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.

rewind.play.repeat.pause.fast forward.please.

again?
the last day of the year, again? i didn't think 365 days of absolutely nothing could pass by so fast.
rewind.
i still don't see anything. it's still a blur.
where's the focus button?
not here. not in my life. if it's a blur, it will stay a blur. no focus button needed.
play.
alarm clock ringing, car engine running, students talking--too loud--teacher screaming, stomach grumbling, lunch bag crackling, teacher glaring, stomach grumbling, teacher glaring, eyes rolling, lunch-finally, lunch- back to class, home, homework, sleep.
repeat.
and pause. breathe. you said to slow down but i didn't. pause again.
Wicked at Pantages. good. pause again. going to the Imperial Palace Buffet in Biloxi. better. you said to enjoy school but i didn't. pause again. but i didn't enjoy school. i don't. don't pause again. i'm done.
2009? listen, 2009. i'm talking to you.
don't be another crappy home video.
6 hours and 20 minutes left.
fast forward.
please.