehow I can only get this far and then my mom will call me to dinner or a teacher will ask me a question in class. Something always stops me from writing more, from thinking more about you.
I loved you 3 weeks into 8th grade. The first day of school I was too shy to even look at you. The last day, I was too shy to look at you with your friends, but it didn’t matter anyway, because you would have been too embarrassed to look at me with all of your friends watching, your arms wrapped around some girl with no brains. What I would have given for it to have been me.
I stopped smiling when I would hear your name long ago. I’ve stopped thinking about what could have been. But only yesterday did I stop hoping. Seeing you dance with Laura never stopped me from wishing, watching you make out with Sandy or Alli or Jane or whatever her name was for 2 years by the science halls never stopped me from thinking, “maybe”. That was your life, this was mine, if destiny wanted to be nice, she could have easily intertwined them together.
I hadn’t said your name out loud for at least two years. I forgot what it sounded like, the quirkiness, forgot to stop the river of memories it brought back. But for the first time in a long, long time, I didn’t sigh after I said it, out loud or in my head.
So it’s over?
That question I asked after a long plane ride, after a boring football game, after the 8th grade grad dance, after I hugged you goodbye on one chilly evening before you and your girlfriend went to a middle school grad party. The answer is always the same.
Yes.
Yes, it’s over.
The time I hugged you was the last time I touched you. The dress I was wearing that night is still hanging in my closet, heavy with tears and the smell of your body when your arms were around me tight, and I thought I was in love.
I was in eighth grade and I thought I was in love.

open

how long can i leave my eyes open
to remember everything.
leave my senses open
remember the smell of louisiana, the mixing of a steamy swamp and clean laundry,
the feel of cotton candy stuck to skin,
french pastries, gumbo, wild rice.

so i bite my lip
and try to keep my eyes open
one more second,
one more memory.

and what a shame that is.

"I was thinking how nothing lasts, and what a shame that is."
You were right, Benjamin Button.

Isn't is funny how we never imagine the end, but spend forever thinking about the beginning?
How I only thought of the plane ride to New Orleans but refused to think any further?
Two more days-- Saturday, then Sunday-- and I'll be taking the plane ride home on Monday.
It was so easy to imagine myself coming here. I was so excited, thinking of all the things I would do. Eat, shop, sleep.
But never the end. 20 days in New Orleans and never did I imagine what the end would be like. It was so far away, 15 days left, 10, a week left-- it was still forever-- but now, 2 days left.
It's a crime.
I've never had Christmas Break pass by so quickly. Am I burned out? Done with school? I'm getting there. I'm already starting to hope my plane will get delayed overnight.
My fingers are crossed.
and what a shame that is.

Anderson Cooper is one of the better looking journalists out there. and he's quite a journalist. since he joined CNN in 2001, he's won 3 emmy awards for his broadcasting. he accurately gives the news, asks questions, and demands answers. Anderson Cooper, a Yale graduate, son of Gloria Vanderbilt, is one of the most highly acclaimed broadcasters. and i happen to share the opinion that he's one of the better looking broadcasters.
so when i found out, no less than 2 hours ago, that he's gay, i laughed.
my dad knew what i was googling (is anderson cooper gay?) and told me to stop making fun of people when he heard me laughing.
but i wasn't making fun of him. i was laughing because the word "finally" was running through my head.
finally. i have an answer.
when i hear people say-- about anyone-- "Ewww, he's gay? That's so gross." I have someone who I love--because of his merit and passion-- to support my thoughts, "Why's that gross? Why is being gay gross? You know who's gay? Anderson Cooper is gay. And I can't find anything about him that is gross."
Now, don't give me the BS that Cooper is one of the exceptions to all the "gross/immoral/unethical-gays" out there. I'm sure there are gays that are "immoral". And I'm sure there are straights that are even more "immoral".
I can no more say that Anderson Cooper is gross because he's gay than tell my friend she's stupid because she doesn't share my opinion that Americans shoud live on mushroom omelets.
I don't find it wrong that people have their opinions. I have mine about gays, and I understand why people would have a different opinion about them. There's nothing wrong with that.
But when people try to impose their opinions on others--that's what is wrong.
---
I'm over the passing of Prop 8. It's the side comments from others that get on my nerves.