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.